Phoenix Intuition

Chapter Two

Not for the first time, U.S. Secretary of State Bob Rogers glanced wryly at the name of the restaurant he and his deputy were entering: The Statesman's Club. Are there any actual statesmen in Washington anymore, he wondered. He supposed the last one--the last President who was one, anyway--was the one who'd been in office when the Berlin Wall fell and the Soviet Union imploded. "I'm not gonna dance on the Wall," he'd said; he knew it was a bad idea to rub the Russians' loss in their noses when there were plenty of hard-liners around who wanted to reverse what had been done. That President, he recalled as he was led to the V.I.P. room in the back of the exclusive restaurant, lost his bid for re-election; one of the only two to do so in the past sixty years, and the other one who had was a very effective statesman himself. Rogers wondered if the meaning of 'statesman' should be considered to be 'one who is better at statecraft than at politics.' Could one be good at both? The last two-termer who'd been good at statecraft had turned out to be a crook. It's always something, he thought.

They sat at the table, gave their drink orders, and were left alone. "What's on your mind?" asked Will Davidson, the Deputy Secretary of State and Rogers' friend for many years.

"Just wondering if the President would've danced on the Wall."

Davidson chuckled at the thought. "He'd have done a jig, beat his chest, then mooned the East Germans. What made you think of that?"

The Secretary shrugged. "Must be getting nostalgic. I swear I remember a time when being America's friend meant you shared our values, not that you did what we told you to do and shut up."

"I am not sure, old friend, that there was ever such a time as you describe," replied Davidson humorously, trying to sound older than his sixty years. "Perhaps we put a more sophisticated veneer on it, but since Hitler went down, we've been the boss. And, lest you forget, look at the litany of thugs and murderers we've called our friends. In those cases, 'shared our values' meant 'opposed the Soviets.'"

"Now, there's some perspective," conceded Rogers as the door opened; the waiter set their drinks in front of them, and withdrew. Rogers took a deep breath. "Yeah, maybe it's just the veneer. But I think the veneer means something. This President doesn't give a crap about veneer."

Now Davidson shrugged. "Different times. Our biggest enemies not only don't care about veneer, they don't care whether they live or die. Deterrence kept things stable, but you can't deter a fanatic. Maybe a Dirty Harry President is what we need. There's something to be said for moral clarity. You're with us or you're against us."

Rogers knew his friend was playing devil's advocate. "I don't see why he needed me for this job, then. He could've just gotten someone who'd have told him what he wanted to hear."

"You know perfectly well why," his friend gently chided him. "You're the respectable face to show the world. Your credibility was currency to him, and he's using it up at a rapid clip. Regretting you took the job?" Davidson was mildly surprised, as such sentiments had escaped his boss before, but usually after the third drink; now, he was still working on his first.

Rogers downed the rest of his drink. "Regretting I got this guy for a president." Davidson's eyebrows went up. "Not that the one before him was so much better. He thought too much; this one doesn't think enough. The last guy over-worried about his biases affecting his decisions; this one embraces his biases, and never thinks he might be wrong." He pressed a button to summon the waiter. "He doesn't know the difference between confidence and arrogance."

"Some people like that about him." The door opened, another round of drinks was delivered, and dinner orders taken. Davidson knew that his friend and boss needed to let off steam occasionally, when the frustrations of being senior foreign policy adviser to a president who was disinterested in the nuances of foreign policy got the better of him.

Rogers took another drink, downing half of the new one in a gulp. "Not the people in other countries, but of course he doesn't care about them, which most Americans don't either. It's like he thinks that nine-eleven gave him a mandate to kick anyone's ass he wanted. Afghanistan? Fine. A haven for terrorists. But Iraq? A brutal, evil dictatorship, but not much to do with terror; as we both know, there are a dozen countries that sponsor terror far more aggressively. Now half the country thinks that Iraq was connected to nine-eleven, because he and the others said it so often, even though it was patently false. We make fun of the Arabs for believing the lie that Jews were warned about nine-eleven, but we're no better. We just believe different lies. So here we are in Iraq, tied down, with terrorists taking potshots at us. The world's image of America is at an all-time low, and nobody believes a damn thing we say anymore. And I have to get up there and defend this, say how the President carefully and prudently weighed all the factors, and we welcome our allies' advice and we want to cooperate with the international community, and we only read Playboy for the articles..."

Davidson chuckled and mimicked the tone of a TV reporter. "In the State Department, the news today is that Secretary Bob Rogers insisted that he only reads Playboy for the articles. International reaction was skeptical; the French Foreign Minister was quoted as saying in response, 'If this is where the Secretary gets his information, it explains a lot about U.S. foreign policy.'"

They both laughed. Sighing, Rogers responded, "No, unfortunately, we get our foreign policy from the Bible. 'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the President.' We shall smite the terrorists, and if we can't get them, then anybody in the neighborhood we don't like the looks of. But, by God, we'll smite somebody, because it makes us feel good."

"By the way, that reminds me, I talked to my esteemed counterpart across the pond," said Davidson. "Albert tells me that Barclay's terrified that we're going to find someone else we want to smite. He values the 'special relationship', and he knows it won't survive one more attack. I assured Paul that at this point in time, we currently have no specific plans to attack anyone that I'm aware of. He was totally reassured and thanked me profusely."

Rogers smiled at his subordinate's deadpan sarcasm. "I assume you also told Paul that the 'special relationship' between our two countries is extremely important to the President insofar as it's convenient to him at the present time?"

Davidson shook his head sadly. "I think he understands that, both he and Barclay. Barclay hopes it can be salvaged for the future. But back to smiting, I think everyone knows we won't be doing any more smiting for a while, if only because our military is overextended as it is, trying to keep order in Iraq." He finished his drink, as did his boss.

"What really disturbs me about Iraq," said Rogers, even though he knew he'd said the same thing to his deputy more than once, "is the fact that this was an optional war, and the declared reasons for doing it turned out to be bogus. So what's to stop, say, China from inventing a bogus reason and invading Taiwan? They'd laugh at us if we tried to lecture them on respecting the sovereignty of their neighbors."

"Yes, but if they'd wanted to invade Taiwan, they'd have done it already, and pulled a justification out of the air. This just gives them a better one, but it won't change anything. You know that."

"Yeah, I know, but it gives people ideas, makes things that once might have seemed unacceptable now seem acceptable."

"It also could bring democracy to the Middle East," said Davidson, again taking the devil's advocate position. "He has the right idea, even if he's doing it all wrong. This could remake the geopolitical map, and you know the President's a missionary at heart."

"He's got good intentions, I'll give him that. It's just that the way he does things makes it difficult for me to go out there and defend what he does." Rogers sighed. "But he's the President, so I'll keep on doing it." His friend knew that he just needed to vent once in a while.

The venting ended when dinner came, and the two spent the meal gossiping about mutual friends in the diplomatic community.

Sitting in his car after saying goodbye an hour later, Rogers got out his cell phone, and dialed the number he had committed to memory, but never written down. "Policy Consulting Network," came the female-voiced answer.

"Ms. Casey, please."

"Just a moment, sir."

After a pause, another woman came on the line. "Hello?"

"This is Howard. Is Heather available, in thirty minutes?"

"Yes, sir, she is. She'll be expecting you." They hung up.

He started up the car, wondering which was more ironic: a high-class brothel going by the name of the Policy Consulting Network, or a Washington restaurant called the Statesman's Club. He drove off, trying not to think about the fact that the woman he would soon be having sex with was almost young enough to be his granddaughter. His was a stressful job, he told himself, and he deserved whatever outlets of relaxation he could get. He did not know that he'd had uninvited guests in attendance in the private room at the restaurant, and at the apartment he would soon arrive at.

American wizards, having similar libertarian leanings to their Muggle counterparts--at least, the Muggles did until recently--did not have a centralized system of nationwide magic detection, and far fewer regulations than the Brits regarding what magic could be done where and under what circumstances. If a man wanted to do charms on his goat, well, that was his business. The state wasn't going to get involved.

There was, however, one exception: Washington, D.C. was well-known to American wizards as a magic-free zone. Anyone who did any sort of magic in the District was in violation of wizarding law, and the area was monitored at all times. Not that wizards would be interested in tampering with the Muggle government in any case, but it was a reasonable precaution, and D.C. wasn't an area that would hold the interest of wizards anyway. Wizards in the American Department of Magic felt that the monitoring was a waste of effort, but they did it anyway. It didn't require manpower; an alarm would let them know if the ban was being violated.

After his father and brother's death, Leonard Drake had taken up their hobby of collecting rare artifacts with a vengeance. One of those artifacts was proving very useful to his recent efforts: a device that shielded an area of five meters around the user from magic detection. Drake could not set up a remote device that would capture and record sounds and images from the restaurant and Heather's apartment, as even that use of magic would be detected. But he could do so if he were there himself, so he was: with Hugo, who was under the Imperius Curse. Both were charmed to make no noise, and made invisible. After it was over, Drake Apparated them both to his hideaway, a large (expanded magically) but hidden structure in the woods of Vermont.

"That was somewhat distasteful. Ah, the things we do to further our goals," remarked Drake sardonically upon their return. "So, his obvious vulnerabilities are his attitude toward the President, and his taste in younger women. Anything else?"

"Not really," replied Hugo, still under the Imperius Curse. "He's aware he's engaging in risky behavior--people like him have been found out by other Muggles--but he thinks he won't get caught. I got the sense of a long-ago scandal, just a whiff of an emotional atmosphere I've come to associate with that, but I couldn't get anything more about that. If it is there, it probably has to do with sexual behavior. He's a 'my country, right or wrong' man, so he serves a President he doesn't respect."

"How far can I push him? At what point will he stop doing what I tell him even if it means his career ends in disgrace?"

"He struck me as the type who would rather die than betray his country," answered Hugo. "It would be best to do it gradually, get him used to the idea that he's not his own master anymore before demanding anything big."

Out of nowhere, a silver ring suddenly appeared on Drake's right ring finger that hadn't been there a second ago. He glanced at it, then returned his attention to Hugo. "I may not need him to betray his country anyway, just nudge it in a certain direction. Very well, you may return to your quarters." Hugo nodded obediently and walked off.

Drake looked at the ring again, and walked to Malfoy's quarters to get his report.

* * * * *

The Forbidden Forest, the hippogriffs, and the again-subdued Professor Shady disappeared, and all that remained in the Ring of Reduction was Harry and the ten seventh year Gryffindors. "Okay, let's head on out," he said. He left, then waited until all ten were out before addressing the class; the ten seventh year Slytherins who composed the rest of the class looked on curiously.

Addressing the Slytherins, Harry said, "Well, the good part is that they did it faster than any other group, including you." The Gryffindors shared pleased looks, but their faces fell on Harry's next comment. "The bad part is, they cheated."

Hedrick and Derek laughed out loud; other Slytherins chuckled. Some Gryffindors were looking at others reprovingly, as if some had objected to what was done but were outvoted. "What's wrong with you people?" Derek jokingly demanded. "We're the Slytherins; if anyone's going to cheat, it should be us!"

"I'll keep that in mind, Derek," remarked Harry.

"How did they cheat?" asked Helen, seemingly trying to keep any amusement at the Gryffindors' expense out of her voice.

"They knew what was going to happen. They avoided the first two traps entirely, and were trying to avoid the centaurs; they apparently didn't know that the centaurs and hippogriffs will appear in front of you no matter which way you go. Then they pretty much showed they knew that spells wouldn't work against the villain; instead of landing in front of him, they dive-bombed him from the air. They were able to defend the hippogriffs from incoming Stunners; Brian jumped off the hippogriff and made a nice tackle. So, good execution, anyway."

He turned to face the Gryffindors; they were trying not to look guilty, with varying degrees of success. "If this had been an exam, there would be detentions. Of course, if it had been an exam, I'd have taken stronger measures to make sure that someone from another class didn't tell you. Anyway, I'm going to take twenty points from Gryffindor, just on principle, and request that you not do anything like that in the future, whether it's an exam or not." Some Gryffindors nodded, apparently relieved not to be given detention.

Harry glanced at his watch. "Okay, I expected that to take longer, so we have an extra five minutes. But I'll just let you go now. See you next week."

A few minutes later, Harry took his usual seat in the staff room; the other teachers were amused to hear the story, except for Hermione. "I'd have given them detention, I don't think it matters whether it was an exam or not. It's just the idea."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. But you know how I am about this kind of thing."

"Yes, you're a softie," she responded disapprovingly.

"Just curious, what would the rest of you have done?" he asked the other teachers.

"Same as you, probably," answered Flitwick. "Maybe taken off more points."

Sprout nodded. "I'd have taken the points and given them a lecture about being fair. As head of Hufflepuff, I feel it's sort of my job."

Harry glanced at Snape, silently asking for his thoughts. "Detention," said Snape firmly. After a pause, he added, "Unless they were Slytherins, in which case I would reprimand them for getting caught, and advise them how to make it less obvious in the future."

Hermione frowned, but most other teachers chuckled. "It's funny because it's true," joked Harry. It was about two years ago that Snape had stopped making any pretenses that he didn't favor Slytherins, and it had become something of a joke in the staff room. Harry didn't like it when it came to approving sixth-year students for the N.E.W.T. Potions class--Snape's informal standard was Exceeds Expectations for Slytherins, but Outstanding for other houses' students--but if Harry or another Head of House made a strong case for a student to be admitted to Snape's class, Snape usually acquiesced (though he always made it clear to such students that they were on thin ice in his class, and that the highest level of effort was expected).

"Oh, Harry," said Sprout, "I don't want to forget to ask you... one of my nephews called in my fireplace last weekend to tell me that his best friend is getting married, and wants to have the Joining of Hands done. I explained that you want to talk to them first, so he wondered if you could meet him and his intended sometime soon."

"Yeah, sure," agreed Harry. "I think Saturday's mostly free. You can tell him that I can see him at one o'clock."

"Thank you, Harry, I'll tell him. By the way, did you have a busy summer with that?" More and more people in the wizarding world had been following Harry and Ginny's example and having the Joining of Hands done, and almost all wanted Harry to be the one to perform it. It had taken him a while to be comfortable performing the spell at weddings at which he knew no one, but since he could simply keep an eye on the ceremony from afar and appear when he was needed, he felt less awkward than he might have otherwise. He was always asked, and usually agreed, to stay at the party afterwards; such gatherings still made him a little uncomfortable, but he always tried to think of Dumbledore and how he would have handled it.

"Not too busy," he answered Sprout. "Two weddings, and... two requests that didn't end up involving weddings, both of them unusual." A few teachers gave him 'well, go on' looks, and he continued. "I got an owl in late July, from a guy who said he wanted to have the Joining done and wanted to meet me. So I did, and when I got there I met the one he wanted to have it done with... and it was another guy."

Sprout, Flitwick, and John chuckled; predictably, Snape scowled. "Bet that threw you for a loop," observed John. "That was the first time that's ever happened?"

"Yeah, it was. I was like, uh, okay... I'm sure they knew I was uncomfortable, but they didn't say anything. So I sat and talked to them, asked them how they met, stuff like that, some of the usual questions, and I did Legilimens on them, of course. Turns out they're very much in love, and just want to spend the rest of their lives together, just like most couples I see."

"You say that like you're surprised," Hermione admonished him.

"You know the answer to that, it just takes some getting used to," responded Harry. "You know I don't have anything against it. Anyway, I told them I would do it, and they were really excited. They'd worried I'd be disgusted and wouldn't do it. They had me do it right then and there, since they can't have a wedding anyway. They were really, really happy after I did it. They know they can't look into their hands and talk to each other unless they're both alone, since if they weren't, people would ask them who they were Joined to. I got the sense that since they can't get married, that was as close as they could get, which made it like a wedding for them. So, it was kind of strange, but I was glad I could make them so happy."

"Well, I was very proud of you for doing it," said Hermione emphatically, her tone reminding Harry of Molly praising a child. She looked around the room to get reactions.

Sprout looked mildly uncomfortable. "I suppose I feel much like Minerva does about this. I don't wish them ill, but witches of my generation were raised to think it was wrong."

"Albus didn't think it was wrong," pointed out Harry.

"I know," agreed Sprout. "But he was... exceptional."

"Well, I'm okay with it, I think Harry knows, but I suppose as a Muggle I don't count," said John wryly. "But Harry, I wonder about something. Would you do it at an actual wedding? I mean, it can't happen here, and I think that it's not officially recognized in any other wizarding societies, but I read recently that the wizarding population of San Francisco is starting to take after how open the Muggle population is about it. They're trying to build popularity for the idea, by having unofficial 'commitment' ceremonies--"

"Quite appropriate; they should be 'committed,'" muttered Snape darkly.

John gave Snape an annoyed glance, then continued, "So, if they asked you to do the Joining at one of these ceremonies, would you do it? Bearing in mind that it would be reported in the American papers, and eventually in the Prophet?"

Harry thought for a minute; it was an interesting question. Finally, he answered, "As you know, I don't want my name used to make some point, unless it's one that I personally really want to make. So if the whole point of the ceremony was to get public support for homosexual marriage, then no, I wouldn't do it. But if it was a private ceremony, with no more publicity than an average wedding, then yes, I would."

"Seems fair enough," said John. "So, what was the other one? You said you had two unusual requests this summer."

Harry chuckled at the recollection. "The other one was just a week before we came back from vacation. A couple asked for an interview, then during the interview they asked me if, since I could do any magic I wanted, if I would do the Joining of Hands for them, but modify it so it wasn't permanent. They wanted to be able to talk to each other on their hands, but they wanted to be able to change their minds about it. They said it wasn't because they thought they might break up, but that they might decide the Joining wasn't something they wanted from a privacy viewpoint."

"It seems like it wouldn't really be the Joining, then," remarked Sprout. "What did you tell them?"

"Basically that," said Harry. "I said I could do it, but I wouldn't; to me, the fact that it's irreversible is really what the Joining is all about. Make it reversible, then you've got... I don't know, the Holding of Hands, or something. I'm happy to help people confirm their commitment to each other and make them happy, like that gay couple, but I have no interest in modifying people to give them a convenience. So, I was as nice as I could be, and apologetic, but I said no."

"Have you ever said no before?" wondered Sprout. "I mean, you do what Professor Dumbledore did, you interview them using Legilimens to determine to your satisfaction that they're doing it for the right reasons, since it's irreversible. Have you ever interviewed them, and had to say no for that reason?"

Harry nodded. "Once, last summer. The woman was keen, but the man... he liked her well enough, but he was more interested in men than women. I discovered that there was a man he'd loved once, but didn't pursue it because his father had quite a lot of money he expected to inherit, and his father wanted him to marry someone respectable. It had to be a pure-blood. I wondered why they even asked, since he had to know I'd find that. I discovered that she wanted it--he'd been a little too convincing in acting like he loved her, she thought he wanted it too--and he didn't mind asking because he thought there was a chance I'd say no, and because of that she'd decide to cancel the wedding. It was as much for her sake as his--he felt bad marrying her based on a lie, but couldn't think of a good enough reason to get out of it without hurting her feelings and offending both sets of parents.

"She was really upset when I said no, and he pretended to be surprised. She demanded to know why, and wasn't happy when I told her I couldn't tell her. She felt as though I was predicting their marriage would fail. His father wasn't happy either, and stuck his head in my fireplace to find out my reasons, and I had to tell him the same thing. Unfortunately, it didn't persuade the woman; they got married anyway. I suspect he's trying to make himself happy with his situation, and having occasional affairs with men on the side. It's pretty sad, really."

"It may interest you to know, Professor, that through my awesome powers of deduction," remarked Snape with obvious sarcasm, "I am fairly sure I know who you are speaking of. I am sure it would be of great interest to the father--"

"Don't you dare," Harry interrupted Snape, glaring at him. "You'd better not. I'm serious." He didn't think Snape would do it, but considering Snape's past irrationality on the subject of homosexuality, he couldn't be sure.

Snape's smirk in response suggested that he had been trying to bait Harry, and was amused that he had succeeded. "Or...?"

Harry sighed, now annoyed with Snape for two reasons. "Or I'll be very unhappy."

Snape's eyebrows rose. "My abject fear has reduced me to a quivering wreck," he responded, putting a light touch on the sarcasm in his tone. "I never dreamed that you would go so far."

"Just don't tempt me," Harry muttered, now satisfied that Snape was just making sport of him. Snape's personality had changed when, four years before, Harry had been able to undo the Cleansing that Voldemort had done to Snape; Snape was now able to have any emotions, not only negative ones. Harry knew that considering all he had done for Snape, Snape respected him, but was far from hesitant to tweak him when he saw the opportunity.

"You were a little specific, so you may want to keep that in mind for the future," suggested Dentus. "The wizarding world is quite a small one. I'm pretty sure I know who you mean as well."

"I'll keep that in mind. Anyway, since that happened, whenever I do this I warn the couple that if I say no, I can't tell them the reasons. Hasn't happened since then, of course, but I'm sure it will one of these days."

After a few seconds, Flitwick turned to John. "So, John, how are the classes going?" Since he'd graduated from Hogwarts, Harry had started conducting energy-of-love classes outside Hogwarts for groups of ten. In lieu of a fee, he asked only that the participants who learned it successfully be willing to conduct or assist similar classes in the future if requested. The classes lasted six months, three times a week, starting in January and July. To Harry's surprise, John had asked to join the most recent class. Clearly, as a Muggle, John had no hope of learning the spells made possible by using the energy of love, but he had pointed out to Harry that learning it had a beneficial effect on the person's character, which would be useful to anyone, and that since learning it didn't require the use of magic, he could quite possibly teach it in the future. John told Harry that he intended to teach his wife, who was a witch, if he felt able. Intrigued, Harry had agreed to his request.

"As Harry's said many times before, it's something that's hard to get a handle on," replied John. "All I can say is that it seems to be going well. Obviously with me, there'll be no way to know whether I've really learned it or not. But I have a feeling I'll know, since I've heard many people talk about how it feels. So, how many is it now, Harry?"

"I'm not keeping track of a number; all I know is how many former and current Hogwarts students have learned it. I think that number is close to two hundred. If I had to guess, I'd say the overall number is between five and six hundred."

"Not bad," mused Dentus, "especially considering that it's only been five years since you started teaching it to anyone. Granted, that's less than two percent of England's wizarding population, but it's still good progress. That number's going to be much higher after you've been teaching it for a generation, especially if parents start raising their kids on it, like you're doing."

"That's what I'm hoping for," agreed Harry. "It's slow, but heading in the right direction."

* * * * *

Harry's home was located very close to the Burrow, only about a hundred meters away. He had wanted travel between the two homes to be easy, even for children not old enough to Apparate. The home was invisible, however, except to those authorized to know its location, due to Harry's variation of the Fidelius Charm. While a number of people were authorized for Harry's fireplace and for Apparation into his home, only the six and other Weasleys knew its physical location; the last thing Harry wanted was people showing up on his doorstep.

Having looked beforehand with his remote eye, which he usually did before coming home from Hogwarts, Harry teleported to his living room. Ginny was on a sofa reading a book, and keeping an eye on James, who was on the floor playing with toys. To Harry and Ginny's surprise, and Molly's delight, James had been born with red hair, blue eyes, and freckles; he looked much more like a Weasley than a Potter. Harry appeared in the living room, about three meters from James. He crouched, and spread his arms wide.

"Daddy!" shouted James. "Summa!"

Harry shook his head. "No, first you have to come over here and give Daddy a hug. Then go back over there, and I'll summon you. Come on!"

James enthusiastically ran to his father, who hugged him. Then he ran back to where he'd been before. "Summa!"

Harry chuckled, wondering when James would get the pronunciation right. He stood and with a thought summoned his son, who went flying through the air towards his father, who caught him. James giggled in delight.

Smiling, Ginny walked over and kissed her husband. "He never gets tired of that, you could do it a hundred times and he'd still want more. Good thing I can't do it, he'd never leave me alone." She would have included the phrase 'without a wand' in her sentence, but they had even gone so far as to decide not to use the word 'wand' around James, who upon hearing of their existence would no doubt want one, and badger them endlessly.

Harry held James up in front of his face. "Is that right? Would you like me to do that a hundred times?" James giggled and nodded, though Harry was sure James didn't understand the concept of a hundred. Harry kissed James a few times, then kissed Ginny again. "It's so nice to have you two to come home to. It sure beats Snape taking his little digs at me."

Ginny gave him a questioning glance, so he explained. Then he added, "He shouldn't joke about things like that, given how weird he is about homosexuality. It wasn't like it was so strange that I'd think he might be serious, but then when it was clear that he was kidding, it made it look to the other teachers like I overreacted. They wouldn't think that if they knew what I know about him, of course."

She shrugged. "You know how he is. He loves to take his shots, especially at you. I think you're his favorite target because of what you two have been through together, you'll be slow to be offended, and let him get away with a fair bit. I gather that Hermione doesn't take that much off of him."

He grunted. "I think he also thinks of me as the slowest one in the room mentally, and so easiest to do that to. I try to always assume he's not serious, but it doesn't work sometimes, like today. Not that I usually care, just today was annoying. Funny, it's been almost five years since I reversed his Cleansing, but after his initial changes, he hasn't changed all that much. When he laughs, it's still far more likely to be at someone's expense than because he's happy, or because something is just funny. Not that that's not a vast improvement on how he was in my first six years at Hogwarts, but you'd think he'd branch out a bit more with his emotions, now that he has the full range of them again." Harry played with James as he spoke.

"I guess people get comfortable, and don't want to change," she suggested. "Look at McGonagall, four of her teachers can use the energy of love, even John's trying it, but she won't. She's just comfortable with who she is, and I suppose it's the same for Snape, in his own way."

He sighed. "I know. I just wish he could..."

"Love someone? Yes, it would be nice, but really unlikely. He's just not going to put that kind of trust in another person. The only two people he's really trusted have been you and Albus, and both of those were unusual circumstances, driven by necessity. Nothing's pushing him here." Harry knew she was right, it was just a shame. "By the way," she continued, "I was thinking of having Sheila over for a Sunday dinner. What do you think?" Sheila Redmond was a Chaser for the Chudley Cannons, and Ginny's closest friend on the team.

Harry hesitated, thinking for a few seconds. "Yeah, okay." He sat down with James and watched him play with the toys, James showing Harry things he'd done.

"Why not?" asked Ginny, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Puzzled, Harry responded, "I could have sworn I just said it was okay."

"Maybe, but your tone communicated the message 'I can't think of a good reason to say 'no' and I don't want to upset my wife so I'll say 'yes' even though I'd rather not.'"

"Did it really?" They'd had the argument about his tone differing from his words more than once, and Harry protested, though he knew it would be to no avail. "Can't you just go by my words and not my tone?"

"No, I can't. What's your problem with her?"

Harry wished she would just let it go, but he knew she wouldn't. "I don't have a problem with her, really. It's just... I don't know, something doesn't hit me the right way about her. It's no big deal. Maybe it's just me, maybe the others would like her fine. Really, you should go ahead and ask her."

"I'll think about it," she replied, in a tone that suggested to him that she didn't plan to ask Sheila, and was still unhappy with Harry's attitude. Unlike her, however, Harry wasn't inclined to peer beyond her words, at least in this case.

He wished he didn't feel as he did about Sheila, but he couldn't help it; something about her made him a little uncomfortable. In a way he envied Ginny that she had made a new friend; Harry had plenty of friends, of course, but he knew it would be hard to make new ones, since everyone would deal with him based on his name and reputation rather than his personality. He hadn't made any new friends since he'd defeated Voldemort, and he wondered if he ever would. He turned his attention back to James, and as they played together, he wondered how it would be for James, being Harry Potter's son. Harry hoped it wouldn't be too bad.

* * * * *

Colin, Dudley, and Luna stood, leaving their trays on the table; the house-elves who worked for the Ministry would deal with them. As they walked across the room to the exit, Luna asked, "So, Colin, how are your brother and sister doing? What are they doing?"

"Is this for the article?" asked Colin, surprised.

"Mostly personal curiosity, but you never know when something will be interesting."

"Andrea's still at Hogwarts, she's a seventh year. She's pretty busy, with her studies and two extracurricular activities. She helps lead one of the Gryffindor energy-of-love study groups for the lower years; since she was the youngest Gryffindor ever to learn it, she can show them how to do it better. Also, she's the Quidditch captain; Harry chose her as captain last year, after Dennis, who was captain after Ron, graduated. As for Dennis, he's thinking about following me into the Ministry, but he wanted to give professional Quidditch a try first. He's a reserve Chaser for the Wimbourne Wasps. He says if he doesn't make starter in four years, he's going to give it up."

Luna nodded politely. "I hope he makes it. By the way, speaking of jobs, I remember that all three of you were able to use the magic of love by the end of our last year. Is that any particular advantage in finding a job after Hogwarts?"

"It doesn't hurt," said Colin. "Obviously in my job and Dennis's, it's not that useful. But the Magical Research Institute has created a whole new section to study it, as it relates to new spells and its effect on old ones. Mandy and Padma were the first two members; I think it's up to ten now, all recent Hogwarts graduates, mostly Ravenclaws."

They got into the elevator to return to the Muggle Liaison office; Dudley didn't mind using the elevator as long as other people were with him. "I should go and say hello," mused Luna. "I imagine I know most of them. Dudley, how about you? How do your parents feel about your working here?"

Dudley and Colin laughed. "As far as my parents know, I'm working for MI5. That's a Muggle security organization, a little like the Aurors," Dudley explained for Luna's benefit. "It's a good cover story, because I can just tell my parents that a lot of what I do is classified, so I can't talk about it with them. If they knew I did this, they'd... well, I don't know what they'd do. Demand that I quit, disown me, try to put me into a loony bin, accuse Harry of putting a spell on me to get me to take the job--"

"How do you know he didn't?" joked Colin with a mild smirk.

Dudley glanced at Colin in feigned annoyance. "I think he's got better things to do with his time, he'd rather play with his kid. Anyway, they wouldn't be happy. They've barely got used to the idea of having Harry over a few times a year." They stepped out of the elevator and walked to Dudley and Colin's desks; Luna sat near them, moving around occasionally to look at one or the other's computer screen.

Fifteen minutes later, Colin's eyes widened. "Oh, my, this is not good..." he said softly, to himself.

"What?" asked Dudley.

"Do a Google search, using 'nine-eleven,' 'bizarre,' and 'coincidence.' It should be on the third page, look for 'vickysblog.'" As Dudley did so, Colin explained to Luna. "We often do searches for words like 'coincidence' and 'bizarre' because if a Muggle saw something magical, those kinds of words are how they'd describe it. And we look for nine-eleven because of what Harry did, to make sure nothing comes of it. Probably nothing will, but..." He glanced over at Dudley.

"Yeah, I see what you mean. Should we tell Arthur?"

"Yeah, best to let him know, I think," agreed Colin. Luna still didn't know what they were talking about, but she assumed she'd find out soon.

"You have a minute, Arthur?" asked Dudley, when they arrived at Arthur's office.

"Sure." Arthur gestured them in; again, Luna conjured her own chair. "What's up?"

"Something we found on someone's blog, its main theme is that the woman survived nine-eleven by a very lucky coincidence. Apparently, through her blog, she's found three other people with very similar stories. She was supposed to go to the Twin Towers for her job that day, but she felt bad before work and stopped somewhere to rest first. Or so she thought. When she talked to her husband later, she discovered that he had talked to her just before the towers fell; she had called him from her office on the ninety-second floor. She has no memory of it, but he swears it happened, and they could never figure it out. They still haven't, but three other people had the same thing happen to them... and in one case, the woman actually recorded the conversation with her husband while he was up in the tower. He didn't remember anything about it afterwards, but she had the recording, and he couldn't believe it. Now she's looking for more people this happened to."

Arthur nodded gravely. "These have to be people Harry saved."

"There's no other explanation," agreed Colin. "The blog entry even mentions that in all four cases, their stated reason for not going into the building that morning is something consistent with what might be very usual for them. It makes perfect sense, considering what Harry did with their memories when he saved them."

Arthur sighed heavily. "Looks like Harry made a little mistake. He said he didn't take anyone who was on the phone, but he didn't consider whether they had been on the phone since the planes hit."

"What are you going to do?" asked Luna. "Find them and give them Memory Charms?"

"Noooo way," said Colin emphatically. "That would just make it worse, much worse. This is why we check the internet: once it's there, we can't do anything about it. If we adjusted their memories and had them take down their blogs, their readers would want to know why, and it would eventually be found out. No, it's not a matter of what we do, it's a matter of trying to anticipate where this could lead, and stop it somehow."

"I've thought about it, and I don't think there's anything to worry about," volunteered Dudley. "It's weird, but weirder things happen all the time. Even the recorded phone call doesn't prove anything. It's persuasive, but it wouldn't hold up as documentation, since it could have been faked. Even if Harry hadn't put Memory Charms on them, they couldn't prove anything. Well, okay, a hundred people saying the same thing, maybe. But just these four, definitely not. We should keep an eye on it, but there's nothing to worry about."

Arthur looked to Colin for his opinion. "I agree. No matter who they told, no one would believe them. Muggles get laughed at for believing things less strange than this."

"What do they think happened?" asked Arthur. "These four?"

"One of them thinks it was God," said Colin. "Calls it a miracle. Another thinks it was aliens. The blog writer and the other one don't know what to think, they have no particular opinion. I don't know much more than that, I'd have to read everything she's written for the past year to find out."

"Skim it, at least," said Arthur. "So, worst-case, no damage?"

Colin shook his head. "I can't imagine how. There's just nothing to connect it to the magical world. Of course, the magical stuff is still online--" He cut himself off as Luna glanced at him in surprise, saying, "I'll explain later. Anyway, even if she found that and read it, it would look like fiction, and there's nothing to connect it to that."

"Okay," acknowledged Arthur. "But by all means, keep an eye on it, check out links to and from her blog. Thanks for letting me know."

They nodded and headed back to their desks. "Looks like I've got some reading to do," said Colin.

"Okay, I'll explain the online magical stuff," offered Dudley, turning to Luna. "You probably know that there are some wizards who have a lot of interactions with the Muggle world, usually through relatives, or just because they like Muggle culture better. When the internet started getting so popular about five or six years ago, some of those wizards got online, found each other, and started communicating that way. To keep wizarding secrecy, since it could be read by anybody, they pretended it was a fictional world, a big ongoing story that a group of them wrote. Because it could be seen by Muggles, they have to be careful not to write anything that connects wizards to the Muggle world. So, for example, when Harry defeated Voldemort, they could write about that, no problem. But when Harry saved the people on nine-eleven, they had to write it differently. I found out later that they had a big online chat to debate how to write it. The problem was that a central part of the story had to do with whether what Harry did would expose the wizarding world to Muggles, so they couldn't really write that, because Muggles would see it.

"So, they decided to write it where Harry discovers that one of his special powers is that he can go to other planets." Luna giggled, then Dudley laughed. "Yeah, it is pretty funny. He's watching these people from a distance when there's a big flood. A dam breaks, something like that. Same concept as nine-eleven: he wants to save everyone, but he realizes that if he does, it could expose the existence of people from other planets, which could destroy their society because it conflicts with their religion or something. I sort of skipped over that part. So, he only saves some, and his society debates whether he should have even done that much. Anyway, you get the idea. Another precaution is that real Muggle names aren't used. For example, they use Hermione's real name because she's not involved in the Muggle world at all, and her Muggle records, like school and doctor records, have been erased. But for me, since I'm still in the Muggle world--so my parents think, anyway, but I still keep in touch with my friends--they can't use my name online. They did early on, but Arthur asked me to ask them to change my name and my parents' to something fictional, so they did. Now, I'm 'Rodney Rumsley.'"

Luna laughed out loud. "They didn't try too hard, did they?"

"No, they didn't, but Arthur had to be satisfied with that; he wasn't in this job at that time, so he had no authority over them. My parents, who of course are mentioned on these sites, were changed to Daisy and Vincent. They'd love that. Good thing they'll never see it."

"I should read some of these," said Luna. "Too bad my father doesn't have the internet."

"We have a laptop around here, I could set you up," offered Dudley. As he did so, Luna asked, "Why doesn't the Ministry just stop these people?"

"For a long time, they just didn't care," said Dudley, plugging wires into the back of the computer. "They couldn't be bothered. When Arthur became an undersecretary, one of the first things he did was to get them to include the internet in the wizarding secrecy laws. The online wizards were kind of upset with him, because it was like he was trying to stop them personally. They were like, we already fictionalized it, why are you still harassing us? So they basically went underground, stopped communicating with him online anymore, or me, since they knew I worked for the Ministry now. They never used their real names, so he doesn't know who they are, and there's no real way to find out. He was pretty disappointed. He doesn't think anything bad will happen, but he worries about it enough to have us checking stuff like this."

"Couldn't Harry use his abilities to find them?" asked Luna; she knew the answer, but wondered how Dudley would answer.

"Interesting question... he probably could, but he wouldn't. He doesn't like to use it anyway; he does when it'll help people, but if he gets roped into doing stuff like this, there'd be no end to it. I've heard him say 'I want to have a life,' and after what he's done, I think he deserves it. The only thing he does regularly that uses his unusual abilities is that the head witch at St. Mungo's can call him if there's someone who she thinks his Imperius Charm will help, like he used it for Hermione in the Ring. Other than that, he won't use it, unless he decides he wants to."

Luna nodded. "Okay, thanks, and thanks for this," she added, gesturing to the laptop. "Just point me to the sites, and I'll find my way."

* * * * *

The Sixth Borough was to New York what Diagon Alley was to London: the central shopping and public gathering area for American wizards. There were two in America; the other was in Los Angeles, though there were smaller ones as well, in Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco. It was accessible through an alley near Times Square, though most wizards traveled there by fireplace.

A nondescript, balding man in his early fifties made his way out of the Sixth Borough and into the Muggle world, following the taller, slightly older man who had just exited the Borough a minute earlier. The shorter man quickened his pace, hoping to catch the other before he reached the main street, where they would be noticed by Muggles. When he got close enough, he shot off a Stunning Spell. The target collapsed; his attacker rushed to his side, giving the appearance of assistance, should any Muggles happen to glance down the alleyway. The attacker then Disapparated them both away.

He had been following the man for forty minutes, and it had been fifty since he had taken the Polyjuice Potion. Had the hunt taken more than another five minutes, he would have had to drink more from the small container he carried with him. Lucius Malfoy's face was not as well-known to American Aurors as to their English counterparts, but one had to be careful. Malfoy had been lucky that the man had chosen to exit into the Muggle world; had he chosen a fireplace, Malfoy would have been forced to simply kill him, then Disapparate away, which would have deprived him of the pleasure he would now experience. Drake did not care whether the man was captured or not, as long as he ended up dead, but Malfoy cared a great deal. Malfoy, on the other hand, cared not at all that the man he had just captured was the Department of Magic official who had originated and executed the sting operation that had resulted in the arrest of Drake's father and brother.

In his 'quarters' at Drake's hideaway Hugo cringed as he heard the screams begin; through what he was sure were at least three closed doors, they came through loud and clear. For what he was sure was the fiftieth time in five days, Hugo wondered what he had done to deserve what was happening to him. He had experienced two more brief sessions of torture at Malfoy's hands before he had successfully trained his mind not to think about escape or suicide, but what crushed his spirit was what he was being made to do. He was being used as a tool to further the suffering of others. Maybe it was better to resist--no, he quickly reminded himself, you can't face that torture again. The recollections and the emotional damage were vivid mental reminders that he must avoid that at all costs; the screams he continued to hear only punctuated what he knew all too well. His respect for Harry, already extremely high, had increased even more now that he understood directly what Harry had voluntarily faced early in his sixth year at Hogwarts in order to defy Voldemort. Hugo would do absolutely nothing to invite that again. Hugo wished they would at least Silence the man, then was immediately ashamed at the thought, as he was thinking of his own comfort while another man was undergoing unendurable torment. I guess we always tend to think of ourselves first when we're in a really bad situation. Or is that only me? If Harry were in my position, he'd be thinking about how to rescue that man, even though it's impossible. He wouldn't be thinking about how he didn't want to hear him scream.

They say it's in our darkest times that we find out what we're really made of, thought Hugo. But what does that mean when you have no choice, no options? Does it mean that I should face that torture again and again, even if I could bring myself to do it, just for the sake of resistance when it's utterly pointless? Does doing the best I can mean feeling compassion for that man rather than thinking that I don't want to hear him scream? For Drake, even? Harry had felt... not compassion, but pity, for Voldemort; Hugo could see there was much about Drake that was to be pitied. Everything of value, at least as Drake saw it, had been taken from his life unjustly, until nothing mattered anymore. How badly off you must be, how much you must have suffered, to decide that you want to put others through this... or do some people just have a lower threshold of suffering than others; most people who've suffered what he did wouldn't resort to this, even if they could.

His train of thought was interrupted by Drake's entrance into the room. The screaming became even louder, then diminished when Drake closed the door behind him. Drake pointed his wand at Hugo, as had become routine when Hugo had been in his own mind for any length of time. "I'm not inclined to ponder such questions," said Drake matter-of-factly. Remember that 'going postal' bit. This is my way of fighting back, much as you'd like to but can't. This is my resistance to the callous world that did what it did to me, to the callous people who didn't care. Why should I not become callous? Why should I care how long that man screams? I don't think of myself as evil, though I'm sure if you checked a dictionary, at this point I'd fit the definition. What's the phrase? 'All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing'? Well, with me, evil triumphed, because supposedly good men did nothing.

"Enough philosophizing; as I've said, it doesn't really interest me. I see that you're worried that I might be upset that you pity me. In fact, I don't care. If I can not care about that man being tortured, I can certainly not care what you or anyone else thinks of me. In that respect, you're welcome to think whatever you want. And yes, I don't really disagree with you about the noise; I don't care that he suffers, as you know, but it is annoying. I could really do without it. I could make Lucius Silence the man, but the noise enhances the experience for him. This is sort of a treat for him, a reward for doing his job well for a certain length of time, and avoiding thoughts I want to discourage. He has been with me for two years now, and is in every sense a slave. You may be, too. There may come a time--a year, maybe less, if it happens--when you could find yourself in Diagon Alley, people all around you, not under the influence of the Imperius Curse, and you would have no thought of escaping; nothing would occur to you but to do what you know I would want you to do. Not because of a spell, but simply, conditioning, made possible by Legilimency. This isn't usually done, even by Dark wizards, because of the tremendous time and effort involved. One must constantly check with Legilimency, and slowly narrow the field of acceptable thoughts, until little remains but to serve. I have not yet decided whether or not it's necessary to do that with you. And believe me, resistance may or may not be noble, but it would be pointless. Malfoy resisted quite a bit, at first; he was a strong-willed man, accustomed to power. But the Curse breaks everybody; I'm sure it would have broken Potter if he hadn't come up with that shield.

"Speaking of Potter, we're going to be making a trip to England soon. We'll both be using Polyjuice Potion; the closer I get to Potter, the more careful I intend to be. All he has to do is look in my direction and I'm done, so I must make sure that doesn't happen. You'll be under the Imperius Curse the whole time, so you needn't worry about how you'll conduct yourself. We'll probably go tomorrow; I'll be checking you for the best prospects among people he's close to, or people close to those who are close to him. And in the meantime... I'd suggest you try not to think too much." Drake closed the door behind him.

Not much chance of that, Hugo thought. It then occurred to him that he should try to meditate, to do some variation on what Harry had the students do when he taught the energy of love. At least I wouldn't think so much, and it might help me get through this hellhole, if I can do it. And it's a thought that hasn't been forbidden. Pleased with the idea, Hugo decided to try, but soon had a countering thought. I'll start when the screaming's over, he said to himself.

A slight groan of disappointment escaped Lucius Malfoy as the man screamed his last, and lay inert of the ground despite Malfoy's continued application of the Cruciatus Curse. Malfoy felt it was probably as much as he would get; after a wait, he tried again, but there was no response. He tried to Enervate the man, but again, nothing. He glanced at his timepiece; it had been one hour and fifteen minutes since he had started. He had given the man one-minute breaks every ten minutes to lengthen the experience as much as possible, and his master had told him to take no longer than an hour and a half. He was mildly disappointed, as some had lasted as long as two hours under similar conditions. Still, it had been glorious, and the best was yet to come.

He paused, relishing the anticipation of the moment. "Avada Kedavra," he said, and the green bolt flew from his wand, killing the defenseless man on the ground. He gasped in pleasure as the thrill of the kill combined with the energy, the power, that flowed to him through the ring on the ring finger of his right hand. A few seconds later, the ring disappeared from his finger; it was now with his master.

In his private office, Drake glanced down as the ring appeared on his finger. It had been particularly useful, he reflected, in helping to train Malfoy. The training involved in making someone an obedient slave involved both punishment and reward. Sometimes the reward involved Brenda, the young, attractive, shapely, dark-haired woman who Drake had made his first slave, shortly after he'd had his epiphany: Drake could have made her go with Malfoy willingly, but he instructed her to resist with all her strength, which was the only way Malfoy could find it pleasurable. But more often the reward was to wear the ring and be allowed to kill someone. Fostering Malfoy's dependence on the ring made training him that much easier, despite Malfoy's initial resistance. The ring, a very rare magical artifact, caused the wizard who killed while wearing it to experience a rush of power and euphoria, and to have his spell power temporarily enhanced, but the effect wore off after forty-eight hours. Malfoy wanted to kill again, but he knew Drake would not allow him to do so for at least two days, not wanting him to become addicted. But Drake had promised there would be more killing to be done soon, much more. Malfoy simply had to be careful; the more careful he was, the more often he would be allowed to kill. Malfoy would be very, very careful.

* * * * *

Harry told the latest Snape story to Ron, Neville, and Pansy during their next Sunday night dinner. "Charming as ever," was Neville's succinct comment. Neville had long since lost his fear of Snape, but came nowhere near liking him. Hermione sent Harry a reminder through their link that one couldn't fully appreciate the story unless one knew what had happened to Snape as a child, and only the two of them and Ginny knew; Harry quickly sent back his acknowledgement. Soon after they had been bonded by Fawkes and Flora, Harry had learned not to respond to Hermione's nonverbal comments with words or nods; he had done it a few times, and it annoyed Ginny, since it made it clear there was communication the others weren't privy to. Hermione explained that it was rude, like speaking in a foreign language in front of people who couldn't understand it. From then on, Harry was careful not to even make eye contact with Hermione when they communicated through their link.

"He's not usually quite that bad," said Hermione. "Once in a great while, he will actually laugh, or say something funny, or display something that looks like warmth. I got the impression that he just couldn't resist here. Harry made a minor faux pas, and Snape will always jump on that. Other teachers give Harry a hard time too, of course. Snape is just sharper about it."

She turned to Harry. "By the way, Mandy contacted me yesterday in my fireplace. Their group is going to start a project studying how the energy of love affects Transfigurations, so naturally they want to spend some time with me on it. She also suggested--but not too strongly, since she knows it's a big deal--that especially as the Transfigurations teacher, that I might consider becoming an Animagus. A few of them have decided to do it, and they're going to study the process. They think it might take much less time to do than usual because of the energy of love. That's one of the things they hope to find out."

"Are you going to do it?" asked Harry.

"Maybe. I'm seriously considering it. I think everyone's curious what animal they'd end up being, it's only the effort that stops them. But they do have a point, I am the Transfigurations teacher. It seems like I should do it."

"Maybe you'd be a Kneazle," suggested Ron humorously.

"Do you mean you think Hermione's not attractive, Ron?" asked Neville innocently. Ron gave Neville a 'very funny' look, and said nothing.

Hermione gave Neville a mildly accusing stare. "Do you mean you think that Kneazles aren't attractive?"

The others laughed, as Neville's joke had backfired on him. "No, you know I think Crookshanks is cute," protested Neville. "I just mean that Ron used to say he was ugly."

Hermione looked unconvinced. "Nice try, Neville," joked Pansy.

"And that was only because I thought he had eaten Scabbers," added Ron. "Now I wish he had. He nearly performed a great service for the wizarding world. Seriously, Hermione, what do you think you'll be?"

"Well, I couldn't be a Kneazle anyway, because you can't become an animal that has magical properties."

"Really?" said Ron, surprised. "I didn't know that. Why not?"

"Nobody knows. I suppose I should say, there are no recorded instances where someone became a magical animal. It hasn't been proven that it's impossible. But really, I have no idea what I'd be."

"Isn't there supposed to be some connection between your character and the animal you become?" asked Ginny.

"Yes, so you'd all better be careful what animal you suggest I'll be," said Hermione dryly.

"Hmmm... at first I thought 'cat,'" said Pansy, "because cats are clever or at least seem that way, and McGonagall is one. But cats are also a little standoffish, and you're not like that, so I'm not sure."

"Not all cats are standoffish," argued Hermione. "Some are friendly."

"Maybe you're somewhere between friendly and standoffish at first, until you get to know them," Harry suggested. "I think a cat works." Harry had long since learned not to tell white lies about Hermione, since she would sense it through their link if he did. He chuckled. "If Ginny did it, I get the impression of a lioness, you know, fiercely defending her young, like in those nature shows."

Ginny nodded. "That would be fine. If I didn't like someone, I could always rip them apart." The others laughed. "In that case, Mum would be one too," added Ron.

"What about you, Neville?" asked Harry.

Ron responded first. "Penguin." Harry burst out laughing, as did Ginny and Pansy.

In a combination of annoyance and confusion, Neville looked at Ron. "Why a penguin?

Ron shrugged. "Just sounded right." Ron's small smile told Harry that Ron was pleased at having made the others laugh at Neville's expense; Harry had heard that Ron and Neville, their friendship deepening over the past few years together with the Aurors, spent more and more time engaging in friendly put-downs. Harry could see Hermione try not to say anything; he knew that Neville had asked her not to step in on his side in such situations when they were all together.

Neville decided to let it go. "It's hard to say, really. Nothing leaps to mind."

"Panda!" suggested Ginny. Neville raised his eyebrows.

"Panda is okay," agreed Hermione. "They're cute."

"Really rare, though," noted Harry. "I wonder if that matters."

"I don't see why it should," said Pansy. "So all right, everyone, what about Harry?"

"Eagle," suggested Neville.

"That would be cool," agreed Harry. "Anything that could fly, really."

"Actually, Harry, getting back to things a bit more serious," said Hermione, "they were thinking that you could do it too. The only difference would be that--well, there are two things they're wondering about, considering your abilities. One is that they think it's possible that you could just become an Animagus immediately, just by deciding you want to be. After all, you can do anything that can be done by magic, so who knows, this may be possible, if only for you. Secondly, they think you might be able to choose your animal. They're hoping you'll be willing to give it a try."

Harry was intrigued. "I'd never thought about it that way before. Sure, why not. I'd be interested to see what happens. But what I'd rather do first is see if I can become one immediately, but at first not try to choose the animal. I want to see what fate would have given me."

Neville and Ron exchanged a look. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Ron.

Neville nodded. "Betting pool."

Hermione rolled her eyes; Ginny laughed. "I swear, you two," said an amused Pansy.

"It is perfect for that," agreed Harry, knowing the Aurors fairly well. "They love this sort of thing that's hard to predict. I bet everyone will join."

"Are you going to go with 'eagle,' Neville?" asked Ginny.

"Probably. It was my first thought, and the Aurors say to go with your instincts. Ron?"

"Me, too, but I don't want to tip my hand. I want to be the only one who guesses what I'm going to guess."

"Bet you haven't decided yet," teased Neville.

Ron gave Neville a superior look. "Harry, would you conjure up a piece of paper for me, and make it so that what I write will be invisible until you turn into an animal, then it'll become visible. Oh, and also a pen."

Chuckling, Harry did so. Ron wrote a word, then gave the paper to Hermione. "You can take that out and look at it after he's done it."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself," said Hermione.

"Just a feeling."

After they finished eating, they called Dobby out to thank him for the food. As usual, Neville and Hermione Apparated to their home, while Harry and Ginny walked the short distance to the Burrow to pick up James. Ron and Pansy, who still lived at the Burrow, walked with them. Harry often didn't get as much exercise as he wanted to; he had built in exercise facilities at his home, but it was a matter of finding the time. As he had discovered at the Twin Towers last year, he could stop time if he chose; he'd considered stopping time for an hour to exercise, or a few hours to read a book, but it seemed wrong somehow, even though it hurt no one. He knew that he would continue to age if he did it, so if he 'stole' an extra hour a day for the rest of his life, he would be two years older than he should in a half-century, and as it was Ginny would probably outlive him. So, he felt it wouldn't be fair to her.

As they approached the Burrow, they saw a collie wandering around just outside the garden. "Whose is that?" asked Harry.

"We don't know, it's only shown up a few times," said Ron. "Mum thinks it's a stray, she's fed it a couple of times. You know what a soft touch she is."

They walked in the front door of the Burrow; in the living room, Arthur was playing with James, while Molly held Bill's baby girl, now six months old. "You just missed Charlie, he was here to pick up Andrew," said Molly. She was pleased to have three grandchildren, knowing more would be on the way; the twins were still unattached, but all the other Weasley children were married, or soon would be.

"Oh, Harry," added Arthur, "before I forget, I wanted to tell you what happened at the office this week." He proceeded to tell the story about the American woman's blog, only stopping to explain to Ron and Pansy what a blog was. "So, we don't think it's anything to be truly concerned about, but I just wanted to let you know. Obviously, there's nothing you should do about it."

"I understand, thanks for telling me," said Harry, as Arthur handed off James to Ginny. "How recent was this?"

"The entry in question was just under two months ago," said Arthur. "Entries since then are mostly about other topics. Oh, and Dudley asked me to tell you, you're invited over to your aunt and uncle's on Thursday night."

Well, I guess it's been the usual two or three months, thought Harry. He wasn't happy, but he didn't cringe like he used to. "Yeah, that's fine, I don't have any plans. You can tell Dudley tomorrow, he'll tell his parents."

"So, why don't they invite Ginny and James?" wondered Pansy.

"I'm just as happy that they don't, especially James," responded Harry. "The last thing I want James to be around is people who think wizards are strange, even if they aren't hostile like they used to be. They'll tolerate some small discussion of magic, but it's always easy to tell when it's getting to be too much for them. I'm not even sure why they have me over, to tell you the truth. I've been tempted to peek with Legilimency, but I restrain myself. Maybe it's because since I'm famous in our world and they're a part of my 'story,' they want people to know they're not 'bad.' Just a guess, though."

"Well, it's good of you to do it, dear," said Molly encouragingly. "I know it's not easy." She walked into the kitchen.

"Harry, would you mind teleporting us back?" asked Ginny quietly. He nodded. "Okay, thanks, Arthur. Goodbye, Molly!" he shouted into the kitchen.

She ran out of the kitchen holding a plate of cookies, wanting to catch Harry before he teleported away, shouting, "Wait, not yet, not yet, I want to--"

To everyone's shock, James suddenly screamed, obviously terrified. A very startled Ginny held him up to her face as he screamed again. "James! What is it?"

Harry stepped over and looked into James' eyes as well. James stopped screaming, but was now whimpering, and started to cry. "Oh, sweetie," said Ginny sadly, holding him against her chest, his head over her shoulder. "It'll be all right, everything's okay." She continued speaking to him soothingly, and he soon stopped crying.

The others exchanged baffled looks. "What was that?" asked Molly, her eyes still wide with alarm.

Harry thought to ask James what had happened, but he didn't think that James' speaking skills were enough to give a useful answer. Ginny said, "Maybe you should do Legilimens on him, it'll tell us what was going on."

Harry was normally loath to do Legilimens on anyone, but he felt it could be important to know what had so frightened his son. He did, and reported to the others a few seconds later. "He thought he was going to be killed," said Harry, very disturbed at the notion. "I have no idea why, and neither does he. It was just a feeling that came over him, really strongly. It was like how a normal person might react if they suddenly saw a sword being swung at their head and they couldn't move." He stepped behind Ginny and kissed James on the cheek a few times, then stroked his head reassuringly. "It's okay, nothing bad is going to happen, we're here. We won't let anything happen to you."

The others were still mystified; Ron in particular looked somewhat pale. "What could possibly have caused that?" wondered Molly. "Pansy? Do you have any idea?"

Pansy knew that Molly was asking for her expertise as a Healer. "I've never heard of anything like that, but I'm only one year out of training. I'll ask some of the senior people tomorrow. Unless you'd rather I did it now, I wouldn't mind at all," she added, to Harry and Ginny.

They exchanged a look. "If it happens again, then we'll consider it an emergency," suggested Harry. "For now, tomorrow is fine. We'll make sure one of us is with him until he goes to sleep. Ginny agreed, and they returned home, Molly having forgotten about the cookies she had wanted to send along for James.

* * * * *

The next day, at a quarter after six in the evening, Brenda walked into a Muggle pub, a few streets away from the Muggle London entrance to Diagon Alley. She sat at a table against a wall, her back to the back of the person at the table behind her. Without looking, surreptitiously pointing her wand at the person, she went through the usual routine. First a Confundus Curse, then Legilimens, finally the removal of the old Memory Charm and the placement of a new one. She got up and left, without having ordered anything. Her target took another sip of the drink, unaware that anything untoward had happened.

She left the pub, found an isolated spot, and Apparated back to Drake's hideaway. She approached him; without a word, he cast Legilimens on her, retrieving her memories of the past half hour. He nodded. "Well done, Brenda. You may go." She turned and left.

So, Potter will become an Animagus, thought Drake. This may be exactly what I have been looking for. His disciplined mind started evaluating the possibilities.