Restitution

"Restitution"

by Paracelsus

Chapter 6: Summonses and Pardons

He stood with his back to a natural wall of solid rock. Before him was a vast featureless plane, filled with formless grey mists. There was nothing to be seen in the gloaming, only the nebulous mists... occasionally swirling to form random patterns that almost resembled things. He found them fascinating, though he couldn't say why.

There were voices in the mists, he was certain. Whispering voices, too many to distinguish individuals, too quiet to distinguish words. They formed the perfect accompaniment to the grey landscape - a steady sibilance that was almost decipherable. He found the voices even more mesmerizing than the mists.

Together they were too attractive to resist. He took a step away from the wall. The mists opened up before him... they seemed to welcome him. He took another step...

"Harry."

He turned around. At the sound of his name the whispers had fallen silent. He didn't see anyone, but the voice sounded nearby. He placed one hand on the rock wall and followed it until he came to an opening. He peered inside curiously. It seemed to lead into darkness. He looked back at the welcoming mists... they might be shapeless, but they weren't dark...

"Harry..."

The voice came from the opening. Without hesitation he stepped inside. Wherever he was, it wasn't totally dark; he could discern the rough walls and floor of the passageway... he continued inward, climbing over stones and squeezing through crevices, following the sound of the voice.

Finally he emerged into a great chamber, whose ceiling was too high to see and whose walls shone with radiance. In the center of the chamber knelt a woman - she towered over him, and yet she was normally sized and proportioned. Which meant that he must be a child. Yes, that felt right...

The woman regarded him serenely. He had seen pictures of her countless times over the years... he'd seen her in a magic mirror, and as a ghostly image during a duel to the death. He had no memory of her in the flesh - yet that red hair, those green eyes, were unmistakable.

She was his mother.

"Hello, Harry," she said.

"H-hello, Mum," he whispered. He took a step into the chamber, then another... then rushed to embrace his mother's knees. She stroked his hair gently as he clung to her, utterly content.

"You've grown so much, my son," she said after a long while. "You've borne a man's burden. I'm very proud of you."

He looked up at her face. She looked back at him serenely. The green eyes, so like his own, were filled with caring. "Thank you, Mum. I've always wanted to hear you say that." He smiled. "I've dreamt of being with you, you know."

"Well, yes... I know," she said indulgently, but with a trace of sadness. "But you may not yet."

His heart sank. He knew what she was about to say...

"Harry... there are tasks yet to be done. And only you can do them."

"No, Mum, please..." He shook his head sharply, pleadingly. "Let someone else. Please. I've been good, Mum, really. I've done what I had to do. I just want to sleep..."

"You have done the tasks that were yours. I would not lay these new tasks on you if they weren't also yours. My son - they seek to hurt me."

He put aside his objections at once and paid close attention. The light in the chamber was changing - her face seemed rounder, her red hair more earthen-toned. Little white flowers began to blossom in her hair as she continued, "They would strike at my heart. They would take the strength of me and pervert it. They must not, Harry."

"Who are 'they,' Mum? How can they hurt you? Where...?"

She stood erect, rising tall above him, and gathered about her shoulders a great blue mantle embroidered with golden stars. The light was fading around them now, but he could still see her face: there was that touch of sadness, but also pride. She would have spared him if she could - but she was confident he wouldn't fail her. "Find them, I pray you. Stop them. You must."

There was only one answer he could make. "I will, Mum."

She smiled at him, well pleased, and laid her hand on his head. "My beloved son." The words were an affirmation... and a blessing. He bowed his head as the light faded completely, blanketing them in warm darkness.

Harry opened his eyes.

For a moment he was disoriented, unsure where he was, unwilling to leave the pleasant warmth of where he'd been. Bit by bit he recognized the items in his bedroom, and knew he was still in bed... and that he'd been dreaming. He hadn't had a dream like that one since he'd set the wards around his home. But if Harry was right about what he'd just seen - and who'd just spoken to him - then wards wouldn't have made any difference.

He saw streaks of dawn's light through his window, and briefly wondered whether it was worth his while to try and get a few minutes' more sleep. After a moment, he took his glasses from the nightstand beside his bed and put them on. He sat up in bed, stretched, and reached again to the nightstand for a glass vial. Uncorking it, he took a large swig of potion and swallowed, twisting his mouth at the metallic taste. Blood Replenishing Potion, ugh.

Thoughts of the dream still lingered in his mind. Tasks that only I can do. Right, nothing new there... one nice thing about being born under a prophecy, you know your life has a purpose. But more tasks? That only I can do? At this rate, I'm never going to be allowed to die. He caught himself. To rest, I mean. To retire. That's what I meant.

Harry took a moment to bring his thoughts back under control. The Order were meeting this evening, and he didn't dare think morbid thoughts while he was around Dumbledore. Albus might not notice - but then again, he might. I don't need the hassle. And I'm not going to die. I've got too many reasons not to die.

He glanced at Hedwig, resting on her perch in his bedroom. "And now I've got some more reasons," he told her. They'd come to an understanding after their visit to St. Mungo's: Harry had installed a perch in every room of his home, so Hedwig could follow him from room to room and keep him in sight, and in return Hedwig had stopped perching on him twenty-four hours a day.

He got out of bed, took some clothes from the wardrobe, and headed for the shower. As he did so he cast a disgruntled look at the cloak he'd tacked up onto his bedroom wall. Two days it's been, and I still haven't a clue what to do about that. He caught himself wondering what he'd see if he lifted a corner of the cloak and peeked... just for a moment...

No! Don't give 'em the satisfaction. Harry willed himself to turn away from the cloak. Dammit, how much longer do I have to put up with this? I can only apologize so many times. "You know which of them did this, don't you?" he asked Hedwig. She gave him her most enigmatic stare. "Right. That's it, I'm moving to Bermuda," he muttered, and continued to the shower.

*

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had always maintained certain traditions that were more suited to an earlier era. Among other things, all real property was entailed as a matter of course. Despite his best efforts, Sirius had not been able to bequeath away the house at Number 12, Grimmauld Place: it had to be inherited by his closest male kin, in strict accord with the laws of primogeniture. That heir, unfortunately, was his first cousin once removed: Draco Malfoy.

Upon Sirius's death, therefore, the Order of the Phoenix had been forced to find new headquarters. (Dumbledore had managed to keep the estate in probate until the Order had removed all traces of their presence - including Obliviating Kreachur almost into a vegetable.) Most of the Order's meetings were now held in Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts. Albus had charmed the round room so that it expanded to fit however many people occupied it, which certainly helped.

Tonight's meeting was almost peaceful compared to some in the past. The school year had just ended, so there were no students about the place; and Lord Voldemort, the Order's main concern for the last seven years, would never be a worry to anyone again.

Harry sat stiffly at the meeting, desperately trying to maintain his dignity, as Tonks and Shacklebolt spoke to the Order as Aurors. It didn't help that Tonks had given him an appraising grin when he'd entered Dumbledore's office (and gone straight to his seat, looking neither left nor right). Unsurprising, what with his black leather-and-spandex outfit - which had been ordinary clothes when he'd put them on. The new ensemble was very neo-gothic: the black garb was especially striking against his pale skin. Strategically torn here and there, it didn't cover all he was used to having covered and was skin-tight where it did cover.

Harry knew he'd received plenty of stares since his arrival. He did his best to ignore the stares, as he brooded on the party responsible:

Hermiginny. One evil mind shared by two bodies.

With an effort, Harry brought his attention back to the meeting. Shacklebolt was outlining how the Ministry was working to recapture the Death Eaters who'd already escaped custody - and how the others were being kept more securely. The Lestranges and Dolohov, thought Harry grimly. The most dangerous of the Death Eaters. Why am I not surprised they should be loose - yet again!?

"And there are still two Death Eaters whose whereabouts are unknown," Shacklebolt concluded. "Rookwood didn't accompany You-Know-Who to the Dolmen," (he nodded to Harry as he said this) "and wasn't captured with the others. We think he might have been held in reserve, so to speak... perhaps to orchestrate the current escapes. And we've still no leads on Pettigrew - he might be anywhere, just lying low."

Was it Harry's imagination, or did he see a quick, feral grin cross Remus Lupin's face at these last words? He gave his friend a penetrating look - and decided he didn't want to have his questions answered.

"Thank you, Kingsley," said Dumbledore. "Do you think the Order's aid will be needed in recapturing the escapees?"

"I don't think so," Shacklebolt replied, "but it would be good for public morale to know that the Order's still helping where it can."

Dumbledore nodded. "We will, of course, be investigating any possibilities that come to our notice. I think our greatest contribution will be to remind people that the danger Lord Voldemort represented has not ended with his death. Precautions must not be abandoned just yet. Our own Order provides examples both of service and of sacrifice..."

Sacrifice, yeah, thought Harry. With more warning this time than when Voldemort first came to power, the Order had seen fewer deaths: Hestia Jones, poor Dedalus Diggle... On the other hand, there had been a lot more injuries. Kingsley Shacklebolt wore an eye patch, for instance, while he waited to receive a magic eye similar to Moody's. Moody himself had lost his left arm, and now sported two wooden feet.

He looked down at the Auror files in his lap. Tonks had handed them to him just as the meeting had begun, and he knew she'd have to return them to Auror HQ promptly. He opened the file labeled "Malfoy estate" and skimmed it again.

Lucius Malfoy was slime, no doubt about it. Death Eater, Dark wizard, one of Voldemort's top lieutenants - and evidently, one of his largest financial contributors as well. He'd been quietly selling Malfoy holdings over the last decade - a mining company, a hotel chain, shares in several wizard publishing houses, just to name a few - and using the money to bankroll Voldemort's operations. The Malfoy family wealth was now a shell and an illusion: his wife and son were... well, perhaps not penniless, but not comfortable either.

That explains why Draco was at St. Mungo's, Harry realized. Why he was seeing their therapists instead of hiring a private Healer. And he was using a standard-issue hoverchair, come to think of it. He sighed. And of course the git blames me.

He turned to the file labeled "Malfoy, Draco" and concentrated on the most recent entries. Draco Malfoy had not been implicated in any Death Eater activities... had not been seen in public for months. Upon Lucius Malfoy's arrest, Aurors had arrived at his Wiltshire manor to search for incriminating evidence. They'd found Draco in one of the dungeons beneath the manor. "Subject appeared to have been incarcerated. Dungeon room showed definite signs of continuous habitation for several months prior," the report stated.

Which matches the rumors nicely. Daddy told him to do something - probably for Voldemort - and he balked. So Daddy locked him in a dungeon - a hell of a 'time out'.

Or could it have been Voldemort who told him to do something? If Draco'd balked at that, Voldemort might have ordered Daddy to kill the boy - and the dungeon might have been Daddy's way of getting around that order. If so, it's more paternal feeling than I'd have ever credited Lucius Malfoy.

People around him were standing. With a start, Harry realized the meeting had adjourned. Everyone began to cluster in groups of twos or threes, while a large tray of tea and biscuits appeared on Dumbledore's desk. Harry found himself with Lupin and Tonks, who greeting him with a quiet smile and a leer respectively.

"Wotcher, Harry! I knew you'd score some fashion sense sooner or later," said Tonks, whose black lipstick and spiked hair would have gone well with Harry's costume.

"I don't know much about fashion," said Lupin mildly, "but this doesn't seem quite your style somehow, Harry. And I gather you don't think so, either."

Harry glowered. "Hey, this isn't my choice. My clothes Transfigured themselves into this - and I can't seem to Transfigure them back. From the timing, I think the change was triggered by my Apparating from home this evening."

"A triggered Transfiguration?" Lupin asked, sounding interested. "That's rather advanced... I can't think of many wizards who could manage that."

"Oh, this is just the latest round," Harry groused. "You'll appreciate this, Remus, it'll remind you of your school days... It all started last week, when I thought I'd take my Firebolt out for some fresh air..."

"Were you well enough to go flying, Harry? I mean, given you're still on medical leave..." Tonks began, then faltered when Harry flashed an angry glare at her.

"Apparently I wasn't well enough, or at least my Firebolt didn't think I was. I reached for it, and it jumped out of the way. Every time I went to grab it, it avoided me. My Firebolt avoided me!" Harry fumed for a moment at the injustice of it all, then continued, "I caught it eventually - it's a lot bigger than a Snitch, isn't it - but by then, enough time had passed for a Howler to arrive from Mrs. Weasley, telling me in no uncertain terms what she thought of my flying a broomstick 'in my delicate condition.'"

"Ah," said Lupin, all sympathy. "I can see that would have been frustrating for you."

"Oh, it gets better. Two days ago, I came home from lunch to discover a poster of the Holyhead Harpies on my bedroom wall. You know, the all-female Quidditch team? Except that the witches in this poster weren't the Harpies, despite their uniforms. They were younger, and way too..." Harry began to gesture with his cupped hands, then blushed and dropped them quickly as he noticed Tonks watching with interest.

"Too... photogenic?" supplied Lupin.

"Yes, thank you. Way too photogenic," Harry said quickly. "Well, they kept smiling and blowing kisses at me, but I didn't think anything of it until that night when I was getting ready for sleep, and discovered them... um... getting ready for bed." Harry knew he was blushing even more furiously, but managed to maintain his poise. "Definitely not for sleep," he added.

Lupin looked like he was trying mightily not to laugh. Tonks wasn't even trying, damn her eyes. "And of course, whoever hung the poster used a Permanent Sticking Charm. In the end, I just covered them with a cloak and ignored them," Harry concluded. "And now this." He waved his hands at his clothes in disgust.

The Headmaster's office door opened to admit some members of the Order who hadn't been at the meeting proper - including Ginny and Hermione. Harry turned away from the door and waited for Lupin and Tonks to regain their composure.

"I'm sorry for you, Harry," said Lupin. "You're right, this does sound like the sort of thing James and Sirius might have done in school... not me, of course," he added virtuously. "Do you have any ideas as to who the, er, culprits might have been?"

Harry snorted. "The culprits, as you put it, had to've entered my home when I wasn't there... casting spells, putting up that poster... And only a very select few have been given access past my Fidelius Charm." He looked over his shoulder; Hermione was currently deep in discussion with Albus, over by Fawkes' empty perch. "Unfortunately, the most likely suspects have cast-iron alibis: I was with them. The only times I've been out of my house, I was with them. There's no way they could have done it." That I've thought of yet, he added to himself.

"Well, I need to be off," he said, handing the Auror files to Tonks. "The Fat Friar wanted a few words with me this evening before I left. I think the Hogwarts ghosts need some reassurance about Myrtle - I ought to've talked to them sooner." He smiled thinly. "Anything happening at Auror HQ I should know about?" he added, not expecting an answer.

Tonks shrugged. "We've gotten a request from the New Zealand Minister of Magic... there's been an outbreak of Dark wizard activity down under and they'd like some advice on how to deal with it. I brought the request..." She offered Harry a roll of parchment. "...but I didn't think you'd be interested, really, it's not like you're on active duty at the moment..."

Harry looked down the long parchment, privately agreeing with Tonks that it didn't seem to concern him... until he read the last paragraph:

"To date our M.L.E. wizards haven't uncovered a motive for these murders. They've concentrated instead on means, which given the mystery of the deaths has narrowed the field of suspects for them. Their primary suspect is a former Squib whose recent magical development was concurrent with the murders. In their view, her Muggle medical training would provide cover for Dark magic. Without hard evidence, we cannot rule her out..."

His mouth went suddenly dry. He knew who they suspected, knew it as certainly as if he'd heard it said aloud. Dr. Pohuhu. The doctor at the hospital. Opaleyes. What kind of idiots could possibly suspect her? She lives to save life, you dungbrained berks!

They definitely need help. She needs my help. And I owe her my life. She may never have heard of a wizard's debt, but I know one when I see it.

Old habits die hard. Harry's immediate inclination was to show no interest in what he'd read. He willed himself to be calm, casual, seemingly indifferent as he handed the roll of parchment back to Tonks. "You're right, it doesn't sound all that interesting. Besides, I don't reckon I could take it on... I can still barely Apparate out of my house, there's no way I could Apparate to New Zealand. Sorry..."

Tonks accepted the parchment halfheartedly, as though she were hoping for a reason to keep Harry from leaving for another minute. Harry gave another surreptitious glance behind him: Hermione was still with Dumbledore, Ginny was now talking to McGonagall... but they were making their way towards Harry, Tonks and Lupin. "I know I'm being punished," he muttered. "And I know I've no right to complain. But that doesn't mean I have to listen to them gloat."

He turned abruptly and made his way from the room. He'd actually reached the door before he noticed that Lupin had followed him. "Do you mind if I come with you, Harry?" he asked. "It's getting a bit loud in here."

The ambient noise level had gone up: "cocktail party noise," as Harry had heard it called. And Lupin's heightened senses, even in human form, would make the noise more painful for him than others. It still seemed to Harry to be a suspiciously convenient excuse, though.

"So... first the Fat Friar, then home?" asked Lupin.

"Where else? After all, I'm going to have to check every single garment I own. I mean, whoever cast this charm," Harry added with heavy irony, "couldn't have known what outfit I'd wear tonight. They must've charmed my entire wardrobe."

"A reasonable assumption," Lupin nodded thoughtfully. "Of course..." He waited until he was sure he had Harry's attention, then continued, "Of course, they likewise couldn't have known that you'd be wearing it tonight. I doubt their intent was to humiliate you in front of the Order."

"Yeah, well... too bad, that," retorted Harry darkly. "Because they succeeded just fine."

Lupin surprised Harry by placing his hand on Harry's shoulder... Remus wasn't generally given to physical displays of affection, even one so mild as this. "No they didn't, Harry," he told him firmly. "There's not a person in this room who doesn't hold you in the greatest respect. After all you've accomplished, and the sort of man you've become... how can you think otherwise?"

Harry couldn't help blushing, but he straightened and looked Lupin in the face. "Thank you, Remus," he said after a minute. "That means a lot to me."

Lupin smiled gently. "It's no more than the truth, Harry." He tilted his head to regard the younger man quizzically. "You still don't believe that, do you? Please try. And," he lifted a finger and spoke as though he were still a professor, "try especially to remember it when you feel the world is out to get you." Their gazes swung as one back to where Ginny and Hermione were now talking with Tonks.

"Fred and George Weasley were the worst pranksters in Hogwarts history," said Lupin after a moment. "I've been the target of more than one of their jokes. But they're in the Order, they've fought loyally at our side... and there's no malice in them. I extend them a certain leniency."

"And you think I should do the same to my... tormenters, do you?"

"But of course," Lupin replied, his smile turning broad. "That's why we hold you in such respect." He leaned closer and added in a whisper, "Don't bother with Finite Incantatem. Use Nihilo Incantatem instead. It's meant to dispel latent or dormant charms before they can be triggered."

*

Lupin's suggestion having worked faultlessly, Harry changed clothes into what Parvati called "Muggle rustic." He gathered a delighted Hedwig on his arm and took a turn out his front door into an evening in the English countryside. A short, pleasant walk soon brought him to the outskirts of Godric's Hollow, his home since leaving Hogwarts.

Here he sent Hedwig off to catch her dinner while he continued on to the Lion, one of the Hollow's two pubs. Harry was on good terms with the landlord, Ben Ottwell, ever since he'd broken up a mysterious rash of vandalism two summers ago. (It had been a young poltergeist looking to find a permanent home in the Lion; Harry had given him the choice of moving on or being exorcised.)

He entered the Lion and greeted the barmaid. "Hi, 'Manda. Is Ben still keeping you shackled up in here? The man should be ashamed of himself..."

"Evenin', Harry. Yes, the vicious brute still insists I slave away for him." Since Ben and Amanda had been husband and wife for almost forty years, and showed no signs of falling out of love, Harry took this with a grain of salt. "If you want t'see him, he'll be back soon."

"Tell him I'm sorry I missed him. I was hoping to borrow your phone, if I may." Ben would let Harry use his phone occasionally. It was well known in Godric's Hollow that the young Potter had no phone of his own... a bit of a hermit, truth be told.

At Amanda's nod, Harry went to the corner of the room and sat down at the phone. A quick check of the phone directory gave him the number he wanted. He dialed and waited...

"Thank you for calling British Airways. How may we help you?"

Harry smiled to himself. It was quite true, he hadn't yet recovered the strength to Apparate to New Zealand. To most wizards and witches, that would rule out any chance of traveling there. The existence of aeroplanes never seemed to occur to any of them, even the ones who prided themselves on familiarity with Muggles. Hang on, Opaleyes. I'll be there as soon as I can.

"Round trip from England to New Zealand. What's the most direct connection?" he asked.

"One moment, sir... All our flights to New Zealand require at least one change of aircraft. Our most direct route flies non-stop from London to Los Angeles, then non-stop from Los Angeles to Auckland."

"Sounds good. I need to leave as soon as possible - tomorrow, if there's a seat available."

"Yes sir, we have space available tomorrow afternoon. How many seats shall I reserve?"

The words "Just one" were on the tip of his tongue when he paused. It was almost as though he could hear the reproach in his head: You promised...

This is something I have to do, Harry replied silently. My responsibility, mine alone. It's no one else's business... I can't ask for help.

You don't have to do it alone. At the very least, they deserve to be told.

If I told them about it, they'd only use it as more reason to harass me. They might even try to stop me... and I have to do this.

Haven't you learned anything? You nearly lost them by leaving them behind, even when it was to save their lives. What will happen if you leave them behind, simply because it's more convenient? You promised, Potter!

There was an unpleasant lump in his throat. It, or something, refused to be swallowed. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. He'd made his plans, he was ready to execute them... time was short... why in God's name was he arguing with himself to do the right thing?

Sometimes, the phrasing of the question provides the answer to it...

"Sir? Sir? Hello?"

The voice from the telephone brought him back to the Lion. He opened his eyes and stared at the handset, as though he'd never seen its like before. Finally he said, "I'll call you back," and set it gently in its cradle. He put his head in his hands and thought about Dumbledore's challenge years ago... to choose between what was easy and what was right.

*

"Thanks for coming," Harry greeted them.

"Hey, I was wondering you'd start inviting us to lunch again," Ron answered. "Although I wasn't expecting so public a place..."

The Three Broomsticks was indeed as public a place as Harry had ventured in a long time. True, he'd reserved a private room in the back, and he could certainly trust Madam Rosmerta's discretion - but the patrons in the main barroom were sure to have seen him, and it was probably only a matter of time before the word spread that Wizardkind's Hero was in Hogsmeade.

Well, it couldn't be helped. "I could hardly arrange a Muggle meeting place on such short notice," said Harry. He motioned them toward the table, laid out with lunch for four. "And Rosmerta's cook is decent enough."

"'Short notice'," repeated Hermione as she took her seat at the table. "Hence lunch, instead of dinner?" Harry nodded.

"I was surprised when Hedwig showed up this morning - so early," Ginny commented. "What's going on, Harry? We missed you after the Order's meeting last night..."

"I had to leave," said Harry tersely. He fidgeted with a fork for a moment, then went on, "Some things happened yesterday. I have to talk to you about them."

Ginny and Hermione exchanged anxious glances. "Harry," began Hermione, "you must know we weren't there last night to gloat..."

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "It's not that. This is something more important..." He stopped, blinked, and said dryly, "But come to that, your choice of the word 'gloat' is interesting..."

"Welllllll... Tonks did say something about it..." Hermione admitted. She looked, if anything, more anxious than before.

"Did she." Harry regarded her speculatively for a moment, then continued, "Anyway, never mind that. I need to tell you about something else."

He considered telling them about his dream the previous morning... but decided against it. For one thing, unlike all the dreams about Voldemort he'd had over the years, he was still unsure exactly what this one meant. For another, if he were right about it, it was... well, telling it would make him sound like a megalomaniac. And when all was said and done, it could still be easily dismissed as "just a dream."

Instead, he said, "One of the things Tonks showed me last night was a missive from the New Zealand Ministry of Magic. Seems that the Magical Law Enforcers down under are asking for help with a murder case."

Hermione frowned. "Well, no one would expect you to volunteer for something like that... not in your condition..."

Harry interrupted her. "My condition isn't important. What's important is that I have to go." He drew a deep breath. "The person they suspect... is the doctor who healed me when I was there. Dr. Pohuhu. You and Ron met her, remember? She saved me... and now I owe it to her to save her. I have to go."

He sat back, finished for the moment. He waited for them to raise objections... to give him all the well-meant rational reasons why he should rest and recuperate, leave the task to someone else...

"So," said Ron. He reached out to one of the platters of food and speared a sausage with his fork. "So... this time, you're telling us your plans beforehand. Thank you for that, anyway... That is what you're doing, isn't it?" he added pointedly. "Just telling us?"

The answer to that, of course, should have been yes - Harry had certainly intended to go to New Zealand alone. Yet now Harry felt uneasy saying it flatly. He didn't fully understand why he now felt uncomfortable... why he suddenly felt he needed to justify his decision to them.

"None of you would be able to come with me in any case," he said carefully. "Hermione, you've made yourself indispensable at the Museum... you can't just up and leave. Ginny, you're preparing your lectures for next term at Beauxbatons. And you, Ron... you can't tell me you're not practicing hard every day for the Cannons tryouts at the end of the month. You've dreamed of that for years... no way you should risk it for a jaunt to New Zealand."

Ron nodded. "Good points, all of them," he said non-commitally.

Harry felt slightly relieved that Ron understood his position. He didn't notice that Hermione and Ginny were listening closely - and quietly. They sipped their butterbeers while they kept themselves apart from the discussion... as though they had appointed Ron to be their spokesman.

"And after all... it's probably a fairly harmless mission. Paperwork, interviews... routine police work. Boring, really," Harry added, in the tones of a man trying to convince himself as much as others.

"So... you don't want us along, then?" Ron pressed.

The words were said without criticism, almost without emotion - yet they struck deep. They confused Harry more than he thought they could. Of course he wanted his friends along. Didn't he? No, he had to go alone... the task had been laid on him, the debt to Dr. Pohuhu was his... and what if the mission wasn't routine? But he couldn't very well tell his friends he didn't need them... he'd always need them...

"Ron, it's..." Harry left the sentence unfinished... he stared at the table, trying to sort his thoughts. Ron was uncharacteristically silent, waiting for Harry to continue.

The conversation wasn't going at all as Harry had foreseen. He'd envisioned a sort of script in his mind: his friends would object, he'd answer the objections, and so on. He felt more comfortable in a situation like that, where he had some control over the discussion. But they weren't objecting as he'd expected. They were... waiting for him to continue. Waiting for him to commit himself. Waiting for him to choose...

After a moment, Harry tried again. "I'll always want you with me," he said, struggling to say every word. "It's just that... I don't see how I can ask you to sacrifice your plans... this isn't really your obligation, is it?" His throat felt very dry... he took a sip of pumpkin juice before he continued painfully, "But... but if I could ask... I mean, if all of you were willing..."

He gave up trying to talk. All his carefully rehearsed speeches were forgotten, his rationales abandoned. He only knew now that he wanted these three with him... and that he couldn't ask them. He was hardly aware of raising his head to look at Ginny, then Hermione... his eyes finally settling on Ron. "Please?" he said simply.

Ron gazed back at him, his face perfectly neutral, for at least a century by Harry's internal clock. Then he glanced over to Hermione and Ginny and raised one eyebrow in query. Ginny gave a brief nod; Hermione gave a satisfied smile. "Your privilege," she told Ron.

He turned back to Harry. "Our place is with you, mate. Always has been, always will be. And damn but it took you long enough to say it!" He flashed Harry a bantering smile and turned to Hermione. "So where do we stand?"

"We've reservations on British Airways flight 269, leaving Heathrow tomorrow at 4:25 in the afternoon," began Hermione. "A two hour layover in Los Angeles, then flight 7302... arriving at 5:10 Friday morning, Auckland time. Four first-class seats, booked in our names. It'll be rather exhausting, but that's the fastest we can get to New Zealand, given we're not Apparating."

"We don't all have to fly on planes," Ron noted. "Only someone needs to travel with Harry."

"I'd assumed it would be better to all arrive together. Think of it as the chance to experience Muggle lifestyles firsthand. We will need to bring plenty of things to do on the flights, of course. Oh, and I'm booking us a B&B to stay at while we're there. Ginny?"

"You and Ron still have your passports from your trip two weeks ago," reported Ginny. "And I have a visa for my stay in France that can be applied here. Harry will need to have his Auror credentials transferred to a Muggle passport before we leave."

"Mum has volunteered to care for Pig, Crookshanks and Hedwig," said Ron. "And as for the Cannons' tryouts... if we're not done in New Zealand before then, I can take the Beam home for a few days, then return."

"And if we're leaving tomorrow, we've barely one day to shop for the trip," finished Ginny. "We'll take care of that for you. And this time, you can trust our clothing selection." She stood up and came around the table to Harry's side. "We're sorry we gave you so much grief, Harry. Pax?"

Hermione had appeared on Harry's other side. "The pranks were childish... we realized that when we saw you last night. They stop as of now. We're very sorry... pax et caritas?

"Thank you for asking us to come with you, Harry. And now you know - you don't have to ask."

"That's what love is, after all. It should go without saying - but this time, we're glad you said it."

Together Hermione and Ginny put their arms around him and kissed him, one on each cheek. Then with a pop and a crack, they Apparated out of the room.

Harry sat stunned. Whatever he'd expected from today's get-together, this certainly wasn't it. It took a full minute for his fuddled brain to come up with something to say. "They, uh, didn't stay for lunch," was all he could think of.

"More food for us," Ron shrugged. He slid a platter closer to his plate and began piling it with pasta salad.

Realization slowly dawned as Harry replayed the last several minutes in his head. "They knew," he said in wonder. "Before I asked you all to come today... they knew. They'd already prepared. You knew!" he accused Ron.

"Hermione told me last night," explained Ron. "After the meeting of the Order. She said you were acting strange after reading some scroll Tonks handed you..."

"No I wasn't. I acted perfectly normal, like it wasn't important!"

"That's how she knew it was important." Ron grinned at Harry's bewilderment. "And then when we got your owl this morning - oh, the Floo calls were fast and frenzied. But she arranged everything... all in the hope that you'd tell us about it, and ask us to come along." Ron turned serious as he went on, "We weren't sure you would... but it had to be your decision this time, mate. I knew you'd come through in the end."

Harry rested his head in his hand for a moment. "This was a test, then? To see if I'd learned my lesson? Whether I'd earned the right to be on their good side again?"

"Ah, Harry... do you seriously think Gin and Hermione would set tests for you?" Ron finished his sausage, swallowed, and gave Harry a knowing wink. "Let me pass on some hard-earned wisdom, Harry. When you're dealing with witches, always remember: it's only a test if you fail."