The Globe Trackers

The sun was halfway up the sky on that morning, when three youths and a grownup marched down a path in the old cemetary of Godric's Hollow. They turned right on a crossing path and continued for some thirty feet more, looking to their left as the grownup did, when he - the shift manager at the cemetary - stopped and said, 'There they are. Sorry about the shabby location and all.'

Two measley epitaphs were standing there - the rightmost read James Potter and was half-broken by the roots of a small elm growing on the right; the leftmost read Lily Potter, bordered an ancient outhouse and stood at the receiving end of a small, disgusting leakage from it.

The three youths could spot the enormous tomb from afar, of course, but could tell nothing to the manager - all he could see was a place he'd rather avoid; but to them, the elm and the outhouse were translucent, and the Muggle-transparent tomb with beautifully chiseled cursive writings rose to a height of about six feet.

'Well,' said the manager, watching the bespectacled kid with black, unruly hair advancing towards the tombstones, 'if you need anything - tissue, water, mop ...'

'Thank you,' said the other boy, who had red hair and freckles, 'we'll manage from here.'

'Thanks for the directions,' called the bushy-haired girl after him as he started to walk away.

After the manager left, Harry could hear Ron whispering something to Hermione behind his back, and Hermione whispering something like 'No ...' back to him.

'Umm ... Do you want to be left alone now, Harry?' asked Ron.

'You don't mind?' said Harry, who was happy they had brought up the idea before he asked them to leave.

'Of course not,' answered Ron.

'I'd like that very much, thank you,' said Harry. 'I might be here for quite a while; maybe I'll meet you guys back at the house for dinner?'

'Sure, mate,' said Ron, 'Bill's bound to finish up by then, right?' Bill had volunteered to help with the reconstruction, and so, accompanied by loads of food (courtesy of Mrs Weasley, of course) he had come along to Godric's Hollow, although not for a sleepover like Harry's two best friends.

'Harry, if you'll need anything ...' started Hermione, but didn't finish, probably with good reason - how could he call them back here if he needed anything?

'I'll manage, Hermione, thanks,' said Harry without taking his eyes off the translucent tomb.

A few seconds later he could hear their footsteps as they walked away, marching up the path back towards the exit. He didn't tear his eyes from the tomb for a second. He'd waited for this moment for so long.

For about ten minutes he simply stood there, staring at the grey tomb of his mother, then perusing his father's for a few minutes more.

Nothing, he found himself thinking. Did I expect an emotional outbreak? Am I supposed to cry now, having seen my parents' resting place?

He looked around to make sure nobody was watching. Then he looked back at the tomb, opened his mouth, then closed it again. 'What am I supposed to say?' he wondered.

'Er ... Hi, Dad,' he said quietly, then grinned when he thought how absurd he must look to a bystander. Nothing happened, for good or ill, so he continued, 'Mum.'

Then he took a deep breath and continued, quietly, 'Well, I came to visit you, see ... Umm ... They told me you're here, so ...'

The silence around him was broken by a small bird chirping on a nearby tree.

'I'm doing fine,' he continued quietly, stopping himself before continuing with the automatic 'how are you?'

'So anyway, I'm going to be in seventh year at Hogwarts now,' he continued, then he remembered it wasn't true, and said, 'Well, actually ...' but then he stopped. It was a funny sensation - as if he didn't want to tell them he had decided to drop out, even though he knew it was ridiculous to be afraid of the reactions of dead people. But then again, he thought, isn't this whole scene a little ridiculous?

Better get to the point, he thought to himself.

'See, there's a reason I'm here,' he said to the tomb. 'Apart from just visiting you, that is. Actually I'm ... well ...' He took another look around to see nobody was there, and continued almost in a whisper, 'I'm a bit lost.'

The tomb was silent.

'Confused, that is,' he continued.

Nothing.

'And I thought, well, maybe if I needed some guidance ... I mean, wanted some guidance ...'

The tomb was neither appraising nor admonishing. It just stood there, inanimate.

'See, I just don't know what to do next,' he continued, 'I always had Dumbledore to rely on, but now that he's ... Oh, you don't know - he's dead.'

The tomb didn't show any sign of surprise.

'Maybe you do know,' he tried. Then he looked around and got a bit dizzy. Despite the vast open space and the breezy morning air, this outlandish situation made the graveyard appear to close in on him, enveloping him and, strangely enough, making him feel claustrophobic.

'Well, now I need some help,' he persisted as he turned back to the tomb, 'and ... I dunno ... maybe you can ...?'

The tomb was silent. The entire graveyard was. It was listening in, swallowing his words, not caring a bit.

Just like the cold stone in front of him.

Maybe they can what, huh? Harry thought to himself. They're dead, you idiot. What were you thinking?

Suddenly the absurdity of the situation became too much. He took a step back from the tomb.

The trip here was pointless. The graves were still, providing neither comfort, nor answers. Nor any emotion, which was even stranger, to Harry's opinion; he thought he'd at least feel something. Odd.

Harry stared at the graves for a few minutes more, then left the graveyeard, feeling more than a bit hollow.

Outside the graveyard he went to where they had parked their broomcycles, only to find Ron's and Hermione's still waiting there next to his.

Mr Weasley had introduced him to broomcycles about a week earlier, at The Burrow. The basis was simple: it was a bicycle with the top tube missing, and two horizontal holes set in instead - one in the seat post, one under the handlebar stem. A broomstick was shoved through the two holes from the rear and served as the top tube, so that the twigs would stick out behind the saddle. This enabled the bicycle to fly without even the need to pedal.

The only magical trait of this device was the clasping mechanism that held the broomstick in place inside the holes, and the fact that the framework was covered with coating that had what Mr Weasley referred to as 'high magic conductivity' so that instead of the broomstick hoisting up the device, it would receive a little of the flying properties of the broomstick and fly by itself, as long as the broomstick was inside it.

Mr Weasley said that his department had legalised its use, partly because of the low magical interference with the basic, non-magical device; but Ron told Harry later that his father just kept delaying the memo that would invalidate its legal status, mainly because the broomcycle had been invented by his father. Mr Weasley had asked them all to fly no more than an inch off the ground and to pedal from time to time, so as not to arouse Muggle suspicion. He also told Harry personally to keep his airspeed velocity below seventy miles an hour, which seemed strangely reasonable for Mr Weasley. They had all promised to take care of their broomcycles, and not leave them alone for too long.

But now Harry saw the three broomcycles waiting at the bicycle parking by the cemetary wall, and started fearing something happened to his two good friends.

We've been tracked down, he suddenly thought. They've been kidnapped!

He looked around - the outer cemetary wall seemed deserted. Even the shift manager was nowhere to be seen. 'Ron!' he shouted. 'Hermione! Where are you?!'

Suddenly he thought he heard voices from his left. He wheeled around and looked at a small mound covered with weeds and acacias. He drew his wand by instinct, but after a second thought he decided to keep it close to his body - this was still mainly Muggle territory.

He saw some movement from behind the mound, and indeed, a few seconds later, Ron's head popped from behind it. He started walking up towards Harry as Hermione appeared behind him, slightly blushing, straightening her blouse.

'Oi, Harry!' Ron called. 'That was quick. You don't need more time ... umm ... bonding with your parents? 'Cause that's alright with us.'

Damn them! thought Harry. Couldn't they've waited a little longer? I would've given them their own room tonight. Or better yet ...

'You're each getting your own room tonight!' said Harry quietly and, accompanied by complaints and protests of his two best friends, rode back to the house.

When Harry arrived at the house, Ron and Hermione were miles behind him. He always liked to show off with his Firebolt - even at moderate velocity it was still faster than their broomsticks.

As soon as the house came within view, Harry could see that Ron was right - it looked very different from the ruins at which they had arrived that morning, of which the only things left had been the foundations, shards of furniture, and several parts of supporting walls, all charred and peeling. But from up close, the change was remarkable - the only sign of there ever have been an attack on the house was the scorched narrow path sloping up from the wooden garden gate to the front door. Harry had heard rumours that where the Dark Lord set his feet plants never grew again, but to see it with his own eyes was a bit unnerving. Small wonder there had been hardly any squatters when they had arrived there that morning, for who would want to stay in such a spooky, dismal place? Harry dismounted the broomcycle and advanced towards a large trash bin on his left with its lid hanging open, filled with unrecoverable debris from the wreckage. He closed it with a shudder after spotting a charred mobile with the strings singed right through and a teddy bear burnt to the stump protruding from the bin.

And yet the hedgerow, the front door, the gutters, the windows, the flower bed, the outer walls, the roof - they were all there, waiting pristinely for the master of the house. Even a bike rack was standing there, next to the right wall! Harry parked his broomcycle and peeked through the bedroom window - rocking chair, bed, pictures, bedside tables - he couldn't believe his eyes! And Ginny was there, sitting on the bed with her back towards him and her hair in a bun, reading a book. Reminding himself of the decision (made chiefly by her mother) that, like Bill, Ginny would not be staying for a sleepover, he forced his face to wipe off that stupid smile before walking into the house.

It was amazing. The living room looked so clean, so ... not destroyed! A dark blue couch stood next to a brown oak table in front of the fireplace.

There was a fireplace! Harry didn't perceive the magnitude of that at first, but now that he thought about what he could do once it was connected to the Floo network, this was almost as unbelievable as the fact that no city council had claimed this land for all these years. Bill had already told him that there was no authority issue because the government lets the Ministry of Magic handle wizarding properties, just like they do with wizarding money - which was how Harry got his inheritance.

On his way to the bedroom, Harry gaped at the walls painted light blue. This must have been Ginny's touch because, for some reason, he thought it would be beige. He didn't know why.

'What's that you're reading?' asked Harry as he entered the bedroom and came into Ginny's view. Having been immersed in the tattered, dusty book, she gave a start and looked up.

'Oh, hi, Harry,' she said, 'didn't hear you come in. What, this? It's just something I found on the bookshelf. Want to read?'

'There's a bookshelf?!' asked Harry, surprised. He didn't remember seeing any shelf on the wall that morning; he hardly remembered seeing any wall!

'There is now,' said Ginny with a smile, and pointed towards a bookshelf, way too small for its contents, nailed to the wall above her. On a second look, Harry didn't see any nails there. It was probably magic that was keeping it up, overloaded as it was with books, bookholders and empty picture frames.

'I'm telling you, he's a wizard, your brother,' said Harry.

'I know that,' said Ginny, looking perplexed.

An awkward moment of silence went by, with Ginny looking up at Harry, and Harry looking at the bookshelf, avoiding her gaze, occupying his mind once more with how much he loved the wizarding world, in which a house can in one day be rebuilt from foundations that had lain charred for over sixteen years.

'So ... how did it go?' asked Ginny finally.

It took Harry a few seconds to realise what she was talking about, then he lowered his eyes and looked at his shoes. He didn't feel like talking about it right now. 'Nothing much,' he said eventually. 'I saw the graves ... that's about it. Umm ... where's Bill?'

'In the kitchen, still working,' she said. 'He told me to take a break before dinner.'

'He let you do magic?' asked Harry incredulously.

'Relax, it was just small household magic, and no Muggles are around,' replied Ginny, 'and this house isn't monitored by the Ministry, anyway. Bill told me that.'

'I'll go say hi to him,' said Harry, and left the bedroom.

When he walked through the kitchen door he finally saw the one part of the house that was still not completely restored. Half the kitchen, including a stove and a cupboard with dishes in it, was already in place. But a view of the raspberry bramble and hills beyond was open before him where there had been a wall many years before. This was the back of the house, which was why Harry hadn't seen it when he arrived.

In the middle of the room, Bill was standing with his back to Harry, an open book on the table next to him, a wand in his right hand and what looked like a silver spatula giving off strange brown smoke in his left. As he stood there with his hands raised, mumbling some strange words from time to time, bricks and mortar were zooming by through the air, sticking themselves back in place. Seeing the wall in front of him slowly reconstruct was strange, since the bricks seemed to prefer to cling to the ones above them, not the ones below them like in Muggle construction, so it looked like a magical brick veil slowly descending upon the kitchen, gradually blocking the landscape. At some point, bricks were only clinging to the front wall on the left and right, leaving an opening in the middle one yard across without any bricks building up on it. Bill stopped waving his wand and looked down on the open book. The bricks still moving froze in midair. With his left hand still raised, he lowered his wand hand to turn a page, and Harry decided it was safe to greet him now.

'I heard you when you walked in two minutes ago, Harry,' said Bill and turned his head around just as Harry was about to clear his throat loudly to announce his presence, 'welcome home.'

Although Harry had seen him just this morning, and although the scars from the werewolf attack looked better than they did last week, Harry was still taken aback a bit every time he saw him. Realising his expression might be politically incorrect, he quickly said, 'Your keen senses always startle me a bit.'

'Comes with lycanthropy,' replied Bill, 'although I'd gladly give up both if I could.'

'It's amazing what you've done around the house,' said Harry, veering off that painful subject.

'Well,' started Bill with a demure tone, 'you have to know something about the recovery of fallen structures when you're a tomb rai ... er ... a banker.'

'That's alright, I know what you do,' laughed Harry.

'Plus, your decision to rebuild it only as a one-storey house made the work a lot faster,' said Bill.

'Still, I didn't expect it to go that smoothly,' replied Harry. 'I even saw that the roof is already up.'

'Naturally. You have to start with the roof and work your way down,' said Bill offhand while trying to turn several pages at once, 'for better support and stability. That's one of the first things you learn.'

'Naturally,' said Harry, clueless as to what was so natural about that. 'But you did it all by yourself.'

'Ginny helped a lot,' said Bill, struggling to turn the pages that kept turning back because of the light breeze while still holding up the spatula in his left hand, 'redesigning the house and putting back all the furniture that was still intact, throwing away everything that wasn't, putting up bookshelves and lamps and ... Umm, do you mind turning to page thirty-eight?'

'Sure,' said Harry, and turned to the correct page titled Chapter 6 - Aligning Brick With Wood. 'Is this your work manual?' he asked.

'Nah, I don't need full reconstruction in my ... line of business,' said Bill, 'only enough to hide my tracks, so that people won't notice anything wrong. But I had a feeling we'll need more than that with this house, so I owled Professor Flitwick, who's the real expert on this stuff, and he was kind enough to send me this book, which I remembered studying when I was training for the job. Took two owls to carry it over here. Ah, I hear the two love birds have landed.'

Harry didn't understand what he meant - he didn't hear anything unusual. But after about ten seconds, he could hear voices of argument coming from the front of the house.

'Sounds more like two Hippogriffs have landed!' said Bill with a smile. 'Why don't you go check up on them? I'll try to finish here as soon as possible, and then we'll have dinner.'

'Alright,' said Harry, and walked back to the living room, exactly as Hermione and Ron stormed in through the front door, arguing loudly.

'Stop calling me that,' said Hermione. 'I was flying straight ahead.'

'No, you weren't, Flycrup!' Ron threw at her. Harry had already learned this magical-world term. To his surprise, it had turned out not to be such a harsh insult; rather, it implied that one's flight trajectory is not straight and clean, but wobbling, like a dog poking and sniffing around.

'I said, stop calling me that!' repeated Hermione who, to Harry's suspicion, took this criticism too harshly partly because of the Muggle use of the female form of dog as an insult.

'But that's what you are,' retorted Ron, 'you were lagging behind me all along the way!'

'That's because of the side wind up on those hills,' explained Hermione. 'I yelled at you to wait up. Did you? No!'

'There were no winds anywhere,' retorted Ron, 'I saw exactly how you were flying!'

'Oh, yeah?' asked Hermione with a wicked smile. 'How could you do that if you were flying in front of me?'

Ron opened his mouth, then shut it when he realised she had trapped him. 'And they weren't even broomsticks, they were broomcycles,' he finally said.

'I have an idea,' said Hermione. 'Why don't you fly your precious broomcycle, and I'll Apparate, and then we'll see who arrives first, hmm?'

'Why don't you buy a decent broomstick for a change, like mine?' asked Ron, whose failed Apparition exam left him with a vulnerable spot in such arguments.

'Why don't you take your broomstick and shove it up your b-- broom closet?' spat Hermione as she passed Harry on her way to the kitchen.

'Hermione,' Ron called after her in a calmer, pacifying voice, 'I can give it to you for practice if you want.'

She wheeled around with an angry look and said, 'I will never ride your broomstick,' before stomping into the kitchen, leaving both boys to stand in the living room, look at each other and wonder what she meant by that.

'Did I mention that I don't find "Flycrup" an insult at all?' asked Harry, trying to change the subject.

'Yeah, yeah, dogfights in the Muggle world, something about aeroplanes,' Ron trailed off before going into the kitchen after Hermione.

Harry stood in his good-as-new kitchen in front of the good-as-new outer wall, enjoying the breeze coming onto his face through the rectangular opening in it. It had become a kitchen window, complete with windowsill and flower box, and the sun was not even beginning to set. With his friends around, Harry thought maybe this day hasn't been so hollow after all. Plus, he was glad that his two best friends seemed to have forgotten their recent feud.

'The kitchen and dining room are ready to use,' announced Bill finally, 'so unless you change your mind about an anti-Muggle charm -'

'- which I don't,' interjected Harry, 'my parents never placed one here, my mother was Muggle-born, they had nothing against Muggles, nor do I.'

'Alright,' called Bill over his rumbling stomach, 'so unless you need help de-gnoming the garden -'

'No, Bill, it's okay. The house is astounding. Thank you,' said Harry sincerely, impressed with Bill's control over his hunger. 'It's getting too dark for it; I can de-gnome the garden tomorrow morning. There's nothing else to do now but dinner.'

'Great,' said Ron, who was probably hungrier without even having a werewolf's appetite, and let the dust pile he'd been gathering with his wand drop in the middle of the living room. (He insisted that Hermione teach him this little housekeeping charm after realising that the alternative would be to use his precious broom.)

'Wait,' said Hermione, holding a velvet-covered book open on a bookmarked page, 'isn't there something you wanted to do with Ron as soon as the house was rebuilt?'

'Dinner can count as a housewarming party,' said Ron.

Ginny giggled over the tattered book she was still reading on the sofa.

'What are you laughing about?' called Ron. 'I'm starving! I've been working all day, and you -'

'- and I had Bill show me and Hermione how to set up the window panes all over the house, which was nothing for Hermione, but a bit tricky for me; and you don't hear me whinging,' retorted Ginny.

'Hermione wasn't talking about a party anyway,' Harry said to Ron, ending the argument as soon as it began. 'I ... kinda decided that you'll be Secret-Keeper for the fact that I live here ... if that's alright with you.'

'But already almost no one knows you're going to be living here. Isn't that enough?' Ron asked Harry.

'No,' replied Harry, 'it's very easy to pry that information from anyone who knows it by, say, torture or truth serum. I want something stronger.'

By the look on Ron's face, he hadn't heard anything past 'torture'. Maybe it was a mistake saying that, Harry thought.

'You're actually right on this, Ron - there really are very few people who know that; we just want to keep it that way,' interjected Hermione. 'Why? Do you have a problem with being Harry's confidant?'

'No, not at all, I'd be honoured,' said Ron with the bravest voice he could muster, showing Harry once more how easily Hermione could influence him. 'It's just that ... well ... I forgot how to do it. I don't even remember the class where we learnt it.'

'That's because we never did,' said Harry with a smile. Then he turned to Hermione and said, 'So did you find the right page?'

Hermione gave him a knowing smile, and showed him the page she was holding open in the book. It was titled The Fidelius Charm.

'But I still don't know how to do it,' said Ron.

'All you have to do is read a certain sentence after Harry speaks the incantation,' replied Hermione. 'Don't worry, I'll be here, conducting the whole thing. You won't even need your wand.'

'Well ... alright, I guess,' said Ron finally. Ginny put a golden bookmark at the page she had been reading and stepped over to watch the affairs more closely.

'Great. So come closer, you two,' said Hermione and showed Harry and Ron two lines in the book that had been marked bold yellow. 'Harry, the first line is yours. It can hint, to the learned scholar, about the origins of the Fidelius Charm, which comes from a small family of charms, like the Aggena -'

'Shut up already,' called Ginny unexpectedly, 'nobody's interested in how much you know about the background. Just get on with the damn incantation!' Hermione was taken aback. Although arrogance was a recurring downside to Hermione's knowledge, and although she was practically asking for it, Harry thought Ginny could have stopped her a little more tactfully.

'Umm ... Harry, you remember the motion I taught you, right?' continued Hermione after pulling herself back together. 'Ron, you will read the second line, and then Harry will state the secret. Ready?'

They both nodded. Hermione raised the book at Harry's face, and Harry strained a bit to read the first line. This was the first time he noticed that the sun was setting, and the room has become a bit darker. He raised his wand, fingernails pointing up, held his left hand open, palm upwards, just below his wand hand, and pointed the wand at Ron's heart. Then he took a deep breath and read the incantation at which Hermione was pointing, without understanding a word:

Yuligo Aideyfud Fidelius Ahezdo Sesa

The room became even darker, except for Ron's and Harry's faces, which were strangely lit by Harry's raised wand. Harry noticed that Ginny was much closer than before, looking at him with an amused smile in the dimness of the room. Her eyes showed something other than amusement as they bore into his. He then saw that Hermione's eyes looked at Ginny with a rather annoyed expression. But then she slowly turned the book to Ron and pointed at the second passage, and Ron recited:

I shall guard thy truth with my life

Then Hermione motioned with her hand at Harry, prompting him to utter the secret, which he did, loud and clear:

Harry Potter resides at the Raspberry Juice House, Godric's Hollow

Hermione closed the book with a snap. Twenty seconds passed and nothing happened. Harry began to doubt the use of the property's name as it had been registered in the Ministry of Magic, but then again, this outskirts house had not stood on any specific street so there had been no street address.

'Harry,' said Bill in an amused voice, 'you can lower your wand now.'

He did, and they all noticed how the setting sun gave a bit more light now; all except Ginny, maybe, whose eyes were still gazing at Harry's.

'Do you think it worked?' asked Ron dubiously, addressing the question to nobody in particular.

'Of course it did,' said Hermione with a stern voice, 'excuse us for a minute.' And she took Ginny by the hand and closed the door behind them as they went into the bedroom.

'What the hell's wrong with her?' asked Ron.

Bill knocked gently on the bedroom door. Hermione opened the door to a mere slit and spat a 'What?' at Bill.

'Well,' said Bill as he rested his hand on the open slit, 'Ron here was wondering what the hell's wrong with you.'

'Nothing,' Hermione said with a mad expression to Ron, 'girl talk!' And with that, she slammed the door shut.

'Ouch!' Bill shouted with pain, pulling his squashed hand out of the door slit. This seemed to please Ron, who looked as though he could kill Bill for his remark to Hermione.

'Hey, Ron,' Harry intervened quickly, 'what do you say we start making dinner before it gets too dark?'

This seemed to appease Ron even more - he was all for it.

'I'll set the table,' said Bill

'Oh, no, you did so much for the house,' replied Harry truthfully. 'You stay here and ... rest.'

Bill stayed on the sofa, taking Ron's wizard chess board and setting up the pieces. And before long, pots were steaming in the kitchen. These were kitchenware that Bill had found in the ruined house and turned sparkling clean with magic, and the groceries came compliments of Mrs Weasley. Steaks had already been placed on an oiled grill when the girls came out of the bedroom. Hermione, flourishing her wand a little too casually, began making a mashed potatoes and yam stew while Harry, who still only knew how to cook the Muggle way, flipped hamburgers. Ron, who was hopeless in the kitchen, set the table.

'What are you smiling at?' asked Ron, alerting Harry to the fact that he was.

'I just remembered something Uncle Vernon used to tell me,' said Harry.

'The drinks are in the picnic basket,' Hermione said to Ron while still holding her wand over the pot. 'What did your uncle tell you, Harry?'

'He said I'll grow up to become "your regular Mr Joe Flipburger" - that's the only thing you no-good freak are destined for!' Harry mimicked his uncle's voice and his stern, neck-less face.

'What's wrong with that?' asked Ron, who was pulling out what looked like too many drink bottles for the little picnic basket to be able to contain.

'Nothing. I'm actually quite enjoying this,' answered Harry truthfully. 'Beats dinner at the Dursleys' any day.'

'Ron, I don't think these steaks will be enough for all of us,' pointed out Hermione as fresh vegetables started shooting out of the picnic basket on her wand's command and placing themselves on the cutting board.

'It's fine, don't worry,' answered Ron. 'We'll give the steaks ten minutes to cook, then add two more for Bill and let them all cook for one more minute.'

'Oh, right,' said Hermione and Harry together, remembering Bill's new favourite diet.

When Ginny finally skipped triumphantly into the kitchen, obviously having defeated her big brother in wizard chess, dinner was already set on the table. The trio were sitting around it, Ron staring at the food as if to make sure it didn't slip away from his sight, Hermione staring at Ron as if to make sure he didn't touch anything until his siblings arrive, and Harry looking into the picnic basket to see how much else could be hiding in it, realising that the wicker itself was magicked to isolate the outside heat from the cool contents. Bill slumped next to Hermione, conveniently leaving the chair next to Harry as the only one for Ginny to occupy.

'Man, I could eat an entire lamb!' said Bill, looking eagerly at the food. With a courteous smile frozen on her face, pretending to be putting the salad tongs inside the salad bowl, Hermione pushed her plate and chair a little away from his.

'To Harry's new home,' said Ginny, raising her cup of butterbeer. Everyone followed suit. 'Congratulations on your new home, Harry,' she continued, and everyone stopped their cups an inch from their mouths, 'your new hideout, if you will. And I just wanted to say -'

'- Bon appetit,' said Ron and Bill together, and dove head first into the food.

It was a wonderful dinner. Although at one time Bill commented that the steak was a bit too well done (to which Ron replied that anything less than pulsating was too well done for him) the food was great, and the company even better, very similar to the jovial company Harry had had at dinners at The Burrow, with Bill replacing Ron's parents and brothers. In fact, it was almost like a Burrow dinner located at his own place. He couldn't wish for a better night than this, he thought as he looked at his friends around the table, leaning backwards in his chair and holding his cup. When his eyes rested on Ginny, he thought maybe he could wish for a better night.

'My head is spinning a bit,' he said, looking at the bulge of her now-food-filled tummy.

'Yeah, I feel a little queasy, too,' said Ron from the other side of the table, turning the slightest green shade of his usual red.

'That's what you get for swiping my ale,' said Bill to Harry and Ron while stifling a loud burp. 'Oh, by the way, Harry, whatever food is left, excluding alcohol, stays here. Mum's orders, you may have seen that coming. But if you don't want it to spoil soon, I suggest you go to Diagon Alley and buy an icebox.'

Harry was just about to ask how they make iceboxes work without electricity, when Bill continued, 'you don't need larger capacity than that of our icebox. Although it's just sufficient when I and Charlie are away, what with Ginny, Ron and the twins around the house. Maybe Mum and Dad will know better about this.'

Harry noticed (and maybe he was the only one who did notice) that the absence of Percy's name didn't make any eyebrows raise any more.

'Strange we haven't heard from them,' said Ron, 'I'd expect Mum and Dad to call us by now, wouldn't you?'

'They can't call us if I don't have a functioning fireplace,' said Harry, 'right, Bill?'

'It's already functioning,' said Ginny, 'and I've already talked to Mum.' Harry didn't expect that. He looked at Bill with awe.

'Thanks, Ginny,' said Bill, 'that was supposed to be a surprise for him. Oh, well, I reckon you want to go have a look, eh?'

Harry was already on his way to the living room when Bill finished the sentence. The fireplace looked just like before, except for some glowing embers Harry noticed hadn't been there before they'd started making dinner.

'When did you have the time for it?' asked Harry when Bill followed him into the living room.

'Just before you arrived, Dad finished reconnecting it to the Floo network,' explained Bill. 'It was easier than I thought, because it had been used before, so it wasn't canceled altogether, just inactive.'

'Inactive? For sixteen years?!' asked Harry in disbelief.

'Yup,' replied Bill as he put his hand into the side pocket of his jacket, 'and it was no trouble at all for Dad to discreetly reactivate it from within the Ministry.' He pulled out a small leather bag from his pocket, reached into it and pulled out some Floo powder. 'This is all I have left on me right now,' he remarked, 'so you'll have to get some at Diagon Alley later.'

'I can do that while I'm there looking for an icebox,' Harry thought out loud.

'Yes. Stop by Gringotts tomorrow to withdraw some money,' suggested Bill, 'and I'll go with you to buy stuff, alright?'

'Sounds like a plan,' replied Harry.

'Great. I'll meet you at the trust funds' section in the lobby, around tennish?' said Bill, and without waiting for an answer he threw the powder into the fireplace and shouted, 'Number two, Kennel Lane,' at the green flames that suddenly appeared. The flames grew stronger, and Harry wondered what was at that address; for some reason, he had been sure Bill would call at The Burrow. When the fire finally dimmed down, a very familiar face was peeping out of it.

'Lupin!' called Harry. 'How are you? And where are you?'

'Harry,' said the fiery face, 'I'm glad to see you're well. You were pretty downcast last time.'

'We're doing just fine, Remus,' said Bill. 'Sorry to have kept you waiting.'

'Waiting?' asked Harry.

'Yes, waiting for this call,' said Lupin, 'and I was beginning to worry.'

'Sorry 'bout that,' said Bill, and then to Harry, 'Remus here said he has something important to discuss with you.'

'Yes, and I'd like to set a private meeting with you, Harry, as soon as possible,' said Lupin.

Harry didn't want to wait until they met to ask what was on his mind. Having received no help at all at the graveyard, he turned to what he intended to do in the first place, what he had been planning to do for a few days: He looked at Lupin, took a deep breath and said, 'Lupin, I wanted to ask you something about the Order of the Phoenix.'

To his dismay, Lupin seemed startled by this preface.'My boy,' he said, 'you can't just say ... is this a secured grate?'

Oh, dear - Harry had never thought about checking that. Had he just annulled his membership in the Order before even being part of it?

'I don't know,' replied Harry, 'I'm at my parents'.' At my parents' - this sounded so strange!

'You're what?' asked Lupin. 'I don't understand what you're saying.'

'He can't hear this - Fidelius, remember?' Bill told Harry quietly, and aloud he said, 'Yes, Remus, my Dad set the security this morning, even before it was connected to the Floo network.'

'Good. Then we can talk now,' said Lupin. 'Bill, would you mind if I had a word with Harry alone?'

'Not at all,' said Bill, then added in a hushed voice, 'but I did want to ask you ... Dad didn't tell me anything about the ... you know ...'

'Nor do I have any news for you,' replied Lupin, annoying Harry even further for this conversation over his head, 'they're still investigating.'

'Fine,' said Bill as he retreated back into the kitchen. 'I'll help the others clean up, then. Bye.'

'Funny you've mentioned the Order, Harry, because I just wanted to talk to you about the Fidelius Charm,' started Lupin's dimly glowing face, as if he hadn't just said anything mysterious to Bill. 'You know it was one of the charms that protected the whereabouts of our headquarters, right?'

'Of course,' replied Harry.

'We need it cast again, seeing as Dumbledore was the Secret-Keeper,' said Lupin, 'and he's dead now.'

'But I thought that the secret dies with the Secret-Keeper,' said Harry, sticking as much to definitions and rules to prevent himself from thinking about Lupin's he's dead now bit.

'Technically, it's only the secret that dies,' said Lupin slowly; 'the statement lives on.'

'I'm afraid I don't follow,' said Harry after a few seconds.

'Taking a statement and protecting it with Fidelius hides it away from public eye,' explained Lupin in his old professor's voice. 'The incantation itself has a part that says, "I shall guard thy truth with my life", so you can clearly deduce that, when the Secret-Keeper dies, its status as a secret dies, too - people who didn't know it still don't, but can learn or discover it again.'

'So it becomes public domain again?' tried Harry to understand the rationale.

'Yes,' replied Lupin, 'which is why we want you to cast the charm on our headquarters. We could have done it ourselves, but you own the place, so it's only fair. I can get you a book that shows how to do it.'

'No need, I have it here,' said Harry cheerfully. 'In fact, I just cast it to hide where I live.'

'That's a good id-- wait,' Lupin stopped abruptly and thought for a bit. 'It's not at the Dursleys'?'

'Oh, heavens, no,' said Harry. 'I couldn't wait to get out of there.'

'Oh, dear,' said Lupin slowly. 'It's still a good idea, except ... I thought perhaps you'd like to use the Fidelius Charm to protect the fact you live there. Just to keep your family safe.'

Not having given a moment's thought to his family earlier, Harry started thinking about their safety now. Despite her loathing of magic, it suddenly didn't seem entirely impossible to Harry for Aunt Petunia to have allowed Dumbledore placing a charm on her house to ensure nobody would ever know Harry lived there. Except ...

'Wait a minute,' he finally said, 'the Fidelius Charm couldn't have been cast there earlier, now could it? Or Dobby the house-elf wouldn't know where I live. And those two Dementors that attacked me two years ago, too. So the Dursleys aren't any less safe just because ... well ... Dumbledore's gone.'

'The Dementors attacked you while you were outside, not in the house,' replied Lupin, 'and from what you've told me, your cousin turned you into a right beacon in the dark for them.'

'But that's just the point,' replied Harry. 'They were drawn to me like a magnet because of the bad feelings that stirred up in me.'

'You know they'd been sent out after you,' said Lupin, 'you testified on that.'

'Yes, after me, but not after the Dursleys,' said Harry, deciding to dismiss the issue entirely, 'so I'm sure they'll be alright.'

'Fine. I can ask Mrs Figg to keep her eyes peeled,' concluded Lupin, 'though I'm not sure how that will help in case of emergency. Never mind. But I still think that you should protect the headquarters with Fidelius.'

'So, it still functions, right?' asked Harry. 'The Order?'

'That's what I said,' replied Lupin.

'Good,' said Harry, 'so you tell whoever's in charge now that I want in.'

'I've been wondering how long it would take you,' said Lupin with a satisfied smile.

'Yeah ... me too,' said Harry.

'You didn't breathe a word about it last time we've met,' said Lupin with sudden seriousness. 'This is a big decision, Harry, so you have to be certain about it.'

'I am,' said Harry and, remembering the hollowness at the graveyard, he added, 'I just had to check something first.' For the silent tombs had made him realise that, when it came to big decisions, he was on his own now.