Without Wand or Wire

When Draco and Pansy had reached the rendezvous, they were greeted by a half-dozen or so masked, black-robed figures. Several of them nodded to the young pair; Draco figured they probably knew the people beneath the masks, and he hazarded a few guesses based on their heights and girths. None of them were Goyle, but he had a sinking feeling a number of them were schoolmates.

"So, where's the Portkey?" Pansy asked.

"Not here yet," a muffled voice replied. Blaise Zabini, by the sound of it.

So they sat waiting in awkward silence, all too nervous for conversation.

* * *

"Gah, I hate bloody paperwork!" Tonks whinged to her friend and fellow Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Haven't I done enough of this sort of thing when I was restricted to desk duty?"

"Yes, that was rather nice not having to do all of my own paperwork," Shacklebolt mused. "But unless someone else injured, I'm afraid you won't be getting that kind of reprieve yourself, mate."

She mock-glared at him. "Oh, really? But I know just the candidate. ..." she cooed, as she surreptitiously drew her wand.

He was too quick for her, though, knocking it out of her hand with Expelliarmus as he laughed. In its impromptu flight, the wand nearly hit Percy Weasley, who was just coming into the office, in the head.

"Oh! Sorry, chap, didn't see you there!" Shacklebolt apologised.

Percy gave him a rather pained look. "Mr. Shacklebolt, wearing one's wand inside the ministry is a privilege, and I should think you would take more care with it!"

"Oh, have you found a new person to pester, Percy?" asked Charlie, who was coming through the door behind him. "Fudge not keeping you busy enough, what with all the PR he's had to do after the big Ministry battle?"

Percy scowled. "You say that as if it were all the Minister's fault! He's a part of the Order now! And he certainly had nothing to do with Death Eaters breaking in that night!"

"'Course he didn't!" Charlie clapped his younger on the back so hard Percy's glasses came loose. "Just like he didn't have anything to do with capturing them! Left that to good old Dumbledore, our champion Aurors here, and Harry Potter, didn't he?"

Percy was about to protest when the voice of another entrant interrupted him.

"Here are those files you asked for, To--," Arthur Weasley began, his eyes on the papers as he walked in. He stopped abruptly, both in walking and speaking, when he finally looked up and spotted his third-eldest son.

"Father," Percy greeted him with the bare minimum of courtesy, and no detectable warmth. His ears were red; few knew him well enough to tell whether he was angry, as he seemed, or actually embarrassed, which was the real truth.

[Confrontation between Percy and his father, with Tonks and Shacklebolt looking on.]

He had cast aspersions on his entire family and many of their friends over the past year, calling them no less than crazy, traitorous idiots -- all phrases they had used regarding him with equal fervor (and, he had to admit to himself, greater accuracy.) And though it pained him far more than anyone could guess to be so estranged from those he had been closest to, his pride kept him from finding his way back. Even if he could, the Weasley pride ran just as strong in the veins of his father and brothers; would they be able to forgive him? Were he in their shoes, he wouldn't.

So the months after the Ministry battle had passed, with no end to his self-inflicted exile in sight, save for him recently sending his mother a note about his engagement to Penelope. Moreover, despite the definitive proof that his beloved Minister had been wrong, and that he himself had been even more wrong to throw his lot in with the Minister, he showed no sign of regret or chagrin, as if he had nothing at all to apologise for. Fred Weasley had once suggested once, in anger, that perhaps Percy had belonged in Slytherin rather than Gryffindor, if his ambition had made him willing to turn his back on his family. But what Fred couldn't know was that the Sorting Hat had suggested that very thing, back at the beginning of Percy's first year. And it was as much this fear, that perhaps he had no right to have been in Gryffindor and no right to be a Weasley, as any injured pride, that held him back from any attempt to mend bridges that had been burnt possibly beyond use.

Fortunately, Arthur had no such fears holding him back. And while he might have his own anger and pride, his love for his family, in the end, was no match for it. Especially when it came to a command given by Mrs. Weasley. ... "Percy. Your mother asked me to remind you that Ginny's birthday is coming up, and hopes you'll find time to stop by the Burrow that Saturday." Well, he might love his son deep down, but there was no mistaking the frost in his voice. The invitation carried an underlying warning, Percy knew, that this could very well be the last chance he had to prove his loyalty to his family before he was written off for good.

Which brought up another point that had Percy feeling terribly uneasy, something he had done that might very well serve to make things even worse between him and his parents. With the Gryffindor courage he didn't believe he had, he managed to keep his voice calm to the point of near-boredom, keeping all hesitancy at bay. "Yes, I should be able to make it. Would you mind if I brought--"

Arthur scowled, cutting Percy off. "Yes, I bloody do well mind if you bring your boss to the Burrow! After what happened this past year, I don't know how you can even ask that!"

Tonks couldn't hide her shock at the change in the normally good-natured Arthur's demeanor any more than Charlie could hide his pleasure at his younger brother being brought to task by their father. Shacklebolt pretended to be more interested in the paperwork Charlie had just brought them.

Percy knew better than to point out that the Minister of Magic was Arthur's boss as well. He lost his composure only slightly, more with embarrassment than anger, as he clarified, "A-actually, I was going to ask if it was all right to bring Penelope. ..."

Arthur immediately deflated, seeming rather chagrined himself. "Oh ... yes, well, o-of course she's welcome, your mother and I think she's a lovely girl. ..."

Percy's relief was palpable, as he granted his father a shaky smile. "I'm glad to hear that, because I have something to tell you--"

But a sudden klaxon from the mirror on Tonks' desk kept him from telling his father what it was that was so important.

* * *

After getting the Malfoy house-elves settled into the Hogwarts kitchens, Dumbledore and Snape sat at a small table in the corner to have a cuppa and discuss recent events.

"I'm sure they'll be fine, Severus. I don't know why you're so worried; you were there when we came up with the plan, so you know how clever it is! You even re-charmed Parkinson's mirror, so she could set it to one-way audio! That was a rather nice bit of spellwork, if you don't mind me saying so." Snape blushed as he gripped his teacup with both hands while it rested in its saucer. "Now we can hear everything she can, but no one can hear us through her Glass and give her away," Dumbledore continued with a note of affectionate pride. "As soon as she and Draco finally reach their destination, she'll speak the name of the place aloud, so we know where they are, and we have our people ready to leave on a moment's notice, as soon as things get hairy."

"And you don't think that the Dark Lord will blame Draco and Pansy for the Order crashing their little party?"

"That's why we're not going to show up until Voldemort--" Snape flinched at the sound of the name "--actually does something. I'll even tell him, when I get there, that it was very kind of him to let Harry know what was going on via his curse scar." Dumbledore's eyes gleamed.

Snape's own eyes grew wide. "Potter can tell things like that now?"

"Mm, I suppose he might even be able, to at that!" Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You can ask him when you see him. I want you to help Faelyn keep an eye on him tonight -- the more eyes we have on him now, the better I'll feel."

Snape had been feeling rather dejected that he'd lost his usefulness as a spy -- not to mention being worried about the students who'd taken his place. But while the prospect of an evening with James Potter's son should have made him feel even worse, he couldn't help but feel at least a bit giddy at the thought of the chance to spend time with Professor Dagdha. He even smiled a little.

Dumbledore hid a smile of his own behind his teacup.

Then Snape had a thought. "Do you want us to bring Potter back to Grimmauld Place?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "We don't know just how much Tom may be watching him, through the scar or through other means. If we tell Harry what's going on, we may be tipping our hand to the enemy. Even if we make up an excuse for bringing him there, he'd find out what was going on soon enough."

"Yes," Snape sneered, "he does have an unfortunate talent for that, doesn't he?"

Dumbledore gave a small but proud smile. His expression sobered as he continued, grimly, "And if Harry turns out to be Tom's actual target, Pansy will let us know, and we have a few dozen members of the Order ready to go after him on a moment's notice. He won't find it so easy to get away this time." There was a determined gleam in the Headmaster's eye.

Snape almost felt sorry for his former master.

* * *

Harry didn't tell his aunt or friends about the flash of pain he'd felt in his scar during their tour of the White Tower. It had happened while he was climbing some stairs, causing him to stumble and hit his knee on the stair. The pain was enough to chase the sense of Voldemort away, but Harry was now starting to worry that something big was brewing with the Death Eaters, making him feel even more despondent.

When he and his companions were finally done sightseeing at the Tower, Petunia invited Ron and Hermione to come with her and Harry for dinner. Again, she'd felt it was the proper thing to do, and again the pair felt it would be rude to say no. Besides, walking about on a tour wasn't the best way for a group of people to chat or relax, and Petunia, Ron, and Hermione were all determined to bring Harry out of his funk.

They didn't eat right away, but instead passed right through The Leaky Cauldron, into Diagon Alley. Harry had wanted to stop in Gringotts first. Sure, they had time yet before they needed to get school supplies, but it just didn't seem right to have Petunia pay for his dinner when he was more than capable of buying it himself.

In fact, now that he and his Aunt were on good terms, it occurred to him that the Dursleys deserved some sort of recompense for having given him food and a roof over his head, however fifth-rate those things might have been, when they could have just as easily put him in an orphanage, where Voldemort would surely have killed him. The eleven-year-old boy who had suddenly become independently wealthy after a lifetime of virtual poverty and servitude may have felt some sort of justice in not sharing with the family who did their best to share as little as possible -- including love -- with him, but the man he'd become now realised that that same family had been basically forced to feed and cloth a child they'd never intended to have. Even foster families got monetary compensation -- and those were volunteers.

When Harry returned from his vault with a large bag, to Ron, Hermione, and Petunia's confusion, he walked over to the currency exchange counter. When he finally came back to them, the bag was considerably less bulky, and the only jangling sound came from his pocket, where he'd stuck a small bag of galleons, sickles, and knuts for spending money.

He handed the bag to Petunia, eyes downcast. "I should have given this to you a long time ago. I'm sorry."

Petunia gave him a slightly puzzled smile as she opened the bag. Then she stifled a cry, her face now as white as a sheet. She grabbed a hold of her nephew with one hand, holding the bag closed tightly in her other fist. "Harry James Potter! Where on earth did you get this? You didn't tell me you were here to rob the place!" she hissed, completely oblivious to the sudden, suspicious attention she was drawing from the goblins, or how tense and wary Harry's friends had gotten when she'd grabbed hold of her nephew.

Harry bristled a moment, old habits dying hard. But after a few moments he realised there was a difference in how she was yelling at him now compared to how she always had before. She wasn't assuming he had stolen it because he was "Harry Potter", son of her "weirdo sister" and her "no-good brother-in-law." She was yelling because he was her nephew, she was his guardian, and she was worried he had done something horribly wrong. She had no way of knowing that his parents had been so well off, or had left him anything -- especially since he had neglected to volunteer that information all these years.

"I didn't steal it, Aunt Petunia!" Harry told her firmly but gently, much to his friends' surprise. "Mum and Dad left me their money, and it's been accumulating interest all these years. I ... figure it's high time you and Uncle Vernon were compensated for all the years you kept me for them." Harry cringed at how that sarcastic that sounded. They both knew that most people kept their pets better than the Dursleys had kept Harry. But that didn't mean he didn't owe them any gratitude.

Petunia must have been thinking the same thing. She sank into a soft, plushy chair, and Harry was struck by how small, how frail she seemed. How had he been so intimidated by her for so long?

She couldn't seem to pry her eyes from the band of 100-pound notes within the bag, but her face was filled with a measure of shame and horror, not greed or pleasure. "Harry, I can't take this!" she finally managed, her voice high and strained. "There has to be ..." she looked around to make sure no one was watching, then mouthed "Ten thousand pounds??"

"Twenty," he admitted, his voice small.

Her eyes wide in disbelief, she looked back into the bag, and shook it once. Sure enough, there was another band, under the first.

"There will be more," he continued, contritely. "I just didn't figure you would feel too comfortable carrying more than that around in your purse."

She didn't feel comfortable carrying any of it. "H-Harry," she began, weakly, a hand fluttering to her temple. "You don't need to do this! First of all, a child never owes their caretakers for their upbringing! You should be saving this, for college, o-or for starting a family of your own! God knows your Uncle Vernon and I never started any savings account for you growing up, like we did for Dudley!"

Ron and Hermione shifted uncomfortably, not sure they should be privy to this conversation, but also not willing to leave. Ron also fought a smirk; it was clear Petunia thought her nephew had cleared out his savings, when Harry actually had at least several million galleons to his name, and the best investors on the planet increasing that sizeable fortune all the time.

"But Aunt Petunia --"

"And secondly, your uncle and I have been compensated -- more than adequately. ..." Her lips moved soundlessly as she tried to work up the courage to make her confession. She couldn't meet his eyes, but started at the hands she wrung nervously in her lap. "Shortly after you were brought to us, the first check arrived from a trust fund that had apparently been set up for your care. But we ... treated it as payment for keeping you, rather than as money for your upkeep."

Harry fought to keep his emotions under control with his Occlumency skills -- and succeeded, perhaps a little too well. The Harry of just a few months ago would have felt deeply hurt and betrayed at such an announcement. That Harry would have sneered in disgust, shouted with rage. Here he was, trying to make amends for what he had felt was a wrong, despite his ill treatment at the hands of the Dursleys, only to learn that not only had they already been paid off, but that they had essentially stolen from him all his life!

Instead, the new Harry quickly doused that angry fire with cold, rational logic. He had intended to give them more money than he was handing Petunia now. So basically he had just found out that it had been given already. As the money he'd been prepared to give was intended for their own personal use anyway, there really was no loss.

Whatever anguish he had suffered at their hands in his childhood was over now. There was no point in continuing to suffer over it, no point in letting Vernon, Dudley, and the old Petunia have any bearing on his life now. To do so would be to continue to give them power, when they should mean less than nothing to him.

At any rate, with Dudley's eating habits and the way the Dursleys had spoiled their son in the past, it wasn't as if they were even remotely as rich as Harry himself was now. And just because the Dursleys had shown him almost no compassion or generosity before was no reason for him to behave likewise, however justified that attitude may have seemed just a few months past. He didn't want to be a Dursley himself; he was better than that.

Not to mention that being generous to them now might ensure that his future stays with them were at least moderately tolerable, if he came to be seen as a cash cow rather than a sponger. No, if he still needed to stay with them in order to preserve his mother's dying gift to him, he would pay them every red cent he had, if it proved necessary.

He also believed Petunia was sincere in her shame, and sincere in the affection she now showed him. She didn't have to tell him the truth about the money, but she had anyway. It made no sense to insist she stay in the mold she'd cast herself in so long ago, rather than encourage her to change for the better. Besides, he didn't want to lose the bond newly forged to the only blood kin he had left.

So instead of yelling, he said to her, "I'm glad you told me. I don't want there to be any bad blood between us anymore, Aunt Petunia. I want our history to stay just that -- history. We can't change the past, but we can bury it, and try to live today and tomorrow as best we can. This money doesn't mean anything to me," he continued, "unless I know it can help the people I care about, and that includes you."

Her eyes glittered with both gratitude at being forgiven, and guilt that forgiveness was even necessary. "I do want us to have a fresh start, Harry, but I cannot accept this!"

"Fine. I'll give it to Dudley then. I wonder how long it will take him to spend it ..."

"You wouldn't!" Her voice said she wasn't so sure -- and also that, as much as she loved her son, deep down she knew Dudley was a spoiled brat, and could get into no end of mischief with such money suddenly dumped in his lap.

"Try me," Harry smirked.

Ron and Hermione seemed a bit concerned for Harry's sanity themselves -- and not just over his statement that he was willing to just hand over twenty-thousand pounds to his idiot cousin.

"My god, he's been body-snatched! He's a pod-person!" Hermione whispered.

Not having had a Muggle upbringing, Ron missed the reference, but Harry, who had been close enough to hear her, flashed her a grin.

"No, Hermione, I just did a bit of growing up over the summer."

Ron nodded, belying the fact that he was still unclear on the exchange by saying, "Uh, yeah, you do look a little taller. ..."

"Come along, Neville!" barked a familiar voice. The trio turned to spy Neville and his gran coming from the vault door.

"Hey Neville! Hello Mrs. Longbottom!" Ron and Hermione chimed, having seen the pair a number of times over the summer. Harry, not wanting to be impolite, waved weakly and managed a "Hey ..."

"Ah! Good afternoon, Ron, Hermione!" Mrs. Longbottom nodded to them. "And Harry!" Her face grew as sympathetic as it could -- which is to say it looked a bit less ferocious. "How are you coping, my boy?" She of course knew about Harry's loss of his godfather.

Neville looked embarrassed, but also concerned. Ron and Hermione looked a bit nervous, afraid of how Harry might react to such scrutiny or to the reminder that he had anything he needed to "cope" with. Ron also looked like he wanted to stomp on the old woman's toe. Harry looked a bit uncomfortable, but not quite for the reason his friend's thought. The seeming discomfiture was actually concentration. His primary concern was keeping his emotions in check, not the way some old woman or his friends might be looking at him with pity. He was reaching a level of skill at Occlumency where he almost couldn't care less, really.

His voice was fairly inflectionless as he told her simply, "Fine, Ma'am. Thanks for asking. And you?"

"Eh, all right, other than a touch of lumbago. And this one certainly puts me through my paces," she added, gesturing with her head towards her grandson.

The trio shared a glance; it was far more likely that Neville's gran was putting him through his paces ...

Petunia coughed politely, and Mrs. Longbottom turned with just-as-polite interest, the pair of them waiting expectantly for an introduction.

"Er, Mrs. Longbottom, Neville, this is my aunt, Mrs. Petunia Dursley. Aunt Petunia, this is my schoolmate, Neville Longbottom, and his gran, Mrs. Longbottom."

Mrs. Longbottom seemed a bit surprised, perhaps even a bit alarmed, but offered a "how do you do" and her hand all the same, which Petunia took after a deep breath to bolster her courage. Harry, meanwhile, wondered just how much he and his Muggle relations were being discussed over at number twelve, and then squashed the thought. It wouldn't do to get angry over it, like the Harry of last summer would likely have done.

"So what brings all of you to Diagon Alley this fine day?" Mrs. Longbottom asked, clearly wanting to ask a few other questions as well, but thankfully refraining. But when the foursome seemed at a loss for an answer, she pressed on, on a track that none of them were prepared for. "Come to find a present for young Miss Weasley?"

"Present? For Ginny?" Ron asked, puzzled. "Nah, we just--" and then it hit him. His eyes grew wide. "Oh! Ginny's birthday!"

Harry's brow raised with interest, which pleased Petunia. If he liked this girl well enough, maybe it would give him a bit more get-up-and-go to have someone in particular to shop for in Diagon Alley. And it would give her a chance, in turn, to get a bit more involved in his life, if she helped him pick out something.

Hermione noted Harry's reaction as well, before she smacked Ron's arm. "You mean to tell me you haven't picked out a present yet??"

He scowled back. "I haven't seen you buy her anything!"

Hermione put her hands on her hips, in a gesture that reminded Harry all too well of Mrs. Weasley. "I bought her that portable CD player! You were there when I bought it! And you were supposed to pin down what Muggle music Ginny's liked best of what she's heard on the wireless, so you could buy her a CD or two!"

Ron's ears turned a Griffyndor shade of crimson. "Oh ... right ... Well, I know what she likes, she's sung some stuff with Bill and--" he stopped a moment, and a look of horror flashed across his face before he hurried on "--and, er, we still have some time! I can get something from the Virgin Megastore tomorrow morning!"

This time it was Mrs. Longbottom who wore the look of horror. "Young man!" Her mouth worked but no sound came out. She seemed unable to even pose the question on her mind, she was so outraged.

It didn't take much deduction for Hermione to guess what the elder woman was so upset about, though. "It's not a store that sells virgins! Or even things for virgins!" she explained, blushing furiously. "It's a store that sells music and books!"

Now Mrs. Longbottom looked perplexed. She glanced at Petunia, and Hermione wasn't sure if it was for confirmation or because she was all the more wary of the Muggle. "But why would someone call ... oh, never mind! Er, good to see you all again." She nodded a terse farewell and grabbed Neville by the arm, pulling him quickly towards the door, absentmindedly telling him to hurry along and muttering about Muggle nutters under her breath.

"See you all at the party!" Neville called over his shoulder.

"Party?" Ron and Harry asked, turning to Hermione for answers.

She stared back a moment, equally as baffled. "What? I have no idea what he's talking about! Do you expect me to know everything?"

"Yes!" they declared firmly.

"Oh, honestly!" she replied, but couldn't hide how pleased she was.

Petunia's smile bordered on a grin as they left the bank. She was glad to see that her nephew had managed to make two very good friends, despite all the misfortune in his life. If only it wasn't too much to hope that the he only had more friends, and not more misfortune, for the rest of his life