Harry Potter and the Headsman's Hostage

Chapter 1
Convocation

"In comradeship is danger countered best."
-----Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The thirty-first of July was the hottest day of the year so far. A brief thunderstorm the previous night had turned the air thick and humid, while doing nothing to relieve the oppressive heat or the chronic water shortage that had left the carefully tended lawns of Privet Drive browning in the relentless summer sun. Most of the denizens of Privet Drive had retreated to the air-conditioned comfort of their spacious living rooms to watch their wide-screen televisions; the rest were still at Sunday services, perhaps to pray for cooler weather.

Harry Potter was grateful for the withering heat, as it meant he could wander the streets of Little Whinging without attracting the hostile stares and muttered comments of neighbors who had been told by his aunt and uncle, the Dursleys, that he was on holiday from St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. Of course, they couldn't very well explain that he attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry even if they didn't hate the very idea of the school, but Harry still felt they could have concocted a less humiliating cover story. In any case, being outdoors in the heat was infinitely preferable to being indoors with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, who would either ignore Harry or shout at him, depending on their mood.

Harry walked until he reached the small park a few blocks from the Dursleys' house. There was shade there, and a water fountain, and with any luck someone would have abandoned a newspaper on one of the benches. Over the last few weeks, he had grown increasingly anxious, as neither the wizards' Daily Prophet nor any of the Muggle news sources had given the slightest hint of anything that might be connected with Lord Voldemort's return. When it hit the Daily Prophet, of course, it would have to be front page, banner headline news - the Dark Lord's reemergence on the magical scene would be the story of the decade. The Muggle news wouldn't be nearly so clear on what was going on, of course, but Harry kept expecting to find reports of the sort of inexplicable disasters, deaths, and disappearances which had been routine during Voldemort's reign of terror fourteen years earlier. The complete absence of such news was beginning to unnerve Harry. What on earth was Voldemort up to?

The letters he had received from his friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and his godfather, Sirius Black, were little better. All of them were apparently worried about their mail being intercepted, and so could tell him nothing even remotely sensitive. He did get the sense that they were all in the same place - perhaps at Ron's parents' house - and that they were doing some kind of work to prepare for the coming battle against Voldemort. Harry was starting to feel rather resentful. After all, hadn't he done far more than either Ron or Hermione already? He was the one who had faced and frustrated Voldemort on no less than three occasions, now - four, if you included his encounter with the shadow of Voldemort's sixteen-year-old self in the Chamber of Secrets. Young Tom Riddle might not have had all the Dark Lord's powers, but his cunning and cruelty were there in full measure - and he'd had the basilisk. His command of that monstrous serpent, with its deadly glance and venomous fangs, had more than made up for his own lack of strength. Of course, I was bloody lucky to survive any of our encounters, Harry thought. Especially the last time.... He shuddered at the memory: Cedric Diggory dead on the ground, the circle of Death Eaters mocking him, Voldemort's high, chilling laughter, and the overwhelming agony of the Cruciatus Curse wracking his body....

Harry shook his head, pushing the painful recollections to the back of his mind. Today was his fifteenth birthday. He expected that sometime during the day owls would arrive with birthday cards from Ron, Hermione, and Sirius. One had already come the previous night with a brief note from Hagrid, the kindly half-giant who served Hogwarts as gamekeeper, and taught the Care of Magical Creatures classes. Hagrid was abroad on a secret errand for Professor Dumbledore, the Hogwarts Headmaster. Harry had an idea that it involved getting in touch with his giant kin and attempting to persuade them to work against Voldemort, instead of allying with him as many had done in the previous war. He had evidently sent his note early, not being sure how long the owl would take to reach Harry from his present location.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry did not immediately notice the three people throwing a Frisbee around in the park. What finally got his attention was the enormous black dog accompanying them, a shaggy, bear-like animal that might have been a cross between a mastiff and an Irish wolfhound. The dog came bounding right up to Harry and stopped in front of him, tongue lolling out in the canine equivalent of a grin.

"It can't be..." Harry muttered, kneeling to look more closely at the dog, which looked awfully familiar. "Sirius?"

The dog gave a most un-doglike nod, and raised its front paw to shake hands. Ignoring the paw, Harry threw his arms around its furry neck and hugged it. "Sirius, what are you doing here?"

"The same thing we all are," said a cheerful female voice behind him. "Wishing you a very happy birthday."

Harry jumped to his feet and spun around. "Hermione!"

For a moment, he couldn't see anything but thick, bushy brown hair as Hermione Granger hugged him fiercely. When she let go, it was only so the tall, gangling, red-haired young man behind her could take her place. Ron Weasley's bear hug left Harry breathless when he finally disengaged. "Happy birthday, Harry!" he said. "Good to see you!" He looked his friend up and down for a moment. "You look like you've grown six inches since the end of last term!"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I'm going to need a whole new set of robes before I go back to Hogwarts this year."

"He was getting taller all last year," said Hermione. "It's just more obvious now that we haven't seen him in a month."

"Much more obvious," said Ron.

"You've grown a bit yourself, mate," Harry observed. "I think you're as tall as Bill now."

"Yeah," said Ron. "His old clothes fit pretty well."

"What are you all doing in Little Whinging?" Harry asked. "Does this mean I finally get to find out what's been going on since I saw you last?"

"Among other things," said another voice from behind Harry. He looked around to see a thin man in a rather threadbare khaki suit standing beside the black dog. The man's thinning hair and unhealthy complexion made him look older than Harry remembered, but he had no trouble recognizing him: it was Remus Lupin, Harry's favorite among his four former Defense Against the Dark Arts professors. Lupin and Sirius had been among Harry's father's closest friends, from their first year at Hogwarts to that tragic Halloween night almost fourteen years ago when Lord Voldemort had murdered Harry's parents, only to see his power broken in a failed attempt to kill the infant Harry.

"Yes, we're going to explain at least some of what's been going on," Lupin said. "But... not here, I think. First, we've got to collect your things from the Dursleys' house. Don't worry, they won't be home; we've arranged a little diversion for them."

Ron grinned wickedly. "That oversized cousin of yours and some of his friends were vandalizing cars down the street. Hermione used one of those public felly-tones to call the - please-men, I think they're called? - anyway, Muggle law enforcement, and Lupin hit your cousin with an Impediment Jinx when they ran for it. Don't worry, nobody saw; Lupin was hiding behind a car, and it looked like Dudley just tripped over his feet."

"Your aunt and uncle should be heading down to the police station to collect him right about now," Hermione added. "We should get going."

Harry whistled appreciatively. "That should keep them busy for a while. Great, let's go pack my things. We'd best not be there when they get home; I doubt they'll be in a very good mood."

Harry led his friends back to number four, Privet Drive. The Dursleys had locked the door on their way out, and Harry did not have a key with him, but Lupin merely pointed his wand at the lock and muttered, "Alohomora." The lock clicked open, and they all trooped inside and up to Harry's room. He began picking up his scattered school things and placing them in his trunk, but Lupin said, "I think this will go quicker if I do it." He made a complex, sweeping motion with his wand and said, "Pack." At once, Harry's cauldron, books, clothes, and telescope flew into the air, floated to his trunk, and arranged themselves neatly inside it.

"Wow," said Harry. "That's one I'll have to learn." He placed the large birdcage containing his snowy owl, Hedwig, atop the trunk, then picked up his Firebolt racing broom from the corner of the room.

The black dog, which had waited in the doorway while Lupin packed Harry's things, now came up to Harry and stood on its hind legs, placing its paws on his shoulders. Its body suddenly seemed to melt and flow, the fur vanishing into the skin, a swirl of black robes appearing out of nowhere, until the dog was gone and a tall, thin man with shaggy black hair stood facing Harry with his hands on Harry's shoulders.

Harry's godfather stared into his face for a moment, apparently studying him. Then he grinned broadly. "You look more like James than ever, Harry. Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Sirius," Harry replied. "You look better than the last time I saw you; you're not quite so gaunt."

"Thank you. Molly Weasley's cooking is a vast improvement on the rats. Now, you won't need to come back here until next summer, so you might want to leave a note for your aunt and uncle before we go."

"I suppose so," Harry sighed. "Not that they'd be anything but delighted if I simply vanished without a trace and never came back...." He had to set down the broom and go downstairs to the kitchen to find pen and paper, as all his own writing supplies were packed away in his trunk and he had no wish to rummage though it. "Dear Aunt Petunia," he wrote, "You'll be pleased to know that I've gone to spend the rest of the summer with my friends the Weasleys. See you next June. Harry."

Leaving the note on the kitchen table, he ran back up the stairs to his room. His friends were standing in a circle; Ron and Sirius each grasped a handle of his trunk, and Hermione held Hedwig's cage. In the middle of the circle was the Frisbee they'd been playing with; they each had one hand on it. Lupin, the only one with a free hand, had his wand out. Harry didn't need to be told what to do; he picked up his broom again, then stepped into the circle between Ron and Hermione and took hold of the edge of the Frisbee. Lupin tapped it with his wand and said, "Portus." Harry felt the odd jerking sensation behind his navel that came with traveling by Portkey. The room vanished, and he was being pulled forward through a whirlwind of sound and color.

A moment later, his feet hit the ground hard; he stumbled and nearly fell. He blinked and looked around. He, Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and Lupin were standing in the middle of a large, rectangular clearing, surrounded on all sides by an oak forest. The air felt somewhat cooler than it had in Little Whinging - though the summer day was still hot, it was no longer oppressively so. At each end of the clearing, there was a row of three tall poles, each topped with a hoop perhaps three feet across. The long sides of the field were lined with stadium seats in raised stands at about the same height as the rings. The stands were empty, and looked somewhat dilapidated; Harry felt an odd, indefinable sense of something sad and lonely about the place. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Cheshire," Sirius replied. "Just outside the village of Clodbury-on-Lug. This field is protected by permanent anti-Muggle wards; lately, we've added other defenses to keep the Ministry and the Death Eaters from knowing we're here. We mostly use the place for dueling practice."

"Can't the Ministry track Portkeys?" Harry asked. "I thought Mr. Weasley told me that they monitored them."

Lupin laughed. "They do, but we've found a way around that. The assistant director of the Portkey Office is an old school friend of Minerva McGonagall's, Eglantine Pryce. She helped us develop Untraceable Portkeys; they combine the regular Portkey teleportation spell with a version of the Unplottable Ward that keeps anyone from locating Hogwarts on a map. Using one of them is no more detectable to the Ministry than regular Apparition."

"That takes care of the Ministry, but what about Voldemort?"

Hermione winced, and Ron opened his mouth to protest Harry's use of the dreaded name, but desisted as Sirius frowned at him. Lupin cleared his throat, sounding a bit uncomfortable. "We don't think he has any way of tracking them either, but of course we have no way of knowing for certain. Goodness knows he's managed to surprise us before. Still, we've done the best we can."

"Who's 'we?'" Harry asked.

"The Order of the Phoenix," said Sirius. "A secret society of wizards dedicated to fighting Voldemort. Dumbledore is in charge, of course. Thanks to you, he was able to recall us all to active service within a day of Voldemort's return."

"You can bet Voldemort wasn't too happy about that," Lupin added, in a tone of grim satisfaction. "You really messed things up for him, Harry. You weren't supposed to survive."

"I almost didn't," said Harry soberly. "I'm only here because my wand happens to have a feather from the same phoenix as his."

"I don't think that's just happenstance, Harry," Sirius said. "It seems more like fate."

"Maybe so," Harry allowed, without much conviction. "So what is Voldemort up to? I've been reading the Daily Prophet, and watching the Muggle news too, and I haven't seen a hint of anything that could be related to the Death Eaters."

"That's because they're lying low at the moment," Lupin said. "That idiot Fudge still doesn't believe Voldemort's back. He's managed to convince himself that you were just trying to get attention, and that Dumbledore's supporting you to stir up trouble because he wants to replace Fudge as Minister of Magic.

Harry stared at him in shock. "That's insane! That has to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard. How can he believe that?"

"Because if Voldemort is back, it means the Ministry is going to have more trouble to deal with than they have in fourteen years - and Fudge isn't up to it," Sirius replied grimly. "He became Minister after the last war, when Millicent Bagnold retired. A lot of people wanted Dumbledore to take the job, but he refused to leave Hogwarts. At first Fudge was always asking Dumbledore for advice, but lately he's gotten jealous of his power. Fudge knows that Dumbledore is much cleverer than he is, and a far more powerful wizard. He knows he'd never have got the Minister's job if Dumbledore had wanted it back then. If people accept that Voldemort's back, half the Wizarding community is going to be demanding that Fudge resign and Dumbledore take over the Ministry. Not that he would; they're more likely to replace Fudge with Amelia Bones."

"Who's Amelia Bones?" Harry asked.

"She's head of Magical Law Enforcement," said Lupin. "She was an Auror during the last war, and a damned good one, almost as tough as Mad-Eye Moody."

"Her niece is in our year at Hogwarts," Hermione added. "Susan Bones, in Hufflepuff."

"Oh yes, I remember her. So Fudge is still denying Voldemort's back. Aren't you doing anything to get the word out?"

"Well," said Sirius, "I'm not exactly in a position to go handing out fliers while the Ministry's got a ten thousand Galleon price on my head."

"And I'm not a very popular dinner guest since it got around that I'm a werewolf," Lupin added.

"And Dad would lose his job at the Ministry if Fudge heard that he'd been talking about You-Know-Who," said Ron. "He's on thin ice as it is, just because he's fond of Muggles and close to Dumbledore. Bill's been talking to some of the goblins at Gringotts - they're not too pleased with the Ministry after that Bagman business - but he has to keep it pretty quiet too. I think Charlie's working on making contacts in Romania. Percy..." Ron made an unhappy face. "Percy's not in the Order. Fudge promoted him to Junior Assistant to the Minister, and it's really gone to his head. He's completely swallowed the official line. He and Dad had a flaming row about it, and then he moved up to London and hasn't spoken to Mum or Dad since."

"What?" Harry exclaimed, completely shocked.

"It's awful," Hermione added. "Mrs. Weasley starts crying every time someone mentions his name. He said the only evidence that You-Know-Who is back is your word, and apparently that's not good enough for him."

"Why?" Harry asked. "What's he got against me?"

"He takes the Daily Prophet seriously," Hermione said.

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you'd been reading it?"

"Not cover to cover," Harry admitted. "I mean, when people accept that Voldemort's back it's going to be front page news, isn't it?"

"Of course," she said. "But... they've been having a go at you two or three times a week for the last month. Nothing big, just snide little comments dropped into other stories, like a sort of standing joke. They're building on all that awful rubbish Rita wrote about you last year."

"But she's not writing for them anymore, is she?"

"Oh, no. I made sure of that. But she laid the groundwork, saying all that stuff about you fainting all over the place and saying your scar hurt. Now whenever some really strange, far-fetched story turns up, they'll say something like, 'A tale worthy of Harry Potter.' Fudge is behind it, I'm sure. They're trying to make certain that nobody will believe you."

"I always knew Fudge was a bit of a duffer, but I never would have guessed he could act like this."

"Nor I," said Lupin. "I don't think any of us realized quite how low that man could sink."

Harry shook his head. "So isn't anybody trying to get the word out?"

"Dumbledore is," Sirius said. "He made a speech to the International Confederation of Wizards announcing Voldemort's return. Fudge's lot voted him out of the Chairmanship, and got him demoted from Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot - that's the wizards' High Court. The official line there is that he's going senile, losing his grip."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "So do you have any idea what Voldemort's doing?"

"Right now, we think he's just trying to recruit more followers, building up his strength," Lupin replied. "He knows how to operate in secret - lies, blackmail, the Imperius curse - it's what he does best. We're trying to hinder him as much as we can - keeping tabs on known Death Eaters, and doing some quiet recruiting of our own. We're much better prepared for him this time around, thanks to you. Last time the Death Eaters had the Order outnumbered about twenty to one; they were just killing us off, one by one, until Voldemort went after you and... well, you know what happened. This time, we've got them outnumbered."

"Well, that's something," Harry said. "So do I get to join the Order?"

"I'm afraid not, Harry," Sirius said. "If it were up to me... but it's not. Membership is limited to wizards who are of age and out of school. Dumbledore's very firm on that point."

"They won't let us into any of their meetings," Ron added. "All we get to do is help Mum get headquarters cleaned out and fit to live in."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"The Order's headquarters is... well, we really can't tell you where it is, only Dumbledore can do that. It's protected by the Fidelius Charm, and he's the Secret-Keeper. But anyway, it's been abandoned for quite a few years, and all sorts of things have moved into it. Doxies and boggarts and ghouls and things...."

Sirius sighed. "What Hermione is politely not mentioning is that it's my family's old mansion," he explained. "Nobody's lived there since my late, unlamented mother died, about ten years ago."

"Why 'unlamented?'" Harry asked.

"I'm sorry to say that most of my family have been pure-blood fanatics and up to their eyebrows in the Dark Arts; my mother was one of the worst of them. She never forgave me for being sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, like a proper Black. My parents eventually disowned me, after I got sick of them and ran away from home."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen. Your father's parents took me in, and I stayed at their house during holidays until I finished school, then got a place of my own. I had a good bit of gold my Uncle Alphard left me - he wasn't a 'proper' Black, either. I never spoke to my parents again."

"Oh. I... I'm sorry, Sirius."

"I'm not," Sirius replied. "I thought I was well shut of them, and their house... but unfortunately, it's the best possible place for the Order to make its headquarters. It has more protective magic on it than almost any other building in Britain, except Hogwarts and Gringotts. Anyway, since the Ministry still has a price on my head, I can't show my face anywhere, and since Wormtail will have told Voldemort that I'm an Animagus, that disguise isn't safe, either. So I've been cooped up at headquarters for the last month. I hate being in that house again," he finished moodily.

"I can imagine," said Harry sympathetically. "If I had to go back and live in Privet Drive after I finished with school, I think I'd go mad." He decided that a change of subject was in order. "This is a Quidditch pitch," he observed, looking around the field. "But it looks abandoned. Doesn't anyone play here?"

"The Wortlethorpe Warblers used to play here," Hermione said. "They were the only all-Muggle-born Quidditch team in Britain. Their Keeper and Seeker were a married couple, Ian and Barbara Chesterton. They...." She hesitated, then continued, "They were murdered by Death Eaters a few months before your parents, Harry. The rest of the team split up and went elsewhere; this field hasn't been used since."

"Oh," said Harry. The vague sense of sadness he'd felt about the place seemed more pronounced now. "Well... I hope they'd be pleased that this place is being used in the fight against Voldemort now."

"We like to think so," Sirius said. "They'd only just joined the Order when they were killed. I never got to know them very well, but they were both great flyers; Barbara was the reserve Seeker for the English World Cup team the year before they died."

"That's sad," Harry said. He paused, thoughtfully. "I hate Voldemort for murdering my parents, but he killed dozens of other people before them, didn't he? He's killed at least three since he came back, too. All those people have relatives or friends who miss them, just like I miss my parents. Like poor Cedric's mum and dad...."

And Cho, he thought. Cho Chang, the lovely Chinese girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, had caught the eyes of both Harry and the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory. Cedric, two years older, bright, handsome, and far more self-assured than Harry, had won her heart before Harry had even found the nerve to ask her out. Worse, he was so nice that Harry couldn't even sustain jealous dislike; he'd had to admit to himself that Cedric was worthy of her affection. Then Cedric had died, murdered before Harry's eyes by Voldemort's henchman. He still had nightmares about Cedric's death... what must it be like for Cho?

"Harry?" Hermione's questioning tone brought him abruptly back to the present.

"Oh, sorry, I was just, er, thinking about something," he stammered. "So, what are we going to do now?"

"Well," said Ron, "the reason we came here, instead of straight to the Order's headquarters, is that Sirius managed to persuade Dumbledore to give the four of us a day off, so we could give you a proper birthday party. Seeing as you've never had one before."

"That's... wow, I don't know what to say! Thanks, all of you."

"You're welcome, Harry," Sirius said. "The truth is, we were all happy for the excuse to get out of headquarters. It's... well, you'll understand better when you see it. It's not really the right sort of place for a party."

"Worse than an abandoned Quidditch pitch where two of the team were murdered?" Harry asked skeptically.

"They weren't actually killed here," Hermione said. "And yes, this is a lot nicer than headquarters. It's a bit hard to explain. Better to wait until you see it, like Sirius said."

"All right. What kind of party did you have in mind?"

"Well," said Ron, "we've packed a picnic lunch, but it's a bit early to start eating. If you're up for it, I thought we might have a game of two-on-two Quidditch first. Hermione's agreed to referee, and we've got all our brooms and a full set of balls right over there." He pointed to the nearest stand, where Harry could see two largish boxes at the base of the stand, and four broomsticks leaning against it.

Harry brightened. "Now that," he said, "is the best idea I've heard in a month. You're on."

They trooped over to the side of the field. Ron's Cleansweep Five was there, along with Ginny Weasley's Comet Two Thirty, which Hermione had borrowed. Sirius had an ancient but still serviceable Silver Arrow, and Lupin a rather battered old Nimbus Excelsior, distant forerunner to the Nimbus Two Thousand Harry had ridden in his first two years at Hogwarts. Harry saw that the bigger of the two boxes was a wicker picnic hamper, while the other was the suitcase-like affair used to transport the four balls used in Quidditch. Ron opened the latter box and pulled out the largest ball. "Since there's only four of us playing, I think we'll just use the Quaffle, at least to begin with," he said. "First team to score ten goals wins, all right?"

"How shall we split up?" Harry asked.

"We'll play three matches," Sirius said. "That way you can team with each of us once. Let's start with youth versus age."

"You're on," said Ron. They all mounted their brooms. Harry and Ron squared off against Sirius and Lupin fifty feet above the center of the field; Hermione flew above them and dropped the Quaffle into the center of their group, and the game was on.

With no Keepers to guard the rings or Bludgers to distract the players, the three rounds flew by in less than an hour. Harry's teams won every round, thanks to his exceptional flying skills and his Firebolt's crushing advantages in speed and maneuverability over all three of the others' brooms. After he and Lupin trounced Ron and Sirius by ten goals to three in the third round, he suggested that a three-on-one match might prove more even. The others agreed, and he spent another enjoyable half-hour weaving in and out between his friends' brooms, finally winning ten to nine.

"Good game, Harry!" Sirius called, as they all spiraled down to land on the grass.

"Thanks," Harry called back. "Hey, Ron," he added, as Ron landed beside him. "That last interception you made was bloody amazing! Have you thought of trying out for Keeper, now that Oliver Wood's left?"

Ron frowned. "Maybe if I had a decent broomstick," he said. "I have had a lot of practice; Charlie, Fred and George always made me Keep for them when they were training at home."

Hermione and Lupin had opened the picnic hamper and spread a blanket on the ground. As the others joined them, they handed out thermoses of iced pumpkin juice and paper-wrapped sandwiches.

As they sat down to eat, an exceedingly odd animal sauntered out of the woods and came to join them. It had the hindquarters of a horse, and the head, wings, and front legs of an enormous eagle. Its feathers and fur were a shimmering silver-gray, and it carried a dead rabbit in its wickedly curved beak.

"Buckbeak!" Harry exclaimed. "You didn't tell me you'd brought him along, Sirius." He stood up and faced the hippogriff, gazing steadily into its sharp, brilliant orange eyes, then bowed low. Buckbeak watched him for a moment, then bent his scaly knees in return.

"He needed fresh air even more than I did," Sirius replied, as Harry walked up to the hippogriff and began stroking the feathers along his neck. Buckbeak closed his eyes and stretched, clearly enjoying the attention. "I let him off his tether before we went to pick you up, so that he could hunt up something to eat."

"Wasn't that a bit dangerous?" asked Harry. "I mean, what if he'd been seen?"

"He knows not to stray too far," Sirius said. "Buckbeak's smarter than some people I could name."

"Goyle," said Ron, grinning.

Harry snorted. "I was thinking Cornelius Fudge," he said.

Sirius tethered Buckbeak to the framework of the stand beside them, and he settled down to eat his rabbit, as the rest of them tucked into their sandwiches.

They spent the first part of lunch discussing Quidditch. After they'd demolished the sandwiches and thoroughly dissected the four matches they'd just played, Ron brought out a copy of the latest edition of Which Broomstick? to show to Harry. "Take a look at the new Nimbus Hyperion," he said. "They're marketing it to the smaller countries' World Cup teams, the ones that can't afford Firebolts. It should make the competition a bit more even next year."

"Nice," said Harry, admiring the picture before turning the page to read the review of the new broom. "Let's see, teak handle, aspen twigs for the tail, anti-jinx polish... pretty good acceleration, though it'll only keep up with the Firebolt in a dive. It's not as well-balanced, either."

"It's got the same Braking Charm, though," said Ron. "So you can follow a Firebolt through a Wronski Feint without crashing, if you're good enough. The turning radius isn't so good - no better than the Two Thousand and One, actually - but it sideslips even faster than the Firebolt, which partly makes up for that. And it's a lot cheaper; you can outfit a whole team with these for the price of a couple of Firebolts."

"I just hope Malfoy's father doesn't do exactly that," Harry said. "You remember how he bought Draco's way onto the team...."

"Lucius Malfoy has other things to buy with his gold these days," muttered Sirius darkly. "Like Ministry officials."

"Even if he does, we'll still have better players than they do," said Ron, determinedly ignoring Sirius's gloom. "Speaking of which, who do you reckon will be the new Gryffindor Captain, Harry?"

"Angelina, I expect," replied Harry. "She's been on the team longest, and she usually helped Wood put together our game plans."

"What I'm wondering is who they're going to make prefects this year," said Hermione thoughtfully. "It's our fifth year, so they'll be picking one boy and one girl from each of the Houses."

"Blimey," said Ron, "I'd completely forgotten about that." He scratched his head, then said, "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? It's got to be you and Harry for Gryffindor."

Hermione blushed. "Oh, I don't know. I suppose Harry's a shoo-in, but...."

"Now, Hermione, don't come over all modest on us," Harry said, grinning at her. "I mean, they can't pick Parvati or Lavender over you, can they?"

"Well," she admitted, "I suppose they are a bit... well...."

"Silly?" Ron suggested. "Giggly? Flighty? Irresponsible?"

"All of the above," said Harry. "I'm not so sure about me, though," he added thoughtfully. "I mean, prefects are supposed to enforce school rules, and I've broken more than a few of them...."

"Your father and I were never made prefects," Sirius put in. "We spent far too much time in detention. Moony here was the responsible one, so he got the badge."

"I think Professor McGonagall was hoping I could, ah, restrain my friends' enthusiasm a bit," said Lupin wryly. "Needless to say, I failed miserably."

"Doesn't the Headmaster choose the prefects?" asked Hermione.

"He makes the final decision, but he almost always accepts whoever the Head of each House recommends," Lupin explained.

"Ah, well, that does for you and me, mate," Ron said to Harry. "McGonagall's never going to recommend either of us. I mean, most of the times you've gotten into trouble, I've been right in it with you."

"She'll probably give it to Seamus," Harry agreed. "He's pretty good at keeping his nose clean."

"Or Dean," said Ron. "I can't see them making Neville a prefect...."

Harry was suddenly struck by an unpleasant thought. "I just hope at least one of the three of us is chosen," he said. "Because you know who Snape's going to recommend...."

Ron looked thunderstruck. "Malfoy! Oh, bloody hell, I'll bet you're right! He's going to be insufferable...."

"Well, if he is, we'll just have to put up with him," said Hermione reasonably. "Any punishments a prefect hands out can be cancelled by a teacher, so if Malfoy does something really unreasonable, you can always ask McGonagall to overrule him."

"That's a point," said Ron, sounding relieved. "Who knows - if he pushes it too far, he might lose his badge."

"Anyway," said Hermione, "we don't know that he'll be chosen; he's not exactly the best at following rules, either. They might give it to that Theodore Nott instead, he's a lot less of a trouble-maker."

"I doubt he'd be much better, though," said Harry gloomily. "His Dad's a Death Eater, just like Malfoy's and Crabbe's and Goyle's."

"He was a bad one," Lupin said grimly. "We were never able to prove it, but we're all but certain he was one of the ones that murdered Edgar Bones and his family."

Sirius shuddered. "I remember that. Edgar was Amelia Bones's brother, Harry, and a great Auror himself. The Death Eaters that broke into his house Stunned him and his wife, then tied them up along with their three children and burned the house down around them. The youngest daughter was only seven years old...."

Harry's insides seemed to have tied themselves in knots. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, who had both gone rather pale. "Sirius, do you think we could talk about something else?" he asked.

His godfather was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said earnestly. "I didn't mean to ruin anyone's appetite. Especially since we still have this...." He reached into the picnic hamper and lifted out a smaller box, which he set down in the center of the blanket. Then he opened the lid off to reveal a rich chocolate cake, with the Gryffindor Lion and "Happy Birthday, Harry!" picked out in red and gold frosting on the top, along with fifteen candles. He lifted out the plate with the cake on it and set it in the middle of the blanket, then waved his wand over the candles. "Incendio."

All fifteen candles lit instantly. "Make a wish, Harry," Sirius said.

"I'm not sure what to wish for," he said.

"Wish for You-Know-Who's defeat," Ron suggested.

Hermione shook her head. "We all wish that, Ron," she said. "A birthday wish should be something personal, just for Harry." She smiled at Harry. "And you can't tell us what it is, Harry, or it won't come true."

Harry thought about it for a moment, and the first wish that came to mind was, I wish Cho would go out with me. He inhaled deeply, then blew out all the candles in one breath.

Sirius cut the cake into five slices and passed them around. After they had eaten it, he said, "Well, now there's just one more thing we need to make this a proper birthday party."

Reaching once more into the picnic hamper, he pulled out a small, brightly wrapped package. "Once again, happy birthday, Harry."

"Thank you!" Harry said. He tore away the wrapping. Inside was a small, square mirror. It looked quite old, though it had clearly been polished recently - there were quite a few scratches on the simple wooden frame. He held it up. Unlike most wizard mirrors he'd seen, in this one his reflection was simply a reflection; it didn't talk to him or move of its own accord. "What does it do?" Harry asked, certain his godfather would not have given him an ordinary mirror.

"It's a two-way mirror," Sirius replied. "It's a way for you to talk to me anytime you want." He pulled an identical mirror from a pocket of his robes. "All you have to do is hold it and say my name. James and I used to use them when we had separate detentions."

Lupin laughed. "Or when one of you was watching out for Filch while the other one set up some prank," he added.

Sirius grinned at him. "That too. By the way, Moony, Molly asked me to remind you...."

Lupin nodded. "I hadn't forgotten, but thanks all the same; better safe than sorry." He took a small flask from his pocket and flipped off the cap. Whatever was in it steamed slightly; Lupin grimaced as he raised it to his lips and gulped down the contents.

"That's right," said Hermione, "it's a full moon tonight."

"Indeed it is," Lupin agreed. "And we wouldn't want things to get out of hand...."

Harry shivered, recalling his single encounter with Lupin in his werewolf form. He'd forgotten to take the Wolfsbane Potion that prevented his lycanthropy from overwhelming his human mind, and the results had been a catastrophe. Wormtail had escaped to rejoin Lord Voldemort and begin the plot that had restored the Dark Lord to his physical body and powers, Lupin's secret was revealed and he was sacked from Hogwarts, and Sirius had to go into hiding, their one chance to prove his innocence lost. The only mercy was that Lupin hadn't bitten anybody.

While they were talking, Ron had retrieved three more packages from the hamper. "This is from me," he said, as he handed them one at a time to Harry, "this is Lupin's, and this is Hermione's. Happy birthday, Harry."

Ron's package was flat and rectangular; the contents shifted slightly as Harry accepted it. "Bet I know what this is," he commented, tearing off the wrapping. As he expected, under the wrapping was a white cardboard box with "Honeydukes" written across the top in fancy gold script. "Thanks a lot, Ron. Dudley's still on his diet, so I've been living on cottage cheese and salad for the last month. I've been dreaming about Honeydukes chocolate. I think I'll save this for later, though, it seems like a bit much on top of that cake."

"No problem, mate. Here, let's see the others."

Harry was already opening Hermione's gift. It proved to be a chess set. Opening the inlaid-wood box, Harry saw that instead of the standard stylized chessmen, each piece was an exquisitely detailed figurine of alabaster or bloodstone. The white rooks were tiny models of the Hogwarts castle, the black ones a smaller castle with very high towers and steep roofs. The white pawns looked like Gringotts goblins, the black ones were clearly trolls, and the knights were centaurs and dragons, respectively. The bishops, queens, and kings were human, and looking closely he realized that the white king was Albus Dumbledore.

"This is amazing, Hermione! Thank you. Where did you find it?"

"Diagon Alley, of course. Davison's Dice and Diversions just put it out this month, in honor of the fiftieth anniversary of Dumbledore's victory over Grindelwald. I think it's their quiet little way of supporting Dumbledore, now that the Ministry's trying to discredit him."

"I suppose the black king is Grindelwald, then?" Harry asked. He looked more closely at the tall, aristocratically handsome wizard. The black queen beside him was a rapier-slim witch with a face of cold perfection.

"Of course," Hermione replied. "One of the white bishops is Alastor Moody, back when he was young and not so covered in scars. The white queen is Millicent Bagnold - she was a senior Auror then, and Minister of Magic later on - and the black one is Grindelwald's lieutenant, Silke von Drachenskrieg. She disappeared after Grindelwald fell, but she's thought to be one of the ones who taught the Dark Arts to You-Know-Who. I think the black castle is Durmstrang; Grindelwald taught there before he became the German Minister of Magic."

"It's the best set I've ever seen," Harry said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Harry."

Harry picked up Lupin's gift, a broad, flat, rectangular package. "Feels like a book," he commented, as he began peeling off the wrapping. Sure enough, inside the wrapping was a volume entitled The Combatant's Companion: A Concise Compendium of Common Curses and Counterspells, by Constance Crumb.

"Professor Dumbledore hasn't found a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher yet," Lupin explained. "I thought that if you got stuck with another Lockhart, at least you'll be able to learn something this year."

Harry opened the book and flipped through it. For each of the spells described, it had detailed, moving illustrations of its casting and effects. "This is terrific, Professor," said Harry earnestly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Harry. I'm glad you like it."

"On that note," said Sirius, "now that we've eaten and Harry's opened his gifts, who's up for a bit of dueling practice?"

"Sounds good to me," Harry said.

"I'm game," agreed Ron.

"Sure, why not?" said Hermione. "It's more practical than watching Harry beat you all at Quidditch, anyway."

An hour of practice duels, switching opponents every few minutes, established that Harry's superior reflexes were not limited to Quidditch; he succeeded in Disarming, Stunning, or jinxing Ron and Hermione nine times out of ten, and even Sirius and Lupin only got the better of him in about a third of their duels.

"You know, Harry," said Sirius as he fetched his wand after Harry disarmed him for the seventeenth time, "you may be the best natural duelist I've ever met."

"Well, he is the best in our year at Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione pointed out.

"What? No I'm not, you always out-score me on exams!"

"Not third year," she said. "Which, if you'll recall, was the only year we both sat the exam and had a competent professor around to administer it." She smiled at Lupin.

"Thanks, Hermione," said Lupin. "I can't claim too much credit, though; students like you make any professor look good. But she is right, Harry; she got the second highest score in my class. The highest was yours."

"And that's not to mention that you managed to survive a duel with You-Know-Who last month," Ron added.

"That was luck!" Harry protested. "I only survived because of that weird business with our wands connecting."

"Which couldn't have happened if you hadn't been very quick with your Disarming Charm," said Sirius. "Not many adult wizards, even Aurors, have the reflexes to match spells with Voldemort. But that's not the half of it. You threw off his Imperius Curse in less than a minute, Harry. It took Barty Crouch pere months to do that, and Alastor Moody never managed it at all, even though it was Crouch fils controlling him, not Voldemort himself. Old Crouch and Moody were two of the most powerful Aurors of our time. And then, when your wands linked, you forced the Reverse Spell effect out of his wand. Maybe he still hadn't recovered his full strength, but all the same, I doubt there's another wizard in the world, apart from Dumbledore, who could have won a straight magical shoving match like that with Voldemort. That day, at that hour, you were stronger than he was."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Come on, you're joking, right? I mean, what about the difference in spells? He was casting Avada Kedavra, all I was trying for was Expelliarmus. Maybe it's like... like pushing a weight up a hill. He had a much heavier weight to push, that's all."

"That could be part of it," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I tried to look it up, but that situation - wizards dueling with wands from the same magical creature - is so rare that there's hardly anything about it in the library. What you said about weights does make sense, though."

"Exactly," said Harry. "I was lucky, that's all."

"Oh, there's no doubt you were," Sirius agreed. "But you had to be very, very good to make use of your luck."

"Maybe so," Harry said, eager to be done with the argument. "Anyway, what are we going to do now?"

"I've got an idea," said Lupin. "Have you ever tried dueling on brooms?"

"No," said Harry. "It sounds kind of dangerous."

"It can be, but if you practice with proper precautions it's no more dangerous than Quidditch," said Sirius.

"Oh, there's a comfort," Hermione muttered sarcastically. Quidditch was still a very dangerous contact sport that frequently sent players to hospital.

"You don't use any offensive spells when practicing against other wizards," Sirius went on, "only wand sparks and the Shield Charm - even Expelliarmus can knock someone off a broom. If you want to practice combat spells, you can use a Bludger as a practice opponent. I expect you'll be good at it, Harry; after all, it combines the two things you do best."

They all mounted their brooms once again. Harry and Sirius moved to one end of the field, Lupin, Ron, and Hermione to the other. "Ready, Harry?" Sirius called, as they squared off at a distance of about thirty feet.

"Try me," Harry replied, grinning. Sirius made a diagonal slashing motion with his wand, and a spray of red sparks shot toward Harry. Harry dodged, and sent a jet of blue sparks back at Sirius, then had to dodge again as Sirius's Shield Charm reflected the sparks back at him. Sirius charged, and Harry spun his broom around and shot away from him, firing more sparks over his shoulder. Glancing back, he saw that a few of them had found their mark. The wand sparks were harmless, but they remained stuck on whatever they hit for a few minutes before fading away.

They chased each other around the pitch for a while, then met up with Ron, Hermione, and Lupin in the middle. "Now that you all have the idea," Lupin said, "Let's try working as teams. Having to avoid hitting your friends makes things a lot more interesting."

"All right," said Ron, grinning. "Let's make it a game of Aurors and Death Eaters - the three of us vs. the two of you."

Sirius gave a bark of laughter. "I like that! Youth and enthusiasm against age and experience. All right, Lupin and I will be the bad guys; we'll use green sparks, you three use red. We can keep score if you like - score a point each time you hit someone on the other team, lose one any time you hit one of your own teammates. We start from the goal posts and meet in the middle."

"Sounds good to me," said Harry. "Let's go."