Past Present

The weather seemed to have been notified of the events of the day. Thick and oppressive, steely gray clouds hung heavy and low, and it was dark for near noon. Harry's feet felt heavy in the boots, their unaccustomed weight dragging at his legs. The reluctance dragged at him the same way, a heavy sort of day all around. It felt bizarrely out of place, standing there in long, loose and silky robes, tenting about him, without a hint of Muggle clothing on, plodding boots weighty and yet silent when he walked. They gleamed so, he had been almost afraid to touch them, not wanting to mar them. He scrubbed at his glasses with a handkerchief, vainly trying to get the worst of the smudges off. "Wonder what you're supposed to do with the sashes," Ron said, sitting on the bed next to them.

"Your school's color around your waist, the other across your left shoulder, crossing over your heart," Viktor called from the doorway of the dorm. The pale blue sash was draped over his left shoulder, draping across and tucked in at the waist, where a wide, blood red sash was wrapped around several times and tied. The short ends of the sashes all hung in a neat, even bunch at his hip, each tail of the sashes about eight inches long. His wand was also neatly holstered there. "You really need someone to help. Here," he said, draping the blue sash over Harry's shoulder, then bringing the edges together at the opposite hip, evening up the ends. "Hold it there," Viktor told him, and Harry pinched the edges between his own fingertips. Viktor took his wand from the sash and laid it very gingerly on the bed while gathering up the gold sash. He knelt in front of Harry and threaded an arm under Harry's, wrapping his waist with the material. When Ron picked up Viktor's wand and idly wobbled it between his fingers, Viktor muttered, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Sorry," Ron said and put it back on the bed. Viktor tied off the sash, and Harry picked up his wand, preparing to stick it in the folds of the sash at his waist. He froze, puzzled, when Viktor shook his head.

"Not there. Here," Viktor said, gathering up the folds of the robe and pulling them up over the top of Harry's right boot. He took the wand from Harry and slipped it into the mouth of the high boot, snug against Harry's leg. Viktor stood and bent, taking a wand from his own left boot. "That is the one you put in your sash. I wouldn't handle it roughly. It just might turn into a rubber chicken or some such thing," he advised, handing Harry a wand which looked remarkably like the one tucked into his boot. "You'll be asked to surrender your wand when we go to the service in the Main Hall at Beauxbatons. Give them that one. You take the other one out of your boot only if it's a matter of life and death," Viktor warned.

"But... why..." Harry stammered.

"If you think all of us are going in there with nothing, you're crazy," Viktor said with a little smirk. "Courtesy of Gred and Forge."

"Harry... you look very handsome," Hermione said, topping the stairs and walking through the door. She gave a sidelong glance at Viktor, then added to him, "I'll work on the hair, and the glasses." A few heavy duty cleaning spells and a bit of Sleekeazy's later, his hair was lying flat and his glasses were cleaner than they had been in years.

"You do look very nice," Viktor said, appraising him. "You two go tell them we'll be there shortly."

"Come on, Ron," Hermione said briskly, "let's go."

Once their footsteps had faded off the staircase, Viktor put his hands on Harry's shoulder. "We carry her coffin in, we carry it to the hearse after the service. Just hold your head up, follow Dumbledore, walk slowly, and don't look around, eyes front. You do this for the Delacours. You do this for the Order. You will be fine."

"How can you be so sure?" Harry asked.

"Because. This is just one day for you. For them, it's going to be a long while. Come on, the carriage is probably here. Beauxbatons sent it for us." Harry couldn't help but be a bit relieved that he wouldn't be seeing the thestrals. Another reminder of death was the last thing he wanted. Professor McGonagall, still recovering after being released from St. Mungo's, sent her regrets but stayed at Hogwarts. Hagrid, who, thankfully, had gone very easy on greasing his hair back this time, as opposed to the Yule Ball, did accompany them.

Harry was very nearly drowsing by the time they landed with a thump on the grounds of Beauxbatons, the carriage ride had been so quiet and subdued. Even the Weasley twins had been almost completely silent on the trip. The Beauxbatons grounds looked something like a French fairy village, filled with overgrown summer cottages, sprouting like mushrooms after a summer rain. Madame Maxime and what Harry assumed were some of the instructors, stood to greet them, wrapped in light robes and mufflers over their heads to protect against the light drizzle. "Into ze Main 'All, out of ze rain," Madame Maxime's deep, rumbling voice said, and she pointed a thick finger at the nearest building. They all hustled to get inside and away from the fat raindrops, and Harry had the fleeting thought that he hoped it hadn't washed the hair potion clean off. Once inside, the Beauxbatons group began shedding their rain gear, and Harry's chest gave a funny squeeze when he recognized two of them. Fleur's parents.

"Zank you all so much, for agreeing to do zis," her mother said gratefully, clasping Dumbledore's hand, then Viktor's and Harry's. Her grip had the desperate quality of one who was drowning, and Harry could see that her eyes were rimmed in red, as though she had been crying. Monsieur Delacour could only nod his silent agreement and lean against her, offering his own hand. After a few moments, one of the professors steered the Delacours to the front of the hall, and into a door at the left.

"It 'as been difficult," Madame Maxime explained apologetically. "I trust you are all well, Dumbly-dorr? Wands, please. I am sure you understand?"

"In splendid form, Olympe, other than being greatly saddened by this turn of events," Dumbledore said pleasantly, as they each handed over the wands tucked into their sashes. One of the professors gave them each a claim ticket and bustled off to another room.

"Potenko 'as already arrived. 'E is in ze back room. Just through zere. It is where ze four of you will stay until you come in, wiz ze casket. Feel free to stay back zere until your parents arrive," Madame Maxime told Ron, Fred and George. In the back room, Potenko greeted them all enthusiastically, with hearty handshakes, his booming voice a little more subdued and somber, but still that same deep, strong voice.

When he got to Viktor, he murmured, "And I understand I might be seeing you all again late this summer?" he said with a low chuckle and raised eyebrows.

Viktor's eyes slid to Hermione, they exchanged glances, and Viktor said with a soft smile, "Perhaps." A good twenty minutes were spent, around the small fire, making quiet small talk from the deep squashy armchairs in the room, before Mr. Weasley stuck his head in the door and beckoned to Ron, Fred and George.

"Well, I had better go on out, too," Hermione announced, giving both Viktor and Harry a quick peck on the cheek before scurrying after Ron. They sat in silence for what seemed a small eternity before Madame Maxime made an appearance in the doorway, holding up ten fingers. Behind her, the sounds of soft harp music and a choir drifted in.

Viktor got up and ambled to the window. "It's pouring. We will be soaked," he observed. "Hope all the Hogwarts lot took care of their glasses," he added, looking at Dumbledore.

"Impervious to wind, rain, and the jabs of those fortunate enough to have perfect eyesight," Dumbledore said lightly.

"Hermione probably took care of yours, Harry," Viktor said distractedly. He stared out the window for several more minutes in silence, then swallowed hard. "Hearse is out front." It sounded horribly grim to Harry, but he forced himself up off the chair when Dumbledore and Potenko rose. "Sides?" Viktor asked, looking back and forth between the two Headmasters.

"I thought it best if the two of us were on the right hand side, carrying with our left. Harry needs to use his right, I think," Potenko said softly. "The casket will be heavy."

Dumbledore nodded his agreement. "I think so, too. Stouter arms on the right hand side." He swept to the door that opened outside, pulled on the knob, and stepped out into the sheets of rain, and the rest followed, Harry dragging reluctantly behind. The hearse turned out to be a low, horse-drawn cart, flat, without a top or sides, draped in black silk and red roses.

"I think we had better find our level," Viktor said, taking Harry by the arm and stationing him near the front of the cart, with his right arm next to the handle of the casket. Dumbledore took up the position next to the other handle on that side, and Viktor and Potenko took up stations on the other side. The three of them, Harry realized, were much taller than himself, and they all three dipped a lot lower than he did to catch the handle. "Okay, up," Viktor said, nodding across the cart to Harry, then straightening. Harry found he had to bend his arm at an awkward angle to keep his handle more or less level with the others, but thankfully, he had to bear little of the weight. The other three seemed to be bearing the brunt of the heavy casket. "Okay, there. Back down until they signal us," Viktor said, at last. By now their robes were damp and their hair darkening from the rain, except for Dumbledore, who wore his customary hat.

They loitered for a couple of minutes before Madame Maxime opened the outer doors and stepped out onto the short front step. A couple of boys who looked to be students in pale blue robes and two pale blue sashes each, much like their own, scurried out behind her and propped the outer doors back, out of the way, so they wouldn't swing shut. Again, the voices of a choir and harp music drifted out, louder now. The boys scampered back into the foyer and took up stations before the inner doors, picking up lighted lanterns. She nodded to Dumbledore and Potenko in turn, and each Headmaster turned to the one behind, and silent nods were exchanged again. They all bent their knees and seized their handle, hefting the casket to the same level as before.

Harry had been worried about keeping pace with the rest, but he discovered he needn't worry. They moved the casket off the cart in slow, measured, almost military steps, maneuvering it into the foyer, stopping just behind the two Beauxbatons students. Harry shivered a bit when he looked into the hall and saw a mass of chairs, almost every one full, with a wide aisle between. Harry stole a glance at Viktor and found him just as sopping wet as Harry himself was. As he watched, several drops of water ran down the side of his face from his soaked hair and dripped from beneath his chin, but he didn't budge from the upright stance or take his eyes off of Potenko's broad back. By the time Harry fixed his own eyes back front, on Dumbledore, the music and singing came to a halt. A breathless silence ensued, then the bare choir, no accompanying music, struck up again, rose and swelled, sounding three times as loud as it had before, and the boys in the blue robes set off down the aisle, the two Headmasters following at a slow and stately pace.

Harry kept his eyes firmly locked between Dumbledore's shoulder blades, trying to think only of the pace of their walking, the progress they were making down the aisle, not what they were carrying. After what seemed like an eternity, they sat the casket down on a small pedestal of sorts, draped with the same black silk and red roses as the flat cart outside. They all circled and exited toward the left and trailed over to four empty seats in the front row, sitting.

Throughout all the speeches, Harry merely tuned out the talk, turning it into meaningless humming in the background. One thing he couldn't tune out was the sobbing coming from the other side of the aisle, where Madame and Monsieur Delacour sat with Gabrielle between them. He felt very mean and small to have begrudged them the walk down the aisle with the casket earlier.

At the end of the service, they once again filed up onto the pulpit, taking up their respective stations. At a subtle hand-raise from Madame Maxime, who was still standing at the back doors, they all lifted, and began the walk back toward the outside doors. Hermione mouthed a silent "Good job," when they filed past, and Ron and the Weasleys nodded at him encouragingly, giving him sympathetic looks. Outside, they slid the casket back onto the low cart, and the driver clucked to the horses, as the cart trundled away. "Private burial tomorrow," Dumbledore murmured, then turned. "Well, best get back in and dry off, before we all catch our deaths."

Back inside the small room, they stood before the fire, which had been stoked in their absence, and dried out in silence. "Now what?" Harry asked at last.

"We go out, provided we're dry, and pay our respects. They'll have a reception, of sorts, " Potenko said, brushing a hand over his thigh. "Actually, I think I've dried."

"Think I have as well," Dumbledore agreed, adjusting his wizard's hat on his head. "You two still seem a bit damp around the edges. Come out when you're ready," he added, moving away from the fireplace and following Potenko out the door.

The two of them shuffled over, more directly in front of the fireplace, shaking their robes out. They stood wordlessly, until Harry finally asked, "Was it like that, when Violeta...?"

Viktor nodded slowly while still looking straight ahead. "A lot like that. What I remember of it. Sometimes, I am glad that my mother was still in the hospital and did not haff to go through it. Dry?"

"Think so."

"Well, come on, then. We will get it over with," Viktor said, walking over to the door and holding it open. They stepped out into the milling crowd. Now, the chairs had been rearranged around small tables, and there was food along a side table. At the front, the Delacours stood, accepting condolences. They slipped through the crowd, and Harry felt his mouth go dry, wondering what he was supposed to say. He longed to reach out and tug at Viktor's sleeve, get him to stop, but instead, he just followed helplessly along, the panic boiling up, not wanting to lose Viktor, either. Monsieur Delacour was busy talking in rapid French to one of the members of the faculty, several feet away, with Gabrielle, looking pale and pinched, tucked into his side. It was Madame Delacour who turned to them and held out her hand. Viktor clasped it and laid his left hand on her shoulder. "I am so sorry for your loss. You haff my deepest sympathies," he said sincerely.

"Zank you. Zank you boz so much, for agreeing to be pallbearers," she said with a bleary smile, patting Harry on the shoulder with her free hand. "Fleur spoke of boz of you often, especially in her letters from 'Ogwarts, after ze Tournament started." She clasped Viktor's hand with both of hers. "Especially you. You would 'ave zought she 'ad been given ze moon when she 'eard ze Tournament was on, and would include you. She went on and on about 'ow she might get to meet you," Madame Delacour enthused.

Viktor looked a mite uncomfortable, then it passed and he responded, "Really? That's very flattering. In her letters home from school?"

"No. In ze summer. We were on 'oliday in Albania when ze recruiter approached 'er. Turns out she was on 'oliday and staying in ze same 'otel," Madame Delacour replied, letting go of his hand.

"Recruiter?" Viktor said in a neutral voice.

"Ze recruiter wiz ze Tournament."

"There was no woman that was a recruiter..." Harry began, but trailed off when Viktor shot him a look.

"No female recruiter that talked to either of us. Who talked to Fleur?" Viktor asked evenly.

"A Madame Jorkins."

"Bertha Jorkins?" Viktor said, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Oui. You know 'er? Madame Jorkins found out she was a student at Beauxbatons, a rising seventh year, and told 'er she would be perfect for ze Tournament. Zat she would speak to Madame Maxime, try to get 'er in ze group from Beauxbatons. She spent most of ze days we were on 'oliday in ze 'otel speaking to Madame Jorkins. She told 'er zat Durmstrang was also participating and zat you would likely be chosen zeir champion. Fleur 'ardly stayed quiet after zat. Prattled on and on about 'ow she might get to meet you. To tell ze truth, I zink she 'ad a crush," Madame Delacour said with a halfhearted smile. "She wrote about you almost every letter, very fondly. Until ze Tournament took up so much time zat she did not write so much. Around Christmas."

"Bertha Jorkins told her all about the Tournament? About where it would be, who would be participating, so on?" Viktor prompted.

"Yes. Fleur could 'ardly keep quiet back at school before ze official announcement was made. If it 'ad not been for the World Cup, I zink she would 'ave exploded. Gave 'er somezing else to talk about. She was very impressed wiz you. Nearly talked our ears off about you during ze entire match."

"That's very humbling. Fleur was a beautiful young woman. I'm sure you and Monsieur Delacour were very proud of her. I am very sorry," he added softly.

"I'm sorry, too," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Zank you. So kind of you two to say so," Madame Delacour said, dabbing at her red nose with a handkerchief. They took their leave and wandered over to the corner where Dumbledore, Potenko, Hermione and Ron hovered around a table, eating and drinking. In a low voice, Viktor relayed what Madame Delacour had said.

"When did you hear about the Tournament?" Dumbledore asked Viktor.

"At the opening of school. Like everyone else. Karkaroff called us into his office and made arrangements for all of us to go, the ones he had picked. It was announced that night at the opening meal. Not a word before then. Not even our parents knew until then. Karkaroff found out... when? Around the time of the Cup Final?" Viktor asked.

"Roughly," Dumbledore said, nodding. "So 'Bertha Jorkins' almost had to be Peter Pettigrew. He found out from the real Bertha Jorkins about the arrangements and the speculations. Bertha Jorkins recruited her alright. Recruited her to help Crouch."

"But what for? I mean, what did she get out of it?" Ron wondered aloud.

"Why did she stop writing about you at Christmas?" Harry asked curiously. When Viktor didn't answer, it dawned on Harry. "The Yule Ball... She ratted you out to Karkaroff. She wanted you..."

Viktor crossed his arms and ducked his head. "She figured out who I was talking to in the library. And why. A while after they announced the Ball. She asked me to take her the day after I asked Hermione. I told her I already had a partner. A few days after the second task... she... she came on really strong. Offered to... I told her I wasn't interested, never would be," Viktor said as his cheeks colored. "She's the one who planted that idea that there might be something between Harry and Hermione after all. I don't think I ever would haff taken that article seriously, otherwise. I shouldn't haff asked Harry, anyway. Maybe she was supposed to turn me," Viktor added, pressing his lips together and sinking into the chair next to Hermione.

"Well, a nugget or two of information gained, at least," Dumbledore observed. "I must go speak to a few more people," he added, setting down his empty plate and wandering off.

After a moment or two of uncomfortable silence, Ron muttered, "C'mon Harry. Let's go see what Fred, George, Mum and Dad are up to," and they drifted off across the room to the cluster of red heads.

Potenko gave Viktor and Hermione a quiet smile, then rummaged in his cloak, which now hung over the back of his chair. "I almost hate to ask you to do this, since you're not a big drinker, but it would be a pity to skip tradition," he said, setting two small shot glasses on the table, followed by a glass bottle with Russian writing on the label.

"One shot. Any more and someone will haff to carry me out of here," Viktor warned.

"What is it?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Vodka. I'd like someone else who speaks Russian to drink a toast with me before I go back," Potenko explained.

"Wouldn't happen to haff a loaf of black bread in that cloak of yours, would you?" Viktor asked.

"No. Afraid you'll just have to bear it," Potenko said pleasantly, opening the bottle and pouring small shots into the glasses.

"Black bread?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Some people smell black bread, or a pickle, after drinking vodka. Helps keep it from taking your breath. Real Russian vodka is kind of... overwhelming," Viktor responded, picking up the glass nearest him.

"Za vashe zdorov'ye!" Potenko said, raising his glass.

"Za vashe zdorov'ye!" Viktor echoed, and they clinked glasses, then downed the drinks. "That stuff would peel paint, bread or no bread," Viktor said after setting his empty glass down.

"Multi purpose," Potenko assented, closing the bottle and sticking it back into his cloak. "I need to get back. Take care, Miss Granger. Enjoy your summer residence, Viktor," he said with a twinkle in his eye, laying a meaty hand on Viktor's shoulder. "And maybe I'll get to see you both late this summer if certain people get their plans together. It would be nice to see you all for a happy occasion, for a change," he said, thumping Viktor on the back.

"What did the Russian mean?" Hermione asked after Potenko left.

"To your health. Probably say it to keep the vodka from killing you," Viktor said with a shake of his head, making a face. "Almost ready to go home?"

"Trunk's nearly packed. Are you going to find this odd?" Hermione asked.

"I am sure I will. I bet you will, too," Viktor said. "Broken it to Harry and Ron that I'm staying with you this summer?"

"Not yet. Harry wants to go back to Grimmauld Place and stay with Sirius. Dumbledore says he has to go to the Dursleys for at least a month. You all did a wonderful job, today," Hermione said softly, laying a hand on his knee under the table.

"Hope I don't get any more practice at it," Viktor sighed.

The next few days passed in a whirl for Harry. Between resting up from the funeral and getting ready to board the Hogwarts Express, he pushed getting packed to the last minute, and he dreaded returning to the Dursleys. It made him even more morose to think of Ron at the Burrow, Sirius without him at Grimmauld Place, and Viktor staying with Hermione and her parents. There was even talk that all four of them were going on holiday in Bulgaria for a week, for the twin purposes of letting their parents meet face to face, and to help enforce the story they were telling the neighbors that she and Viktor had met last year when he was at school on an "exchange", and they were now exchanging accommodations for summer holidays. "Think Viktor can pull of being a 'poor University student on holiday' for a few weeks, then, Harry?" Ron asked as they struggled to close their trunks.

"Loads more unobtrusive than Hagrid, isn't he?" Harry allowed, poking at a loose robe that hung over the corner. "And at least he knows what proper Muggle clothing is supposed to look like," Harry added.

"Sorry you're going to the Dursleys, mate. Mum says she's going to try to see if Dumbledore will let you come to the Burrow later," Ron said apologetically.

When the two of them approached the spot where they had agreed to meet Viktor and Hermione in order to wait for the horseless carriages, Harry was jolted by the sight of Viktor in a pair of jeans, hiking boots, and a loosely tucked in tee, much as he had been dressed when he came to pick them up at the beginning of the summer. "You look very... Muggle-ish," Harry said approvingly.

"That was the point," Viktor allowed. The ride back to King's Cross was fairly uneventful, save Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle poking their heads into the compartment, looking rather maliciously gleeful until Viktor leaned out around the corner and asked, "You boys need something?"

"You're supposed to be riding in the teacher's compartment," Malfoy said accusingly.

"You sound just like Dolores. I didn't like the scenery up there. Not liking it too well back here, right now, either," Viktor said evenly. Malfoy stalked off, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering behind him.

When they got off the train, and Harry passed through the barrier, he was surprised to see both Mad Eye Moody, bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye, and a pale, pinched looking Remus Lupin in a shabby overcoat, standing next to the Weasleys, who were decked out in brightly colored Muggle clothing. "Ron! Ginny! Fred and George!" Mrs. Weasley called, hugging each in turn. "Oh, and Harry!"

"What are you all doing here?" Harry asked curiously, glancing up as Viktor ambled off to fetch a luggage cart for Hermione's trunk and his. He could have shrunk them down, but Hermione had insisted they would look out of place with no obvious luggage. Her parents fell on her, taking it in turns to hug her, and the Weasleys greeted them enthusiastically.

"Thought we might have a talk with that aunt and uncle of yours before letting them take you home," Lupin said.

"That'll be them, then, Harry?" Moody said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Evidently, he had spotted them with his magical eye. And all three Dursleys looked positively appalled at Harry's greeting committee. They looked both embarrassed and afraid, and did not budge until Mr. Weasley offered a hand to Uncle Vernon.

"You might remember me, I'm Arthur Weasley," he said. Harry doubted very much that Uncle Vernon would forget the man who had single-handedly demolished most of his living room two years prior when he had come to pick up Harry, but Uncle Vernon said nothing. He simply turned a darker shade of puce. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to look small and be overlooked, a task at which he was failing miserably. Hermione had disentangled herself from her parents and come over to the group as well. "We thought we'd just have a few words with you about Harry," Mr. Weasley said, still smiling.

"Yeah," growled Moody. "About how he's treated at your place."

"I'm not aware that what goes on in my house is any of your business," Uncle Vernon bristled, addressing himself to Moody.

"I expect what you're not aware of would fill several books, Dursley," Moody snarled back.

"Anyway, that's not the point. If we hear you mistreat Harry -" Mr. Weasley began.

"-and make no mistake, we'll hear about it," Lupin said pleasantly.

"-even if you don't let Harry use the fellytone," Mr. Weasley added.

"Telephone," Hermione whispered.

"You'll have us to answer to," Moody warned.

Uncle Vernon swelled ominously, looking even more indignant. "You... you... freaks and... and... weirdos come in here, dictating to me about what goes on in my house? You oddballs are worse than those foreigners," he spat. "Do I look like the sort of man who can be intimidated?" he asked angrily.

"As a matter of fact," Moody said, "you do." He pushed his bowler hat up, showing Uncle Vernon his madly whirling magical eye. Uncle Vernon jumped back in horror and collided painfully with the luggage cart that Viktor had just wheeled up.

"Call... call security," Uncle Vernon wheezed, "These people are threatening me. And I would like to make a complaint."

Viktor gave him an innocent look, then cocked his head to the side. "And why would I want to do that? I'm one of these weirdos. And a foreigner to boot," he added, soft smile creeping across his face. "I'll be staying in London most of the summer. If I hear you've been horrible to Harry, I'll just pop over to Little Whinging and turn your head around backward, shall I? And I might not need the wand to do it," he said pleasantly, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning over Uncle Vernon, who was half draped over the luggage cart. Uncle Vernon's eyes grew wide, and Harry could almost hear his horror at finding out that this nice, normal looking young man was one of them.

"If we don't hear from you for three days, we'll send someone along, Potter..." Moody said. "Give one of us a shout if you need us." Uncle Vernon disentangled himself from the luggage cart, and Viktor tossed their trunks onto it. Aunt Petunia looked stricken at the thought of any one of these people trudging up the front path.

"Take care, Harry," Viktor said, wheeling the cart over toward the Grangers who were still standing off to the side, out of earshot. They greeted him pleasantly, shaking his hand.

"We'll see you really soon, Harry," Hermione said earnestly, and she went to join Viktor and her parents where they stood.

"Soon, mate," Ron echoed, shaking Harry's hand.

"Bye, then, Potter," Moody said, laying a gnarled hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Be well, Harry. And let us know if you need anything. Viktor should be close by most of the summer. We may even get him to pop in on you anyway. When he's not around, some of the rest of us will be," Lupin said in a low voice.

Harry took a look around at them all, standing there, smiling at him encouragingly. He couldn't say what it meant, to have them stand up to the Dursleys for him. Instead, he merely waved at them, then turned and led the way out of the train station, with Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley hurrying along in his wake.