Harry Potter and the Gemini Connection

Chapter Five: Petunia's Pact

'Merlin Harry! What happened?' came a concerned voice that Harry vaguely recognised. 'Where's my family? Where's Lupin?'

He looked up. It was Bill Weasley, and he looked even more disturbed than he sounded.

'Your family is fine,' he managed to get out. 'They're at St. Mungo's with Hermione.'

Off Bill's worried look, Harry added that Hermione was going to be ok as well. He didn't know how to explain about Cho, so he didn't say anything more. Exhaustion was making speech painful anyway.

Bill seemed to notice the unnatural rhythm of his voice, because he knelt and placed the back of his hand to Harry's forehead.

'You're burning up. What's wrong?'

'Nothing, nothing, I just got a bit winded, that's all. I've got a pain relieving draught in my bedroom. I'll go and get it.'

Harry didn't like people fussing over him. When Lupin got back from looking after Cho's mother, he would doubtlessly explain the full tale, and Harry didn't want to be around for that. He reached for a nearby chair leg, to pull himself up.

'Stay still Harry. You look really sick.'

Bill adjusted himself so that he was beside Harry's waist, and then lifted him gently into a sitting position.

'I need to see what's wrong with you mate. I'm going to take your shirt off.'

Harry tried to move away. The last thing he wanted was for one of the Weasley's to see him in such a vulnerable condition. His injuries weren't life threatening. As a child with the Dursley's he had been made to look after himself through similar situations. If he could just get to his bedroom, he could drink the pain-relieving draught, and maybe cast the counter-charm for his numbing spell.

'Stop moving Harry. I'm trying to help you.'

Unable to fight effectively and unwilling to attract anybody else into the room, Harry let himself go limp. The shirt, plastered onto his body with dry blood, peeled free. As it was lifted over his head, Harry was dimly aware of the dislocated shoulder's movements. So, Harry thought, the numbing charm is wearing off on its own. I'm going to be in agonising pain soon. Fantastic.

Bill gasped so deeply that Harry cast an nervous look at his stomach. He wished he hadn't.

Where the dragon's claw had caught him, there was a horrendous hollow, a couple of inches wide, and nearly as deep. Sticky dried blood laid like a spider's web around the wound, completely covering the skin between nipples and belly-button, and with tendrils stretching out in all directions. The wound itself was not bleeding any more, as it had been filled by some kind of gooey pale-blue substance. Harry couldn't guess what the substance was, but it would explain why nobody on Diagon Alley had noticed his condition.

A huge purple bruise on Harry's right shoulder completed the picture, although Harry supposed that there were matching bruises on both of his knees.

'Merlin's bollocks Harry! What happened to you?' cried Bill, drawing a long maple wand from his back pocket.

'Dragon,' Harry replied simply, his mind a little preoccupied.

'What!?'

'Swedish Short-Snout in the middle of Diagon Alley...' he added, trying to think. 'At least, I think that's what it was. It looked like Cedric's dragon, from the Triwizard Tournament...'

His voice trailed off once more, as he made the connection. Was it supposed to be a sign? Was Voldemort trying to taunt Harry about Cedric, or was it just a coincidence? There weren't too many different breeds of dragons, so the latter was definitely possible.

Bill detected that Harry was sinking into miserable recollections, and drew his attention back to the present.

'What is this stuff all over your stomach?'

'I haven't got a clue. It looks pretty gross though.'

'No argument here...'

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught sight of his T-shirt, which Bill had folded onto a chair. That was almost the same colour.

'At least I'm colour co-ordinated,' he quipped, and as the absurdity of the day caught up with him, he let out a harsh bark of laughter.

Bill seemed far less amused.

'Harry... Have you been casting spells today?'

Harry gave a sheepish nod, before becoming defensive.

'I couldn't exactly help it though...'

'That isn't what I meant Harry,' he explained. 'I can feel magic pouring off your wounds, and it has your signature.'

Harry didn't understand what Bill meant, until he saw the wand tip roaming over his skin. He was obviously performing a magical scan, just like the one Madam Pomfrey had done the previous day.

'Did any of your own spells hit you?'

'I had to cast a numbing spell at myself. My side really hurt, I couldn't fly properly.'

'What numbing spell did you use?' Bill asked - not judgementally, but clearly keen for the answer.

'Morivaero.'

Bill's mouth fell open.

'Morivaero? You mean the Morivaero Curse?!'

'It was the only numbing spell that I could remember.'

'But... when you were flying?! You ought to be dead!'

Bill reined in his disbelief.

'How much feeling did you lose?'

'Most of my torso, and my right arm.'

Harry shrugged his body so that the limp arm flapped a little. The shoulder jumped into a place which a healthy shoulder wouldn't have managed.

'You mean, you still haven't cancelled the spell?'

There was a pregnant silence.

'Harry, you are so lucky. That's powerful combative magic. If you'd cast that spell properly, you would have lost control of both arms, both legs and you'd probably have fallen asleep too. We have to lift the charm, right now.'

'No wait!' Harry yelled, as Bill raised the wand. 'My shoulder's dislocated - if you just lift the charm...'

'Sorry mate...'

With a flick of his wrist, Bill subjected Harry to mind-shattering pain. For the first few seconds, the abrupt intensity felt exactly like a Cruciatus from Voldemort himself. It didn't take Bill long however, to cast a more suitable numbing charm.

The look that Harry gave Bill then could have burned through solid concrete. Bill seemed to realise that now was not the best time for him to talk, so he opted to cast a few more charms before he resumed his interrogation.

'This blue stuff,' he began tentatively, 'isn't a side-effect of Morivaero. Have you been hit by any other spells today?'

'Apart from yours, you mean?' snapped Harry, still feeling the aftershock of searing agony.

He thought about it.

'No, I don't think so.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes... well, except for the Reparo charm I cast on my T-shirt.'

Bill's eyes flashed suddenly, a trait which made him look almost like a younger Dumbledore.

'Of course!' he exclaimed.

'Huh?'

'I'm afraid you haven't been casting spells very well today. I'm pretty certain that this blue stuff is part of your T-shirt.'

'What?!'

Harry started to feel even more embarrassed than he had when Bill had first seen his injuries. Everybody was always expecting him to do amazing things, and he couldn't even repair a T-shirt without causing himself grievous bodily harm.

'This could be tricky to sort out... You're quite lucky actually...'

'How is this lucky?'

'I don't want to sound big-headed, but I'm probably the best person in headquarters to fix this charm. This is the sort of thing I do every day.'

'I thought your job was something about lifting curses off ancient treasure?' said Harry, wondering how on earth that was relevant to this scenario.

'There are a lot of similarities, Harry, between lifting an unknown dark curse off a valuable chest, and coaxing the melted strands of a T-shirt out of the body. More similarities than you might think.'

Bill began to wiggle his wand around in the air, gracefully drawing loops and arcs and all kinds of complicated squiggles with the tip. After the first loop, which Harry recognised as some kind of summoning charm, he couldn't follow what was going on, but he kept watching anyway, entranced. Bill continued to talk.

'It's all about subtlety. If you try to break an ancient curse violently, you're more than likely to set it off. Mate of mine did that once, he's never been the same since. Mind you, his third arm does come in quite useful when he plays Quidditch.'

Harry's eyes snapped up, as he tried to work out whether Bill was joking or not. He couldn't decide.

'Same applies here. If I just go and Accio your T-shirt, then it'll probably take half of your skin with it. Subtlety is the key...'

Harry wondered if this speech was supposed to have reassured him, but he didn't have time to make a sarcastic comment, because the spell had just begun to take effect. Silky strands were slipping from the wound, like memories drawn into a Pensieve. As they slid painlessly out of his body, they wove together, forming a square of fabric, which dangled from the ever-moving wand tip. The last few feet of thread peeled away to form another marking on the square. Bill was clearly showing off now. As the sewing finished, Bill plucked the material away and handed it to Harry.

'There you go... an early birthday present!'

Harry realised that he was holding a pale blue handkerchief, which was marked in the corner with a tiny picture of a stag, and two letters: HP. It was also covered in quite a lot of his own blood, but Bill cleaned that with an effortless Scourgify charm.

'Thanks,' Harry began. 'It's...'

But what it was, Harry never got to say, for at that moment Ginny came tumbling out of the fireplace, and landed on top of the pair.

'Oops!' she offered by way of apology, as she clambered to her feet. 'Thought you'd have moved out of the way by now.'

She looked back down, to help them to their feet, and caught sight of Harry's naked torso. With the melted T-shirt fully removed, the cuts had begun to bleed again, and Harry thought that the damage looked worse than it felt.

This situation, however, felt like a nightmare. Girls weren't supposed to see his skinny chest, even when he was in full health. At the moment, he was barely even capable of looking after himself. He tried to wrap his arms around himself to hide the skin, but of course, only one of them was working properly.

Ginny was thoroughly shell-shocked. She wasn't moving, except for her jaw, which was going up and down aimlessly.

Once again, it was Bill who took control of the situation.

'Ginny. I need you to go upstairs, and find Harry's Pain-Relief draught,' he ordered calmly. 'We shouldn't rely on numbing charms for too long. They can be unpredictable.'

She didn't make a move. By now even her jaw was still. She looked like a very realistic waxwork figure.

'It's on my bedside table,' Harry added. 'In the tiny bottle, next to the photo of my mum.'

Hearing Harry's voice had the desired effect. Ginny mind regained its control over her body, and realising that she had an important job to do, she left the room quickly and silently, without so much as a look over her shoulder.

Bill took her temporary exit as his cue, and began casting more charms, some of which looked familiar to Harry from his frequent visits to the hospital wing.

The skin around the claw wound closed as though it were lined with Velcro. The dried blood seemed to evaporate. Most of the bruises faded away, except for the biggest of all, on his right shoulder. Even Harry's knees, which he hadn't mentioned, seemed to have been healed by Bill's spells. Harry was flummoxed by the ease of it all.

'I've been on a field-training course,' he explained. 'Standard for all curse-breakers - it has to be, the number of injuries we pick up. Still, I should let Madam Pomfrey sort your shoulder out. Fixing broken bones is a bit beyond my training.'

'There's no way you're calling Madam Pomfrey!' Harry yelled. 'I'm not letting her see me twice in two days. She'll never let me hear the end of it! I trust you...'

'Fair enough...'

Bill looked quite excited about a chance to try the spell, and as he raised his wand, Harry did wonder briefly whether he had made the right decision. After all, the last time an inexperienced wizard had tried the same spell on him, he had been left boneless in one arm. Bill was slightly more confidence inspiring than Professor Lockhart though. Harry closed his eyes.

'Episkey!'

When Harry opened his eyes again he was pleasantly surprised. For one thing, his body was looking human again. For another thing, he could move all ten of his fingers. The numbing charm had been removed, but it had left a strange aching in his stomach, and an itchiness all down the affected arm.

Ginny burst into the room again, and immediately looked to Harry. When she saw that he had been completely healed, she didn't look too surprised, but she did look relieved.

'How are you feeling?' she asked.

'Not bad now,' Harry admitted. 'Just a bit sore and itchy.'

'A bit of the Pain-Relief draught will sort that out,' said Bill, and he conjured a glass of water from mid-air. He added a few drops of liquid from the little vial, and handed the drink to Harry.

'So how come you came back here then,' Harry asked Ginny. 'Did your mum want to keep you away from St. Mungo's too?'

'No. In fact she was pretty insistent that I went to the hospital with her, but I argued.'

'Why?'

'I knew you were hurt, and nobody else seemed to have noticed. I needed to come back here and make sure you weren't being a boy.'

Harry spat out the mouthful of water he was drinking.

'What's that meant to mean?'

'Hiding in your room, acting like everything's fine, when you're barely conscious.'

'That's not...'

Bill gave Harry a look, and Harry realised that he had been planning to do exactly that when he fell out of the fire.

'But how did you convince your mum to send you home? You didn't say anything about..?'

'No, I didn't think you'd want her to know how much pain you were in, so I did my girly thing.'

'What's your girly thing?'

'You know, pretending that I still have a crush on you, and making puppy eyes. She gave in dead easy.'

Harry spat out another spurt of water. At this rate he wasn't going to get any of the pain relieving draught into his body...

- HPHPHP -

Twenty minutes later, Harry felt like himself again. There was still a cloud of guilt hanging over him, and a little embarrassment, but both feelings were a feature of Harry's life nowadays. He had been mostly trying to blank Cho out of his mind. It was too complicated, and he wasn't ready to deal with the emotions yet. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel about her death. It would have been easier if they hadn't had such an odd emotional history together.

Ginny hadn't tried to bring the subject up with him, although Harry was fairly certain that she'd told Bill, because his expressions had become more sympathetic. The pair had agreed, reluctantly, not to mention Harry's injuries to anybody else. They had taken quite a lot of convincing, but Harry desperately didn't want the Order finding out. If they thought he was so weak, they would be totally devoid of hope when they found out about the prophecy.

Harry was currently sitting on the landing, overlooking the hall. His legs were dangling over the edge, threaded between the spindles of the freshly-painted-white banister. The house was a lot less oppressive now. The walls in the hall were a neutral beige, and the only remnants of the former decorations were the thick, moth-eaten curtains, which hung to cover Mrs. Black's portrait.

He had been sitting there, staring into space for a while now. He was thinking about the Order of the Phoenix. They seemed to have a spy, and Harry's natural instinct was to blame Snape, although Dumbledore kept hinting that he had a convincing reason to trust him. He added that to the mental list of questions for his Headteacher.

As though detecting Harry's desire to speak to him, Dumbledore chose that moment to appear in the hall below. He didn't say a word, nor even look at Harry, but as he walked away into the dining room, his hand slipped into his robe.

A leaf of parchment appeared in front of Harry's face. Big glistening letters of red ink slowly spelled out the words: 'Sirius' room, five minutes', and then the scroll burst into flames. As he stood up, Harry wondered exactly how many different ways Dumbledore had to send messages, and whether they were all quite so dramatic.

Harry dawdled through the house. He didn't really want to go back into Sirius' room. He had hardly entered it whilst Sirius had been alive, but it was still the one part of the house which he most associated with his godfather. Harry half-wondered whether Dumbledore had selected the room purely for that reason, as a way to make him confront his demons.

As he neared the door, Harry tried to collect his thoughts. There were a lot of things he wanted to talk to Dumbledore about. He didn't want to be side-tracked by grief. Harry ran over his mental list quickly, and then stepped through the door before he could think about it too much.

It wasn't as bad as he had been expecting. Dumbledore was already standing in the room, which looked nothing like it had when Sirius had stayed in it. The old carpet had been lifted to reveal bare oak floorboards, and the walls were now painted white, like most of the house. There was no furniture left, although the Headmaster rectified that by conjuring two large leather recliners. He sat down, and gestured for Harry to do the same, but Harry felt more like standing.

'I'm sorry about my choice of meeting place Harry,' said Dumbledore by way of greeting, 'but I don't want people to interrupt us.'

Harry didn't really accept that excuse.

'Surely everybody here does exactly what you tell them to? Couldn't you have just asked for some privacy?'

'True, but that would have meant confessing to our little chat. I would rather keep this meeting a secret from the Order if possible.'

'So you do think that there's a spy?'

Harry was relieved. He had thought that Dumbledore would be quite stubborn about the loyalty of his organisation.

'I said no such thing Harry. I remain as convinced as ever that the Order is completely loyal, but if people discover that we are talking, they could jump to conclusions about your role in this war. I presume that you aren't ready to reveal the prophecy?'

'No,' Harry admitted. Then he thought about what had happened that morning.

'Are you really sure about everybody? Because Voldemort seemed to know that we would be in Diagon Alley today. Maybe Snape...'

'I have already been to Diagon Alley, and spoken to Remus about the events of this morning. Nobody could have betrayed us today. We didn't plan that shopping trip until the very last minute.'

'Then how could Voldemort possibly have known...'

'Unfortunately I believe that I am to blame for that. Voldemort outwitted me.'

'How?' asked Harry, shocked.

'The prison break-out last night was carefully calculated timing. Voldemort knew that after he attacked Azkaban, I would expect him to lay low for a few days to regroup. He predicted that I would send you to Diagon Alley straight away, and he was right. I didn't even give you a strong escort. If it wasn't for the intervention of a goblin - and your quick thinking - I would have been handing you to Voldemort on a silver platter.'

'So we don't have a spy?' Harry asked again, still not quite believing it. Dumbledore's explanation made perfect sense, and yet it was hard to accept that the Headmaster had been out-strategised .

'I understand your feelings about Professor Snape. He does not try to endear himself to you.'

Harry snorted at the understatement.

'Harry, if you trust me, you must accept that I am not an idiot. Professor Snape has not been given a second chance because I feel sorry for him. He has been given a second chance because he has proved himself to me...'

'How?'

'That is not my secret to tell.'

Dumbledore's voice was stern. Harry immediately realised that he shouldn't have asked the question, but he couldn't help himself. He had another thought, but he didn't know how to voice it, without seeming like he was still accusing Snape. He began very slowly.

'If Professor Snape is spying on Voldemort for us...'

'I have had exactly the same thought Harry,' Dumbledore interrupted, for which Harry was extremely grateful. 'Why didn't Professor Snape know about today's attack in advance? It is extremely worrying. If Voldemort suspects him, we will have to withdraw him, and we desperately need the information he provides.'

Harry found it rather difficult to feel worried about Snape. As Dumbledore had said, the man had never treated Harry with anything but contempt. Maybe he was important to the war effort, but that didn't stop him from being a world class git. Dumbledore was still talking.

'His insight into the Azkaban raid was invaluable. It seems as though the Minister for Magic has been trying to cover up certain facts...'

'Like what?'

'Well, for a start, as well as his Death Eaters, Voldemort broke three witches out of prison. Very dangerous women, the only surviving members of a great ring of assassins. They worked for Grindelwald in the last great war, and if Voldemort convinces them to join him...'

Dumbledore's voice trailed off, but the look in his eyes was not hard to interpret. These witches were clearly serious business.

It seemed as though the conversation had gone as far as it was going to go without Harry's intervention. Pushing Dumbledore for more information about Snape now would be a sure-fire way to anger the old wizard, so Harry picked another question from his mental list.

'I overheard my Aunt Petunia talking to herself. She said that you were... um... well, blackmailing her. I didn't believe that, but she seems a bit different recently. Worried about something...'

Dumbledore stood from his chair, and seemed to be considering something very carefully.

'Perhaps...' he began, 'that is a secret that I can reveal, but you first must swear to keep it private. You may tell Ron and Hermione, if you like, but it would not do to have this story spread around, as it greatly affects you.'

'Of course,' Harry agreed eagerly, 'I mean... I swear.'

'There is a book Harry, within my office at Hogwarts. It was charmed hundreds of years ago, by Rowena Ravenclaw herself. This book detects and records the birth of wizards and witches anywhere in the country. Every year I look through the book, and tell Professor McGonagall who to write to. Nobody other than the Hogwarts headmaster has access to it, although the Ministry has wasted a lot of time trying to acquire it. Part of Dolores Umbridge's job last year was probably to steal the book, although she was thwarted when she couldn't access my office.'

'Why?' Harry asked, intrigued by the story, but not really understanding what the big deal was about a book of names.

'You don't understand the significance of the book Harry. It's a huge threat to Muggle-borns. What do you suppose would happen if Voldemort got his hands on it?'

Harry's brain didn't take very long to come up with the answer to that.

'He'd track every Muggle-born down, and kill them before they could learn any magic, wouldn't he?'

'He most certainly would Harry, and then he'd probably kill their parents as well. Muggles who give birth to one wizard are more likely to give birth to another. I believe that the Muggles call it genetics. The Ministry doesn't believe that the book is safe in my possession. I disagree.'

Harry disagreed too. If the book was safe anywhere, it was with Dumbledore.

'So what does this have to do with my Aunt Petunia?' Harry asked.

'Sixteen years ago, a few days after you were born, I was looking through Ravenclaw's book. McGonagall was getting impatient for the student list you see. I had been very busy with the war, and I was running so late in my Headmasterly duties that she had threatened to transfigure my beard into a Runespoor. Needless to say, I was highly motivated...'

Dumbledore seemed to be remembering a funny event, for his eyes had crinkled into a smile, and he twiddled his fingers through the long silver of his beard for a moment.

'So...' Harry prompted.

'Well. Given the motivation, I finished in record time, and I was curious. I had recalled the prophecy. I was fairly convinced that there were only two possible candidates for it, but I had not had a chance to look into the book. I turned to the last page.'

Harry prepared himself for some earth-shattering revelation.

'I discovered that I had been right,' Dumbledore continued. 'There were only two candidates for the prophecy, Neville and yourself.'

Harry let out a breath. How disappointing - he had been expecting something a little more exciting. Still Dumbledore continued to speak.

'Then I noticed that a little higher up the page was a name that I hadn't expected to be in there at all. Dudley Dursley was a wizard.'

Given that he had just released all of his breath, Harry wasn't ready for such a startling disclosure. He choked as he tried to breathe normally.

'Are you alright Harry?'

Harry shot his mentor an evil look, between his spluttering coughs.

'Alright? No! Dudley's a wizard?! Of course I'm not alright. This is insane!'

'He isn't a wizard anymore, Harry.'

'Huh?'

'I knew that your Aunt was already aware of the wizarding world, so I sent her an owl. As I suspected, she was appalled. She seemed insulted that I would accuse her child of such abnormality.'

Yes, Harry thought, that sounded like Aunt Petunia.

'Once I had finally convinced her that I was not mistaken, she begged for me to cure him...'

'...but that's impossible right?' Harry interrupted horrified. 'You can't just take somebody's magic away. You wouldn't!'

Dumbledore shifted from foot to foot. Harry was reminded of the way that Dobby moved when he felt guilty about something. The sight of Albus Dumbledore behaving like a house-elf was deeply disconcerting.

'It is definitely not easy to remove the magic from a wizard, but it has been known to happen,' Dumbledore paused. 'You are right though, that I wouldn't even consider it under normal circumstances. I sent a letter, telling your Aunt that she would have to accept her cousin for who he was. I didn't expect anything more to come of it, until Dudley was accepted to Hogwarts. Unfortunately, about a year later, I was faced with somewhat of a dilemma.'

Harry was hooked on his professor's every word now. What could cause Dumbledore to take Dudley's magic away from him? That must have been questionable magic at the very least - possibly even Dark Arts.

'Your parents died, and I needed a blood relative to look after you. There was only one place where you would be safe, but Petunia was not remotely inclined to help. I had no other options. I made a trade with her - she agreed to protect your life, if I changed Dudley into a Muggle. That was, without doubt, my darkest moment. I am not proud of it, but if I had to make the choice again, I would do the same.'

Great. Something else to feel guilty about. Harry knew that Dudley wouldn't have wanted to be a wizard. He had been raised to hate anybody who was even slightly different. Still, Dudley ought to have had the chance to make the decision himself.

'How did you do it?' Harry asked shortly.

'It was very difficult. I could only think of about five different ways to drain magic, and most of them were not permanent.'

'Magical trauma!' Harry said suddenly, thinking of Ron.

Dumbledore looked up, surprised.

'Where did you learn about that? It's unbelievably rare, and most wizards don't talk about it...'

Harry wished he hadn't had the sudden outburst, but at least he could bluff his way out of this one.

'Ron said that Percy had it. When he was little.'

Dumbledore looked quite shocked, and Harry realised that he hadn't known about this in advance.

'It would be a wise idea to keep this a secret Harry. Percy would not like this story spreading around. Magical trauma is a taboo subject - many people think that it weakens the magic of a wizard, although there isn't a lot of evidence. It only occurs in young children, so there haven't been any studies done.'

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

'Can't older wizards get it though? From what Ron was saying, it sounded like you could catch it later, and get turned into a squib.'

'No Harry,' Dumbledore said, his tone very serious, 'and this is exactly why people don't like discussing it. Very few people bother to research it properly. In the long run, the stigma attached to magical trauma does more damage than the condition itself.'

Harry supposed that he was meant to feel chastised here, but his head was singing: Ron hasn't got magical trauma, so he smiled instead. Dumbledore looked at him oddly, and Harry looked away. He didn't want the Headmaster to find out Ron's secret, and he knew that Dumbledore could read his mind if he wanted to. The old man let the moment pass.

'In any case, the spell I used to block Dudley's magic has nothing to do with magical trauma. It is not something that we should go into in depth. Suffice to say that it was ancient magic, an old derivative of Avada Kedavra, and it would be an Unforgivable curse if the Ministry knew about it.'

'There's a spell to take somebody's magic away? Why can't we use that on Voldemort?'

'Believe me Harry, I have tried to find a way of doing just that. Unfortunately, the magical power required, even for a one year-old, was immense. I would not be able to work that spell on anybody older.'

No surprise there, thought Harry. If getting rid of Voldemort was that easy, somebody else would have done it already. There had to be a way though, some spell, something that Harry was capable of performing. The prophecy wouldn't have bothered to single Harry out if vanquishing Voldemort was impossible.

'I believe that I have given you more than enough information for one day. Wouldn't you agree?'

Harry made a strangled sort of assenting noise. Dumbledore wasn't kidding. There was so much to think about. Too much, almost. Some of it had been reassuring, the knowledge that Ron was mistaken about magical trauma, for example. Most of it though, was just overwhelming. A group of assassins being recruited by Voldemort, a highly sensitive book which threatened all Muggle-borns, Dudley being born a wizard...

Dumbledore stepped back, scooping the hem of his robes into his hands. Harry realised that he was about to Disapparate.

'Wait!' he yelled, as he remembered one more thing.

The old professor froze, and then looked into Harry's eyes. Immediately, Harry knew that the Headmaster had been expecting this final question, but it was still difficult to ask it.

'I think we should meet again.'

'We will Harry.'

'But, I mean, I think that you ought to teach me some stuff.'

'Ah, I see...'

'You do?'

'What stuff do you think I ought to teach you?'

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling now. He seemed highly amused, and not even slightly annoyed, so Harry pulled himself together.

'What I'm trying to say, is that I'd like some private lessons, considering what the prophecy says.'

'Very well. I believe that that can be arranged.'

Dumbledore grabbed the hem of his robes once more, but just before he disappeared, he turned to look at Harry with a smile.

'By the way. I haven't said anything yet... Remus told me about your flight this morning. I'm very proud of you.'

The old man vanished from sight in a swish of material, leaving a very emotionally confused boy in his wake.

- HPHPHP -

The next few hours, Harry spent in a hazy kind of daydream. His mind flitted from place to place, trying to find some way to break down the days events so that he could digest them more easily. Cho's death kept floating to the surface of his thoughts, but he couldn't quite get his head round it. It had been so sudden and unexpected that Harry couldn't accept that she had gone. He spent nearly half an hour trying to grieve for Cho, so that he could move on with his life, but nothing came.

All the while Dudley was rudely interrupting his thoughts. There was probably no option for Dumbledore at the time, but the removal of Dudley's magic was beyond sinister. No child deserved that, not even Dudley, although life would have been unbearable for Harry with his cousin at Hogwarts.

And what if Voldemort learned of the spell Dumbledore had used? Actually, Harry thought, that might be a good thing. Maybe instead of killing some Muggle-born babies, he would just take their magic away, which would be a marked improvement.

About half way through the afternoon, Harry made himself a ham salad sandwich, and sat eating it in the dining room, alone. Ginny and Bill were still giving Harry a wide berth, but since he wanted space at the moment, he didn't begrudge them their distance. He polished off the snack quickly, but just as he was about to move, the empty plate picked itself up, instantly became clean, and then shot off into the kitchen. Harry looked around. Standing by the door were Tonks and Ron's dad. They both looked as though they had only just woken, and they were clearly oblivious to the horrific day Harry was having. Mr. Weasley's wand was still aloft, he had been the one to clean the plate - Tonks was hopeless at household spells.

Harry tried to match Tonks' enthusiastic smile, and he thought it might have worked, until she frowned and stepped forward concernedly. She didn't have chance to ask him what was wrong though, because at that moment the fire burst into life.

Professor Lupin strode out, and immediately went to Harry. There was a moment of silence, the werewolf seemed uncertain of how to start.

'Mrs. Chang wants you to know... she doesn't blame you.'

At last, Harry had something real to associate with Cho's death, and a wave of grief hit him. He was grateful. The numb anticipation had been almost worse than the pain. He managed to choke back the tears he wanted to cry. That was for later. Staying strong here was important.

'Wait... what's going on?' asked Mr. Weasley worriedly.

'There is a long story, which can be told later. For now, just don't panic, your family is completely fine,' Lupin reassured him.

The fire burst into life again.

'In fact,' Lupin added, 'this will be them now.'

Ron was the first to tumble out of the fireplace, and as he landed, he staggered forwards, just as Harry usually did, but managed to keep his feet. Hermione was next, looking a little wobbly, but Ron had already turned to catch her. Finally, Mrs. Weasley stepped out of the fire, without so much as a stumble. She rushed forwards to embrace her husband.

Harry walked over to Hermione.

'I'm sorry I couldn't come to St. Mungo's. I was really worried about you, but...'

'I know Harry. It would have been too dangerous, for all of us. It's okay. I'm glad you're alright.'

- HPHPHP -

The next few weeks of lazy summer slipped away steadily. Harry used the time to think about things. There wasn't a lot of cleaning left to do, but what there was he threw himself into enthusiastically. Kreacher's cupboard had to be tidied, but Hermione volunteered for that job. Maybe she felt guilty for supporting Kreacher so much last year, or maybe it was something to do with her house-elf fascination. Either way, she refused any help, for which Harry was thankful. The sight of that room would probably have sent him into another spiral of depression. As it was, Harry was dealing with the grief for both Sirius and Cho fairly well now.

He had of course told Ron and Hermione of everything Dumbledore had said. They had been a good audience, gasping in all the right places. When Harry had told them about the private lessons with Dumbledore, they had both looked worried for him, clearly making their own assumptions about what the prophecy said (and probably coming fairly close).

After the conversation, Hermione had disappeared for a long while, to try and find information about Dumbledore's curse, or Grindelwald's ring of assassins. Harry had used the opportunity to tell Ron the facts about magical trauma, and he had looked like he might explode with joy. Now whenever he and Harry were alone, Ron created showers of sparks at every opportunity. They had both tried to find an explanation for this phenomenon in books, but they were getting nowhere quickly. Harry thought that Hermione ought to be brought into the loop, so that she could help with the research, but Ron wasn't very keen.

'I'm sure she could help,' he had said one evening, after Harry had suggested it, 'but if we tell her, then she'll treat me like some kind of research project. Can't we just work this one out on our own?'

Harry had relented fairly quickly, although he thought Ron might be being a little paranoid about Hermione's reaction. True, she would be intrigued by Ron's odd symptoms, but Harry didn't think that she would behave any differently towards him. Maybe Ron just didn't want Hermione to think that he was a freak though... Harry knew how it felt to be different, and to resent it.

Aside from Hermione and Ron, the rest of Harry's relationships had been strained in the time following the dragon incident. His two closest friends had been with Harry through far worse, and knew how to approach him when he was upset. Everybody else seemed to be walking on burning coals, which was beginning to get annoying. Any time Harry entered a room, conversations clumsily died. Occasionally, Harry would catch the faint hiss of a whispered message, and turn to see heads locked together. Nobody mentioned what was going on, but it was always between them. Even Bill and Lupin, who had been so calm and in control during the crisis, were now far more withdrawn. Only Ginny behaved close to normally, aside from the one time when she was interrupted chatting conspiratorially with Tonks.

Tensions were running high, or at least, they were until the source of the conspiracy was uncovered...

It was a warm Friday, and Harry had completely lost track of time. He knew that it must be quite late in the afternoon, because his stomach was rumbling for food. The four school-aged wizards had been painting Harry and Ron's room. Now that everywhere had been neutralised with whites and beiges, they got to choose more exciting colours for the top coat of paint. Ron was quite keen on painting the whole house lemon yellow, to see how Professor Snape would react to it. He had taken some convincing away from this plan, but he eventually realised that if the grown-ups didn't like the decorations, they would magically undo them. Then he'd have to start again, from scratch.

They had finally settled on a colour called 'Ilfracombe Bay' (an unusual shade of pale green) for the walls, and 'Abraxan' (practically white) for the ceiling. With dark wood furniture moved back in, the completed room had looked quite striking, although Harry thought that he might have more paint in his hair than there was on the walls.

Since then, his friends had disappeared. He didn't have a clue what was going on, and he wanted to find somebody who was old enough to cast a cleaning charm. The problem with this house, apart from its dodgy past, was that it was just too big. Harry knew that Dumbledore was in the dining room, chatting to Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt, but other than that he couldn't guess where anyone had vanished to.

Harry headed downstairs, and paused as he passed the dining room. He hadn't exactly been told to avoid the room, and Dumbledore normally said something if he didn't want a meeting to be interrupted.

Harry knocked, and the familiar voice replied.

'Come in...'

The door swung open of its own accord, and Harry was struck by a sudden wall of sound.

Practically the entire Order of the Phoenix was there, cheering at him! He gave an uncomfortable questioning smile to Dumbledore, who was sitting at a great wooden chair.

'Happy Birthday Harry!' he exclaimed joyously. 'I trust, from your expression, that the surprise was well kept.'

'Uh, yeah...'

The actual date of his birthday wasn't until Sunday, and he hadn't ever had a real party before, so he was beyond surprised. Bemused was a more apt description.

'Happy Birthday Harry,' chipped in Tonks, 'I like your hairstyle!'

She screwed her nose up, and within seconds her hair had transformed itself into Harry's messy locks. A few seconds after that, flecks of green and white paint had appeared in it. Everybody laughed, as Mrs. Weasley cast a 'Scourgify' charm at Harry's head.

'That's better,' she soothed him. 'Now, do you want your birthday dinner first, or your presents?'

Suddenly, all thoughts of hunger had deserted Harry.

'Presents please!' he said eagerly. This was unbelievable. He had never understood why everybody thought birthdays were such a big deal until now. He felt almost exactly as he had felt on Christmas day in his first year at Hogwarts. He was rocking back and forth on the toes of his old trainers.

His eyes fell onto the mound of parcels on the wooden table. There were quite a few there. Not as many as Dudley usually got of course, but Harry had a feeling that he would appreciate these far more than his cousin ever did.

Hermione came forwards first. Her parcel was about the same size as a Rubik's Cube, and the same shape. As Harry pulled off the gold wrapping paper, he was no wiser on what she had bought him, because he had uncovered a plain wooden box. He placed a fingernail under the lid and lifted it. Instantly a streak of gold shot upwards, from a spherical hollow. Half of the wizards in the room screamed, but the other half tried to catch the present.

Harry was amazed, not only by the gift, but by who had bought it for him. Hermione spent most of her life complaining about the amount of time Harry wasted on the Quidditch pitch. She would have been the last person Harry would have expected to buy a Golden Snitch for him.

'Viktor helped me get hold of it,' Hermione explained over the din, making sure that Ron was nowhere nearby. 'It's for practising. It isn't supposed to be able to go more than ten feet away from the pin.'

Hermione had pointed into the box again, and as Harry looked, he noticed a tiny golden badge in the shape of a Snitch.

'Thanks Hermione,' he said. 'I mean really, it's great! I can't believe it...'

'It's okay Harry. You still need some fun in your life. Just do me a favour?'

'Yeah, anything...'

'Don't get kicked off the Quidditch team this year!'

The ball had already been caught, and Harry recognised the man who was holding it deftly by a wing.

'Charlie! When did you get back?'

'Just this morning. I've been hunting for weeks, but last night I found who I was looking for.'

Mrs. Weasley gave her son a stern look, and Charlie handed over the Golden Snitch sheepishly.

'Maybe here isn't the best place to talk about it though. Why don't you tell me about your dragon?'

But whether he would have gone into the story or not, Harry didn't have the opportunity. He was now being accosted by Ron and Ginny.

'We got these for you as a family,' Ginny explained, handing over one huge parcel.

'They're a set,' added Ron, placing an identical package on top of it.

Their mother added a third parcel to the pile.

Harry had to slide them onto the table so that he could open them. He uncovered a handsome set of huge books, bound in thick black leather. No words adorned the covers, but each had one animal on its spine: an eagle, a snake and a badger.

He opened the front of the badger book, and read what was inscribed on the first page.

THE ART OF DEFENCE

Volume I

Protective Charms and Shields

by Helga Hufflepuff

Harry quickly opened the other two books.

THE ART OF DEFENCE

Volume III

Mental Protection and Projection

by Salazar Slytherin

was etched on the first page of the snake book, whereas the eagle book bore the following message:

THE ART OF DEFENCE

Volume II

Fighting Fire with Fire

by Rowena Ravenclaw

The obvious question immediately leapt into Harry's head, but he held it back for a while, instead profusely thanking the Weasleys for a gift which would be more useful than they could possibly have known.

'...and are they really written by the founders of Hogwarts?' he finished.

'Yep,' Ron answered proudly. 'There aren't many copies around, but Dad knows some important Aurors in the Ministry.'

Harry thought it might sound ungrateful, but he couldn't stop himself from asking any more. He had to know...

'Didn't Gryffindor write a book..?'

Mr. Weasley laughed.

'Everybody always asks that question, the first time they see the set!'

'And...'

'...and if he did, the Ministry doesn't know about it.'

Well, that was a bit of a let down, but the set was more than big enough without Godric Gryffindor's input. It must have cost a fortune. Harry hoped that Mr. Weasley's Auror contact had given him a good discount.

He thanked them again, which drew more laughs from the assembled crowd. Harry supposed that his inexperience with birthday parties was showing.

Most of the rest of the presents were a blur of sweets and clothes. Harry had been receiving gifts from his friends since he had started Hogwarts, but never had so many people given him so much at one time. Even Dumbledore had handed Harry a gift, which had turned out to be a pair of thick woollen socks, charmed to always keep the wearer's toes warm.

Remus' presents had been the most emotional. He had bought Harry a watch purely as a practical present, so he had been a little worried about how much Harry was affected by it. Nevertheless, Harry realised that wearing Dudley's broken old watch for symbolism was a little bit morbid, so he took it off, and made Lupin vanquish it.

Lupin had also broken into Harry's school supplies and found the penknife with an attachment to open any lock. The blade had melted off the year before, so Lupin had taken it to be repaired. As it had originally been a gift from Sirius, Lupin seemed worried about how Harry would react to the gift, especially considering the emotions that the watch had stirred. Fortunately, Harry reacted very well. He had been thinking lately about how few things he had to remind him of Sirius, so the knife repair was more than welcome.

A buffet meal followed the present giving, and Harry ate until he felt as though he couldn't manage another sausage roll. Then came the cake, a huge icing covered Victoria sponge, filled with layers of jam and cream. Harry suddenly found there was room in his stomach for two helpings.

There were none of Harry's teachers at the gathering, except for Dumbledore, and the twins were conspicuously absent, but although it was mainly full of adults, the little party was still very enjoyable. Harry had the opportunity to chat to Charlie Weasley for a little longer, but still couldn't get any more information from him about who he had been hunting.

He also had the chance to talk with Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was very interested in Harry's ambition to become an Auror.

'Those books... They'll set you on the right path. There's stuff in there that you'll not find on any N.E.W.T. syllabus, that's for sure.'

Harry drifted around guests, conversing with those he knew, and making small talk with those he didn't, until the evening set in.

One by one, the guests disappeared, some vanishing into the air, others heading upstairs. As Mrs. Weasley left the room, Harry heard her muttering something about leaving the clean-up until the morning.

With her gone, only he, Hermione and Ron were left in the dining room, enjoying comfortable silence, and too stuffed with food to move anywhere quickly.

'You know Harry,' Ron said suddenly. 'I think I am going to take that placement with Madam Pomfrey...'

'Oh?' Harry asked. 'What made you decide?'

'You know those books we got you..?'

'Yeah?'

'Well, when Dad brought them home, he told my Mum that you could use them for your D.A. lessons...'

'He's right. They'll be very useful...' Harry agreed.

'Maybe so, but I don't think that that's really why he bought them. I think he was thinking about what I said in the car. About you, and Voldemort, and how you might have to face him one day. That's why I wanted you to have them anyway...'

Hermione seemed totally thrown by this talk, as though she expected Ron to suddenly Polyjuice into somebody else. Not only was he being insightful (rather unusual for Ron) but it was the first time that he had ever used the V-word in front of her. He hadn't even stuttered.

'And...' Ron continued, '...it's all very well saying that I want to stick with you until the war is over, but I can't help much at the moment, can I? If I get this training, I can really be useful...'

Harry wanted to tell Ron that he was already being useful, that all he needed was a friend to stand beside him. He wanted to tell Ron that he had already proved himself, that he didn't need to narrow his career options just to feel needed, but Ron wouldn't have accepted that. There was something that Harry did need to tell Ron though, before he could accept the boys decision to stand beside him.

Harry began to recount the prophecy, and as he spoke he watched his friends closely, but although their expressions were horrified, they didn't move until he had finished. Then each laid a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder and told him that everything would be alright and, temporarily at least, Harry believed them.