Harry Potter and the Rise of the Phoenix

* * * * *
I've got this feeling that
There's something that I missed.
Something happened that I never understood
Every second dripping off my fingertips.
Wage your war.
Another soldier says he's not afraid to die.
Well I am scared.
A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away,
Safe and sound.

Snow Patrol ~
Somewhere a Clock Is Ticking
* * * * *

Gerald Smith was a Muggle, though he wasn't just any "ignorant Muggle". He was an American ex-Marine Muggle who had a Brazilian witch as a wife and American-Brazilian-currently-living-in-Britain twin witches for daughters.

He had recently retired, at his wife's urging, and had more recently moved into a small flat in Hogsmeade, at his daughters' urging. It had been odd, at first, living completely in the magical world these three amazing women belonged to, especially without any magic of his own. Over the past week he had gotten used to it, had met his daughters' idols and boyfriends (Why did they have to be one and the same? ), and had learnt the trails around the village as well as the ones around his childhood home in the States.

This night, Gerald was walking to get rid of some of the tension he had picked up from George and Fred Weasley. Two of their older brothers had been driven insane through torture a few days ago and the family was still reeling from the blow. Gerald understood war, but he didn't like it that these boys did. They weren't soldiers; they were jokesters. Just like his girls.

He had decided to take a walk along the road, towards the railroad station. To his Muggle eyes, it was a ruin, along with the wall and castle perched on a cliff over-looking the huge lake. He'd been told that the castle was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where George and Fred had gone to school and where their youngest siblings currently attended. He had long passed the point where the wall first hit the lake. A weather-beaten pillar of chipped some white stone stood tall just on the other side of the ruined walls. He passed the point where the wall started up from the lake once more. He had made it as far as the road went; it petered off into something more like a dirt trail than a road. For all Gerald knew, some wizard had built a home at the end of the trail and to a wizard's eye that was a road paved in gold.

He turned around, realizing that it was now long past sunset. It had been a beauty of one, though. Gerald did love the wildness of this place. This wildness in and of itself had made moving here worth it.

Wishing he had a flashlight, he shuffled back along the road, an old injury starting to pain him a tad bit. Reaching the train station he paused to stretch the leg out, the old thigh muscle knotted and scarred. He looked up at the vast heavens and stared at the stars, so many stars, out here in the middle of nowhere, this place with no electricity, with no automobiles, with no street lights. Oil lamps lit the corners of the roads in Hogsmeade; only moonlight lit the road beyond. Candles lit the houses on the inside. All fine and dandy if you were a wizard who could wave a wand and have light with the right word.

Gerald frowned.

That was a bit bitterer than he had expected; after all, he did have matches. But he was a man who had learnt to appreciate things the way they were supposed to be. He enjoyed routine and discipline. All those years in the military did that to a man. Living so far out of his norm was disconcerting. Yet, those stars were more than worth it. Watching his girls with those boys was more than worth it. Seeing Maria smile contentedly as she discussed potions at the apothecary was worth it.

What was that? Gerald was instantly on alert, his Marine training taking over. Was that a scream?

It ended abruptly, as if someone had completely muffled the sound. Remembering the silencing charm that Maria used occasionally, Gerald stood again, his leg protesting. He moved cautiously in the direction he'd heard the sound come from, but it was slow going. Clouds had drifted across the not quite full moon, making the brush forest between him and the wall shadowy.

Learning that werewolves were real had probably been the worst thing about finding this magical world all those years ago. Werewolves had always haunted his dreams from his youth on. He had actually met a werewolf, now. Remus Lupin was a good man, and had a cute daughter who was similarly affected. Caitlan's sad story was a tale worth a few tears from an old soldier.

Was that a reflection? The moon came out from behind some clouds and Gerald was thankful that he could see again. Closer to the ruined wall and back the way he had come were two bodies, one thrashing about in pain, the other passed out in a very awkward way, the moon reflecting off of an amber stone around her neck. Gerald caught sight of the red hair and hurried as fast as his leg would let him. As he came within five feet of them, the screaming started again, as if it had never stopped.

The red-head was Ginny Weasley. He had only seen pictures of her, but there was no mistaking that hair or those freckles. He peered at the other body and realized that the messy black hair could only belong to Ginny's boyfriend, Harold... Harry... Harvey Potter. Gerald knew that there was some fascination with wizarding Britain and the boy, but he hadn't heard the full tale yet.

He needed to get back to the village and find Fred and George. Gerald checked the pulses and blanched when he realized that Ginny's was very faint. Her right leg was shattered and bleeding profusely. He stood, glanced at the Potter boy, and left, hurrying as fast as he could. It was over a mile and his leg protested the movement and speed, but there was nothing for it. He reached the village, and headed down the main street. Turning down an alley, he went to the back of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and climbed the stairs that led to the flat where the twins lived.

He pounded on the door, trying to make just enough noise to rouse the occupants within. His military common sense told him that waking the whole village would not be a good idea. He pound once again. They should be home, but the lights were out. Were they at Melita and Mina's? But no, a light came on at the insistent racket and soon after the door opened.

"Mr. Smith?" Fred asked, clearly confused. "Sorry, we were downstairs experimenting." As Fred opened the door further, Gerald could see George standing at the top of the inside stairs connecting the shop to the flat.

"What's the matter?" George asked, taking a few worried steps closer, Mina and Melita followed him into the room proper. Melita was a foot or two shorter than her sister, had chin length green hair, dark orange skin and white over-alls. Gerald shook his head, trying not to let their jokes distract him too much, though he never thought he'd see an Oompah-Loompah in real life.

"I was taking my evening walk, and on my way back I stopped at the station to rest," he answered, giving a brief, concise accounting of the events. "A scream caught my attention, but it was cut off. Not muffled or finished, just silenced. So I went and searched the area, and I found Ginny and, is it Harvey Potter?"

"Harry," Fred said his voice stunned.

"Well, Harry was still screaming once I got close to them," Gerald continued. "Ginny's leg is shattered and it's bleeding pretty bad."

"Wait, they're on the outside of the Walls?" George asked.

"Yes," Gerald responded, then he turned and hurried down the stairs. The four young people followed him, though Fred and George hurried forward twenty feet, then would stop, turn around, and hurry back to Gerald. The girls stayed at his side as the boys kept at that, obviously in a hurry with no idea where to go. "Girls, why don't you go up to the school and tell them about this."

Melita nodded and both girls disappeared with a "pop" and Gerald could only assume they had disapparated to the castle's doors. The three men continued on, the twins acting almost like well-trained hunting dogs, only they didn't know where they were leading. Finally they reached the two teens and Fred and George started casting spells over them, whispering fiercely to one another.

"Stable," George declared, his wand giving a final swish toward a nearby bush and it turned into a stretcher. He flicked his wand once more and his sister was lying on it. "How close are you to being—"

"Done," Fred announced, floating Harry onto a similar stretcher. They levitated the two and started the long trek back to the front gates. "Wish it was possible to apparate them."

"Why not?" Gerald asked, surprised with what he'd just seen of the two jokesters. They knew their healing spells.

"Too dangerous," George replied. "Ginny's almost dead from blood loss and Harry's... well... being Harry." Gerald noted the mixture of annoyance, acceptance, bitterness, and, surprisingly, defeat in George's voice when he'd said that last bit. What was up with that boy?

"Are you alright, Mr. Smith?" Fred asked after a few moments. He'd fallen behind some. The two boys were much younger than him and were hyped up on adrenaline.

"Fine," Gerald responded. "And it's 'Gerald' to you boys." He wasn't fool enough to offer the title "Dad" to them so soon after their own father's death, though Maria and he had been overjoyed to find that Molly had taken their girls in as her own.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Gerald, sir," Fred teased in response and Gerald felt something in him relax. He had two jokesters as daughters and knew that they dealt with stress by joking. It was just their way in the world. He saw the tight muscles of their necks and the slight droop of their shoulders and that spoke volumes about what they really felt.

Gerald found that his muscles really weren't cooperating at all. He wasn't that old, damn it all! He'd seen the inside of a hospital a few more times than he wished and a damaged heart had forced his retirement, but this was ridiculous. He was now a good twenty feet behind the others, and falling farther behind quickly.

"Do you want us to slow down?" George called back, but Gerald shook his hand at them. Ginny was dying, as George knew full well and Gerald didn't want them to wait for him one bit.

"No, go as fast as you can," he panted back and the two boys nodded. They hurried even faster and Gerald was forced to admit defeat in trying to keep up with them. They reached the gates and Gerald watched them enter, a huge man holding it open for them. Gerald approached cautiously, ignoring the nagging feeling that he had a dentist appointment, and the man let him in without comment.

"Dad," Mina said, coming to him and hugging him. He pulled her close, holding her tightly as she clung to him desperately. "Melita went to tell Mamã where you were and what had happened, as best as we knew."

"Hush, Min," he said into her hair, realizing she was crying now. "They'll be fine, just watch." Mina nodded into his shoulder, and Gerald looked over to where a plump woman flitted around Ginny, waving her wand and forcing potions down her throat. Another witch was looking Harry over and Molly was holding her twin sons in a crushing half-hug. Something caught the corner of Gerald's sight and he looked up the sweeping hill to the ruined castle, only, this time, there was no ruin. A huge castle soared before him. "Amazing," he said softly and Mina hiccupped in question. "I can actually see the school, not the ruins Muggles normally see."

"Okay, Althea, help me get Miss Weasley up to the Infirmary," the plump witch said with authority and the other witch moved to help her. "Molly, if you could levitate Mr. Potter as well." Molly nodded and did as she was asked. The party moved up the slope to the front steps of the castle. Gerald, Mina, George, and Fred were about to follow the Healers and patients into the castle when a shout from the gate made them pause.

"Dad!" Melita shouted, Maria at her side. They waited for the two witches and then all six started the walk that led to the Infirmary.

"We really should let our eldest and littlest brothers know what's happened," George said as they passed a hall that seemed to mean something to them. The group paused as the twin boys argued.

"Ignorance is bliss," Fred muttered in response.

"You going to deal with Bill's frazzled nerves when he realizes we didn't tell him right away?" George responded. "Or Ron's temper when he figures it out."

"Ron won't," Fred said with an air of one who knew.

"Don't discount our little bro's intelligence," George scolded. "Just because he isn't brilliant like Hermione or talented in such a loud way as Harry doesn't mean he's totally blind."

"Fine," Fred said, bowing to his older brother. "You want Bill or Ron?"

"Ron," George replied quickly. "You have fun with Bill."

"It's a month from tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. He's a mess."

"Do you even know the password to the common room?"

"I know how to find out," George said, and Fred grinned while nodding.

"Forgive me for such an idiotic question."

"Forgiven. Gerald, Mina, want to come see the Gryffindor common room?" Gerald and Mina nodded and Fred, Melita, and Maria went down the hallway they had stopped before. "This way."

Gerald shook his head as he tried to figure out what the hell those boys had said. He'd forgotten how confusing listening to twins talk could be. It had been years since Mina and Melita had stayed for more than a week at home. Now it seemed his strange little family had reconvened in wizard Britain for good and he had two sets of twins to listen to all he wished.

Several turns later, Gerald found himself riding a staircase that had started moving as he was on it. George seemed annoyed by this turn of events and led them down a hallway, down a set of steps, across a large hall, up two flights of steps, and— "How do you remember where you're going?" he asked impressed.

"Seven years of sneaking around after curfew," George replied, hissing when he spotted a cat. "Get out of here, Norris. You can't get Filch to punish us any more. We're not students."

The cat left, her tail held high, the tip twitching as if to say, 'You're not worth the effort anyway.'

"Filthy beast. Got us into more trouble than Filch. Anyways, here we are."

They stood before a portrait of a heavy-set woman in a frilly pink dress that was several generations behind the times. George was staring at her quite intensely and then muttered an incantation. "Mademoiselle Antoinette, may I please have entrance into the rooms concealed behind you?"

"By what authority do you make such a request?"

"That of one who was sorted into the House you protect behind your frame," he responded, his tone truly serious and formal, not the normal play-acting he and his brother were often doing.

"And your guests?"

"Carmina Elvita Jackie Smith is my beloved and partner in business," he explained. "And Gerald—"

"Alexander," Gerald supplied when George hesitated.

"—Alexander Smith is her father and a Muggle," George continued as if he hadn't had to pause. "We are here to speak with one Ronald Bilius Weasley, my youngest brother. They are not here to do damage to anyone else inside."

"Very well," the portrait replied and swung forward.

"Passwords are so much easier," George muttered as he entered the room, his left hand holding Mina's. She followed, her left hand holding Gerald's own right.

"George," a female voice yelled across the room and a teen with bushy hair tied back came over to stand with them. "What are you doing here and where's Fred and who's with you?"

"This is Mina and Melita's dad, Gerald Smith," George replied answering the last question first. "Mr. Gerald this is Hermione Granger, smartest witch this school has at the moment and engaged to Ron, poor lass." Gerald shook her hand. "She's also Muggle-born so I'm sure she'll be a help if you need to complain about us horribly ignorant Purebloods your girls found." The joke didn't quite come off as well as it could have and Hermione's eyes had become steely as if she knew something was wrong.

"As for Fred, he, Melita, and Mum Smith went to go find Bill," George replied, answering the next question. "As for what we're—"

"I'll go get Ron, and if it's Harry, I swear I'll strangle him," she said, her back already turned as she went to a staircase at the far side of the room.

"Hermione, Ron, and Harry have been best friends since their first year," George explained to Gerald. "Harry's prone to finding himself in dangerous situations. How he's made it to seventh year is anyone's guess." Gerald watched Hermione return with another red-head in tow, one he recognized as Ron.

"Harry?" Ron asked, the second he got close enough. He didn't even pause, but headed out the door without waiting for the answer.

"Partly," George answered, following. Hermione followed Gerald and Mina, the three adults still linked by hands. George needed Mina for a source of calm reality and Mina needed her dad to ground her in the reality George so desperately needed and Gerald wanted to protect his little girl from what War does to a person's sense of reality. Ron stopped at that answer, already halfway down the corridor.

George paused as the door shut and bowed to the lady in pink, muttering an incantation. "Somehow they found themselves injured on the other side of the Wall. I think they might have fallen from the Wall. Ginny's leg was shattered and she nearly bled to death. Mr. Gerald found them and hurried to get us."

"Why didn't he levitate them to Hogwarts himself?" Ron asked, his steps resuming, much quicker this time. Obviously, Ginny being hurt was not as common as Harry.

"He's a Muggle, Ron," Hermione answered. The rest of the walk was made in silence, Gerald completely lost by the time they reached the Infirmary. Loud voices were coming from inside.

"What do you mean, you fell asleep?" Fred was asking, his temper hot. "Bloody hell, you were sitting on top of a wall!"

"We trusted you to keep her safe, Potter!" Bill shouted. "It doesn't seem like you're keeping her very safe to me!"

"She's fine now, isn't she?" Harry shouted back, pulling his blanket off. The two Healers nodded. "Then you're focusing on the wrong thing!" Harry stood and walked toward the Weasley brothers. "Voldemort just managed to break into Azkaban and freed a lot of the prisoners, including all of his Death Eaters! And all you two can think about is shouting about how Ginny and I fell off the Wall." This was met with silence. Finally George stepped forward and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. The two men stared into each other's eyes, George searching for something.

"Everyone?"

"Everyone."

His declaration seemed to have gotten through to the irate brothers, at least it did get through to George and by the pale look of Ron's face, him as well. Althea and Pomfrey seemed too stunned to do anything, and Harry was surprised that they had let him stand in the first place. But he was fine; he hadn't even thrown-up after waking. Mrs. Weasley seemed stuck between worry for Ginny and fear at the revelation. The two strangers that had come with the Weasley twins and their girlfriends looked just as worried, though the man looked more confused than worried.

"Look, I'm going to go let McGonagall know," he finally said. "Ginny's in good hands. Let her know that I'm sorry about what happened. I didn't mean to fall asleep and I definitely didn't plan on getting trapped in Voldemort's head again."

"I'll come with you," Bill said, following Harry as he walked to the Headmistress' office. There was silence for a while and Harry didn't dare look at Bill. "I'm sorry about what happened in there."

"Don't, you're right," Harry mumbled, the guilt he had been trying desperately to shove down bubbling up in full force. "I fell asleep when I shouldn't have. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't stay awake." Awkward silence.

"No," Bill said, pulling Harry to a stop by grabbing his shoulder. Harry turned, pivoting on the point where Bill's hand was. Silence. "No." Harry looked up the short inch between their heights and waited. The silence was back.

"Yes," Harry said, trying to shake the older man's hand off.

"No, we weren't right," Bill responded, his ears turning redder as he thought in silence.

Harry waited, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. It was his fault Ginny almost bled to death. What would have happened if a Death Eater or someone sympathetic to their cause had found them? If the twins hadn't found them? Harry suppressed the shiver that wanted to crawl up and down his spine.

"We were out of line," Bill finally continued. "Granted sleeping on the top of the Wall might not have been the smartest thing, but, I do get how hard it is to stay awake when the witch you love is asleep in your arms. I understand the need you two had to spend time alone together after—after—" Bill's voice broke and he let go of Harry's shoulder to turn away from him.

Harry was silent, giving Bill time to collect himself. What a bloody weekend! Charlie and Percy Saturday morning. Azkaban Sunday evening. It was hard to believe all that had happened in less than forty-eight hours. Not to mention, Ginny nearly bleeding to death on the other side of the Wall because her boyfriend couldn't keep his eyes open!

"And it wasn't fair of us to take out our fear and frustration on you," Bill continued, his voice not quite even. "The Weasley temper can only take so much in a short period. It isn't a reason, it's an excuse, which I don't like giving, but that's way it is. I'm sorry."

The silence descended again and Harry let it. He continued to McGonagall's office not waiting to see if Bill followed. Harry paused long enough to give the gargoyle the password and then took the stairs, two at a time, not waiting for them to carry him up. He heard talking inside, knocked briefly, and continued in. The room was empty, which made sense because it had sounded a lot like the portraits. He glanced at them, and realized that not a single one was asleep.

Wait!

Not a single one was asleep. Albus Dumbledore was skipping rocks in his portrait, but turned to look at who ever had entered.

Harry's emerald eyes locked with Dumbledore's twinkling sapphire ones.

Harry's mouth dropped open as Dumbledore grinned.

Harry blinked; Dumbledore did not.

Harry froze in shock; Dumbledore skipped another stone across the smooth surface of the Lake.

"Professor, sir?" Harry croaked out. Why was this so disconcerting? Meeting his dad's portrait had not been this hard back at Christmas!

"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore replied easily, as if he hadn't a care in the world. Harry swallowed a lump in his throat as he realized his mentor was not completely gone. "I'm only a shadow, not even so much as a ghost is."

"A damn useful portrait though," Phineas Nigellus sneered. "You have more locations than any of the rest of us."

"Yes, well, it's all about popularity and such," Dumbledore replied to the resident of the portrait next to his. "And the Chocolate Frog Cards sure do help."

"Gentlemen," McGonagall said testily, looking at the two older men who were about to enter into an argument about the uses of Chocolate Frog Card pictures. "Is there something I can do for you two?" she said, looking at them. "Surely, Miss Weasley is fine. Nothing more could have gone wrong."

"Azkaban's empty" Harry stated. He then went on to described what he had seen of the break-out. "They're all out."

"This is not good," McGonagall said, moving to the armchair to scratch the ears of her kneazle. "Voldemort has been gaining strength since Christmas, drawing Dark wizards and witches from around the world to Britain. Now he has managed to retrieve his oldest and most faithful servants to his side."

"He'll place these Death Eaters in charge of the new recruits," an older wheezing headmistress informed everyone. "They'll care more, this is their home." Several portraits nodded agreement as others drew breath to voice their concerns and opinions.

"Did you see anything else?" Dumbledore interrupted. He was sitting cross-legged in the grass, elbows propped on knees, and his steepled fingers supporting his chin.

"No," Harry responded, forcing himself to look at McGonagall and not the portrait. "Voldemort has been extremely careful since I proved to him that I knew something of Legilimency."

"There had to have been another attack, Minerva," Dumbledore informed the witch. "A distraction. Azkaban is too well connected with the Auror Department for this to have happened so easily."

"I wouldn't be surprised if there were multiple attacks," Harry agreed. "I did have the feeling that Voldemort was nervous about some other things, I just don't know what."

"Thia was called away a few minutes before eight-thirty," McGonagall informed the others thoughtfully.

"Start the diversions before the break-out," Harry said with a nod. "Makes sense to me."

"You need to let Thia know," Dumbledore instructed, and Harry swore he saw Minerva roll her eyes.

"No need," Harry said. "Aurors were showing up as Voldemort was leaving. Now that I think about it, they did look a mite worn out."

"Moving from one battle to the next," McGonagall said with a shake of her head. "What did the newly escaped Death Eaters do?"

"Left with their master," Harry answered. "Voldemort didn't want a single one to be recaptured. I think the Aurors managed to get one or two of the lower ranked Death Eaters, but no more than that. Voldemort was gloating and very pleased when he finally released me from his mind."

"The headlines are going to be atrocious tomorrow," McGonagall said wearily, one hand absently stroking her kneazle, the other rubbing her temple. "We'll need to call an Order meeting tomorrow night. Bill, would you get on that? Get Remus to help you. Top level only, though. We need to discuss how to handle this."

"Yes, Headmistress," Bill said, and left the office quickly.

"The attacks are going to get worse, aren't they?" Harry said softly, taking a seat on the tartan sofa. He gazed at the fire, wondering how Ginny was doing and how the Order was going to counter-act this turn of events.

"I'm afraid so," Dumbledore's portrait said sadly, bringing Harry back from his thoughts. "Minerva has told me how well you've been handling all the pressure."

"So, not at all well," Harry answered, his lips turned down in a frown. "I hate them blaming me. I hate them expecting me to just go kill Voldemort, like it's that easy." Harry snapped his fingers in emphasis. "And I know it isn't even the majority who think that, only the vocal whiners, but still... it's annoying."

"Budge over Raibere Bruice," McGonagall said, scooping up her kneazle and sitting in the armchair. She looked at Harry before addressing him, "You're handling it better than I, though, you are getting more publicity. I'm forced to deal with professors who distrust me and conspiracy theorists that are too blind to see the truth in what they're saying."

"I wish that—" Harry broke off, realizing that Dumbledore's portrait was behind them. Somehow, wishing that Dumbledore was still alive while the portrait hung listening seemed rude. Not to mention uncomfortable. But the look McGonagall gave him seemed to say that she understood. If Dumbledore was alive, they wouldn't be dealing with all this stress. He was a shield they could hide behind. "Never mind. I'm going to go check up on Ginny. She might actually be awake now. I don't know what sleeping draft she got."

"You should head to bed soon as well," McGonagall said, standing up to show him out. "Falling from a wall as high as Hogwarts' is no simple task."

"I'll try," Harry said, his eyes avoiding hers and Dumbledore's. He knew they'd both be frowning in worry and he didn't want to see it. "Goodnight, Headmistress." Harry closed the door behind him and sprinted down the stairs and ran through the hallways. He didn't know where he was going, or why he'd acted that way. He didn't care, he just ran.

After awhile, Harry didn't know how long, he found himself in a dead end. The waning moon peeked through the window, and Harry knocked on the last door. Remus opened it quickly and didn't say anything as he moved aside to let Harry in. Caitlan was in her walker all but asleep and Remus had a bit of soot in his hair. Harry ignored the worry lines on Remus' face, knowing that the man's wife and sister were out there fighting. Harry walked over to Caitlan and picked the girl up as Remus floo'ed the next Order member on his list.

A long hour passed that way, Caitlan soon falling asleep. Remus put the pot of Floo Powder away and busied himself with heating tea. Once he had a cup and had offered Harry one, Remus sat on the couch, watching Harry rock his soon-to-be-Goddaughter. Remus desperately tried not to think about Thia and Tonks; they could take care of themselves and instead focused on Harry.

"What's up?" he asked, wondering why Harry was in here to begin with. Hadn't Bill said something about Ginny nearly dying?

"Nothing," Harry lied, and Remus knew Harry hadn't tried to hide the lie. This "nothing" reminded Remus of every time James had shown up at the flat, he, Sirius, and Peter had shared, upset after a fight with Lily.

There were times when Harry was so much like his father it was eerie. There were so many mannerisms that were the same that shouldn't be. It was one thing for a son to mimic his father when he grew up with him, but it was completely different when the father died when the son was a year old. And there were those times Harry acted like Lily, thankfully getting rid of James' weaknesses as a spoiled prat.

Remus didn't reply, leaving the silence as silence. James hated it, and that was all it usually took to get him to spill the beans. The silence stretched and stretched, making Remus uncomfortable. It seemed that Harry had inherited Lily's patience. Maybe he would try the tactic he had used on Lily: small talk. "How's Ginny?"

"Fine," Harry answered, shifting Caitlan from one shoulder to the other. But, if Harry didn't want to cooperate, there was nothing Remus could do about it. He turned on the couch and laid down, stretching out his sore legs. Floo'ing was the easiest way to communicate without using the Protronus, but it was uncomfortable kneeling for over an hour. Remus decided to wait, even if it was uncomfortable and even if he knew Harry wasn't fine. After all, Remus had been the only one able to out-wait Lily Evans Potter and Harry had only inherited part of Lily's patience. There was just too much of James in him—

"Fine, I'll talk," Harry sighed, standing up to place Caitlan in her playpen. Instead of sitting back on the rocking chair, Harry stood next to the fireplace, leaning against the wall and staring into the fire. "Would you believe Bill and I had a fight about it not being my fault Ginny nearly died, and I was the one saying it was?"

Remus decided not to open his mouth. In his experiences with Sirius and James, interruptions seemed to end their sharing time. When they asked questions, Remus always took them as rhetorical. If an answer was expected, he limited it to a nod or a shake of his head. Harry looked back at him and Remus took that to mean he wanted an answer. He nodded. Bill had told him after all.

"Did Bill tell you?" Remus nodded again. "Guess that makes it easier, no point in repeating anything." Harry turned back to the flames, seemingly mesmerized by the dance of light and dark within their depths. "I get what he was saying, but... Remus... I shouldn't have fallen asleep while we were up there. I knew I was almost asleep, I'd even woken up from dozing, but did I do anything about it? No. I just swung my leg over the outside of the wall to stretch it out and before I could return it, I'd fallen asleep again. And the next thing I know, I'm in the hospital wing, Ginny's on the other bed, and I have to tell Mrs. Weasley, Fred, and Bill what I remember. How could I let this happen? I'm supposed to protect Ginny. Why did I do this?"

Remus frowned at the young man's back, realizing that Harry was dealing with what every man with a very forceful woman in their life would have to deal with: how to be the strong manly protector, or not. The Weasley brothers hadn't helped at all with Harry's dilemma. They had charged him with her protection. Between Thia, Lily, and Sam, Remus had long ago learnt that strong women could take care of themselves. He hated sitting in his suite, knowing that Tonks was fighting Death Eater scum, but he did it. She loved being an Auror. Same with Thia. It made them who they were. What right did he have to take that away from them? If the Ministry would have him, he would be at their sides, so he couldn't blame them for being out there.

Harry, though, had his own special set of issues. He was the bloody Boy Who Lived, charged with the protection of the entire wizarding world. Ginny's brothers had issued him an additional warning: protect her or else. He had had few opportunities to experience love, and most of them had been snatched away. He let guilt chew at him. He didn't have a pattern to base his relationship off, even though he could have had one of the better ones with parents like James and Lily. Of course he was going to be confused.

"I don't think you did anything," Remus answered carefully. "At least, nothing wrong." He paused, unsure of the best way to phrase what he wanted to say. Harry looked at him, a half-smile on his lips.

"That's what Bill said," he said. "I don't think I get it."

"Okay, let's see if I can explain it," Remus said, sitting up to rest his elbows on his knees. "Ginny is a girl, true. We wouldn't be here if she wasn't." Harry smiled more broadly at that. "But, she's also a very strong young lady with six older brothers who are all much bigger than you." Remus saw the frown develop on Harry's face and knew he shouldn't have mentioned how many older brothers there were. Charlie and Percy's insanity was still too new, too fresh. "You'll have to realize that Ginny does as she wants. Yes, you should try to protect her, but you can't stifle her. She deserves someone to fight at her side, watching her back, not hiding her in a corner, protecting her like precious china. She can only break as much as you can, and you'll hurt her more by sheltering her. You've learnt that the hard way." Harry turned to look into the fire and Remus wondered what he had said that had affected the young man in such a way.

"Between my sister and her two best friends, I learnt long ago to trust in their abilities to protect themselves and those they loved," Remus continued. "Tonks has only cemented that belief. I know she'll be fine, if a bit worn out and battered. She's one of the best young Aurors Britain has. You'll need to come to terms with Ginny's nature. She wanted to be on that Wall with you. She wanted to sleep in your arms. She wants you to sleep as well. She can't blame you for Voldemort's attacks. She won't blame you for her leg. She loves you, Harry. You have to trust her in that."

Harry turned to face Remus and the look of absolute sorrow on the boy's face reminded Remus painfully of the last time he had seen James. James had known, at twenty-three, that he and his wife would probably not live out the year. He had known that his one-year-old son would most likely be saddled with a prophecy so harsh that it could break him. He knew one of his friends would most likely betray him. Remus shook his head, realizing that he had gotten lost in the past.

"But, I don't want her to break like I have, I don't want her to hurt like I have," he said softly.

"I'm pretty sure she has already," Remus answered, as kindly as he could. "Ginny is no innocent. You know what happened her first year. That scar hasn't faded from her mind. She's lost her childhood home, her father, two of her brothers, and gone through quite a bit of heartache on your behalf." Harry shifted uneasily. "But, and you listen to this, Harry James Potter! She loves you and will stay with you. All of that crap makes her who she is, just like all your crap makes you who you are. The good and the bad. Sometimes it's the crap that makes us better humans, better people. The good tends to spoil us, the bad tends to teach us to value the good."

Silence descended again, and Remus watched Harry start to pace up and down the rug before the fire. The frown was still deeply etched on the young man's face, but he seemed to be thinking hard. Caitlan gave a small cry and Remus hurried to her side, recognizing the werewolf nightmare cry. To have werewolf dreams at such an age, when she can't even begin to understand them was yet another thing so very unfair. Remus could remember how hard it was to understand those dreams at age six, and he knew how hard they were to deal with at forty. Remus took a seat in the rocker and started to sooth her nightmare away.

"Why does Dumbledore bother me more?" Harry asked after even more silence. Remus looked at the other man, surprised and confused by this change of conversation. "I mean, when I met my dad's portrait, I didn't feel so confused or relieved. When I looked at his portrait I thought 'This is Dumbledore' and I know he's not, but that's what I thought. I didn't think that when I saw my dad's portrait. I just thought, 'Wow, my dad looks younger than me in that portrait' and that's that. I ended up snubbing Dumbledore's portrait though, because it was too difficult to talk to him—it—whatever."

"Harry," Remus said, interrupting the babble. Harry stopped and looked at him, his eyes begging for explanations. "I can't help you with that too much. At least you know it's only a copy of the person's personality and image. And only that which the painter was able to put into it. My guess is the difference between your dad's portrait and Dumbledore's is that you knew Dumbledore better and that his death is so much newer."

"I don't know," Harry said dubiously.

"And when you think of your dad, do you picture the seventeen-year-old still in Hogwarts or do you picture the twenty-three-year-old Auror?" Remus asked.

"Auror," Harry answered. "I guess..."

"Don't guess," Remus advised. "Decide if that is it or not, guessing only leads down a murky path. I had a hard time with my parents' death and Thia ended up destroying the portrait of them. Or... she hid it and hasn't deemed me balanced enough to handle seeing it again. If it bothers you, I'd suggest doing what you did, just ignore it. Keep it as an 'It' not a 'Him' and tell McGonagall to ask it not to talk to you or around you. Dumbledore wouldn't want his portrait to make this harder on you, and his portrait will reflect that."

"How'd you get so smart?" Harry asked rhetorically. Remus laughed and shook his head. "Thanks, Remus."

"Don't mention it," Remus replied, standing with the calmed Caitlan in his arms and walked over to her playpen. "We're thinking about doing a small naming ceremony Wednesday night." He set her down, pulling the soft teddy bear closer to her. "It'll be nothing much, just adding Lupin to her name and signing some documents to—"

"Remus!" Tonks said bursting into the room. "Oh, Harry, I've been looking for you, too." She flung herself at Remus and pulled him into a crushing hug. Remus hugged her back, confused by Tonks' clinginess. He checked to see if she was crying, but she wasn't. He had confused her gasps for air as sobs. He started rocking her slightly, looking up at the confused Harry.

"Tonks, love, what's the matter?" Remus asked, pulling back from her slightly so that he could see her face.

"Life's shit right now," she responded. Remus frowned at her, and she sighed. "Thia got hit with a couple Cruciatus Curses last night and a few other not so good for her spells. She's as fine as can be expected after a battle, Remy, don't worry," she added quickly when Remus tensed up at that news. "She'll be fine."

There was a short pause before Harry spoke up.

"Who won't?"

"Evan and Jillian Granger," Tonks replied, pushing away from Remus and scooping Caitlan up in her arms. Harry sat on the couch heavily, stunned.

"Hermione's parents," he said in an undertone. "I thought we had them protected."

"We had their home, village, and practice protected," Tonks said, her own voice kept calm. Caitlan gave a small cry, but quieted when Tonks shushed her softly. "They went on a short holiday and didn't let anyone in the Order know. They were just unlucky passersby, not targets."

"Yeah, I'm sure Hermione will love the coincidence," Harry retorted.

"I didn't say I enjoyed the irony!" Tonks shouted back, the stress of her evening finally making her crack. Caitlan let up a wail at the shouts and Remus hurriedly took the child from the irate Auror. "Merlin, Harry, think before you say something like that! That village is gone, plus a few other tiny blots on the maps. Voldemort was busy orchestrating this. He had a busy weekend planned."

"Look, I'm going to go find Hermione," Harry said standing resolutely. "Has anyone told her?"

"I just did," Tonks said, falling limply into the armchair near the fire. "I doubt she's left the hospital wing."

"'Kay, thanks," he said. "Sorry 'bout snapping. It's just been one of those weekends."

"Yeah, I know."

"Night," Remus called after the retreating man.

"Night."

"I'm going to bed," Tonks muttered, standing wearily. She took the few steps to him, kissed Caitlan goodnight, and then Remus. "Night, love."

"Night." Remus watched her leave and sighed. "Life sucks sometimes, pup," he whispered to his daughter. "Good thing the highs make the lows bearable. Let's get you to bed so I can comfort your Mum."

The week following was long and hard, not that it took a genius to guess that. Two of the three villages destroyed had many wizarding families, and Hermione wasn't the only newly orphaned. Harry received a few dark looks, but not as many as he had in earlier months. The other students seemed to realize that he'd been just as affected. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione walked as if in a daze, Ginny limping only slightly on the sprained ankle that the Mediwitches had left to heal on its own. Hermione disappeared Wednesday and didn't return until Sunday, exactly a week after her parents had died. She was quiet when she arrived back, being one of thirteen students excused for funerals.

Harry was starting to feel an itch inside of him as he watched Hermione struggle with her parents' death while Ron and Ginny dealt with Charlie and Percy's new state of being. The end was coming. He knew it. He knew Voldemort did as well. Remus and Condon Flint were working tirelessly on the manuscript, continuing Percy's final project. Voldemort still wanted this knowledge, and the knowledge of the exact wording of the Prophecy.

Maybe he should give Voldemort the Prophecy.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

Voldemort knew the first lines, up through "the seventh month dies" and none of that would be anything new. The next few lines would probably show how much of a fool Voldemort had been. Voldemort had marked him, Harry, as the equal who knew something to destroy him. If anything it would shake Voldemort's belief in himself.

"... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."

The crux of the matter. Everything after was old news.

Did they give Voldemort that knowledge?

Harry was starting to think that they should.

It wasn't like it was something new. Harry and Voldemort felt the connection emphasized by the scar link. Voldemort had marked Harry, had chosen him. Harry wasn't going to let Voldemort get away with his crimes. This prophecy was going to be fulfilled, whether Voldemort knew of it or not. It would make Voldemort pause, knowing that Harry could, theoretically, kill him.

Now how did he go about convincing the Order at the meeting tonight?

Ginny was working on an assignment at one of the common room tables, and Harry looked up at her from his seat in his favorite armchair. Ron held Hermione tightly on the couch, Hermione's eyes dry and vacant. Harry had only seen her cry once in the hospital wing last Sunday. Ginny looked over at him and frowned at the look she saw on his face. She quietly excused herself from Colin and walked over to his armchair.

"What you thinking about?" she asked, taking a seat on the arm of his chair, her hand fighting valiantly to make his hair lie flat.

"Do you think I should give out the Prophecy?" he asked in answer. Hermione looked over at him, surprise evident in her eyes. It was the first emotion besides pain Harry had seen there all week.

"Yes," Ginny replied quickly. The four of them moved closer to each other and started a whispered debate about why he should or shouldn't. Ginny listed off several of Harry's reasons, and Hermione added her own thoughts to the matter. Ron played devil's advocate, just to give Harry another viewpoint. In the end, they agreed that he should.

"I think you'll be best giving Voldemort something to chew on," Hermione added. "Though, it'll probably make him want what Percy found even more. After all, in his mind, if he knows what you know it can't hurt him."

"I hate that line," Harry muttered bitterly. "But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..." Harry mimicked, twisting the words. The other three wouldn't look him in the eye, knowing that they could barely comprehend having this type of prophecy hanging over their heads. "What the hell does Voldemort not know?"

"Language," Hermione murmured, more out of reflex than her normal outrage.

"You'll have a heck of a time convincing the Order," Ron added after a few moments pause.

"It's yours to tell," Ginny stated.

"Yes and no," Harry replied. "Having the Prophecy out there as common knowledge changes the dynamics of this war completely. Sure, everyone has decided it will be me and Voldemort in the end, but they don't really truly understand why that is. Not to mention, it'll change the way Voldemort acts with me. They wouldn't tell it without my permission, but I'd understand if they asked me not to. I'd listen to them, if they have good reasons."

"If they have good reasons," Hermione repeated. "Trying to protect you wouldn't be one of them?"

"Definitely not," Harry said shaking his head. There was a long pause and Harry concentrated on the feel of Ginny's hand running through his hair. She had a steady, calming rhythm going and it was easy to focus on it. After several minutes, Ginny's hand paused and Harry looked up at her questioningly.

"Hermione, how are you?" Ginny asked. Harry turned to look at his best friends and watched Hermione turn to look into the fire, hiding her face from them all.

"Fine," she said, though her voice said anything but. It was weak, trembly, and hollow. Everything it normally wasn't. Ron's arms tightened around her protectively and Harry reached across the small gap to place a hand on her arm. "I'm fine," she repeated, her voice steadier this time.

"Yeah?" Harry asked. She nodded. He squeezed her arm and leaned back into his chair, frowning. If she wanted space, he'd give. But she needed to know he would be here for her, whenever she needed him.

"Come to me if you ever need a brother," he said softly, so that only she, Ron, and Ginny heard. "When you're ready to talk." Ron's arms tightened once more, his right thumb rubbing circles on her arm. Hermione nodded and then struggled away from Ron, racing to her room.

"Definitely lying," Ron said sadly, looking at the door that led to the girls' dorm rooms. "Ginny?"

"Gone," she said and kissed the top of Harry's head before following her best friend up the stairs.

"She lost both," Ron said to the flames, his eyes gazing into the depths hoping for deep revelation. "Merlin, I don't know how she's even kept it together this long."

"She's strong, she will be fine," Harry said, slightly stressing the 'will'. She wasn't now, he knew that, but time healed all wounds. Not that it kept the scar tissue at bay, but the wounds would heal. "Just be there for her, like you were and are for me, and she'll pull through."

"I know." Time passed without meaning as the two boys closer to being brothers than best friends sat before the fire, pensive looks on their faces as they thought their thoughts. Harry let out a long sigh, and stood.

"I've got to get to the meeting. Later."

Harry left the meeting in a temper, outraged by the way they had treated him.

A child!

They had treated him like a petulant child that needed to be reminded of his place!

He rushed through the halls, making sure his feet led him to the Gryffindor tower. It was after curfew, so he met no one but Mrs. Norris and he shooed the cat off without a second thought. He was allowed to be out and about as long as he didn't abuse the privilege.

Damn them! He was more than some little kid needing to be led by the hand. He was an adult, legally and by experience. He knew what was best for him, he knew it. He knew Voldemort better than anyone but Severus.

Surprisingly, Severus had been the only one defending him. Well, maybe that shouldn't be surprising. Severus knew better than the rest what Harry had been through, what Harry saw on a regular basis, what it did to a man after awhile, and what scaring the fear of Merlin into Voldemort would accomplish.

"Pixie power," he snapped at the Fat Lady, cursing the fifth year prefect who had come up with the password. He stormed into the room, passed the one or two lone figures working on homework, and rushed up the stairs to his dorm room. He was careful not to slam the door open or shut, not wanting to ruin his dorm mates' sleep.

The others, even Thia, Remus, and Tonks, still wanted to hold on to their belief that he was just a little kid. Why? What purpose did it serve? What made them cling like that? He hurried through his bedtime routine, thinking furious thoughts at the different Order members.

Remus and Tonks probably hurt the most though. They had named him Godfather to Caitlan, deemed him adult enough to hold that position, but they wouldn't let him make his own decision about his own God damn Prophecy. It hurt. He lay down, rested his glasses on the table, flicked his wand to shut the bed curtains, stowed the wand under his pillow, and closed his eyes. He slowed his breathing, and started to carefully clear his mind of all thoughts.

This was how he had gotten over, or rather, past most of the residual nightmares caused by the Revelries. He still had nightmares, but they weren't the same real-life nightmares. It worked, and Severus had approved of it. In fact, the Slytherin had given him permission to use the Pensieve once more for the more disturbing images and visions. He trusted Harry's judgment; he trusted that Harry wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Severus treated him like an adult.

He put this final thought in its place, and exhaled very, very slowly. His body reacted and he slowly fell into sleep.

Potter, I've been waiting, Voldemort said sometime after Harry's body relaxed its guard. Harry sat in his normal chair, surrounded by a brilliantly blinding white light. Voldemort sat in his own chair, surrounded by frighteningly deep shadows.

I'm not going anywhere tonight, Harry informed his enemy defiantly. I am not accompanying you on your weekly jaunt.

So sure of yourself, Voldemort taunted him. So sure that you can stay here if I chose to take you with me. You have yet to remain after I have decided to take you. What makes this time any different?

I will not go, Harry repeated, ignoring the question. He didn't really have an answer. He didn't know if he could remain if he chose, but he wasn't going to let Voldemort know that.

It's neither here nor there, Voldemort finally said, one of his long fingers tracing his lips. I didn't wish to take you from here tonight. We're just re-organizing this week. No games, just work. I wouldn't want to bore you with the tedious details.

Well, thank you, Harry replied. Voldemort gave a short, high pitched laugh that caused the short hairs on the back of Harry's neck to rise. Goosebumps ran down his arms and he had to force himself to keep from rubbing them away. I appreciate the concern.

Yes, I thought you would. Voldemort's finger paused at a corner of his lips. He tapped the corner once before placing the hand on the ornately carved armrest. But there is something we need to discuss.

Harry waited for Voldemort to continue but the monster did not. Harry waited, determined not to ask. That was what Voldemort wanted. The silence drew out longer and Harry wondered if his body was getting any sleep while he was here. He doubted it, and he desperately needed the sleep. Maybe he wouldn't have a choice in waiting. The sooner he asked, the sooner Voldemort would answer and he would get to leave.

Not to sound impatient, but I had other plans for tonight, Harry said, breaking the heavy silence.

Voldemort smiled triumphantly, contorting his face further. Of course, wouldn't want to keep you from your whore.

She's not a whore! Harry shouted, not realizing Voldemort's goal, like normal.

Of course she isn't, the monster replied in a tone that clearly said he disagreed. What was so important that the Weasley gets went insane instead of giving it to me?

Why didn't you take them away to torture them over a longer period of time? Harry countered.

The wards would have been tripped if we took them out, Voldemort answered, his voice clearly showing his boredom. What were they guarding?

Nothing, Harry lied.

They knew something, what was it?

Nothing.

What was it? Voldemort asked in the most persuasive voice Harry had ever heard from him. Harry felt the gentle brush of Voldemort's most subtle Legilimency and immediately shored up his walls. He would not let Voldemort get that information. He would not let the monster in. He couldn't.

Nothing of any importance, Harry replied, picking at the fraying upholstery of his armchair.

If it truly means nothing, you can tell me, Voldemort assured him a bit impatiently. Harry felt the mental attacks gaining strength. He hid all thoughts of Ravenclaw's weapon deep inside his mind, hidden under memory after memory.

Ah, but that would make you happy, Harry said, grinning at the other. I wouldn't want to give you an ulcer from too much joy.

You impertinent little child, Voldemort yelled, slamming his mind at Harry's barricades. Harry felt them shake under the force, but they stood. The conversation came to an end as the mental battle took on a more sinister motive. Voldemort's probes became more insistent and jarring, Harry walls started to waver and crack. Harry fixed and shored it up as best he could, but the effort was draining. It might be best if he let Voldemort in (though he hated to let the monster back into his mind) and expel him from within. Wound him, drive him off.

In the end, Harry didn't have a choice about letting Voldemort in or not. The walls crumbled under a final pounding and Voldemort swarmed in. Harry cleared his mind, and brought mundane thoughts to the forefront. Eating in the Great Hall, working on sword dances with Bryant, Quidditch practice, classes, cleaning his teeth, doing homework. Voldemort rushed past them, but Harry kept new memories of the same type coming. Voldemort was past this group as quickly as the last one, and Harry threw another wall of sorts up, filled with boring memories.

This continued for some time, Harry's efforts slowing as they dragged on. Voldemort wasn't anywhere near as tired as Harry was. Being on the offensive was always easier than being on the defensive. More personal memories started to come up. Laughing at jokes with his friends, holding Ginny's hand, watching Hermione struggle with her parents' deaths, feeling Ginny's hand in his hair, arguing with Remus about the Prophecy. Harry felt Voldemort's attention pause on that one, but Harry was able to brush past it before Voldemort got a hold of it.

He had long ago changed his normal thoughts about the Prophecy into thinking not of the individual words and meaning but of the crystal that had contained it in the Department of Mysteries. There was no threat of Voldemort squeezing the wording out of this memory of the fight with Remus, but Harry didn't want him to know that he was willing to tell Voldemort the exact wording.

The memory moved past without Voldemort discerning anything from it. Unfortunately the next memory was a lot more... personal... than Harry wanted. Ginny and him on the beach, snogging, the waves brushing their toes. He panicked, trying to come up with any memory to replace that one. Everything he came up with was much the same or else information he really couldn't afford to reveal. There was nothing, except an intricate sphere containing a prophecy.

They'd be pissed.

But, what choice did he have?

It'd get Voldemort out of his head.

Would stop what was slowly becoming rape...

I'll give you the Prophecy, he said aloud, and Voldemort's reaction was instantaneous. He was out of Harry's head, and his fingers came together in a mockery of a prayer.

Yes? Voldemort asked, leaning forward, his voice eager and impatient.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

Harry watched Voldemort's reaction. The other man remained motionless, his hands clasped before him, resting between his knees. Harry could almost see the wheels turning in the mind across from him.

Thanks for giving me so much time to prepare for you, he taunted and then got out of the room. Thankfully, Voldemort did nothing to keep him and Harry was able to get away without any trouble.

When he woke up from sleep a short time later, Harry decided that he needed to find Professor McGonagall now. He quickly changed into real robes, not wishing to give this news in his pajamas. He paused at the door, trying to decide if he wanted to bring along Ron as back-up. Shaking his head at the thought, he shut the door softly and was in the hallway outside the Fat Lady's portrait in a matter of minutes.

He hurried through the eerily silent corridors, pulling his robe closer to his body. The weather, during the day, was warm and sunny; a pleasant reminder that spring was well on its way. At night, however, the temperatures dropped to near freezing in the drafty stone castle. He was on the third floor when a meowing stopped him. Harry turned to see Mrs. Norris following him.

"Get, you infernal—"

"Hello, Mr. Potter." Harry turned back around at Filch's voice, spotting the man coming around the next corner. Why couldn't it have been Severus? "What are you doing up and about wandering the halls?"

"I'm going to see the Headmistress," he replied, fighting down the impulse to feel guilty. He was allowed to be wandering the halls whenever he wanted. Head students were excused from curfew. "If you'd excuse me?"

"The Headmistress, huh?" the caretaker asked, looking Harry up and down, his eyes stopping on the Head Boy badge pinned to Harry's robe. "Well, I'll walk you there."

"You don't need—"

"I don't trust you, Potter," Filch told him. "I want to see the Headmistress punish you for walking the halls past curfew. I want to see you get what you deserve."

"Fine, whatever," Harry said, brushing past the caretaker. The two men and the cat walked in silence, Harry feeling his earlier resentment returning. Head students had been excused from curfew for at least fifty years, if not a lot longer. He wasn't sure. Hermione had Hogwarts, A History memorized, so Harry had never bothered to read it. Where was she when he actually wanted useless trivia about Hogwarts?

They were at McGonagall's office sooner than Harry was ready, but Filch knocked on the door and opened it when he received permission. McGonagall was sitting at her desk, a tartan dressing gown firmly wrapped around her body and her hair in a loose, thin braid. It was odd, seeing Professor McGonagall in anything but her witches' robes and tight hair bun.

"Something the matter, Argus?" she asked, her mouth a thin line.

"I just caught him wandering around," Filch started but McGonagall stopped him.

"Argus, Harry is Head Boy," she said patiently. "He's allowed to come and go as he sees fit. Harry, you may be off."

"I was on my way here, actually," he answered, sitting in the seat in front of her desk. He thought it would be best to have a desk separating them when he told her. The Order had specifically told him, not four hours ago that he was not to tell Voldemort. Harry turned to look at Filch standing in the door.

"That is all, Argus, thank you for walking Harry up here," the Headmistress said politely. The door snapped shut, and McGonagall held up a hand to keep Harry from beginning. She gave a slight nod after a short pause.

"What was that?"

"He's started the habit of listening at doors," she answered. She turned her gaze to Harry, her look questioning. "What can I help you with?"

"I told Voldemort the Prophecy."