Footsteps To Valhalla

-- CHAPTER TWO --

Collins' Proposal

Harry was fuming when he left the Ministry. The cool, night air did little to soothe him when he Apparated into Socrates Square, and he was glad that there weren't too many people about to watch him stride angrily over the cobbles towards the little side-street where Hermione had her flat. Oblivious to the soft twilight which was darkening by now into late evening, and to the few groups of people he passed who were off to the restaurants or bars for the night, he made straight for Hermione's distinctive blue door and gave it a hard knock.

She was a while coming to answer it, and when she did he found himself at once unaccountably comforted by her composed, familiar presence. She often had that effect on him. It was like running as hard as you could through a raging thunderstorm and then coming home and finding a hot cup of tea and treacle tart waiting for you.

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, taking in his tense frame and furrowed brow in some alarm. "What on earth happened? Come on up. Ron's here, and Sam's not coming over until later. We've been so worried!"

She shepherded him in and up the stairs to her sitting room like the calm, capable soul she was, and very soon he found himself comfortably ensconced on a cushioned wicker chair out on her balcony overlooking the gardens behind the Square, with a glass of Mrs Weasley's homemade sloe wine in his hand.

Ron was there, perched on the ledge of the balcony and leaning against the railing, eager to hear all about what Collins had wanted.

"What was with the Patronus?" he wanted to know. "Did you find out?"

Harry shook his head. "He didn't mention it, but I expect it was one of his gestures of confidence or something of the sort."

"What did he want, Harry?" asked Hermione, coming to sit on the arm of his chair.

He told them what Collins had said to him, and both of them listened wide-eyed.

"He wants you to go to Romania?" repeated Ron, darkly. "And he didn't tell you why?"

"Yep."

"That sounds terribly serious, Harry," said Hermione. "What did you say?"

"Too much, probably. I lost my temper."

"Oh, Harry!"

"Well, he was spouting all this crap about sacrifices having to be made in war and it just irritated me! I should have bitten my tongue, I know."

"I think you ought to go," said Hermione, in a tone that forewarned a lecture. "It would be so good for your career."

"Oh, don't start about all that, Hermione, please. I'm not in the mood."

"What did he say about Ingrisfeld?" asked Ron, who had been staring into his sloe wine thoughtfully.

"Nothing much. Just that what the Aurors are doing there is essential to the war and it must go on no matter how many people get killed." Harry looked at his best friend for a moment, seeing a brief haunted look pass over his eyes, as though he was reliving memories. Harry felt a wave of empathy, recollecting how the culmination of his fourth year at Hogwarts had given him nightmares for ages afterwards. One's first taste of the evil of the world was probably the worst experience of a lifetime. He leaned forward. "Didn't Charlie say anything? Anything about what they were doing in his camp?"

"Not a damn thing," replied Ron. "He knows, I'm sure of it. I mean, he would, wouldn't he, being in the Order and everything?"

"It does sound very important, Harry," said Hermione, softly. "I'm sure nobody at the Ministry would waste lives like that for something trivial."

Harry finished off his wine as he thought about it. There was no denying that he was desperately curious about this Romanian business, and that the best way to mollify his curiosity would be to get out there and find out for himself. It would be good for his career, after all, and it might help him, in some way, for what lay ahead. But still - he thought about the atlas in his wardrobe, patiently waiting for their attention. Could he afford to go off on pursuit of another mystery with unfinished business that undoubtedly took precedence?

"How long have you got before Collins needs your answer?" asked Ron.

"Three days."

He felt Ron and Hermione exchange looks over his head.

"What will you say?" asked Hermione, gently.

"I don't know. I ought to go, you're right. But - "

"But you don't want to leave things behind undone," she finished for him.

He leaned his head back until it rested against the top of the chair. Hermione slipped off the arm and came around to stand in front of him.

"You can't stay here forever," she said, speaking with her customary wisdom. "It's silly to sit around refusing all chances to move on with your life, waiting for new information to drop in your lap. We've hit a rut, it's true, but it has happened before and we've always found something out which got things moving again, usually when we least expected it, or when we were busy with other things. I think you should get out there and see the world and build some foundations, and who knows - perhaps you'll find something that will help us along the way?"

Harry gave a reluctant smile. She was always right, even if she went about proving it the wrong way, and her confidence in him never wavered. She always spoke as though the key to their quest was just around the corner, and that every hiccup was nothing more than a temporary setback. She never fell into fatalism like he did, or into doubt like Ron, and it was maddening and marvellous all at once to know that she held the answer to solving almost every troubling difficulty.

But what Collins had said about detachment still rankled. It made him feel sick to think of his presence in a place as part of a team being the cause of danger and death coming into the world of people who might have been spared it, and even sicker to think of it being a pre-requisite for becoming a qualified Auror to have to consider only the job in hand with clinical, dispassionate precision. Objective: kill the enemy. Nothing more. There had to be more, thought Harry. He became an Auror to protect people, not to ride rough-shod over them if they happened to get in the way of his job. Collins was wrong.

Aloud he said, with a sigh: "I'll think about it."

"Good," said Hermione, satisfied. She took his empty glass from him, and reached across for Ron's. "I think a refill is in order."

She padded across her little sitting room to the kitchen beyond, weaving a path around the piles of cardboard boxes and heaps of half-unpacked odds and ends - (mostly books). Harry settled back comfortably in his chair and glanced at Ron.

Ron was following Hermione's progress across the room with a half-absent, half-childlike expression on his face - one Harry was well used to noticing by now. Smiling, he gave Ron's leg a nudge with his foot.

"You OK?" he asked.

"What? Mm. Just thinking about Charlie and all this Auror business. What d'you think they're doing out there?"

Harry shrugged. "Whatever it is, it isn't going to be over nice and neatly. It's going to be a sodding mess."

Ron grunted, and began fiddling distractedly with the small charm hanging on a thin cord round his neck. It was an Alarm Device - standard Auror issue - which everyone in the department was supposed to wear at all times, in case of an emergency. By pressing the little leather knot you alerted the Watch Room at the Ministry, allowing them to work out where you were to come and help. He didn't need to wear it any more now that he was in the Strategy Office, but old habits died hard.

"Everything's a sodding mess," he muttered.

Harry wondered if he was thinking about Ginny again. Ron had always been closest to her of all the Weasley brothers, and Harry fancied it hurt him a little that she had launched herself into her work with the Bureau and not confided in him. He felt the same, sometimes - not that he had any right to. She probably thought of him as more of an acquaintance now than a good friend.

The doorbell rang downstairs, jolting both boys out of their reveries. Hermione expertly Levitated the three glasses she had filled onto the table, and disappeared down to answer it.

"That'll be Sam," she said, cheerfully.

Ron looked grumpy.

"Do you want to stay?" asked Harry, not sure that he much wanted to. Generally speaking, Hermione was not the sort to indulge in public displays of affection in front of her two best friends, but nevertheless Harry always ended up feeling a bit like a third wheel. Besides, Ron always got irritable.

"Hmph," he said, standing up and cracking his spine. "Not really. Feel like something stronger down at Hildebrand's?"

"Absolutely," replied Harry.

Hildebrand Bludgeon ran the best pub in wizard London, the Frog and Nightgown, on the corner where Diagon Alley met Socrates Square. Many of the old Hogwarts crowd regularly haunted its revered rooms, where the company was always first-class and the conversation flowed freely like the excellent Beaujolais.

Voices sounded on the stairs, and soon Hermione had returned with her visitor.

Sam Underbridge was exactly the sort of man Harry used to imagine Hermione would end up marrying, living in a pretty country cottage and having babies with. He was tall and skinny - almost to the point of emaciation - with very fine brown hair and grey eyes, and not unhandsome. His skin had the translucent pallor of someone who spent long hours indoors poring over books, yet his carriage was confident and understatedly masculine. He was a nice enough chap, Harry thought, if slightly on the dull side. He was terribly clever, and he and Hermione would talk for ages about all kinds of profound subjects with plenty of polysyllabic, technical words. In short, Sam was precisely the sort of guy who annoyed Ron most.

"Hullo, everyone!" he said, brightly, following Hermione across to the balcony.

"Hi, Sam," answered Harry. "How are things?"

"Oh, you know. Lots to do. Actually I should have been over at Lambeth at a convention tonight but they cancelled at the last minute."

"So Sam's been helping Miranda Hinkleby-Moss with her case against that firm in Carlisle which trades in illegal unicorn hair," declared Hermione, proudly. "It's a very prestigious case."

Harry made a polite noise.

"I have to go up to Edinburgh tomorrow for the hearing," said Sam, "so I'm afraid I can't make dinner after all."

"Oh!" said Hermione, in surprise. "Will it take that long?"

"Probably. It should be cut and dried, but the other side is making a bit of a mess of things, so we need to be prepared for an adjournment. I'll try to get back as soon as I can."

Harry saw Ron sidle across to the door out of the corner of his eye, looking mutinous, and decided to hasten their departure.

"We're going down to Hildebrand's for a few drinks now, so we'll leave you in peace," he said.

Sam gave him a grateful grin, but Hermione looked a little flustered.

"Oh, you don't have to, you know!"

"It's all right. Got an early start tomorrow."

"How is everything in the Auror Department?" Sam asked, interestedly.

Harry found himself drawn into the usual social exchanges while Hermione fluttered beside him a little anxiously, and Ron edged ever closer to the door.

"Ahem!" coughed the latter, after a while. He jerked his head at Harry. "I thought we were going, come on."

"Sorry," said Harry to Sam, as Ron disappeared downstairs without another word. Sam shrugged good naturedly, but Hermione was frowning.

"See you tomorrow," Harry added, squeezing her arm. "Enjoy your night."

As he slipped out onto the street after Ron, who was halfway towards the Square by now, hands in pockets, kicking his boots against the cobbles like a sulky teenager, he couldn't help a sigh of frustration.

Ron needed to get his act together if he didn't want to lose her forever, and that was a fact.

***

The next evening the twins were having a big family dinner, and almost everyone had been invited. Mrs Weasley arrived at lunchtime armed with a vast array of ingredients, utterly unconvinced that her sons were capable of creating a suitable menu. She and Angelina spent the afternoon baking, and Harry was almost bowled over by the glorious mixture of smells when he returned from his day's work at the Ministry.

"I thought we'd have soup to start with," Mrs Weasley told him, when he stopped in the kitchen for a cup of tea, "and roast beef with all the trimmings. What do you think about treacle pudding for afters?"

"Wonderful," said Harry, truthfully.

Mrs Weasley beamed. "How was your day, dear? You look tired."

He felt tired. Collins, as though to punish him for his insubordination the night before, had set him all the most gruesome tasks in the Exercise Hall, and his muscles felt like they were all about to fall off.

He was just about to go for a shower when the twins themselves appeared, shrugging off their shop robes and demanding refreshment.

"Make your own, you lazy git," admonished Angelina, as Fred wheedled.

"So this is what our relationship has come to," sighed Fred, sadly. "Here come I, from a hard day's work, and this is the welcome I receive..."

"Hm, I don't suppose cooking and cleaning and washing your socks counts as work, then, does it?" said Angelina.

"Don't pay any attention to him, dear," said Mrs Weasley, with a stern look at Fred. "He never was one for gratitude."

"You cut me to the quick, Mother," exclaimed Fred, clasping a hand to his heart.

"Oh, get out of the way, Fred, and let us get on with the cooking. And you, George. Hands out of that biscuit jar, if you don't mind!"

"But I'm hungry!" protested George.

"You can eat at dinner. It won't be long."

"Harry's eating them!"

"Harry needs his strength."

"Oh, please!"

"Hey! Do you want to try it some time?" asked Harry, with a grin. "It's no walk in the park."

"I could be an Auror," declared Fred, whipping out his wand and striking a combatant pose, knocking over a bowl of sliced carrots as he did so.

"Oh, Fred!" wailed Angelina.

Harry laughed. "You'd fail Stealth and Tracking, that's for sure."

"Kingsley says an Auror needs a steady hand and a sharp brain," said Angelina, waving her wand and returning the carrots to their bowl.

"That's us out then," grinned George.

Mrs Weasley turned to put a large roasting dish with the joint of beef in the oven, and nearly tripped over Fred, who was lounging against the worktop.

"Oh, Fred, please, go and do something useful and stop cluttering up the kitchen!"

"It's my house!"

"For this evening, this is my kitchen - unless you fancy cooking yourself?"

Fred jumped up at once. "Er, no, that's all right, really!"

"I say, Mum," said George, peering into one of the bubbling saucepans on the hob, "would you care for one of our Smoking Cinnamon Capsules?"

"I very much doubt it," replied Mrs Weasley, with a frown, as Harry snorted into his mug of tea. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's nothing I want to put in my soup, thank you very much!"

"Oh, I dunno," said Fred, with a twinkle in his eye. "They give every dish a hearty lift, and they'd really clean out your sinuses!"

He and George scampered off like little boys as Mrs Weasley brandished the ladle at them, chortling all the way upstairs.

"Those boys!" sighed Mrs Weasley. "Will they never grow up?"

When Harry came down from his shower a while later, he found the cosy sitting room full of people. Mad-Eye Moody's was the first face he saw, leering at him with his magical eye and pulling his disfigured face into a smile, which came out as more of a grimace.

"Harry, m'boy! Haven't seen you in an age! How are you managing with old Collins? Know what we used to call him at Hogwarts? Choleric Collins! Always was an old tyrant."

Remus Lupin and Tonks were on the sofa next to Mrs Weasley. They smiled and waved at him as he came in, and Tonks got up and hugged him. Her hair was an attractive fudge-blonde today, tied back in a long plait, the way Ginny often wore hers.

"Wotcher, Harry. You look peaky. Eat more chocolate."

"Hey, Tonks," he replied, with a laugh, returning her hug. He had grown very fond of her over the years. She behaved to him as though he was a wayward little brother who needed the occasional sisterly lecture, a certain amount of indulgent tolerance, and a lot of affectionate teasing, and he rather liked it. It was nice to have someone to talk to about Auror training, since she had been through the same process as Harry several years ago. He had been out on sorties with her several times over the last weeks, and after seeing her in action it was hard to reconcile the pretty, wifely Tonks who presently had her arm around him with the tactical, fearless Tonks who had strangled a man unconscious three days earlier with her bare hands, and organised their entire assault on the potion-dealers' midnight rendezvous with their Death Eater business partners.

Hermione was perched on the arm of George's chair, cradling a mug in her hand. She beamed at Harry, but he thought her eyes looked a little sad. He made a mental note to sit her down and find out what was on her mind later. Perhaps she had had another argument with Sam.

Ron was skulking in the kitchen, casting sideways glances at everyone from beneath lowered brows. Harry rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long huff this time.

The only other guest was Verity, George's girlfriend of three months. They all knew her well from the shop, where she helped out at the till and down in the warehouse cellars, but she hadn't been to many family events before, and Harry thought she looked a bit nervous. Angelina had taken her in hand, though, and the two of them were sitting on the hearthrug chatting while Crookshanks wove around them, purring and demanding attention.

"How are you, Harry?" asked Remus, as Harry skirted around the girls to join him on the sofa.

"Fine, thanks."

"You look worried."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Everything's obvious. You have a face like your father, he could never hide anything either. What's the trouble?"

Harry wondered what to say first. Well, there's this thing - I have to search the world for four pieces of Voldemort's soul and then kill him. And then there's work: my tutor doesn't think I'm cut out for the job and I have two days to decide whether I want to sacrifice my principles for my career or stay here and vegetate.

"It's rather a long and boring story," he said, at last.

Remus looked thoughtful. "Well, I've been to several of Molly's marvellous dinner parties and I'm quite sure that she has prepared enough courses to occupy us until midnight at the latest. I think we can probably squeeze it in, don't you?"

Harry smiled gratefully. He liked having Remus around to talk to, especially since he had left Hogwarts. He was the only one who really understood the way his mind worked, apart from Ron, Hermione and Ginny, and it was nice to occasionally get the point of view of a 'grown-up'. He knew he'd feel better once he'd spilled out all his concerns to a sympathetic ear.

Well, some of them.

Dinner was like most other affairs when the Weasleys were present. You were guaranteed never a dull moment, and there was always something pleasant to think about. The conversations generally went the same way: Moody and Remus would discuss the Order and the news of the latest attacks, Tonks would alternate between talking politics with the men and catching up on the gossip with Hermione and Angelina, the twins would crack jokes and have everyone rolling around in their seats, and Harry and Ron would pick up on anything interesting and press for information, usually to be told that they were too young or it was classified or some other brush-off that annoyed them.

Today, Mrs Weasley had chosen to harangue Fred about his living arrangements.

"It wouldn't be so bad if you were married, Fred," she kept saying, earnestly. "And if it were only your father and I then it wouldn't matter a bit, but you know how people talk."

"Mum, please don't keep on about this. It's not even officially official! We didn't decide to live together - it just sort of happened that way. As far as the owls are concerned, she still lives with her parents!"

"Haven't you ever thought about getting married, though, dear? Don't you think she'd like it? After all, you have been together for two years now, and soon you'll both be twenty-four."

"There's plenty of time, Mum."

"Women like stability, dear. I'm sure if you asked her..."

Fred's ears had turned a little pink, like Ron's did when he started to lose his temper. "Mum, when I want to propose to a girl, I will, but until then, can we leave this conversation alone, please?"

And Fred launched himself into the discussion Verity and Tonks were having about business in the shop, leaving Mrs Weasley with a slight pout.

Harry smiled to himself. Bill's marriage to Fleur had been the catalyst for all her recent match-making schemes. A visit rarely passed without some hint to one or other unmarried Weasley being dropped about grandchildren and 'a nice church wedding'. As far as Harry was aware she still had no idea that Charlie was happily living with his girlfriend out in Romania, with no intention of getting married at all, or that Percy had recently been spotted at the Ministry in company with a young lady who wore an engagement ring on her left hand. Soon it would be Ron's turn for the lecture, thought Harry with a snort of laughter.

Ron had been unusually silent during the first two courses. Now he heaved a great sigh and observed suddenly: "It's kind of a girly job, being a solicitor, isn't it?"

Harry blinked in confusion. "Is it?"

"Well, I mean, it's not like there's any danger involved, is there? It's just reading books and talking in court, isn't it?"

The pieces fell into place. "Oh," said Harry. "Er, yes."

Ron relapsed into silence again, prodding at the remains of the roast beef on his plate with his fork.

Harry couldn't help a glance over to Hermione, who had paused in her chat with Angelina to take a sip of wine. She caught his eye and smiled, and cast her gaze over Ron beside him, chin propped on his hand, staring at his plate moodily. She looked away.

It was moments like this that made Harry profoundly uncomfortable. He had put up with a ridiculous amount of sexual tension between his two best friends for five years, but there was no denying that it was getting worse. Their bickering had turned into full-blown fights now, followed by weeks of cold-shouldering and hurt glances across the breakfast table. He and Ginny despaired, but now it had lost a lot of its entertaining quality. There was something grim in the way Ron treated Sam, and Hermione when she was with Sam, or was about to join him, or had come from him, and something pitifully painful in the way Hermione always looked like he'd slapped her when he made some snarling comment. Nerves were strained at the moment, what with work and other responsibilities, and the huge task that was affecting them all, but Harry wasn't sure how much more of this he could stand.

At that moment, the back door opened and Bill came in, looking rather haggard and unshaven. He had obviously been pulling an all-nighter over at the headquarters of the Order, Phoenix Manor.

"Bill! We weren't expecting you!" exclaimed Mrs Weasley, jumping up to set another place.

"Hello everyone," said Bill, cheerily. "No, Mum, I've already eaten, thanks, but I'll join in for pudding if there's any left!"

"How are things?" asked Remus.

Bill nodded reassuringly. "Proceeding nicely on the last report. None of your business, Ron," he added, as Ron opened his mouth to ask a question. "Order stuff. Oh, and I've spoken to Dad..."

"Is Ginny all right?" burst out Mrs Weasley. She had shown admirable restraint up until now, reassuring everybody that Ginny never went anywhere without telling either herself or her father, and had something gone wrong she was positive that Mr Weasley would have contacted her immediately.

"She's fine," replied Bill. "She's in Egypt as we thought, and she'll be back as soon as she can."

Ron sank back in his chair in relief, and then his ears turned pink.

"Well, why the bloody hell didn't she tell us? What's she playing at?"

"She had orders, Ron," said Bill, patiently, "and she told Dad, so it's fine."

"What are they doing out there?" asked George, curiously.

Bill shrugged. "I'm not technically on the strength so they didn't tell me everything, but I have a vague idea. Can't tell you, though."

Ron grunted and went back to nursing his glass of wine.

Speculations as to the Bureau's business out in Egypt saw everyone through pudding, interspersed with Moody's recollections of days gone by when the Bureau was even more of a cloak-and-dagger affair than it was today, and people used to disappear for months on end without a word to suddenly pop up again out of nowhere as though they'd been holidaying on the Riviera, and soon they were all settled in the sitting room with Angelina's freshly-brewed coffee.

"Well, Harry," said Remus, turning to him with a kindly smile. "Since my wife has abandoned me for gossip.." - he nodded to where Tonks was nattering with Mrs Weasley about some mutual friend or other - "how about you tell me what's going on?"

So Harry told him what had passed between him and Collins, and what Hermione had said about getting out in the world and making a start.

"It sounds as though you've practically made up your mind," observed Remus. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is I don't want to be mixed up in something that sounds so callous!" replied Harry, heatedly. "I hate it that Collins seems to think of people as inconvenient obstacles in the way of Auror business."

"What's all this?" asked Bill, plonking himself down on the sofa next to Remus.

Harry sighed and repeated his trouble.

"Oh, old Collins has given you the talk, has he?" laughed Bill. "Discipline, Determination and Detachment, and all that."

"You know?" asked Harry, in surprise.

"Collins' methods are infamous, even in other departments."

"You heard Moody before dinner, Harry," added Remus. "He's a bit of a tyrant, and you don't need to take everything he says personally."

"But I don't want to be detached," Harry insisted. "I went into this because I wanted to help people, not screw up their lives even more!"

Remus considered for a moment, his grey eyes reflective. "I know it sounds dreadful, Harry, but he means well. If you faced a choice between saving one person's life or saving thousands, which would you choose?"

"The Ingrisfeld business was nothing like that."

"How do you know?" asked Bill, solemnly. "Perhaps the fifteen people who died at Ingrisfeld were the alternative to fifteen thousand somewhere else."

Harry couldn't think what to say. Logic told him that both Remus and Bill had a point, but it still rankled. Tonks had approached by now, and she had obviously overheard the last few exchanges. She perched on the arm of the sofa and laid her hand on Remus' shoulder.

"You don't have to be insensible to be an Auror, Harry, don't think that," she said. "I remember having the same kind of thing drummed into me when I was training. It's not that they want us to be immune to any sympathy for people - that's why most people go into this business after all. They just want us to protect ourselves. When you've spent more time in the field you'll see why."

"Why doesn't somebody tell me why?" Harry wanted to know. He knew he was losing his temper, but it didn't seem to matter.

Tonks and Remus looked at each other with expressions like shrugs of resignation. It did nothing to improve Harry's mood.

"You think I'm too emotionally involved as well, don't you?" he said, rather accusingly.

"There's nothing wrong with being emotionally involved," said Tonks, firmly. "But you have to understand that there isn't always an easy way to win a war. There are always going to be people who get caught up in our dirty work, but there is always a good reason why Aurors do what they do."

"If you go out to Romania as Collins is suggesting, you'll find out why," added Bill.

It all made sense, the rational part of Harry's brain told him, but he still didn't like hearing it.

"I'll think about it," he conceded, at last.

"Remus!" exclaimed Moody loudly, making them all jump. "What's all this I hear about Arthur meeting with the Junior Ambassador in New York?"

With an anxious half-glance at Harry, who gave him a reluctant smile back in reassurance, Remus let himself be drawn into a new discussion. Tonks and Bill soon joined in, and Harry decided to slip away before anyone could corner him. He had noticed Hermione casting him suspicious looks ever since dinner had finished, and he wasn't in the mood for another lecture.

She was too quick for him, and caught him just as he was about to slip out of the back door.

"Where are you going?" she whispered, urgently.

"To the training rooms," Harry replied, taking his jacket down from the peg.

"It's ten o'clock!"

"I need some space, Hermione, that's all. I won't be long."

"What were you talking about with Remus and the others?"

"Just stuff," he said, cagily. She didn't look convinced. "I'm not going to get murdered on the way to the Ministry, don't panic. I just want to think."

She bit her lip, but gave a little shrug. She knew that arguing with him wouldn't do any good.

"Back soon," he said, with a smile, kissing her on the forehead impulsively.

She didn't try to stop him, and he slipped away into the night.

***

Harry liked to vent his frustration in the training rooms. There was something about the hard physical exercises that Collins liked to set him that acted as a kind of cleanser that purged all the temper out of him. His favourite was the enchanted Maze in one of the wings, which reminded him of his Fourth Year at Hogwarts. All manner of hideous dangers lurked around the corners of the rabbit warren of corridors and doorways, and although most were only special Auror spells and glamours which represented the realities, the adrenalin pumped in just the same way as it had when he had done it for real at the age of fourteen.

He crept along a hallway, his wand held tightly in two hands, every sense on the alert. The silence was acute, and it could be broken at any moment without warning by something bursting through a side door or coming up on him from behind.

Locked in a strange kind of dance, creeping along walls and slipping behind pillars and doorframes, Harry exercised the mantra which his intensive training had taught him. Mind control; self control; muscle control. Think before you act. Let your head rule your body.

Not your heart, Harry reminded himself, dryly, narrowly missing a non-verbal hex as it shot over his shoulder from behind, crashing into the wall and sending pieces of broken stone and plaster everywhere. The shadowy figure was quickly dispatched with a Stupefy spell, and Harry resumed his journey.

''Don't you think you've got a bit of a - a - saving people thing, Harry' Hermione had once asked him, tentatively.

What she had meant was that he blundered into the lion's mouth without any thought for the consequences - especially if someone was in danger.

He span round and eliminated another figure with a well-aimed curse, blocking his ears to the wail of agony.

Perhaps Collins and Remus and Tonks were right. Perhaps he needed to be more detached. His passionate spirit had been his undoing many times in the past, and it would be again.

It had happened with Sirius.

He had sent Ginny away in case it happened with her too.

"Fucking hell!" he yelled, as a set of spears shot out of the wall beside him as he passed. He executed a weird twirl in an attempt to dodge them, but one grazed his right arm as it drove into the stone behind him. Pain lanced through him, and he cursed his lack of concentration.

"Language, Potter, please!" said a mirthful voice.

He raised his head and pushed his hair off his sweaty forehead. A girl had just stepped through a door in front of him, with long black hair and pretty, almond-shaped eyes. She was laughing at him.

"It's not bloody funny, Faith," he hissed, through gritted teeth.

"Let me," she said, taking out her wand and performed a simple healing spell on his arm. At once the pain dissolved.

"Thanks," said Harry, straightening up. He glanced straight at her, wishing he didn't look such a wreck. His shirt was torn and bloody and damp with sweat, and his jeans were covered in dust and cobwebs. "What are you doing here so late?"

Faith gave an elegant shrug. "Same as you. Collins pissed me off, so here I came to pretend to bash his head in with a trusty Muggle sword."

"Is that your answer to everything?" he asked with a laugh.

"Almost everything. Fancy practicing with me?"

She looked at him appealingly, tilting her body towards him in a feline posture and gazing up at him through her lashes.

"Why not?"

Faith led the way out of the Maze to the Armoury upstairs, where all the Muggle weapons were kept. Collins didn't set much store by Muggle methods of self-defence, except various Japanese karate techniques which amused him enormously, but he recommended that all his Resistance students should know how to use a sword, 'just in case'. It was more of a fitness exercise than anything else, and a session with Faith usually left Harry exhausted. She was an expert, and put him through his paces every time.

"So," she said, as he dodged her attack for the fourth time, "what did he say that brings you here so late?"

Between manoeuvres he managed to relate the story again.

"I think you should go," she said, when he'd finished, circling him casually with her blade glinting in the light of the sconces.

"You do, do you?"

"Yes, I do. They've all got a point, and you know it, so why don't you go and prove to them that compassion is just as important as guts and brains?"

Harry always marvelled at her ability to impart her wisdom so succinctly and apparently without emotion. She said it with an expressionless face, except for a slight quizzical raising and dropping of her eyebrows.

"You've got all the answers, haven't you?" he said, taking advantage of her temporary lapse to move in for the assault. She blocked him, as she always did, smiling at his irritation.

He wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm. "God, between you and Hermione it's a wonder I ever make my own mind up about anything at all!"

"I like Hermione."

Harry grinned. "What about Ron?"

"I like him too. I like a man with capricious moods."

She was teasing him, putting out her bottom lip as she always did when she was trying to get a rise out of him.

"Do I have capricious moods?" he asked, as metal clanged on metal.

"Not very often. You feel too much, though. Detachment can be very unstressful, you know. Perhaps it's not such a bad thing after all."

His temper flared again, for no apparent reason. It gave him the edge he needed to use his superior strength to send the sword flying out of her hand. It clattered on the flagstones, and she gave a little gasp.

He frowned at her without saying anything as they both fought to get their breath back. Then she gave a little laugh.

"You're very sexy when you're angry, Harry."

He raised an eyebrow.

"There's something about a guy with muscles and feelings, especially when he's all sweaty and glowering."

Her eyes took his full six feet in with a sweeping glance, and she bit her lip in mock coquettishness. He laughed despite himself, and reached for her, drawing her into his arms.

Her lips were always warm and yielding, and her hands locked themselves around his neck with a confident strength that often made him wonder deep down inside himself exactly who was in control. It didn't really matter, was his general conclusion.

"Stay with me tonight?" she whispered, as he broke the kiss to press his lips and nose to the crown of her head. Her hair smelled of magnolias.

Hermione would worry, he thought, and Ron would miss him in the morning. Still, he had managed to slip back in the early hours after dawn before now without getting caught, and neither of them seemed to have cottoned on yet.

He nodded.

***

It was considerably later than dawn when Harry Apparated into the Ministry Atrium, in the same clothes he'd left the dinner party in the night before. If either Angelina or Ron caught him, he was for the high-jump.

He was just a little later than the customary rush hour, when all the Ministry employees came spilling out of the fire grates or popping into the air, so the Atrium was not as busy as it might have been. By now everyone was at their desks beginning the day's work, which was precisely where Harry needed to be before Collins came round and found him missing.

Every third day, Auror trainees in their final year were required to participate in the administration side of department business. It involved a lot of parchment and magical forms of filing and a good deal of boredom, and Harry was glad at least that Ron was still obliged to do this from the Strategy Office. The two of them shared a little study-office in a poky wing of the department, along with Anthony Goldstein, another Hogwarts and D.A. veteran. The three of them spent considerably more time than they ought whiling away the days in idleness, but fortunately Collins considered it beneath his dignity to check up on them. As long as they were there, he didn't care what they got up to.

When he got into the lift to take him up to the Auror floor, a familiar dreamy voice addressed him.

"Hello, Harry. I haven't seen you for a long time."

Startled, he turned around. Standing amongst the other occupants of the lift - a wizened old lady in a hat emblazoned with crescent moons clutching what looked like a cat basket, a tall, nervous-looking man with a wispy moustache who was gazing at Harry as though he couldn't believe his eyes, and a plump, businesslike woman in pince-nez leafing through a sheet of parchments and tutting to herself - was someone so unique that Harry would never have mistaken her for anyone else.

"Hi, Luna," he said, in surprise. "What are you here for?"

Luna scratched her ear thoughtfully, making her famous radish earrings start swinging. "I've been in Courtroom Five," she replied. "Some professor at a Healing college in Leicester is suing my father for making inappropriate suggestions in last month's Quibbler."

"Oh?" said Harry, choking a laugh.

"Yes. Ridiculous really, and of course he won't win. Anyone who knows anything about Healing knows that the Snagglebroth Finckleton is the best cure for Troll's Foot."

Harry wished Ron was there. How he would have snorted! Aloud he enquired politely: "What is the Snagglebroth Finckleton?"

"Oh, don't you know?" asked Luna, turning wide blue eyes to him. "You haven't got Troll's Foot, have you?"

"Er - I don't think so."

"It can affect Aurors, you know. Something about Scriffleworms, and they like to live in..."

The lift opened at the second floor. "Sorry, Luna," said Harry, apologetically, "but this is my stop. I'm late for work, I'm afraid."

"Oh, is this where you work?" asked Luna, excitedly, following him out onto the corridor. "I've always wanted to know what the Auror department was like."

"Er, well I guess you could come and see my rooms, if you want."

"I'd love to!"

She began strolling off down the corridor, gazing in awe at the bustling people passing in both directions. Harry couldn't help smiling.

She chattered as they walked about all kinds of things: her father's court case, Hermione, Ginny, her new job as Assistant Editor of the Quibbler. Harry listened in amusement, making noises in all the right places and answering her questions about his work as best he could. Eventually they reached the long line of cubicles which was a hive of industry, and her voice was drowned out by the noise.

"This way," he mouthed to her, pointing to the archway at the far end that led to the tunnel-like wings full of offices and reception rooms. When they gained the relative peace of the hallway, Luna spoke again.

"It's very loud, isn't it?

"Usually. These are the student offices down here."

He led the way down a small flight of steps and along a narrow corridor lined with doors on the one side and enchanted windows on the other. Luna prodded the magical glass in curiosity.

"It's very clever, this, isn't it? I spoke to Ginny about it once when she took me over to the Bureau. They have them over there too."

"Ginny took you to the Bureau?" repeated Harry, stopping dead.

"Yes. We had lunch in the cafeteria on the top floor, and then she showed me where her office is. It was very pretty. I gave her a bowl of Snodgrass to put on her desk. It purifies the air and prevents the room from getting infected by Mothwort."

Harry was just about to open his mouth to pursue this unexpected piece of information when the sound of raised voices in one of the nearby rooms stopped him.

"I still think we should consider this most carefully. This isn't exactly a school trip to the Cotswolds, is it?"

It was Mad-Eye Moody, and from the mutterings that followed this remark it was obvious that Bill and Kingsley were taking part in the conversation too. Harry drew closer to the door, which was open the barest of cracks.

"It's all under control, Mad-Eye, don't get in a panic," came Bill's voice. "We've taken all the necessary precautions and Nick and I are in constant communication with the agents in the field."

"We are, Mad-Eye," said another male voice, reassuringly. "And we've done this sort of thing before, after all!"

The door opened suddenly just as Harry and Luna began moving closer.

"I think it would be best if we leave this discussion for today," came Kingsley's voice, growing louder as the door swung out. "I've got a lot to do, and the Minister is expecting me for...Merlin! Hello, Harry! Didn't expect to see you."

"Hello," replied Harry, hoping they wouldn't accuse him of listening at keyholes. Bill and Moody emerged into the corridor behind Kingsley, and over their shoulders Harry could see a tall man with dark hair whom he vaguely recognised, and Professor McGonagall.

"Late for work?" asked Bill, with a knowing grin.

"A bit," Harry grinned back.

"I must go, everyone," said Kingsley, starting off down the hall. "Mustn't keep the Minister waiting."

"I should go too," agreed Professor McGonagall. "I trust you're keeping out of trouble, Potter?"

"For the moment," Harry replied.

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "Hm. Try to keep it that way, won't you? Goodbye, everyone."

"What was all that about?" asked Harry of Bill, as soon as she was out of earshot.

Bill shook his head. "Sorry, Harry. Classified information, as usual. Oh, you remember Nick Gates, don't you? It's been a while, I know."

The brown-haired man beside him gave Harry a grin and held out his hand. "Hello, Harry. Long time, isn't it? I hear you're on the Resistance programme with old Collins."

Harry nodded. "For my sins."

Nick chuckled. "Don't let him push you around. He likes someone who can fight back. Had him myself when I was training."

Harry had only met Nick once or twice in the past, several years ago after Dumbledore's death. He was a first-class Auror according to everyone who spoke about him, and he belonged to the Order. He had been engaged for a long time on some hush-hush business abroad, and was obviously just back.

"Not long, I'm afraid," he replied, when Harry asked how long he was around for. "I'm being packed off again in a couple of days. Collins told me he'd asked you along, Harry."

"You're going to Romania?" asked Harry, in sudden shock.

Nick's eyes twinkled. "Yep. I don't suppose you've made your mind up yet, have you? I've heard some good stuff about you - we could use you."

"Er - not quite yet. Collins gave me until tomorrow at midnight."

Nick exchanged looks with Bill, and then smiled.

"Well, I hope you decide to come, Harry. In the meantime, take care of yourself."

"Dad's coming back tomorrow, Harry," added Bill, amicably, as he made to follow his friend down the corridor, "so you can talk to him if you want to. See you around."

They rounded the corner, and Harry saw that Moody had dissolved into the background too. Lost in thought, he barely noticed Luna standing at his shoulder.

"He's very handsome, isn't he?" she said, making Harry jump. "That dark one. And the one with the long hair too, really. He's your friend Ronald's brother, isn't he?"

"Yes," said Harry, absently.

"I thought so. I met him once with Ginny. Well, it's been lovely seeing where you work, Harry. I think I'd better go and see if my father is ready to go back to the office. Goodbye!"

And she disappeared off down the hall the way Bill and Nick had gone, leaving Harry feeling a little dazed. A conversation with Luna was always like walking through a whirlwind - she never changed.

His and Ron's study was a little further along the corridor. When he opened the door, his thoughts still on what Nick had said about Romania, he was quite unprepared for the explosion that awaited him.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" yelled Ron, jumping up from where he had been sitting on the window ledge.

"Oh," said Harry, colouring.

"First Ginny goes off into the dark unknown without so much as a note, and then you! What was I supposed to think? You prat, Harry!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to worry anyone - " Harry began. He didn't much fancy going into explanations about where he'd spent the night.

"Then don't sneak off in the middle of the night! You slipped out of that dinner looking all furtive - I saw you go! - and then you don't come back all night. Where did you go?"

"To the training rooms," replied Harry, half-truthfully. There was no need to say that he hadn't spent all night in the training rooms.

Ron was a fetching shade of maroon by now. "Why?"

"I told Hermione, I needed some space to think."

"She didn't say anything," burst out Ron, indignantly, after a moment.

"That's probably because you've been snapping at her all the time."

Ron looked as though he was wrestling with his conscience for a moment, then he shook his head. "Don't change the subject. Why were you at the training rooms all night?"

Harry shrugged. "I had a lot of frustration."

He knew he was a terrible liar, and that Ron would see instantly that he was making excuses, but fortunately the door opened and Anthony came in just as Ron folded his arms and faced Harry with a highly suspicious expression.

"Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?" asked Anthony, his eyes flicking between the two of them standing opposite each other looking mutinous.

"Yes," said Ron, at exactly the same moment as Harry said: "No."

"Um," muttered Anthony, awkwardly, "perhaps I'll go get a coffee or something. Leave you in peace for a bit."

He backed out of the room hurriedly and closed the door behind him.

"Well?" insisted Ron, as Harry sank into a chair and rubbed his eyes.

"Well nothing."

"Look, Harry, sodding off into the night alone without saying where you're going is one thing, but when you start lying to me about it I get kind of pissed off. Either you tell me what's going on, or I - "

He broke off with an enraged groan as the door opened again, this time admitting Hermione. She was in her smart work outfit, prettily flushed and smiling, and she was waving a piece of paper in her hand.

"Harry! Ron! You'll never believe what I've just found out!" she cried, excitedly. "I was just down in the courtrooms going through some of the cases coming up soon, and guess who I found?"

Harry and Ron stared at her blankly. She rolled her eyes. "It's Mundungus!"

"What?" exclaimed both boys at once.

"It is!" she squeaked, thrusting the paper at them. "Look! 'Mundungus Fletcher, tried for theft and black marketeering in 1998, due to be released on appeal on September 3^rd'. That's two months, Harry, two months!"

Harry leaned back in his chair as a wave of relief flooded him. Finally things were happening. If he could just get hold of Mundungus and find out whether he took the locket from Grimmauld Place...

"Hermione," said Ron, scanning the paper with deep interest, "you are officially amazing."

She coloured happily, and slid onto the surface of the desk.

"I think the next move is for me to find out exactly what time and where he is being released, so we can be there to meet him in time," she went on, in a businesslike fashion. "Knowing Mundungus he'll slip off into the underworld as soon as he gets off the boat, and then we'll never find him again."

"Good thinking," said Harry.

Hermione took a long look at him. "Harry, have you decided what you're going to do about Romania? Because you might be there for a long time, and we need to make plans."

"I don't know yet," sighed Harry, a little tensely. "I don't want to rush into anything."

"You've got less than forty-eight hours now, mate," pointed out Ron.

"And forty-eight hours will go very quickly," added Hermione.

Harry pushed his glasses up onto his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt suddenly exhausted, and he knew he had only himself to blame. That's what you get for going into the Maze at eleven o'clock and then staying up most of the night doing other things.

"You won't leave it too late, will you?" Hermione entreated.

"No, I won't leave it too late."

She bent forward with a beaming smile and kissed his forehead, the way he had kissed hers the night before.

"Good. Now, what do you two say to lunch at the Gallery later?"

***

Ron was annoyed.

He seemed always to be annoyed about something these days. Ginny had brought out the worst elements of his personality when she had buggered off to Egypt without telling him; Harry was hiding something from him and trying to cover it up with lies; Loony Lovegood was apparently closer to his sister than anyone else, when he had thought that they shared a sibling bond which guaranteed that she would come to him whenever she wanted to talk about her work, or the meaning of life -

And then there was Sam.

Ron gritted his teeth. Bloody Sam Underbridge, with his long words and his courtly behaviour, sucking up to Hermione with compliments and flattery. He hadn't thought she'd be taken in by that sort of thing, but apparently she was. Women were all the same, he thought, bitterly. Anyone's for a bunch of flowers and an expensive dinner.

He was sitting with her and Harry at a neatly arranged table at the Gallery Bar and Restaurant, one of their favourite eateries in London. Set on a sort of extendable terrace that was exposed to the elements, with a canopy that rolled back in summer and a floating bandstand, it overlooked Socrates Square on the one side - with its cobblestones and the fountain of Guinevere and Lancelot in the centre - and the lush wizard gardens and shady walkways on the other. It was a very picturesque place to sit and enjoy a good meal and a glass of wine in the evening, as twilight fell, and the best place to be at midday to watch the procession of shoppers, walkers and business people on their lunch hour pass by below.

"Isn't that Katie?" said Hermione, suddenly, pointing down into the Square where a figure was walking by laden down with shopping bags.

"Yes, it is," replied Harry, following the direction of her finger. "Haven't seen her for months."

"She's been very busy. Did I tell you that she's got a job at one of the wizard primary schools nearby?"

"A generation of expert Quidditch players is born, then," observed Harry, with a laugh. He had become a lot more cheerful since Hermione had announced Mundungus' imminent release, thought Ron. Lucky him.

All in all, this wasn't turning out to be one of Ron's best summers. Ever since the Ingrisfeld affair he had been jumpy and exhausted by the lack of sleep he suffered from, and the dreams that relived that horrible night. He could remember every detail: the smoke, the screams, the frantic rushing of people trying to escape the fighting, the smell of the burning tents and the roars of the distressed dragons. Twice he had been hit by curses as he tried to find Charlie and Kia. The others didn't know it, but along his left side there was a thin scar where one of them had grazed him before striking a young boy behind him. The look in his eyes as he collapsed would haunt Ron forever. He never did find out what happened to that kid.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Hermione, suddenly.

Ron was jolted out of his memories abruptly by her tone.

"Nothing," he grunted.

"Why that long face, then?"

"I'm tired."

Silence fell. Ron could feel Harry get fidgety next to him, as he always did when he and Hermione began bickering.

"Where's Sam today?" he enquired, as politely and without venom as he could manage. Blasted Sam, who had never so much as received a bloody nose in a schoolboy fight; whose impeccable manners bespoke a comfortable childhood and an easy transition to the grown-up world, into a cushy job with a gorgeous girlfriend who deserved better. He had never seen what Ron had seen; what Harry had seen.

"Still in Edinburgh," she answered, carelessly. "He sent me an owl this morning to say he'd be back in a day or two. Apparently the case isn't going so well."

"What a shame."

She frowned at him. "What's that tone for?"

"What tone?"

"The sarcastic, bitter one. You don't like Sam, do you?"

"I tolerate him."

"That's all it is, isn't it? The bare minimum effort, as usual. I wish you'd stop being so childish, Ron."

Harry cleared his throat loudly. "Any more coffee, anyone?"

Ron only half-heard him. He straightened in his chair and glared at Hermione across the table. She didn't have any idea, did she?

"Childish, am I?" He wanted to tell her: to pour out to her all the things that haunted him, certain that she and she alone could comfort him and say all the right things. All that stood in the way was his damnable pride and his determination not to show his weaknesses to anyone, especially her and Harry. Harry needed him; he needed to know that Ron was behind him, every step of the way in this godforsaken quest he was putting himself through in the name of nobility and self-sacrifice. He couldn't let him down, or make him doubt that he, Ron, was up to the task. Ingrisfeld had taught him that, if nothing else.

But he couldn't tell her. He stopped talking, half-risen out of his seat. He was aware that Harry was watching him in concern, and that Hermione was staring wide-eyed, prepared for a fight which hadn't come. She looked stricken.

"I need a walk," he muttered, flinging himself away from the table, ignoring the impudent stares of the other customers on the terrace who had been watching the tableau with interest.

"Wait up, Ron," came Harry's voice. They had both caught up with him before he reached the foot of the stairs that opened out into the Square.

"I'm sorry, Ron, I didn't mean..." Hermione began, repentantly.

"I'm going home," he announced, firmly.

"Well, we'll come too," insisted Harry. "Won't we, Hermione?"

"Of course we will," she said, with a smile.

Ron grunted, as he always did when he couldn't think what to say. He would have preferred to go back and sulk in his room alone for a while, ridding himself of the inner beast before facing the world again, but Harry was immoveable. Bizarrely, Ron felt rather grateful.

The three of them wandered back to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in near silence, and slipped around the side alley to go through the back door. The shop was heaving with children.

"We ought to sit out here more often," observed Hermione, glancing around at the scruffy back garden. It was tiny, and sloped upwards to meet the rising level of the lane behind, and it was full of all kinds of peculiar things: a couple of rusty deckchairs, assorted boxes from the warehouse, numerous Wellington boots, and a rabbit hutch. "It's such a nice spot in the afternoons."

"Could use a clean up, couldn't it?" said Harry, opening the back door.

Ron intended to head straight for the biscuit jar and take it up to his room to brood in solitude, but he didn't get halfway across the kitchen before something stopped him dead in his tracks. Behind him Hermione gasped, and Harry muttered something incoherent.

Perched on the arm of an armchair which contained Angelina, calmly holding a steaming mug and looking as immaculate as though she'd just come back from a luxurious holiday, was Ginny.

She raised her chin in a characteristically stubborn gesture, and smiled at the three of them.

"Hello, everyone," she said, brightly.