Harry Potter and the Sticking Broom

Chapter 18: I Am Going To Tell You Everything

The pain in Harry's head had disappeared, but he was anything but comfortable. His under sheet was saturated with sweat. He had thrown off his top sheet while he had slept, and it now trailed from the bed in a tangled clump. Harry wondered, as he fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table, why the Founders and artisans had bothered with non-essentials, like anti-Apparating wards and enchanted ceilings. Installing air-conditioning would have been far more sensible.

Not only was Harry inordinately hot, he was also bothered. He quite simply did not know which of his many, conflicting emotions ought to prevail. He rolled over, slightly disgusted by the way his wet back stuck to the mattress, and took stock. He had seen Sirius and he had talked with him. Both these facts should have the ability to make him happier than he had been in months. Furthermore, he knew that, as of this morning, Sirius and Lupin were safe. This should be a source of profound relief.

However, he had asked Sirius to take him away. He had begged Sirius to let him help in the fight against Voldemort. In reply, his godfather had treated him like a foolish child. This made Harry feel angry, but also ashamed.

Finally, one factor dominated and quashed any joy Harry might still be experiencing from the morning's meeting, or any annoyance that may be lingering. The only emotion left was loss. Sirius was gone.

Harry wondered whether it was too late to try and follow him. But he could see the sun through the window, blazing very high in the sky. Harry realised it was already early afternoon, and Sirius would be long departed. He decided he would get up anyway, and ask Madam Pomfrey if he was well enough to leave the hospital wing, when an unexpected noise erupted from a corner of the room.

"BAAARRRP!"

It was the loudest burp that Harry had ever heard, followed by a short burst of giggles. Harry sat up fast. Ginny Weasley was sitting on a chair in the corner, her hand clapped over her mouth and her cheeks as bright red as tomatoes.

Ginny released her grip to say a muffled, "Pardon me," before putting her hand firmly across her mouth again. He eyes watered as a strangled, belching sound slipped out from under her fingers.

"Are you OK?" Harry asked.

"Baaarrrp, fine thanks," Ginny said, dispensing with her self-imposed gag. "It's a Flatulatus Jinx."

"Oh," said Harry. He had never heard of it. "Is it painful?"

"Not at all. It's just a bit loud. BAAARRRP." Ginny's eyes nearly popped out of her head with the force of her burp. "It'll wear off eventually."

"Who did it to you?"

"Hermione." Ginny's eyes twinkled in reaction to the shocked look on Harry's face. "Baaarrrp. Pomfrey wasn't letting anyone in here. Well, aside from Merlin Rhys-Jones. He's just returned his crutches. Baaarrrp. And Lee came in before lunch with singed eyebrows. But none of us has been allowed to see you. So, Hermione - baaarrrp - did this to get me into the infirmary. I'm supposed to go and get her, and Ron, when you wake up." She belched one more time, and approached Harry.

"Where is Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked, noticing that the medi-witch's office door was open.

"Still at lunch, I think," Ginny said evenly, then erupted in a fit of small consecutive burps. Through it all, she managed to keep a straight face.

The shock of Ginny's predicament had made Harry forget that he still owed her an apology. But her expression transformed from mischievousness to seriousness as she sat beside his bed, reminding Harry that they still might not be on the best of terms.

"Er, Ginny," Harry began awkwardly. "About Monday - "

"That's what I need to speak to you about. Before I get the others." Ginny spoke quietly, before burping loudly. Next, she drew a very crumpled piece of parchment from her pocket. Harry suspected it might be the same piece Ginny had been waving at him on Monday.

"I didn't mean to - that is, I had no right to say - I wasn't thinking - " It was very difficult for Harry to sincerely express his remorse. The difficulty increased because Ginny was looking at him soberly, but burping disconcertingly.

"I tried to find you Monday morning," Ginny said all in one breath, before stifling a burp with both hands. "I wanted to give you this." She quickly handed the parchment, which was a letter, to him and burped again. "Then, after the game - well, I was a bit of a twit, I guess."

"Me too," Harry murmured, too embarrassed to meet Ginny's eyes. Instead, he unfolded the parchment, which was covered on both sides by shaky writing. The address at the top of the page indicated that it had been mailed from an Old Mage Home in Basingstoke.

"It's from my Auntie Beryl, baaarrrp," Ginny explained. "Well, not really my aunt. She's just an - baaarrrp - old witch who used to live near our village. Mum used to help her out a bit - baaarrrp - when we were small. Helped her charm her cheese and stuff."

"Beryl Parsons?" Harry asked, as he squinted to try to decipher the signature. He didn't know why that name sounded familiar.

Ginny nodded and belched. "She used to teach flying here."

Harry recollected that Sirius had mentioned Madam Parsons in the morning. It was likely that Ginny's letter was going to tell him what he already knew. Even so, he began to read.

Dear Ginny

What a pleasant surprise to hear from you, and to learn that you are all grown up and at Hogwarts too! Why, it seems like it was only yesterday that you were dressing up Mr Tibbles, who sadly now has gone beyond the veil, and pushing him about in your dollies' pram.

"Who's Mr Tibbles?" Harry asked with a smirk.

Ginny's face flushed. She snatched the page from him and turned it over. Harry thought her delicate freckles were rather cute, thrown into relief by the pink of her cheeks. He couldn't understand why he had ever thought her skin looked blotchy.

"He - baaarrrp - was her cat," Ginny said, her eyes determinedly downcast. "The bit you need to see's on the other side." She handed back the parchment, which Harry continued to read.

Aside from being a most disruptive influence in my classes, Severus Snape was quite the worst sort of Quidditch player imaginable. I'm surprised that his teachers are letting him play again. I must insist that you warn your little friend not to take his eyes off young Snape for a minute, or he might just find his broomstick jinxed to kingdom come. And of course, there was also that horrible thing that the wicked boy did at the end of the match ...

A highly emotive description of the Sticking Broom ensued, followed by an explanation that Madam Parsons had banned Snape from playing Quidditch for the remainder of his school years. Then, the letter concluded:

I'm sending a box of my turnip toffee for you to share with all your brothers at school. Mind you, don't let that naughty Charlie have any because I think he might already be rather too fat. Tell your mother that I received the tea cosy she knitted for my birthday and I look forward to her next visit, which I also hope will be soon.

Yours affectionately,

Beryl Parsons

"The turnip toffee was dreadful." Ginny grimaced and burped simultaneously. "Even Crookshanks refused to eat it." She paused, before adding. "I really should have shown this - baaarrrp - to you. I'm so sorry. If you'd only known - baaarrrp - you wouldn't have been hurt." She gave a small, apologetic shrug. "I don't know why I got so mad."

Actually, Ginny knew exactly why she had been so angry with Harry. Curiously, her reasons had very little to do with Harry's insensitive remarks about her family.

The unfortunate chain of events began fairly early on Monday morning. Ginny had received Madam Parson's letter with the morning's post, some time before Bunty had appeared in Ron's porridge. Leaving her own breakfast unfinished, Ginny had run outside to find Harry. When Harry was not among the students returning from Quidditch practice, Ginny had walked about the castle grounds, asking everyone if they had seen him.

She had come across Lavender Brown, with Padma and Parvati Patil, all sitting on the grass in the main quadrangle. The three girls had been painting a ridiculous sign to welcome Kirley McCormack, which was producing an almighty din while it dried in the sunshine. Ginny had asked if they knew where Harry might be.

"Maybe you should ask Cho," Lavender had giggled. "Those two are pretty chummy nowadays, aren't they?"

At the time, Ginny had not understood why this remark had made her so furious. She had tersely replied, "He's not with Cho. He doesn't even like her."

"That's not what Cho says," Padma had replied in a superior tone. Ginny did not know Parvati's sister, who was in Ravenclaw House, very well. But she resolved, then and there, not to like her. Padma, undeterred by Ginny's defiant stare, had continued. "Cho says that Harry Potter will do anything for her. She even says he's going to let her play Seeker, if she gets bored with being a Chaser."

"That's rubbish!" Ginny had shouted, above the noise of the wailing banner. "Cho Chang's not half the Seeker that Harry is. Why would they swap?"

Lavender had rolled her eyes and drawled, "Believe what you want to believe. When you're older, you'll understand. Harry's not just some do-gooder hero, you know. He's also a man."

Ginny had run from the group with the shrieks from the idiotic sign ringing in her ears. She kept searching for Harry frantically. However, she failed to deliver her message to him. Instead, she ended up arguing with an odoriferous Security Troll, who refused to let her pass Madam Parson's letter to Harry before he took to the air.

After the game commenced, she had found a seat in the very last row of the spectators' stands. From this distant vantage point, her sole objective had been to warn Harry to keep his eyes on Snape. She had yelled herself hoarse trying to catch Harry's attention, but the crowd was so noisy and she was too far away. But then, Cho had fallen from her broom.

Cho's injuries were faked. Ginny could plainly see that, even from the worst seats in the stadium. Yet, despite her obvious artifice, Cho managed to fool Harry. Ginny remembered Harry's devastated expression when he hovered over Cho. The memory still made Ginny's stomach churn uneasily. Clearly, Miss Chang had a much greater hold on Harry than Ginny had been prepared to acknowledge. Equally clearly, Ginny had a much greater fondness for Harry than she had recently been willing to admit. The combination of these two facts had made Ginny angrier than she had ever been in her life.

Her mum had once warned her, "Watch out for the green eyed monster, Ginny dear. Jealousy's a curse. Unhappily, it's a curse that seems to have been cast rather often on my side of the family. And, if you combine it with your Weasley temper - well, I don't want to think what you could do."

What Ginny had done, was decide that the Sticking Broom could sweep the floor with Harry Potter, for all she cared. After the game, she had made a heated, incoherent, final plea for vigilance. But when Harry had met her fury with fury, it had been all too much. She decided not to deliver her warning. She had exposed Harry to possibly mortal danger. Looking at Harry now, his head swathed in bandages, Ginny could not believe that she had been so cruel to somebody so important to her. Inwardly, she vowed that she would never let Harry down again.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs caused Ginny to grab her letter from Harry. For an instant, the tips of their fingers met, as did their eyes. Harry was startled by the small thrill he felt from such a minor brush of Ginny's hand. He suspected that, should he ever be lucky enough to hold her hand again, it would no longer seem a "normal" thing to do. He was sure that it would be much more interesting.

Ron loped into the room, carrying a box of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans. Ginny burped boisterously. "Charming!" Ron remarked, but then his eyes narrowed as he confronted his sister. "You were supposed to come and get us, remember?"

"I've only just woken up," Harry explained.

"Well, Madam Pomfrey's talking to Professor Dumbledore downstairs," said Hermione in a brisk and businesslike tone. She had followed Ron into the infirmary and now joined him in sitting on the edge of Harry's bed. "We might not have much time. How are you feeling?"

"Better." It was true. Harry's head did not hurt at all, and his heart was feeling remarkably lighter because his friends surrounded him.

Ron reached over and tussled the tufts of hair that were sticking out from the top of Harry's bandages. "Glad to hear it, mate. Seamus saw you hit the ground. He told me he reckoned you'd splattered half your brain on the grass. And everyone's saying we missed some pretty amazing Quidditch."

"I've played better," Harry said defensively.

"Not you." Ron grinned broadly. "Snape! The newspaper was full of him this morning. They all reckon he's the new Dai Llewellyn." Ron rattled his box of Bertie Botts' beans and offered them to Harry. "I hope that means he's going to be eaten by a Chimaera too," Ron said with a laugh.

"Ron!" Hermione's mouth pursed disapprovingly. But there was a glint in her brown eyes, which suggested she wished a similar fate for the Potions Master.

"So, you didn't get to see any of the matches?" Harry asked, inspecting a lime green bean that smelled pungently of bile. He put it back in the box. It defied belief that Ron had stayed away from all three Quidditch games.

"We've been really busy," Hermione said earnestly. Ron gave her an odd look of intense admiration. Harry was intrigued to know what exactly his two best friends had been busy doing.

"The essay's all done," Ron added, "and it's a corker." He threw his gangly arm around Hermione's shoulder and squeezed her. Hermione seemed to be neither surprised nor offended by being manhandled in this way. In fact, she allowed Ron's arm to remain draped around her while he continued to speak. "There's stuff in there," Ron boasted happily, "that'll send those Brews-U-Like scumbags straight to Azkaban."

"Shhh," Hermione said, her eyes darting to the open door. Her voice dropped to the barest of whispers. "We disillusioned it before I handed it in. I didn't want to tip anybody off too soon. Ron's going to owl a fully annotated copy to Rita Skeeter when we get to London tomorrow. And we've kept all the hospital files in Bunty's office, which is just as well."

"There was a fire," Ron interrupted excitedly. "How'd you know? Happened last night. But nobody's blaming Lucius Malfoy - worst luck."

Hermione frowned. "The Daily Prophet quoted some nincompoop at the hospital who said 'unsafe work practices' were to blame. He said that house-elves started the fire by smoking pipes in the records room. It's such nonsense." Her fists clenched, as though she was ready to do immediate battle with the bureaucracy at St Mungo's. "And now the management of St Mungo's is talking about reintroducing elf floggings! I've already written a letter to the editor, but I'm wondering whether we need to set up some sort of picket line, or boycott - "

"Boycott?" Ron asked incredulously. "A hospital? What am I supposed to do if a Manticore rips my head off?"

"Well, for the sake of upholding the truth and defending the innocent, I think you might just have to grin and bear it." Hermione's words of reproof were accompanied by an uncharacteristically coy smile, and she patted the large freckled hand that was still resting on her upper arm. Harry really wanted to know what she and Ron had been up to in Madam Pince's desk drawer. They both appeared to have enjoyed themselves hugely.

Ginny was also looking at Ron and Hermione with gleeful curiosity. Then she glanced at Harry and waggled her eyebrows. For an instant, Harry thought he was in danger of laughing out loud.

Luckily, Ginny rescued the moment by asking, "So, Harry, do you think you'll be well enough to come to the feast? BAAARRRP?"

"Better out than in, Miss Weasley." The voice of authority resonated through the infirmary. A moment later, the speaker's tall form appeared in the doorway. His long, silver beard shone as he stepped into the light and his spectacles glittered. "In answer to your question," Professor Dumbledore continued, "Madam Pomfrey has informed me that Harry should now be sufficiently recovered to leave the hospital wing. However, before he does, we wish to have a word with him."

Dumbledore made a sweeping gesture with his long, thin arm, which invited Hermione, Ron and Ginny to leave the room. As they filed past, the Headmaster said reassuringly, "He will be back in Gryffindor Tower in ample time to prepare for the feast."

It was only after his friends had gone, that Harry detected a miserable, squeaking noise coming from the hem of Professor Dumbledore's robes. The Headmaster moved to the foot of Harry's bed, revealing that Winky had been hiding behind him. The tiny house-elf was, as usual, in a sorrowful and agitated mood. Her orb like brown eyes were overflowing with tears and her nose dripped incessantly.

When Dumbledore stepped forward, Winky also approached Harry's bed. She scurried in an abjectly servile way, wringing her hands and wailing pitifully. Then she stopped at the bedside and blew her nose violently on the trailing bed sheets.

"Hi," Harry said, not really sure how he should be addressing the long departed Headmaster. Winky moaned and fell, trembling, to her knees. "Er, hi Winky," Harry added, trying to sound as friendly and cheerful as he could.

Acknowledging Winky's woebegone existence appeared to only make matters worse. Winky banged her head on the stone floor and squealed, "Harry Potter talks to Winky! Harry Potter wastes his breath on a worthless, naughty, useless elf." She rammed her forehead against the stones with such force that Harry thought she would surely knock herself out.

"Be careful," Harry said lamely.

Winky looked up. Her battered hat was madly askew and her enormous eyes stared in astonishment. "How can Harry Potter be wasting kind words on nasty Winky? Don't you knows that horrid Winky is the reason for Harry Potter's broken head?"

"Now, Winky," Dumbledore said kindly. "Credit where credit is due. I am sure Professor Snape would be most displeased to hear that you were taking all the glory." He picked the little creature up by the belt of her ragged dress and deposited her on a chair. She curled into a ball and resumed sobbing. Turning his lined face to Harry, Dumbledore added, "And I, too, have come here to confess my share of the blame."

"For what?" Harry asked. He had not laid eyes on Professor Dumbledore in over six months. In that time, he had received not a word from the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. It was inconceivable that Dumbledore could have taken the time and effort to wrong him, Harry thought, because Dumbledore had apparently spent most of the year forgetting that Harry even existed.

Dumbledore looked down his narrow nose at Harry. "For the Sticking Broom," he stated.

"That was Snape," Harry said angrily. He found it rather irksome that, up until yesterday, nobody would tell him anything about the Sticking Broom. However, today, nearly everybody he met felt compelled to offer some fresh elaboration.

"Ultimately, yes," the Headmaster calmly agreed. "But, all great enterprises require the cooperation of many hands and minds. The means Professor Snape used to test you was agreed by the whole Order. Severus was merely the implementer of a much more important plan."

"Test me?" Harry stared accusingly at Dumbledore's aged and serene features. "How can the Order test me, when nobody lets me do anything? Nobody's ever told me anything - "

Dumbledore surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses. "It is time," he said, "for me to tell you what you have earned the right to know. Be patient, Harry. I am going to tell you - "

"Everything!" Harry interrupted forcefully, his voice rising to a shout. "I want you to tell me everything!"

"Oh, no, that won't do." The corners of the Headmaster's mouth twitched into a smile, which Harry found infuriating. Dumbledore continued in a measured and soothing voice. "I have always observed that people who bear the burden of knowing everything, appear doomed to lead lives of great unhappiness." The Headmaster gazed wistfully towards the window and added, "However, those of us who merely think we know everything, seem content enough."

Harry snorted, and sulkily looked away.

"You seem unconvinced," Dumbledore said gently. "Were you aware that my great friend, Nicholas Flamel, passed away recently?"

Harry was not aware. He shook his head sullenly. He wondered whether Dumbledore was about to blame him for the death. After all, it was after Harry confronted Voldemort, that Flamel had decided to destroy the Philosopher's Stone. "I'm sorry to hear it," Harry muttered.

"Do not be," Dumbledore replied. "Towards the end of his long life, Nicholas confided in me that he had come to regard immortality as the second greatest misfortune a man could bear." He paused and looked at Harry searchingly. "Do you know what he considered would be the greatest misfortune?" he asked.

"No." Harry looked down at his hands.

"Omniscience," Dumbledore pronounced. "To live without the thirst to learn, or the desire to search - to exist without the strength to be mistaken, or the wisdom to learn from our mistakes. Such a life would be scarcely human."

None of this made sense to Harry. He folded his arms. "OK, then," he said with hostility, unable to look at Dumbledore. "I want you to tell me why, when I offered to leave school and join the Order - when I told Sirius that I was ready to fight beside him - I was treated like a child."

Dumbledore did not reply immediately. Harry gradually looked up at him and saw great sadness in his eyes. "I would have thought," Dumbledore said slowly, as though each word was costing him effort, "that knowing all you have suffered, all you have seen, there would be no greater gift we could give you, than to treat you as a child."

"You told him I had to go back to the Dursleys." It was neither an accusation nor a question. Harry was merely repeating the truth he had seen in the Headmaster's eyes.

"I did not," Dumbledore said. "Sirius has even less respect for my edicts now, than he did when he was at school. But I was not the only member of the Order who wished you to remain under the protection of your family. Indeed, there are some who have taken a positively avuncular interest in you."

Harry could readily identify whom Dumbledore was talking about. He knew that Arthur Weasley would never advocate letting fifteen year olds fight Dementors - Mrs Weasley would see to that. And, Professor Moody's pervading sense of paranoia would also work against any bid Harry might ever make for freedom.

"So, the Order decided, then," Harry said glumly.

"No," Dumbledore answered. "The Order let you decide for us."

Harry unfolded his arms and put his face in his hands. His confusion and frustration had reached the point where he wanted to scream. Dumbledore's calm words continued. "Several months ago, Harry, Sirius petitioned the Order for custody of you. He knew full well that he could not offer you blood protection, which rests solely with your mother's family. But he solemnly promised that he would keep you safe. Indeed, I am certain that Sirius Black would not hesitate to lay down his life for you, should the need arise."

"Why didn't you let him take me?"

"Because too much hinges on your safety. We could not let you face such dangers, until we were certain that you were ready. We needed to know that you could survive without your mother's final blessing on you - the continuing protective magic that resides only in the home of her blood relations."

Harry sensed the hollowness in the pit of his stomach that always went with remembering his mother's death. It was painful to think that the continuing benefit of her sacrifice now rested with a bitter, old cow like Aunt Petunia. Or to think it depended - even more terrible - on a fat oaf like Dudley.

"When the school decided to stage a Quidditch tournament," Dumbledore explained, "I was reminded of a challenge that your father failed to meet. He underestimated his foe, misjudging inexperience and unorthodoxy for weakness. As a result, Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup, and a very unpleasant evening was had in Gryffindor Tower by all." The venerable wizard drew a long breath and stroked the wispy ends of his beard ruminatively. "It was decided that we would send the Sticking Broom to test you, Harry. We would give you warnings - " At this point, Winky threw back her head and lamented loudly. "But," Dumbledore continued, "it would be up to you to discover and interpret those warnings. And, if you heeded the signs and recognised the danger of the Sticking Broom, then the Order was prepared to accept that you would be ready for the far greater dangers waiting outside these walls."

Harry could simply not believe his ears. He had personally defeated Lord Voldemort three times. He had faced a graveyard full of Death Eaters and defied Voldemort in a duel. Yet Dumbledore was implying that Harry was not ready to join the war against Lord Voldemort, because Harry had been beaten in a Quidditch match.

"That. Makes. No. Sense!" Harry responded. "So I lost at Quidditch? Do you think Voldemort's going to try and murder us all with Quaffles? And what's the point of warning me, when the warnings are so bloody cryptic, that they -"

Winky screamed, fell off her chair, and started to pound her head on the floor again. "Winky is a wretched creature! Mister Filch was telling Winky not to make all the writings so big, but now wicked Winky has not been doing her duty to Professor Albus Dumbledore!" Her tirade became unintelligible as she pummeled her head with her minute fists and pulled at her bat-like ears.

"That is not true, Winky." Dumbledore spoke with the gentleness of a parent cooing over a fussing baby. "You used the very words we gave you. You did your utmost to make those words seen. Why - the Great Hall ceiling was quite a triumph! Your grandmothers', grandmothers' grandmothers would be exceedingly proud. You are a worthy heir to all the artisans who helped to build this castle."

"House-elves built Hogwarts?" Harry was too surprised to remember to be sarcastic or rude.

"You should not underestimate the lowly or small," Dumbledore said, as he picked the sobbing house-elf from the floor and restored her to her chair. "Little ones such as Winky possess great and ancient magic. It is not always easy to discern who our strongest allies, or enemies, might be from appearances alone."

Winky had wrapped her spindly arms around her knees and was rocking backwards and forwards. As Harry watched her pointed ears quivering, he realised how mistaken he had been. He had come within a hair's breadth of discovering and defeating the Sticking Broom more than once, but every time he had allowed his impatience, or anger, or arrogance to impede him. Maybe Dumbledore was right. Maybe he was not ready for the Order of the Phoenix.

"I only want to help," Harry said softly. "You're all fighting a war that I started. It was me who put you in this danger."

"Your time will come," Dumbledore said. "You have not shown yourself unworthy, merely unprepared."

"But sometimes - " Harry stopped. He did not know how to complete his sentence, without sounding preposterously conceited or naff. He tried, anyway. "Sometimes, I feel that, up until now, the fight against Voldemort's been my story. I've been the one who's needed to act - to fight - sort of the hero." Looked up to check whether Dumbledore was smiling at him. To his relief, the Headmaster was not. "It's like I've been in a story," Harry continued. "But this last year - the story's - stalled."

Dumbledore clasped his slender, bony hands over his chest and said in a fatherly voice, "Yours is a most essential story, Harry Potter - one that will live long in the memories of all. Do not think, because you do not, at present, know which path the great author of that story has laid out for you, that you have slipped from the author's mind. And, do not believe that you are ever far from the hearts of those who read your story and follow your fate."

The Headmaster gathered Winky in the crook of his arm and turned towards the door. "I will tell Madam Pomfrey that you are ready to have those bandages removed. Now, I must be attending to the decoration of the Great Hall. Did you know, I caught Fred and George Weasley there before lunch? They were trying to enchant the candles on the Slytherin table, so that they would all transform into Crumple-Horned Snorkacks when the pudding course was served."

Harry was alarmed. For Ron and Ginny's sake, he hoped that the twins had not managed to get expelled, after all.

"I told them," Dumbledore added cheerfully, "that I thought lions would serve their purposes much better. So, if you will excuse me, I must be getting back to helping them with the incantations." He disappeared through the doorway.

* * * * * * *

When Harry came down to breakfast the next morning, after a spectacular and memorable Leaving Feast, house-elves were still shoveling lion droppings from the floor of the Entrance Hall. At the Gryffindor table, Hermione's Daily Prophet was propped against her coffee pot. She was reading something that appeared to be giving her much displeasure, while Ron wolfed down a plate of sausages.

Harry tilted his head to try and make out the banner headline. "Guitarist Gorilla Guilty," appeared to be a story about Kirley McCormack. The musician had been convicted of assault and sentenced to six months community service at a petting zoo in Puddlemere. There was a picture of a zookeeper carrying a bucket and shovel, with the caption, "Serves you right, Kirley! Now, how about mucking out our Jarvey pen?"

A smaller headline at the top of the page announced that the Nimbus Racing Broom Company would be re-releasing the Nimbus 1200. The company called for able fliers, with weak minds and thick skulls, who might be seeking employment as test fliers.

"I don't see what the problem is," Ron said between mouthfuls. "I mean, this is exactly what we wanted."

"But, it's all too soon," Hermione said irritably. "They won't have had time to judge the contest yet."

Ron put down his knife and fork and stared accusingly at her. "Don't tell me you still wanted to win? After all the things we found out about Brews-U-Like?" He choked on a half chewed piece of sausage, and sputtered, "Or do you really want to go on holiday with Snape, after all?"

Hermione was most affronted. "Of course I don't. Don't be ludicrous. It's just that winning would have been good for the reputation of the school."

"What's happened?" Harry asked. He gathered it had something to do with Hermione's essay.

Hermione handed the newspaper over to him. The lower part of the front page, which had been facing away from Harry, was devoted to a scathing expose' of the Brews-U-Like Corporation, as were pages fourteen through to eighteen. A disgruntled employee had, Harry supposed, uncovered Hermione's Disillusionment Charm and handed her report to the press.

"But, this is great!" Harry said as he read the story. "They're withdrawing all Brew-U-Like products from sale. Fudge's ordered a full M.O.M. inquiry." He beamed at Hermione. "You'll ruin them!"

Hermione forced a smile. "Well, it's all for the best, then." She did not sound convinced.

The friends had nearly finished their breakfast when Professor McGonagall entered the Great Hall. She strode up to Harry. "How's the head, Mr Potter?" she asked.

"Better," Harry replied. He felt his face turn hot, as some of the second years sitting close by began to giggle.

"Good." McGonagall sounded somewhat disinterested. She turned her attention to Hermione. "And, Miss Granger, might I take this opportunity to congratulate you on your essay. It will surely be worth some award."

Hermione dropped her eyes and muttered an unhappy thank you.

McGonagall continued. "Never have a I seen such a gleaming example of scholarship, such a glittering testimony to thorough research." She bent low and whispered from the corner of her mouth, "I took the liberty of peeking behind that charm, but I put it back before the essays were submitted."

Hermione's mouth opened in shock. "Then, you did this?" She pointed to the newspaper.

"No," McGonagall appeared disconcerted. "I thought this was all your own work. But it does not matter." She dispensed with talking in riddles, and said matter of factly, "I've come to let you know that the school intends to reward your little ornament to investigative journalism with another ornament in the near future. Personally, my only regret is that the best we can give you is a prefect's badge and not an Order of Merlin." She patted Hermione's shoulder and said, "Well done," before departing for the High Table.

Both Ron and Harry stared wordlessly at Hermione, who took back her newspaper and began to read, basking in the contentment of a job well done.

Soon after, school trunks were fetched and the Hogwarts Express was boarded. Friends said goodbye to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - some for the summer, some forever. Within a week, owls bearing N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. results were taking flight all over Britain.

Declan McManus was arrested in Knockturn Alley, trying to purchase a Portkey for Dunedin. The same day, the goblins suspended trading in Brews-U-Like shares on the Gringotts' Stock Exchange. St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries announced that it would not be introducing elf floggings, but that it would be conducting a full audit into the financial interests of its directors. As a result, some prominent members of the hospital board were called upon to resign. Also, at the hospital, a brilliant, young Healer continued the research that would, many years later, cause so many cursed by Cruciatus to fully recover.

Severus Snape featured on the cover of Witch Weekly magazine in early July. He appeared, sour faced and bouncing several little Peebles on his knee.

Harry Potter spent an uneventful summer at number four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. He worked hard and long, cleaning Aunt Petunia's spotless home and weeding her flowerbeds, while the television droned with the noise of cricket commentary. Like the rest of the world, he waited patiently for the next part of his story to be told.