Author: amalin

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Voldemort's final defeat does not mean Harry Potter's troubles are over; far from it. In the aftermath of war, he returns to a Hogwarts that is fractured and divided, but this is no break that can be fixed with a spell. New owls, fading scars, surprising alliances-- and along the way, the hardest task of all, to live with it..

Author's Notes: An enormous thank you to Reena, who got me through this fic and all others, and kept me in fandom for the past six years.

Chapter One:

The trees lining one side of Grimmauld Place were in full bloom that summer. Less than two months before, the weather had been damp and dour on the best days, but May had brought whole weeks of sun, sluicing through the streets. Now, at the tail-end of July, the first rays of morning sifted through the flourishing trees, puddled in the gutters, and slipped through the windowpanes of number twelve, chasing out the night's shadows. Most of the house's inhabitants were asleep, so the only one who noticed the advent of dawn was a boy with tousled black hair and a lightning bolt scar, who was staring, eyes wide open, at the ceiling.

It was Harry Potter's birthday, and he couldn't sleep.

He had been eighteen years old for five hours now. Drowsy birdsong drifted through the open window, while the just-rising sun turned to gold the room's pale gray walls, as well as the inhabitants of the Muggle pictures pasted there. It was just the sort of muggy morning that, less than two months ago, Harry had never thought he would live to see again.

He was sleeping in Sirius's room, and in the morning light he could make out the single magical picture stuck to the wall: Peter had sidled out, as if he knew he wasn't wanted, but Remus was dozing on James's shoulder and Sirius was tickling him with a quill he had produced from one of his pockets. Despite the prickle of grief that reared even now at the sight of the boys, Harry grinned at the look on Sirius's face.

On the table beside Harry's bed lay a thick stack of newspapers, a good two thirds of which contained an article on him. Atop these was The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, which had been the first book on hand when Harry had grasped for one to shut up Ginny's singing birthday card: he could see it now, peeking out between the pages, but had no desire to play it again this early in the morning.

Next to the table, there was a chair draped with Harry's dress robes from the previous night's Order of Merlin ceremony, and beside them on the floor, the sizeable velvet case containing his medal. Mrs. Weasley had seized Ron's with the aim of putting it in Gringotts at once, while the Ministry was keeping Hermione's safe until she returned from Australia.

Harry wasn't sure what to do with his. He had a feeling that he had some negotiating to do with the Gringotts' goblins before he could return to his vault.

He had meant to go at once, but as the summer months wore on, memorials and funerals had consumed his days. Besides, as everyone kept reassuring him, there was time now. There was nothing but time.

None of that explained why he could not sleep, Harry knew, rolling over and staring once more at the ceiling. For nearly a year he had run on adrenaline and desperation, on and on through the forests, hunting for Horcruxes and hunted himself, and now, when he had only to sleep and wake up in the morning, eat breakfasts and cheer on the Cannons, the task seemed, at times, insurmountable. If Kingsley had only asked him to help track down the last Death Eaters . . . or perhaps to round up the Dementors still lingering in particularly dismal corners of London . . .

He finally dozed off watching Sirius poke his feather up James's nostrils, and when he woke again, the room was yellow-warm with sunlight and he could hear Ron clumping up the stairs to wake him for breakfast.



::



Harry had scarcely sat down at the kitchen table before the first owl swooped in, its talons clutching an acid green card that landed in Harry's lap and exploded into a fizzle of orange sparks that spelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY! The display was so explosive that the owl took off at once, its feathers singed, and the card's envelope flew clear across the room to hit Ron in the chest.

'George?' Harry guessed, eyeing the last few sparks with trepidation.

'No, some witch named Janice,' Ron said, examining the envelope. 'Probably a Weasley product, though, you reckon? Oh, look out, here comes another-- '

In the next half hour, twenty-six owls arrived, some laden with cards, others with packages. A wizard who called himself Gerald Trufflebloom had sent a self-portrait, and someone named Ingrid Ballywallis had shipped over a lopsided cake. Harry even received a sizeable box of chocolate Snitches from Romilda Vane, which Ron chucked hastily in the bin.

'I don't want any of this,' Harry said, gesturing at the pile of Acid Pops, Cockroach Clusters, and sparkling turquoise robes from a witch in Surrey who said they would offset his eyes. 'I don't know any of these people!'

'You'd think they would at least keep up with your favorite sweets,' Ron added, eye on the Acid Pops. 'I could do with a few nice chocolates.' He cast a longing gaze at the tin from Romilda, though clearly knew better than to touch them.

'But I don't want anything,' Harry insisted. 'I don't want presents from people I don't even know!'

'Sure? That Gerald looks to be a handsome fellow,' Ron snorted. He tossed the rolled-up Prophet towards Harry. 'Here, have the paper, at least. Could they have made your face any bigger?'

Harry winced; the headline story, HARRY POTTER TURNS EIGHTEEN IN WORLD FREE OF WAR, took up the entire area above the fold, and from the looks of it, continued on the next page. He firmly turned it facedown and began reading the story on the opposite side, which happened to be an advice column by Sylvia Saturn.

Ron was immersed in the Daily Prophet's morning crossword and Harry in the news section when the doorbell clanged and someone stumbled in, knocking over the troll-leg stand beside the door with a crash. For one stunned second, Harry almost called out to Tonks, before realizing it could not possibly be her.

'Sorry,' a voice called out, 'here, here, you take him-- '

Moments later, a tall woman glided down the narrow stone stairs into the basement kitchen, all traces of her daughter's clumsiness gone. 'Harry,' Andromeda Tonks said warmly. 'I'm so sorry. We meant to arrive earlier but Teddy made such a mess this morning that it took near an hour to tidy up.'

'I shouldn't worry, I'm sure they only just woke up,' someone said with amusement behind Andromeda-- someone familiar, and before Harry could even push his chair back, Ron was on his feet.

'Hermione!'

'Ron, Harry!' she beamed, coming into view with Teddy in her arms. Ron made an awkward rush toward her, only to find his way blocked by Andromeda, and then he was drawn up short by Teddy's presence. To Harry's grand amusement, he settled for patting her on the shoulder.

'I've got him now,' said Andromeda, scooping her grandson out of Hermione's grasp. Her arms free, Hermione flung them around Ron, who cleared his throat embarrassedly as Hermione moved to Harry and swept him into a hug as well.

'Oh, it's so good to be back,' Hermione exclaimed. 'Harry, happy birthday!'

'Thanks,' Harry said, grinning as Ron continued to hover near Hermione's shoulder. 'Welcome home. Though I thought you weren't coming over until just before the party?'

'It's already noon,' Hermione informed them, smothering a smile. 'Honestly, did you boys do nothing but sleep while I was gone?'

'We got our Order of Merlin medals,' Ron protested, flopping into a chair at last. 'And we went to two Chudley games.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'A worthwhile use of your time, I'm sure. Oh, here, Andromeda, I'll take Teddy, I've missed him.'

The older woman smiled. 'Would you? He's been quite the handful this morning. Actually, if you'll take him, I might have a walk around. It's been some time since I've got a good look at the place.'

As Andromeda left the kitchen, Hermione turned to the boys. 'Speaking of old haunts, we've letters from Hogwarts. They were waiting outside. Here, have a look.' One arm still clutching Teddy, she rummaged around in her bag with the other, producing three fat envelopes. Harry took one and slid his finger under the seal.

He read aloud:

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you of the official re-opening of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Due to the events of last year, you are invited to return for the completion of your N.E.W.T. level curriculum. Each House has been expanded to accommodate the additional students.

Term begins on 1 September. Please notify me of your decision no later than 15 August.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress

He looked up. Though Hermione had not yet opened her letter, she did not look surprised.

'I don't understand,' Harry said. When he thought of Hogwarts, he could see only the bloodstained rubble, whole staircases cracked down the middle, walls with enormous holes blasted through them. He felt as if someone had done a Freezing Charm on his insides. 'How can it re-open? It'll take years to rebuild, even with magic.'

'But it's regenerative, of course,' Hermione said.

Ron goggled. 'It's what?'

'Just as Hogwarts is prepared to defend itself in times of need, it's spelled to heal itself,' Hermione explained. By her tone, she considered this fact obvious. 'Of course, it needs assistance, but I imagine Professor McGonagall and the other teachers have been spending the summer doing just that. It was Helga Hufflepuff's biggest contribution to the building of Hogwarts. She was always very good at earth-related spells, it's what Hufflepuff is known for. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History.'

'Of course you did,' Ron muttered. After thinking for a moment, he added hopefully, 'No chance of Gringotts being regenerative too, is there?'

Hermione looked guilt-stricken. 'No. For the most part, goblin magic only extends to elements found in the earth, like metals and precious stones. To do anything else, they'd, well, they'd need wands.'

The three of them exchanged glances, recalling their less-than-friendly parting with Griphook. Hermione opened her mouth, and Harry knew she was about to ask if he had talked to Neville about the Sword of Gryffindor in her absence. Luckily, at that moment a steaming platter soared toward the table, Kreacher trotting behind it with another tray, this one bearing tea.

'Just in time, I'm starving,' Ron exclaimed. 'Oh, is that bacon? Excellent.'

'You haven't changed a bit,' Hermione said affectionately.

Harry, who was not hungry, absently took a piece of toast and dropped it onto his plate.

He had not, of course, talked to Neville; while he found it unbearable to do nothing all summer, it was equally unbearable to do the little tasks that were now all there were. Besides, he did not venture out of 12 Grimmauld Place and the Burrow very often. He and Ron had visited Diagon Alley the week before and nearly been mobbed by a crowd of witches.

'It's like a regular house here, now, Hermione,' Ron said around a mouthful of breakfast, at the same moment helping himself to the pan of bacon. 'Breakfast every day, and fresh curtains, and the sun's actually shining, it's like-- '

'Like Voldemort is dead?' Hermione finished.

'Right.'

Harry frowned down at the toast on his plate, only half-remembering putting it there. He jolted awake some nights from dreams of another Horcrux, or with the idea that he was lost somewhere in the forest, the war still going on. From the way Ron often woke by sitting bolt upright and looking around, and the way Hermione's wand leapt to her hand at any loud noise or sudden movement, Harry knew he wasn't alone.

A bell tolled in the distance and Teddy started to cry. Harry watched as his hair darkened from light brown to black, then into tufts of blue.

'Wish you could use Silencio on babies,' Ron grumbled, but when Hermione sent him a sharp look, he said, 'All right, fine, give him here.' To everyone's surprise, Ron had turned out to be Teddy's favorite. Sure enough, the minute he found himself in Ron's freckled arms, the crying stopped. 'As long as he doesn't spit up on me like last time.'

Harry snickered. 'You'd make a good father.'

'Yeah, how about I get through N.E.W.T.s first.'

Hermione's eyes immediately took on that dangerous light they knew all too well. 'N.E.W.T.s!' she exclaimed. 'I'd nearly forgot, I have to start revising right away! If we're going back for seventh year, they're only a year away, and I'm so behind!'

'But you made that brilliant bag of yours,' Ron argued. 'And you saved my life after I splinched myself, and you got us out of Luna's house safely, and you helped Harry with finding the Horcruxes and the Hallows and fighting the Death Eaters, and, all of it! You even memory charmed your parents! That should count for something, shouldn't it?'

'Yes, yes, but I've forgot the verdict of Elfrida Clagg's thirteenth ruling on states of Being! And I haven't thought about Arithmancy in months!'

Ron's mouth twitched. 'I have a feeling Vector will understand.'

It was only the shock of Ron remembering the Arithmancy professor's name that halted Hermione's panic.

'Are we, then?' Harry said before she could regain her momentum. He still felt as if he had a block of ice in his stomach. 'Going back?'

'I am, of course,' Hermione answered at once. 'I've done a lot of thinking while on holiday, and I'd like to go into a career with the Ministry. My main interest is now in prison reform, though of course I think the treatment of anyone who isn't a wand-carrier is appalling. Regardless, I'm convinced that the best route to reform is to push for it from the inside, and to work at the Ministry, I'll need all the N.E.W.T.s I can get.'

'Suppose I'll go back, too,' Ron said in a glum voice, quite obviously torn between the spending the year with Hermione and not having to return to lessons. 'Anyway, Mum'll make me, I can just hear her now.'

'Well, a good education is nothing to sneer at,' Hermione said, ignoring the look Ron gave her. 'Harry, what about you?'

He frowned. 'I suppose I should. I talked to Gawain Robards last night. He's the head of the Auror office, and he mentioned becoming an Auror. He said I'd be an automatic choice if I came back with the required N.E.W.T.s.'

'But Harry, that's fantastic!' Hermione exclaimed. 'Of course you should be an Auror!'

'I'd like to be,' Harry mumbled. Robards had seemed an amiable man, with hair almost as helpless as Harry's own. 'We need the likes of you,' he'd said.

Now, Harry shrugged. 'I don't know, Hermione. It doesn't feel right. It just isn't the same-- '

'Well, it won't be the same,' Hermione interrupted briskly. 'That much is obvious. Even with an extra year present, the number of students missing will be dreadful. And we can't look at Hogwarts quite the same, not after what happened there, can we? It will take some adjusting, that's been a fact from the start. I don't think, however, that any of this is good reason to avoid it, not when we all need N.E.W.T.s to move on with our careers.'

'Careers?' Ron echoed. 'You're the only one with a, a career in mind!'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Of course, you'd rather watch Quidditch every day, would you? Well, Harry's got a career.'

'I didn't say that,' Harry muttered. 'Besides, Ron, Robards mentioned you. Said he'd take all of us if we got the required N.E.W.T.s. You, too, Hermione.'

'Well, being an Auror certainly isn't the only path to success in the Ministry,' Hermione hmph-ed. 'Regardless, that settles it, doesn't it? Oh, please, Harry, you must come back with us! I don't think I could bear Hogwarts without you.'

'And Hermione and I would kill each other in about a week,' Ron put in, grinning. In his lap, Teddy had fallen asleep, hair halfway between blue and black. 'Come on, we need you, mate.'

Harry's mind had been occupied with the dismal thought of Ron and Hermione cozied up together all over Hogwarts with no room for him, but now he thought of living with Hermione in the tent while Ron was absent, and remembered how much he had missed Ron's presence. He gave a reluctant grin back. 'I do have to find a new place. And I suppose it's only a year.'

'Perfect,' Hermione cried, flinging her arms around him again. 'Well, we ought to write back to Professor McGonagall straightaway. And we'll need our books, of course.'

'I'll need a lot more than that,' Harry muttered, recalling with a sinking feeling that he had left most of his school things at Privet Drive before departing. Returning to Hogwarts after the war had been the furthest thing from his mind; he had barely dared to hope that he would survive.

'We'll go next week,' Hermione announced with an air of finality. 'There's a book I have to ask at Flourish & Blotts about, in any case. I started to read it in Australia but then I had to return it to the library. It was called Bars and Barriers: Prison Reform from Bedlam to Azkaban-- '

'You had to have done something in Australia besides read books,' Ron said doubtfully.

Hermione sniffed. 'Of course I did. We went to the beach and out sightseeing. I went out by myself a lot, actually. There's a lovely open-air wizard's market near where my parents were living. I asked them to come but they didn't want to go.'

'How are they?' asked Harry. 'They were happy to see you?'

'Well, yes, I suppose,' Hermione said. 'They were, well, angry at first, but obviously they were glad that I was alive and that I'd come and found them.'

'Angry?' Ron echoed, looking quite angry himself on Hermione's behalf. 'Why?'

'Well, how would you feel if someone rearranged your memories without asking you first?' Hermione said. She looked down and her hair hid whatever emotion crossed her face. 'Without any way to fight back or tell them to stop, and when it was your own daughter who wanted you to forget her and move halfway around the world . . .'

'Oh,' said Ron, one arm still absently curled around Teddy, 'yeah, maybe that, that makes sense.'

'They were just shocked.' Hermione shrugged. 'I don't think they ever realized just how much you can do with magic, how really powerful and scary it can be.'

The three of them were silent for a minute. Harry did not know what his two best friends were thinking, but he would guess that it had something to do with Voldemort. He swallowed; there was a strange feeling in his stomach, a small ache, like he was hollowed out.

After the battle had ended, he had slept for sixteen hours, and when he'd woken he felt empty somehow. He had tried to ignore the feeling, push it away, but at odd times, like when accepting his Order of Merlin the night before, it came back.

'Well, what have the two of you been doing?' Hermione asked at last, her voice forced and bright. 'Surely not just Quidditch, Ron?'

'We hung Phineas's portrait back up. Harry's been looking for a flat since Andromeda's taking the house to raise Teddy in.'

'She wants me to stay here too,' Harry added, for Hermione looked affronted. 'But I'd rather live somewhere else. Somewhere small in London.'

'Sirius did give his house to you,' Hermione said, her tone gently probing. 'Are you sure you want to give it up? You don't have to give your house to Teddy just because he hasn't got-- '

'I want to,' Harry said forcefully. 'It's not because of his parents anyway, it isn't.'

Hermione was still looking at him with her eyebrows drawn together in that anxious way of hers, like a caricature of herself, and he shrugged.

'I'm going to see if Andromeda wants any breakfast,' Harry said, pushing back his chair with a clatter. He could feel both Hermione's and Ron's eyes on him as he slipped out of the kitchen and up the stairs, but he didn't turn around.

As he crossed through the front hall, Mrs. Black's portrait was silent, the curtains drawn.

Harry tiptoed past anyway.

Number twelve Grimmauld Place had come alive again; Kreacher had even gone so far as to polish the plaques of house-elf heads until they gleamed in the guttering light. More often than not, Harry found a steaming cup of tea waiting for him when he ventured into the kitchen, and he scarcely had to think of a warm bath before Kreacher had drawn it for him. This was nothing in comparison to Andromeda, however; the House of Black had taken to her immediately, like a wand returned to its master.

Harry found her up in the drawing room, where the light seeped through the windows and he could hear the bells from a cathedral nearby. She was dressed like a Muggle, in jeans and an old jumper, and she made a strange picture sitting there beside the peeling wallpaper, a cigarette in hand.

'To think I used to hate this house,' she said when she saw him, tapping ash into what he was sure used to be a family heirloom.

'You don't hate it now?'

Andromeda shrugged; she stroked the arm of her rocking chair without thinking. 'I'm one of the only Blacks left. I think it's figured that out. We're growing on each other.'

Harry eyed the chair, whose small creaks sound almost like purring. 'If you say so.'

'I hope you don't mind,' Andromeda said, gesturing to her cigarette. 'It's a newly acquired habit. Ted's fault, really. I used to scold him for it, so he had packs hidden all over the house. I've been finding them everywhere. I took it up and now I can't quit. Strange justice, I suppose.'

Harry shrugged. In the shadows sometimes, Andromeda still looked like Bellatrix, but here she was in a swathe of cold sunshine and she only looked age-lined, old. 'Kreacher's made breakfast, do you want some?'

'I'll be down in a moment. Let me finish my cigarette. Bad for babies, you know.' She took a drag and looked out through the windowpanes, now gleaming from Kreacher's attentions. 'I can't believe I'm raising another child. Alone, too.'

From the other room, Harry could hear Teddy gurgling. He couldn't imagine Remus on a broom, and anyone who met Tonks knew she was dead clumsy on her best days. Still, when Teddy was old enough to walk, Harry planned to take him to as many Quidditch matches as Andromeda would allow.

'Not really alone,' he told her.

She gave him a brief smile as she stubbed out her cigarette and stood, palms smoothing over her thighs. 'Thank you, Harry. For the house, too.'

'I'm happier without it,' Harry said. 'I don't need it. And it's your house by right, you're just as much of a Black as any of them.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah,' Harry said. 'Besides, Sirius would have approved. He always said you were his favorite cousin.'

'Did he?' Andromeda murmured. 'He never told me that.' She tucked her arm around his; he caught a flash of Bellatrix in her profile, and then she smiled. 'All right, let's go eat.'



::



Halfway through the afternoon, the remaining guests began to arrive for what Mrs. Weasley had promised would be a modest party. She was the first, with Ginny in tow, but Harry barely had a minute to greet them before Hagrid appeared in the door, sporting his great coat even in the summer heat.

'Happy birthday, Harry!' he exclaimed, knocking Harry's breath out of him with one clap on the back. 'Go' yeh somethin' special. Though' yeh migh' need one, headin' back ter Hogwarts an' all.'

'News travels fast,' Harry said ruefully, glancing at Hermione.

'Well, o' course we all wan' ter see yeh back, Harry,' Hagrid boomed, 'an' you, Hermione, an' Ron too! Professor McGonagall told me straightaway.'

With that, he began to rummage through his coat's many pockets, in the process pulling out four keys, a suspiciously lumpy package wrapped in brown paper, a collection of rock cakes that looked as if they'd been in there since Christmas, a chipped old teapot, and a handful of owl treats. After dumping several balls of twine and a dirty pamphlet titled Fun with Fertilizers on the table, he finally pulled out a small brown owl; blinking, it gave a soft little hoot.

'He's no Hedwig but yeh don' see the likes o' her every day,' Hagrid muttered, dumping the little owl on the table in the foyer and turning around to beam at Harry. 'Well? Do yeh like 'im?'

'He's-- he's great, Hagrid,' Harry said, grinning back.

'Well, seein' as I got yeh Hedwig, an' I was with yeh when she was hit-- dead shame, tha' was, good owl-- anyway, I knew yeh needed one.' And he began putting the many contents of his coat back into his pockets, then stopped and fished something else out. 'Oh, come ter think o' it, he brough' this fer yeh, this morning.'

Harry picked up the small package. Taped on the front was a card covered with posies, the likes of which he had seen Aunt Petunia using for as long as he could remember. Inside were the words:

Now you are of age. Happy birthday and good-bye.

Beneath them, Dudley had scrawled in the cursive of an eight year old, Happy birthday. From Dudley.

The package contained a polyester tie-- a considerable step up, for the Dursleys-- and half a melted chocolate bar, undoubtedly Dudley's contribution.

'Smart owl,' a deep voice said as someone clapped Harry on the shoulder. He looked up to see Bill Weasley, Fleur at his side. 'Happy birthday, Harry!'

'Hey, thanks,' Harry said, grinning. 'I didn't see you come in.'

'Yeah, Luna and Dean came with us, they're just outside,' Bill said. 'Here, let's go into the kitchen. You can open our present there.'

He had a new set of dress robes from Bill and Fleur, a handful of other birthday cards, and an enormous tin of homemade treacle tart from Mrs. Weasley. Luna had drawn him a card that depicted him, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Dean and Luna herself, all smiling and riding on the back of what might have been a sleeping dragon or a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Neville appeared to be eating a Dirigible Plum.

Harry laughed.

He also received an envelope from Mrs. Creevey, holding a letter that she seemed to have cried on more than once and a handful of glossy photographs. Harry did not want to look at them, but he did anyway: they were of him, and his friends, and other people from Gryffindor, people whose names he didn't know but thought he should. He looked at them until he felt sick, because he realized that it had been two months and he still didn't know if Parvati Patil was alive or dead.

'Living,' Ron said vaguely when Harry leaned over to ask. 'Staying with Lavender, I think. Sad, isn't it? About Lavender?'

'Yeah,' Harry said. He knew about Lavender, at least: he still remembered her being carried out of Hogwarts by one of the centaurs, her body bloody from Fenrir Greyback's teeth. 'Have you seen her?'

Ron glanced down at his hands, big and freckled, dirt under the nails. 'I've been meaning to go,' he muttered. 'I just haven't got around to it, you know, things have been hectic, haven't they?'

'Sure,' said Harry. He did not think he sounded all that convincing, but Mrs. Weasley arrived in the doorway with the cake then, and there was no more time for dwelling on Lavender or how things might have been.

Near the end of the party, Neville arrived, the Sword of Gryffindor slung over his shoulder like it was any old object. Harry went down to let him in and wisely led Neville into the empty basement kitchen instead of the chaotic room upstairs.

'I've been meaning to bring it round,' Neville said, dumping the sword on the kitchen table with a clatter.

'It's not mine.'

'But Hermione said Dumbledore gave it to you,' Neville frowned. War hero he might have been, but his belief in Hermione Granger's ability to be right was absolute. 'It was in his will, she said.'

'I know, but it belongs to the goblins.' Harry sighed: he had received a ten-page letter from Hermione during her time in Australia, her cramped scribble arguing fervently that he needed to return the sword at once. 'I told Griphook-- he's a goblin-- I told him he could have it. I think I ought to give it over willingly.'

Neville ran a hand through his hair. 'But the next time a Gryffindor in need puts on the Sorting Hat, won't it just disappear again?'

Harry looked at the glittering rubies in the sword's hilt, out of place on the crumb-covered table in the dingy sunlight. He thought of its weight in his hand for the first time, when he was only twelve years old, face-to-face with a dead boy and his pet monster. He felt ancient.

'Let's hope that's a long time from now,' he said. 'Come on upstairs, there's still cake.'

'All right. Happy birthday, by the way.'

Harry shared a grin with him. 'You, too. Hey, are you going back to Hogwarts?'

'Would my gran have it any way else?' Neville shrugged as they climbed the stairs. 'Dunno what else I'd do, so why not. You?'

'Hermione says we've got to go,' Harry agreed. 'Besides, I want to be an Auror, and you need five N.E.W.T.s for that.'

'An Auror, really? I never thought of it, but Gran thinks I ought to try. We'll see how I do on N.E.W.T.s, I suppose.' At the doorway, Neville shook his head in amusement. 'You know, it's the oddest thing, being famous. Professor Slughorn keeps owling me. He won't give up. Seems he wants me back in his Slug Club, after all.'

Harry laughed. 'Caught on at last, has he?'

Neville shrugged. His hair was getting long, and he had a few scars remaining, ones no magic would quite take away. They all had them. 'Yeah,' Neville said. 'I suppose so.'



::



After the cake had been demolished, a significant amount of it to reappear in Teddy's hair, Fleur cleared her throat and declared, 'Zees ees a very good time for us to make our announcement! Bill and I are pleased to tell you zat we are pregnant!'

'We?' Bill said indignantly.

'I 'ave told you, 'aving a child ees a joint endeavor,' Fleur sniffed. 'We are doing zis togezzer! As promised, if ze child ees a boy, we will be naming 'im Frederick-- '

'Frederick?' George echoed.

'-- and if ze child ees a girl, she will be named Victoire.'

'Ooh, that's pretty,' Hermione exclaimed. 'There was a Victoire who once served on the International Confederation of Wizards, did you know? In the eighteenth century. I read about it in Famous Witches of the Wizarding World.'

Fleur sniffed. 'Zat was my muzzer's great great great aunt.'

At Harry's side, Ginny snickered and leaned against him, a soft pressure against his arm. He put his hand on her back and it felt unfamiliar, but she smiled up at him and everything was warm, then, surrounded by friends who had lived and Ginny's skin hot against his palm. He did not feel empty or hollow at all.

The party went on so late that only Harry's head drooping onto the table brought it to a close as Mrs. Weasley leapt to her feet, exclaiming, 'The poor boy's exhausted, he should rest, it's late and Arthur, you've a big day tomorrow . . .'

Harry bore her fussing patiently; even now, she thought of him as fragile, someone who needed to rest, always that word, rest. She hurried most of the guests out the door, even Ginny, who made a truly terrible face behind her mother's back. Andromeda was the last to leave, Teddy bundled up in her arms, and finally only Harry, Ron and Hermione were left.

'Well, happy birthday, mate,' Ron said, pounding him on the back. 'If nobody minds, I'll just nip into the kitchen, see if Kreacher has any leftovers of that cake . . .'

Hermione squeezed Harry's shoulder affectionately. 'Did you have a good birthday?'

Yeah,' Harry said, 'yeah, it was great.'

On his way to bed, when he splashed water on his face in the upstairs toilet, the tap tried to snap at his fingers and he snatched them away in shock. Behind his mirror reflection, he could see the window's thick panes of glass, gleaming from Kreacher's attentions. The tub stood on feet so clawed they could rip out someone's heart.

It was no place to raise a baby. Harry looked at the tub again, the way the tile was chipping, the claw feet, and he thought of Fenrir Greyback, and then of Remus, as he walked down the hall.

Wide awake, he gazed at the picture of the Marauders until the shadows grew too dark to see.



::



It was still early when Harry arrived in Diagon Alley the Friday next, though when he pushed open the silver doors of Gringotts, its vast hall was bustling. There was no sign that a dragon had broken through from underground only months before, and business, if anything, seemed to be up; goblins hurried to and fro across the lobby with wizards and witches trailing in their wake.

Harry thought about entering Gringotts for the first time, and the way his mouth had dropped open at the sight. He had never even heard of a goblin, much less a Wizarding bank, and the lobby of Gringotts had bowled him over.

As if on cue, Harry looked down to find Griphook standing beside him.

'Well,' said Griphook, a speculative and rather unpleasant smile twisting his face as he gazed up at Harry. 'We meet again, Harry Potter. I was wondering when you would appear.'

Harry pressed at his hair nervously. 'Yeah, I've been meaning to come and see you.'

Griphook waited.

'Er,' said Harry. 'Look, there was a lot of damage to Gringotts that we honestly didn't mean to cause-- '

The goblin nodded, unimpressed. 'At least twelve vaults were heavily damaged, with minor damage to thirty others. The reconstruction to the tunnels was substantial, not to mention the cost of the dragon you stole, and the value of the treasure taken.'

Harry opened his mouth and shut it again. While he had never flaunted or misused the money his parents left for him, he had always taken it for granted. Sirius, too, had left him a good deal, but Harry wasn't sure it would pay for a dragon, much less for Gringotts.

'I,' he muttered. 'The Weasleys-- Ron, I mean-- and Hermione, they shouldn't have to pay. I'll take care of it. Whatever I need to do.'

'Whatever you need to do,' Griphook repeated, in a slow tone that Harry didn't like. 'You have already broken one promise you made to a goblin, Harry Potter, and here you are offering another? Your word is as good as leprechaun gold to me.'

'Those were different circumstances,' Harry argued. 'I keep my promises. I swear I'll pay Gringotts back.'

Griphook stared at him for a long minute. Across the grand lobby, Harry heard several people gasping his name and he was sure they were pointing, but he paid them no mind. Finally, Griphook's mouth twisted into a small, savage grin.

'The sword will be repayment enough.' His eyes glittered. 'That is, if you do plan to uphold the deal you have already broken once.'

'Of course I do,' Harry exclaimed. He pulled the sword from Hermione's bag, lent to him for this occasion, and handed it to Griphook. 'I always intended to give this to you.'

Griphook stroked the blade's handle with his long fingers, the rubies glittering in his grasp. 'You intended for me to believe you would give it to me at once, when your true plan was to wait until it served your purposes to do so,' he corrected. 'To some, there is no difference, but I do not think you are one of those wizards, Harry Potter. The kind who, in the end, care not what happens to others, as long as it is on behalf of the greater good . . .'

Harry swallowed. 'Hermione said that the goblins gave the sword to Godric as a gift.'

'The goblins had little choice, once Godric Gryffindor took the blade from Ragnuk the First,' Griphook said softly. 'In Gryffindor's time, he was well-respected, even among our kind. He was allowed to keep it, as a gift of sorts. They believed he would return it when he was through.'

Harry frowned. 'He probably just wanted to make sure that Hogwarts was protected.'

'The arrogance of wand-carriers!' Griphook hissed. 'Assuming that they know best how all things can be used, even the magic which they do not possess! The enslavement of house-elves . . . thieving goblin-made treasure . . .'

Harry pressed at his hair again. 'Yeah,' he said at last. He was thinking of Godric, but for some reason, his dad's was the face that kept swimming before him. 'Yeah, sometimes we can be a little arrogant.'

To his surprise, Griphook let out a sharp gritty laugh, like rocks scraping together. 'You are an interesting wizard, Harry Potter,' he said. 'You ought to know that we found Travers.'

'Who?'

'Why, you told him to hide,' Griphook said slyly. 'Do you not remember? On the day we broke into Gringotts, there was a Dark wizard you put under the Imperius curse, and when he was no longer useful to you, I believe you commanded him to hide.'

Harry could barely croak out, 'What happened to him?'

'Dead, of course,' said Griphook. He was smiling, a bloodthirsty little smirk. 'We were distracted by your escape, and the repairs to the nearby vaults took over a month. By the time we searched for him, he was little more than skin and bones, the worms had taken him.' He raised his long, tapered fingers and twisted his beard between them. 'What was that phrase, again? Oh, yes, for a greater good . . .'

'I'm going to be sick,' Harry said, and tottered out into the sunlit Diagon Alley without a single Galleon in his pocket. By the time he had recovered enough to re-enter Gringotts, Griphook was nowhere to be seen, and the sword had vanished with him.

Harry went with another goblin to retrieve his money and left the bank quietly.

Diagon Alley was bustling again, the Ministry's UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE posters replaced overnight by ads for new broomsticks, the latest robes. Ollivander's was still closed, though the lights were on; Harry imagined the strange old man inside his premises, working silent and alone to re-open. The only visible sign remaining from the war was Florean Fortescue's old shop; all the windows were broken, and on one of the boards nailed across the door, he saw hasty graffiti of a skull and the words-- probably scrawled by a different person-- Trust Harry Potter.

'Look!' someone screamed as Harry was crossing the street. 'Look, that's Harry Potter! Hey, Harry! Harry, over here!'

Not for the first time, Harry wished he had brought his Invisiblity Cloak along, despite Hermione's admonitions that it was not to be used lightly. Ducking his head, he gave thanks for the close proximity of the neon window display of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and dashed for the door.

Stumbling inside, Harry almost tripped over Ginny, Ron and George, standing and talking by a display of funny hats. At his clumsy entrance, Ginny glanced over at Harry and grinned.

Harry grinned back: he hadn't seen Ginny since his birthday, and with all the guests, they hadn't been able to snatch a moment alone together. Even now, Mrs. Weasley was watching them, and the instant she realized they were staring at one another, she said loudly, 'Ginny, come over here and look at this!'

Ginny shot Ron a filthy look and disappeared behind a large display of Shield Cloaks to see what her mother was pointing at. At the beginning of the summer, Mrs. Weasley had stumbled across Ron and Hermione kissing passionately in Ron's bedroom and henceforth kept a much stronger eye out for trouble.

It made for quite the interesting month, as Ginny was nothing if not keen on flaunting her mother's decrees. This resulted in a lot of kissing in closets and beside beds instead of in them, and once Ginny exasperatedly joked that she might as well Polyjuice into Hermione just to get him alone. At one point they'd been ensconced in a broom cupboard with his hands up her shirt, when Mrs. Weasley had given up calling their names and begun opening doors at random. Harry Apparated downstairs and Ginny made up an excuse about looking for Crookshanks, though not much could explain how short of breath she was. It was about as far as they had got, and from what it looked like, they weren't about to get any further.

'All right, mate?' Ron said, and Harry realized he was flushing at the memory of Ginny, body warm and pliant against his.

'Sure,' he said quickly, and to distract them both he plunged his hand into a display of small ivory candies, one of which bit him hard enough to draw blood. 'Ow, what the hell are those?'

'Candy fangs,' Ron said; he looked proud. 'They bite if you aren't careful. Good, eh? It was my idea, I got it from the basilisk. George said it was brilliant.'

'Yeah,' Harry said, nursing his stung finger. 'Sounds it.'

'So did you give up the sword?' Ron continued. 'Hermione said you would.'

Harry nodded; he did not feel much like discussing it. 'Yeah, I did. Though Neville says it'll probably just pop out of the hat if someone needs it, but don't tell Hermione that. Hey, did you hear that Neville's going back to Hogwarts too?'

Ron looked cheered by this and gingerly popped one of the candy fangs in his mouth. 'Seamus too, I think. I suppose it won't be too bad. Lav's not going, though.'

'What?'

'I went to see her yesterday,' Ron shrugged. 'Should have gone before, really. She said no one's come to see her but Parvati.'

A prickle of guilt started in Harry's stomach, though he had never been close with Lavender. 'How was it?'

'Really awful,' Ron said truthfully. He wiped his mouth with a shudder. 'The bite isn't even that bad, it's only the bottom part of her face, you know. But she broke her back in the fall. I didn't-- I didn't know it would be like that.'

Harry hadn't either.

The rest of their shopping went by without a hitch, and by the time they arrived back at the Burrow, they were too exhausted to make the last Apparition to 12 Grimmauld Place. Ron turned on a Quidditch match on the wireless while Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen, reminding Harry suddenly of Kreacher at his most attentive, multiple pots of food and chopping knives at his command. 'It smells great, Mrs. Weasley,' he said, and she came right over to him and gave him a fond kiss on the forehead. It had been months, and still people hugged one another too long before leaving, or urgently whispered, 'Keep safe,' before realizing there was no longer the same danger.

Harry glanced around the kitchen: the nine-handed clock was working again, and everyone's hand was set at Home or Work except for one, which pointed steadfastly at Deceased. He noticed that Mrs. Weasley had hung the clock half in shadow.

'How's the game?' Mr. Weasley asked cheerily when he came stomping in the door after work, Percy half a step behind him. He had gray hair at his temples, now, fine lines of stress around his mouth.

'Brilliant,' said Harry.

As they ate, neither he nor Ron mentioned going hungry in the woods, with only wild mushrooms for food. Harry had three helpings of Mrs. Weasley's steak and kidney pie. Ron had five.



::



The end of August turned scorching, and in the heatwave, the days sped by. Their last evening arrived in a bustle of preparing their trunks and scrambling to clean, and before he knew it, Harry was sitting outside the Burrow with Hermione, watching the sun go down. Everything drifted quietly: the threadbare sheets drying over the garden like sails; Crookshanks stealing around the hedges after a gnome; Celestina Warbeck warbling, oh, come and stir my cauldron; birds rising from the trees.

'Hogwarts tomorrow,' Harry said.

Hermione patted him on the knee; they were all subdued about the return, even her, though she had let out a small exclamation of pleasure upon receiving her Head Girl badge. 'It'll be all right, Harry. I know it won't be the same, but no one expects it to be like before the war.'

'Easy for you to say. Everyone's forgetting.'

'No they aren't,' Hermione insisted. 'We aren't. Mum keeps ringing me, but by the time I answer, she's forgot what she wanted to ask. Sometimes I wake up and I think Ron's arm around me is somebody attacking, and I shove him off before I can wake up properly, which makes him start fighting because he thinks I'm an attacker. Have you seen how many casseroles Molly sends Andromeda?'

'I don't-- casseroles?'

'Bellatrix,' said Hermione.

Harry frowned at his knees.

'No one is going to forget,' Hermione continued. 'Not those of us who were there. Nineteen years from now, thirty-two, sixty if we live that long. We'll still remember. But we can't stay there. It doesn't do any good for anybody, least of all the dead.'

'I know,' Harry admitted. 'Every time I see Teddy, he looks older. By the time I'm comfortable holding him, he'll be too big for it.'

'He can sit on your lap,' Hermione teased.

Ron, who had wandered out onto the stoop behind them, stood there with his hands in his pockets, casting an obscenely long shadow across the garden.

'I just don't know what to do,' Harry said. 'We're going back to Hogwarts, and it'll just be-- Charms and Quidditch and-- '

'It's a little scary, isn't it?' Hermione said. She linked her arm in his.

'What,' said Ron, 'Quidditch?'

Hermione smiled. 'For me, yes, but that's not what I meant. We were living with one purpose for so long. Now anything could happen. It's a good thing, but it's harder.'

'Yeah,' Harry said, 'maybe.'

'Well, we're with you whatever happens, mate.'

'Yeah.' Harry looked up at Ron in the dusk and gave him a grateful grin. 'I know.'



::



King's Cross station was bustling that warm September morning, and with a delayed start from the Burrow, there was no time to casually lean through the barrier; Harry raced through after Ginny, who had an armful of snarling Crookshanks and did not look happy about it.

As the steam from the train billowed over Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Harry glanced around to see a few familiar faces: Dean Thomas was already on the train, waving, with Luna Lovegood beside him, and down the platform, Neville's grandmother was lecturing him about something or other. Harry's friends were not the only ones who had noticed him, however. As he passed, more than one cluster of students stopped their conversations altogether, some outright pointing. Harry was sure he heard one mother exclaim, 'Well, I feel better now, you're sure to be safe with Harry Potter still at Hogwarts!' A small girl who was surely someone's sister, still too young to be a first year, stared at Harry with her mouth hanging open.

'Are you famous or something?' Ginny said, rolling her eyes. 'Honestly, you'd think you were one of Luna's Snorkacks for the way they're staring.'

'Oh, look who's talking,' Ron snickered. 'I seem to remember you staring quite a bit before you'd met Harry.'

Ginny flushed. 'That was different. Come on, Harry, let's go find a compartment.'

'Be careful!' Mrs. Weasley shouted after them, giving Harry one last squeeze around the shoulders. 'Ginny, owl us straightaway when you get to Hogwarts!'

Ginny did not bother responding, instead muttering to Harry, 'I'll make Ron do it, he is Head Boy after all.'

They boarded the train together, waving to Ron and Hermione, who disappeared towards the front. Ginny took Harry's hand the minute they were out of Mrs. Weasley's sight and pulled him towards the end of the train and into an empty compartment.

The Hogwarts Express was hissing steam and all over the platform, families were calling out good-byes and last minute advice, but somehow everything seemed too quiet. After their frantic arrival and the bustle of boarding, not to mention a summer of hurried encounters, it was strange to be sitting across from Ginny in an empty compartment, and from the way she was fidgeting, Ginny seemed to find it strange too.

The train's last whistle sounded, and Ginny said in the following silence, 'Oh, this is stupid.' She gave Harry an impish smile, stood up, and plopped down on his lap.

Harry said, 'What are you doing?'

She did not answer, probably because this was a stupid question.

Ginny was wearing a thin sundress and the way she was straddling his lap, there was only the fabric of his hand-me-down jeans and the crotch of her knickers between them. He slid a tentative hand over her thigh, thumb tickling the crease where her hip jutted: he thought he felt lace against the pad of his thumb and his breath hitched.

'Harry,' she whispered; she smelled like soap and clean laundry and the flowery scent of her shampoo. At once-- he could only feel relieved-- it was easy again, and he was kissing her, hands on her hips, her red hair falling down around them--

The compartment door crashed open.

Ginny toppled off Harry's lap and barely managed to keep herself from falling onto floor. Dean stood in the doorway, looking a mixture of embarrassed and annoyed.

'There you are,' Luna said absently behind him. 'We thought you might not be coming back.'

'Hi, Luna,' Ginny said, smoothing her dress over her knees as she settled back onto a seat. She shot Dean a far less friendly look. 'Hey, Dean.'

She was still blushing several moments later, while Luna talked at length about wrackspurts and their extraordinary properties, which were yet unproven as none had ever been caught. For his part, Dean busied himself with a football magazine, avoiding Harry's gaze.

At last, Ron came in and collapsed on the seat beside Harry. 'I tell you, these first years,' he said. 'Twitchy little buggers, I swear they've all got a thousand of George's jokes in their pockets. I ought to give them all detention now.'

Hermione slid open the compartment door, carrying a towering stack of Cauldron Cakes and several packages of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. 'You can't give preemptive detention, Ronald,' she said. 'Honestly, did you learn nothing as a Prefect?'

'I learned how many kinds of foam are in the Prefects' bathroom,' Ron offered, though his speech was somewhat garbled from the handful of Every Flavor beans he'd jammed in his mouth. 'Eurgh, I think that was bratwurst. Here, Harry, take some.'

Harry absently took a handful of them as he listened to Luna chatter. She was now talking about Freshwater Plimpies, or was it a vacation she had taken with her mother to seek them out? He felt so tired all of the sudden, like swimming in water with all his clothes on. And he had the sneaking suspicion that what he thought was peppermint was actually mashed potato.

Harry shut his eyes, the roar of his friends' voices around him. It was only for a minute. And perhaps everyone had a point, perhaps he really did need to rest . . .

When he woke again, it was night, the lights of the Hogsmeade station blinding them through the window. Harry rubbed his eyes. If he squinted, he thought he could see the thestrals, tossing their skeletal heads as they waited for passengers. He wondered how many students could see them now.



::



It wasn't until Harry was seated at the Gryffindor table that evening that he realized that Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Aside from the previous year, when Harry had not returned, there had never been a year when Malfoy had not sought him out on the train.

He was about to turn around and look for the Slytherin when Hermione exclaimed, 'Shh, the Sorting's about to begin!'

Flitwick, who had apparently been appointed Deputy Headmaster, tottered up to the stool with the Sorting Hat in hand; the Hat, while still intact, was charred from Voldemort's fire and as it had already been dirty and patched, it looked very much the worse for wear. Meanwhile, Flitwick was so short that he had to use a charm to levitate the Hat onto the stool. This done, he stood back and beamed, and a moment later, the Hat's brim split open and it began to sing.

Oh, you may have seen a lot of hats
But there's no hat quite like me,
I look deep inside your head
And decide where you should be!

Ever since children came to learn
With good Hogwarts to guide them,
The founders split them into four
And chose me to divide them.

Good Hufflepuff took those who were
Most loyal, just, and fair;
Her House was home to any
Who, hard-working, toiled there;

While Ravenclaw, who valued wit,
Chose the brightest and the best;
To her went those sharpest in mind
The smart, the cleverest.

Now, Gryffindor favored the brave
The mighty and the true.
He chose the proud, the strong of heart
To learn the things he knew.

And Slytherin, last of the lot
Filled his House with great ambition;
The cunning and the pure of blood
Were the ones to gain admission.

And so the Houses lived and learned
Both quartered and yet whole,
But peace turned stale, friendships were lost
Fear and fury took their toll,

Friend turned to foe, the school was split
They dueled instead of learned:
Differences turned to blows
And old Slytherin was spurned.

One early morn, he left the school
And ever since that break
The fighting calmed, but split we stayed.
We have not learned from their mistake.

Beware the dangers of neglect
Exclusion and disdain;
Divided, Hogwarts still could fall
And my work will be in vain--

For I am here to Sort you
But I worry that it's wrong,
For I'm to split you, not unite you
Now let's see where you belong.

There was silence in the Great Hall, then a smattering of applause. 'Blimey,' said Ron. 'You'd think it'd be happy that You-Know-Who was defeated, wouldn't you?'

Harry shrugged. 'Maybe the Hat's confused. Voldemort did almost incinerate it, right?'

'Be quiet!' Hermione hissed. 'I want to listen!'

Ron rolled his eyes. 'You'd think she's never seen a Sorting before.'

But up near the dais, Flitwick squeaked, 'Abercrombie, Melania!' and scarcely did the tiny girl clamber onto the stool before the Sorting Hat shouted, 'GRYFFINDOR!' All around Harry, the students erupted in cheers; Harry could see Euan Abercrombie several chairs away, pounding on the table and looking pleased.

Harry sat in a daze as 'Alderton, Edgar' and 'Bagnold, Basil' were Sorted, clapping without thinking. He had stood there that morning as the Great Hall filled with sun and it had all seemed so unreal: everyone had wanted to touch him, hug him, whisper his name, and then they had wanted to tell him about the dead, the lost ones. Now, as Flitwick read off the names, it seemed inconceivable that Hogwarts had been a burial ground only moths before. Life had gone on, there were funerals and sandwiches and post in the morning . . .

'Gudgeon, Gideon' went to Hufflepuff and Harry frowned down the table, only half-listening as the names were called. Beside him, Ron and Seamus were snickering over a magazine fold-out as 'MacDonald, Evan' trotted over to Ravenclaw amidst cheering . . . 'North, Elladora' went to Slytherin . . .

At last, 'Wiggleworth, Stephen' ran to Hufflepuff, and the instant the Hufflepuff table stopped clapping, Hermione's hand shot across the table and gripped Harry by the wrist.

'What is it?' he said, badly startled.

'There were three Slytherins sorted,' Hermione whispered, stunned. 'Only three!'

'What's the matter with that?' Ron demanded, finally distracted from the magazine Seamus was showing him under the table. 'Who needs more of them, anyway?'

'Well, that's just it,' Hermione said, a funny sort of expression on her face. 'Turn around.'

Harry had to stand up to see over the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Once he did, his mouth dropped open.

Apart from the three first years, the Slytherin table was empty.

Harry sat back down. 'Maybe they're late,' he ventured as the tables filled with food, though he did not for a minute believe his own words. Now that he looked around, he could see handfuls of students missing from the other tables as well, empty seats where there had not been gaps before. Over at Ravenclaw, Lisa Turpin was crying into Anthony Goldstein's shoulder. Harry did not see many other Ravenclaws he recognized.

It was not Hogwarts, not the Hogwarts he had known, not really; it was all different.

'Good riddance, I say,' Ron shrugged, biting into a chicken leg with gusto. 'If they don't want to be here, we don't have to put up with them!'

'When you talk with your mouth full, Ronald, I can see everything you're eating,' Hermione said primly. 'Besides, didn't you hear the Sorting Hat this year? Not to mention what it said the last two years we were in school?'

Harry and Ron stared at her. After a minute, Harry offered, 'Unity, something about working together.'

'In fifth year, it said,' and Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, as if to better remember, then recited, 'And never since the founders four were whittled down to three, have the four houses been united as they were once meant to be. Remember? And it said, We must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within. Didn't you hear it this year? Don't you see?'

Ron, still vigorously chewing a mouthful of chicken, garbled, 'See what?'

'Slytherin left!' Hermione exclaimed, sounding anguished. 'Of the founders, Slytherin left one day and never returned, and ever since then, the school hasn't been the same, that's what the Sorting Hat was trying to tell us. It said we had to work together and unite against the threat outside or we'd just be helping, remember? Voldemort sowed dissent and division, just like he split his soul, and the opposite is uniting-- '

'I sort of think uniting with the Slytherins would have been helping him, actually,' Ron said with a grimace.

'But what the Sorting Hat said,' Hermione persisted, 'it said we'd crumble from within, and that's just what we're doing, an entire House has disappeared!'

'Oh, who cares,' Ron said. 'You-Know-Who is gone, Hermione. We don't have to worry about it anymore! Besides, you don't see anyone else caring, do you?'

But Harry, looking around, found that this was not entirely true: McGonagall, Sprout, and Slughorn were involved in a furious conversation at the head table, and every couple seconds, Slughorn would look toward Slytherin, as if he had just been mistaken and it would be full of students upon a second glance.

'Of course,' Hermione whispered, having followed Harry's gaze, 'he's their Head of House, but there are only three people there!'

'Ron has a point,' Harry said as he helped himself to the bowl of mashed potatoes. 'No one stopped them from coming. It was their choice.'

'We have not learned from their mistake,' Hermione said meaningfully. It took Harry a second to realize that she was quoting the Sorting Hat.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'You do realize you're parroting the words of a hat.'

'You ought to care about this!' Hermione exclaimed, rounding on him. 'You're Head Boy! Didn't you read the letter that came with your badge? It's our job to look out for the welfare of the students at Hogwarts! That includes Slytherin, you know!'

'Bit hard to look out for them when there aren't any,' Ron said with a grin. Harry had to stifle a smile.

'Oh, the two of you, you'll see,' Hermione retorted. She had not touched her food, and now she was tapping the end of her fork agitatedly against the table. 'I swear I've read about another case like this. Three years ago, Nick told us that this has happened before. Was it in sixteen ninety . . . no, that was something else . . . perhaps . . . oh, hang on, I've got to look in the library!'

And she leapt to her feet, fork still in hand. Both boys looked at her in alarm.

'But 'er-my-nee,' Ron said urgently, mouth full, 'yawgh hea gwa!'

Hermione looked a cross between revolted and amused. 'Sorry?'

Ron gave a tremendous swallow and repeated, 'You're Head Girl! We're supposed to help the Prefects lead the first-years to their houses at the end of the feast!'

'So you did read the letter,' Hermione said, pleased in spite of herself. 'Well, you're Head Boy, after all. I think you're perfectly qualified to handle the Prefects without me. And I'll just be in the library, Ron. You can send your Patronus if anything gets out of hand.'

But before she could leave the table, Professor McGonagall came down the aisle towards them, seizing Seamus Finnigan's dirty magazine and Vanishing it without slowing her pace at all. She stopped beside Hermione.

'Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, I need to speak with the both of you at once,' she said, ignoring Seamus's strangled cries of protest. 'In the Entrance Hall, if you please.'

Harry was already rising to his feet.

'Potter, you are neither Head Boy nor Head Girl, and unless you have changed your name in the past two hours-- '

'They'll tell me what it is anyway,' he said, using an excuse he'd heard Ginny employ many times.

She glared at him but finally sighed. 'As you will, Mr. Potter, come along.'

They followed her out of the hubbub of the Great Hall and through the doors; once they were shut, it was silent, shadows stretching across the stone. Harry thought he could hear the wind whistling outside the heavy castle doors.

'I shall make this quick,' McGonagall began. 'As the three of you have no doubt noticed, Slytherin House appears to be empty, with only three first-years Sorted and no returning students.'

'And the Sorting Hat,' Hermione put in eagerly. 'The war is over, but it still said-- '

'Indeed, Miss Granger. I'm afraid it could be as dire as the Hat, overdramatic as it is, warned us. The first-years are requesting to be re-Sorted. We believe that this is impossible, nor do we wish to do so, but with the climate as it is these days . . .'

She trailed off, glancing at the doors to the castle, almost as if she expected Dumbledore to burst through them with a foolproof solution.

'Well,' McGonagall finally sighed, 'we may be forced to close Slytherin altogether.'

'What?' Hermione exclaimed. 'But there have always been four houses! You can't just get rid of one!'

'It is not we who are at fault,' McGonagall said severely, her mouth a thin line of disapproval. 'I agree with you, Miss Granger, but it seems Slytherin House has decided to absent itself from the school. Each of them had letters just as you had. It was their own choice not to attend.'

Hermione opened her mouth, but at a stern look from McGonagall, she shut it again.

'In the meantime,' McGonagall continued in her clipped tone, 'as you are Head Boy and Head Girl, I must ask the two of you to keep an eye out for trouble. Professor Slughorn will, of course, be watching out for the first-years in his House, but one can never be too cautious. We ought to focus on the bonds that strengthen and unite us, to make Hogwarts whole again.'

Ron and Hermione both nodded, though Hermione with a bit more enthusiasm, Harry thought.

'Very well, you may go back to the feast,' McGonagall said, her eyes sweeping over the three of them. She pulled open the door as she passed through, letting out a wide beam of light, the sound of chattering voices and, to everyone's surprise, Ginny.

'What's going on?' she said curiously. 'The three of you just left.'

'It's nothing,' Ron said at once.

Ginny scowled. 'It isn't nothing! I know it's about Slytherin, I'm not stupid.' She began to say something else, when at that moment, the front doors creaked open and admitted a stocky figure, hunched over and bundled up against the wind, though nothing could hide the shock of red hair.

'. . . Charlie?' Ron exclaimed. 'What are you doing here?'

Charlie Weasley gave them a cheerful salute as they hurried towards him. 'Didn't anyone tell you? I'm a bit late, it's nasty weather outside. Anyway, I'm the Defense teacher this year!'

'You?' Ron said. Ginny shrieked in excitement and threw her arms around Charlie, bundled up as he was.

'Yeah, well, McGonagall wanted Bill,' he shrugged, removing both Ginny and his cloak. 'He was Head Boy and all, got all the N.E.W.T.s, you know. But with Fleur and the baby on the way, he couldn't. I'd planned on heading straight back to Romania, but she made a good case-- do it for Hogwarts, only a year, good pay, all that. I'm closer to Mum and Dad this way, too, and can look out for you lot.'

'We don't need watching!' Ginny said hotly, but when he ruffled her hair she beamed up at him. Harry remembered that Charlie had always been her favorite. Or had it been Bill? He couldn't recall.

'And I'm the Head of Gryffindor House,' Charlie added; this time Ron actually punched his fist in the air. 'Can't have anybody else stealing our Quidditch glory, now can I?'

'But there isn't going to be any Quidditch,' Hermione interposed.

Charlie, Ron, Harry and Ginny stared at her in horror. She stared right back.

'Oh, honestly, doesn't anyone see sense? Without Slytherin and with so many other students gone, it just isn't possible. I'm surprised no one has realized that. Besides, McGonagall just said we should focus our energy on working together to rebuild Hogwarts and the bonds that hold it together, instead of competing against one another. I happen to agree.'

'You wouldn't if you played Quidditch!' Ginny argued.

Harry and Ron were busy exchanging looks of dismay. Even Charlie groaned dismally, 'No Quidditch . . .'

'They'll figure out a way!' Ron exclaimed. 'That unity rubbish aside, McGonagall's as big of a Quidditch fan as they come, she just doesn't like to show it! She'll make it happen, I'm sure of it!'

Hermione sniffed and muttered something that sounded very much like, 'You'll see.'

As they re-entered the hall, Harry glanced at the Slytherin table and the first-years seated there: two small girls, both dark-haired, and an even smaller boy, huddled between them. When they caught him looking, all three stared back with such wide eyes, it was as if Harry was preparing to cast the Cruciatus Curse on all of them.

'Don't look too hardy, do they?' Ron said as they sat down. 'I swear we were never that small, I'd've remembered being the size of a gnome. You, though, when I met you on the train, you were a bit on the small side . . .'

Harry thought of his first day at Hogwarts and looked across the table where Nearly-Headless Nick was floating, eyeing Hermione's spotted dick with an expression of jealousy.

'Nick,' he said. 'Hey, Nick. If Slytherin is gone, will the Bloody Baron go too?'

'Preposterous!' exclaimed Nearly-Headless Nick, affronted. 'The Baron has been here almost as long as Hogwarts has!'

Harry remembered the tale of Helena Ravenclaw and frowned. He had an image of the Bloody Baron gliding towards the Hogwarts gates, his translucent chains trailing behind him.

'Besides,' Nick added, 'with the Baron gone, no one could keep Peeves in line.'

Across from Harry, Hermione looked disapproving. 'That's the least of our worries,' she said. 'This is a serious concern, Sir Nicholas! How would you feel if your whole house disappeared?'

'My house is not Slytherin,' Nick said delicately, and with that, he rose from the table and glided off through the wall.

The news seemed to have spread; all up and down Gryffindor, Harry could hear conversations about Slytherin's absence sparking up. At one point, a tall blonde girl he didn't recognize declared, 'Excuse me if I'm not that fussed. Slytherin left. Maybe they don't deserve to come back.' All around her, heads were nodding in agreement.

Hermione looked anguished, but no one else seemed to agree on the gravity of the problem. Even Ron was tired of the topic. In between bites of pudding, he exclaimed, 'Enough about Slytherin, they aren't even here! Good riddance! And with Charlie, it's got to be the best year ever. I can't believe my own brother didn't tell me he was teaching here!' He glanced at the Head Table and his mouth fell open. 'Hey, Harry, who's that sitting next to him? Is that Penelope?'

'Penelope who?'

'Penelope Clearwater, of course,' Hermione said without a pause. 'She was Percy's girlfriend at Hogwarts, but they split up when Percy started work at the Ministry. She must be the replacement Transfiguration teacher.'

Harry exchanged looks with Ron. He did not understand how Hermione managed to keep track of all her knowledge and simultaneously recall all the gossip Hogwarts had seen for the past eight years. She did not seem in the mood to hold her breadth of knowledge over their heads, however; all her attention was focused on Slytherin, with an occasional glance to Professor McGonagall at the head table.

As the feast wound down, McGonagall directed the students to their respective houses, and the hall once again filled with students running every which way, Prefects yelling after them. For a brief second, it reminded Harry of the last battle, and he had to look away for a moment, the flames of the thousands of bobbing candles blurring in his vision.

Hermione and Ron had to stay in the Great Hall to supervise the exodus of students, and Harry stayed with them, feeling as if it would be a very boring year indeed if he had to keep following the Head Boy and Head Girl around all day. Ginny stuck around as well, chattering to Charlie, though when the Hall was nearly empty she came over to them and slipped her hand into Harry's own. He glanced down at her, surprised but pleased.

'It's going to be a good year,' she said, beaming back at him. 'Charlie for Defense and I like Penelope too, even though she's split with Percy she's really nice . . .'

'Wins her points in my book, really,' Ron added.

They trooped up to Gryffindor together, marveling at how changed the castle was from the time they saw it last. Ginny seemed delighted with the repair, pointing out places where there had been holes or where the ceiling had caved in, but to Harry it was a strange sort of amnesia, as if the battle had never been. Hermione seemed to think so too, for she frowned the whole walk up.

At last they reached the portrait hole and Ron uttered the password, but Hermione pulled them back before they could follow Ginny through the entrance, nearly yanking Harry's robe clean off his shoulder. 'I've been thinking,' she hissed. 'We have to do something.'

'Do something,' Ron repeated. He was eyeing the warmth of the common room. 'About what?'

'About Slytherin!' Hermione whispered. 'They probably just don't want to come back because they don't think they're welcome, but if we talked to some of them, convinced them that if they don't return, Slytherin will close-- '

'Are you mental?' Ron demanded. 'Hogwarts is better than ever with no Slytherins! No Malfoy, strutting around with his goons!'

'Yes,' Hermione said, as if she had only heard one word, 'Malfoy, exactly! We have to talk to Malfoy!'

'She is mental,' Ron concluded, making a face at Harry.

'Now see here, I haven't got the time to hang around all night,' the Fat Lady harrumphed before Hermione could start in again. 'Honestly, you students! Are you coming in or staying out?'

'Out,' Hermione said stubbornly, and the portrait hole swung closed. 'Listen, you two. We may not like Slytherin, but this is bigger than we are, it's bigger than us and Malfoy, don't you get it? This could forever change Hogwarts!'

Harry frowned; he knew her penchant for dramatic pronouncements all too well. 'All right, but Hermione, even if we do decide we want Slytherin back-- which I don't,' he added, seeing Ron's mouth fall open in surprise. 'But what are we supposed to do? Send an owl? Ask Kreacher to deliver a message?'

'Floo,' Hermione said simply.

'Flooing isn't allowed!' Ron interrupted. 'Not out of the castle. You should know that, it's in the rules.'

'I do know that,' Hermione said, flashing a triumphant smile. 'That's why Harry's going to use his Invisibility Cloak and wait until everyone has gone upstairs. Harry, remember those wards I taught you? If you do them on the empty common room, you'll know if anyone's coming.'

'Why me?'

'It has to be you. Please, Harry, you know it does. Ron and I are Head Boy and Head Girl, we can't go around breaking rules!'

'So you want me to break them for you,' Harry said dryly.

Hermione rubbed her hands together in a brisk motion. 'Well, yes, and Malfoy might listen to you. Ron or I wouldn't stand a chance.'

'Malfoy?' Harry echoed. 'I thought you were joking! You're asking me to have a cozy little firechat with Malfoy?'

Hermione raised her eyebrows. 'Yes, I am.'

'Why Malfoy? Why not-- ' Harry found he could not think of any other Slytherins aside from Goyle and Pansy Parkinson, neither of whom seemed more appealing choices. Finally, he ventured, 'That Zabini bloke. What about him?'

'I heard he's finishing school in Italy, he moved there with his mother,' Hermione said. At both boys' looks, she rolled her eyes. 'What? It was in the Prophet.'

'And er, that other one,' Harry said. 'Tall, dark hair?'

Ron suggested, 'Theodore Nott?'

'That's the one,' Harry said, relieved. He didn't know a thing about Nott, but he was willing to bet his Firebolt that Nott would prove less trying than Malfoy.

'He's at Durmstrang, he was last year, too,' Hermione answered. 'His mother wanted him out of the fray after what happened to his dad.'

Ron stared. 'How do you know this stuff?'

'I overheard Pansy Parkinson and Tracey Davis talking at the end of sixth year,' Hermione shrugged. 'He left straightaway, didn't even wait for Dunbledore's funeral.'

'Coward,' Ron pronounced.

'But not a Death Eater,' Harry said. 'Which Malfoy definitely is. Couldn't I just-- '

'It would take weeks for your owl to get to Durmstrang, I should know,' Hermione replied. 'Two weeks is the shortest time I've ever received a letter from Viktor, and that's in the best weather. And,' she added as Harry opened his mouth, 'Harry Potter, you are certainly not Apparating there! Do you know how many transfer points, not to mention national borders, that you would have to cross? There are permits, authorizations. It'd take several more weeks just to get the paperwork sorted!'

Harry clenched his teeth. 'Fine,' he said. 'Malfoy, then. I'll do it after everyone goes to bed. But don't you dare blame me when he won't come back.'

Hermione, who had got her way, merely smiled.

They tromped inside the common room at last, Ron still sulking over the mention of Viktor Krum's weighty letters. Hermione went off to tend to the first-years overcome by homesickness, though her Cheering Charms were so strong that two girls giggled without stopping for the next five minutes.

An hour later, Harry was sitting on his bed, clothes spread out around him. Dean and Seamus were fast asleep, while one swift look at the Marauder's Map assured Harry that Neville was not in Gryffindor Tower. Ron sat cross-legged on his own bed, absently stealing the light out of the lamp beside his bed and then flicking it back with one click of the Deluminator.

'Look, mate, you don't have to do this,' Ron said. 'I don't blame you if you don't want to. I don't want that git coming back here. She's a bit mad is all, she'll get over it as soon as she has another project to work on, house elves or goblin rights . . .'

Harry sighed. 'No, Ron,' he said. 'Hermione's right. I have to do it. At least see what's going on.'

'I still think the whole lot're more trouble than they're worth,' Ron said doubtfully. 'But good luck, Harry. You'll need it.'

'Thanks,' Harry said, doubtful himself, and slipped out down the stairs.

The common room was empty and still, the only sound the crackle of the fire. Though it was only the first night, he saw things littered around already: someone's ink-stained Transfiguration text, a broken chess piece, a handful of Exploding Snap cards. Over by the window, someone's toad was hopping from sill to sill as if hoping for escape. The fire was still going merrily, though in the dark the flames cast long shadows on the walls.

Kneeling down on the hearth, Harry took a deep breath. Then he gritted his teeth and tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, where it flared an eerie, spitting green.

'Malfoy Manor,' he said clearly and stuck his head in.






Chapter Two:

When Harry's head stopped spinning, he found himself staring at the wall opposite the fireplace, which was papered a fading green. The room was not one he recognized, and it was more empty than he expected: the wallpaper was paler in some places and not in others, as if large paintings had been only recently removed, and in the corner, a bookcase stood half-empty, the remaining tomes toppled over on one another.

Harry was just about to call out Malfoy's name in the vain hope someone might hear him when he heard the faint sound of voices arguing, growing nearer.

'-- don't think I haven't noticed what's gone missing, the figurines, the twelfth century vase collection-- '

'You know as well as I do that someone has to get this family back on its feet,' the second voice, a feminine one, responded. They were getting louder; Harry could hear footsteps. 'You've seen all the Ministry owls-- '

'-- but the portrait Great Great Aunt Theodora-- and the rest of Father's books, surely the price they'll fetch won't be worth the-- Potter?'

He looked up: Draco Malfoy was standing there in shock, one hand gripping the doorknob. He looked flabbergasted, but after all their years at school together, Harry easily recognized the expression replacing the shock on Malfoy's face as one of dawning fury.

'Potter,' Malfoy repeated icily, 'I don't know what your head is doing in my fireplace, but if you know what's good for you, you'll get it out. Now.'

Undeterred, Harry demanded, 'Why aren't you at Hogwarts?'

'I don't see how it's any of your business,' Malfoy snapped. He glanced over his shoulder, but Narcissa Malfoy had already disappeared down the hall.

'I mean it, Malfoy, where the hell have you been? No one's in Slytherin, and Professor McGonagall says it's really dire.'

Malfoy looked as if trying to decide upon something, and then he whipped out his mother's wand from his pocket. 'Aguamenti!' he shouted, and immediately Harry was drenched in water, green flames spitting in his ears. The next thing he knew, Malfoy had hurled a book at his head, nearly taking off his glasses.

'Get out,' Malfoy was shouting, 'get out!'

Coughing and spluttering, Harry withdrew and went spinning back to the Gryffindor common room.



::



In the morning, Harry coaxed his owl over with a handful of owl treats-- in contrast to Hedwig, and certainly to Pigwidgeon, he was rather shy-- and gave him a scribbled letter, which said merely,

Malfoy, we need to talk. I'm coming to the Manor tonight.

'Malfoy Manor,' Harry advised the little owl, who hooted softly and gave Harry's thumb an affectionate nibble. 'Make sure you get it to Draco Malfoy, all right?' He had always been sure that Hedwig understood him, but now he realized how foolish that was. 'Go on, then,' he said, as his owl hooted once more and shifted on the windowsill.

'Oh, and watch out for peacocks,' Harry added. 'Er, see you soon.'

He had been trying to come up with a name for the little creature for a month now, but nothing seemed to stick. Ginny had offered at least forty suggestions, though recently he'd asked her to stop-- only because she looked hurt each time he dismissed one.

By the time Harry made it to the Great Hall, he barely had time to grab his schedule and a piece of toast before Hermione tugged him and Ron off down the corridor.

Their first class was Charms: Flitwick spent most of the time reciting several examples of the most advanced charms they would be discussing that year, including memory modification and erasure, duplication charms, and more complex charms, like the Protean Charm, and others that Flitwick said were too complex to learn but whose theory could be studied. 'Can anyone think of an example?'

Hermione's hand shot up before Flitwick had finished his question. He beamed at her. 'Yes, Miss Granger?'

'The Fidelius Charm,' she said promptly.

'Very good!' squeaked Flitwick, so excited that he nearly toppled off his perch.

After class, Hermione lingered to discuss an extra-credit essay involving the theory of time-lapse spells, Time-Turners, and Gubraithan fire, which was so above Harry's and Ron's heads that they hurried off without her.

'Do you reckon we'll have to try those memory charms on each other?' Ron said, loosening his tie as they walked back to Gryffindor.

Harry frowned. 'I hope not.' He could not think of anything worse than having his memory manipulated; it was more terrible than Legilimency, the thought of someone messing about in his head. For a brief second, Harry wondered if Occlumency could be employed against memory charms, and he was so pleased with himself for thinking up a Hermione-level question that he did not hear what Ron said.

'What?'

'I said, how'd it go with Malfoy last night?'

'Not very well,' Harry admitted. 'He, um, threw books at me until I left.'

Ron snickered. 'Well, no one can fault you for trying. More than I would have done.'

In Transfiguration, they began discussing invisibility; Penelope, wearing wire spectacles and looking determined to follow in McGonagall's footsteps as best she could, set them at work copying notes about the difference between Invisibility and Vanishing spells. Potions was equally demanding. By the time they arrived in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom that afternoon, Harry's schoolbag felt as if it had been hit with a charm to turn all his books to bricks. At his side, Ron was lamenting at length on their decision to return to Hogwarts.

When Charlie strode in, however, the whole class sat up straighter. Defense had always been Harry's favorite subject, but across the aisle, it looked as if even mild-mannered Hannah Abbott had gained a new appreciation for the course. Charlie glanced up at their attentive faces, as if he had forgot they were there, and flashed them all an easy grin. In the back of the room, someone giggled.

Charlie was not wearing robes, like everyone else, but what appeared to be dragonhide trousers and a white linen shirt, with his sleeves rolled up. Even after a year in Britain, his forearms were tanned gold.

'I suppose I ought to give you a speech about the importance of N.E.W.T.s,' Charlie began, earning a sharp nod of approval from Hermione. Then he continued, 'But my twin brothers, two of the best wizards I ever knew, didn't take their N.E.W.T.s, and it didn't make them any less brave. One of them died fighting the Dark Arts in May.'

Hermione's hand was poised over her parchment, ink slowly dripping from the tip, but she was not writing; she was frowning at Charlie, unsure where he was going.

'What I'm saying,' Charlie shrugged, 'is that you don't need an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts to fight them. Harry Potter hasn't even taken his N.E.W.T.s yet, and he defeated You-Know-Who with a first year spell. I know many of you fought in the Battle of Hogwarts last year, too, without a N.E.W.T. to your name.'

Harry heard Hermione make the small noise of frustration that meant she had reached her breaking point, and her hand shot in the air. Charlie raised an eyebrow.

'Yeah?'

'I'm sorry, Professor Weasley,' she said, at which Charlie outright grinned, 'but while I happen to agree that you don't need a N.E.W.T. to stand up to the Dark Arts, you can't be saying that N.E.W.T.s aren't important . . . ?'

'Oh, no, I'm not,' Charlie said quickly. He winked at her. 'I mean, they get you good jobs and stuff.'

Hermione's mouth dropped open, but she seemed to have set off a wave of questions; before she could respond, Seamus waved his hand around from where he was seated in the back row.

'Professor,' he called out, 'I heard you were the best Seeker Gryffindor's ever had, until Harry!'

Charlie laughed. 'I won't lie, I was good,' he said. 'And so is Harry. But Harry and I have never played against each other in a real match, so how can you say which one of us is better? One day we'll have to have a tournament and then you'll know for sure.'

At least half the class cheered at this, Harry and Ron included. For her part, Hermione almost snapped her quill in half.

The rest of the classroom appeared completely charmed by Charlie, however: even Hannah Abbott raised her hand. When Charlie called on her, she asked shyly, 'Did you really work with dragons in Romania?'

'I did!' Charlie exclaimed; it was obvious that he liked nothing better than to talk about them. 'They're magnificent. I help train them. All of you probably remember the Triwizard Tournament, don't you? I helped bring in the four dragons for the first task. Job's a bit rough, sometimes, you've got to be quick on your feet and handy with some burn salve, but they're brilliant, really. My favorites are the Chinese Fireballs. Gryffindor colors, you know!'

To his horrified amusement, Harry glanced sideways and found Hannah Abbott diligently copying down likes Chinese Fireballs on her parchment.

'What's the worst burn you've ever had?' someone called out from behind Harry, just as someone else shouted, 'Have you ever ridden on one?'

Charlie was clearly in his element. 'One question at a time!'

'Do you really have a tattoo?' Dean Thomas yelled.

Charlie let out a bark of surprised laughter. 'Sure do,' he said. 'Want to see?' And he lifted up his shirt without preamble and pointed to the small dragon pacing back and forth just above his left hip. It let out a small puff of flame as they watched, the fire licking across Charlie's toned stomach.

Hermione looked so horrified that Harry almost covered her eyes.

'What kind of lesson was that?' she burst out the minute she left the classroom, still clutching her bedraggled quill in one hand and a roll of blank parchment in the other; it was perhaps the first class ever that Hermione had left without taking a single note. She was so apoplectic that she was incapable of forming whole sentences. 'It was-- rubbish-- and showing off like that-- inappropriate-- '

'That's my brother you're talking about!' Ron said hotly as he caught up to them.

'Mine too,' Ginny put in, appearing in their midst. 'What's going on?'

'She's insulting Charlie!'

'I'm not insulting him, I just don't think his lesson was very good,' Hermione snapped. 'Dragons and-- broomsticks-- oh, honestly, you boys-- '

'What do you think he should have talked about?' Ron demanded.

'Well, we should be learning more wandless magic, and two-part defensive spells, and Patronuses for those who can't yet. I heard there's a whole section on our N.E.W.T.s about healing charms!'

'He was just giving an introduction, it was the first class,' Harry suggested, trying in vain to smooth over the situation. 'I'm sure he'll get to all that stuff really soon.'

Just then two fourth year girls passed by, peering into the classroom to catch a glimpse of Charlie. They hurried away giggling, one whispering, 'I heard he has a tattoo . . .'

Hermione made such a noise of disgust that a nearby slumbering portrait woke with a start and glanced around in alarm. 'This is ridiculous,' she said waspishly. 'It's like Lockhart all over again.'

Harry couldn't help snorting. 'Yeah, I seem to remember that Lockhart made quite the impression on you.'

'Oh, Professor Lockhart, I've read all your books,' Ron simpered breathlessly in imitation, though Harry thought he sounded more like Lavender than Hermione. Apparently this did not matter to Hermione, for she stalked off in a huff while Harry, Ron, and Ginny were still laughing.

When she had gone, Ron shook his head. 'I don't know what she's on about. That was a great lesson.'

'Well, we didn't learn much,' Harry pointed out, loath as he was to side against his best friend. 'And he didn't talk about the Dark Arts very much.' In fact, a rousing portion of the class had been devoted to whether the Caerphilly Catapults were on an upswing this season, but he hated to mention it, for he had shouted down Seamus just as loudly as Ron.

'Well, it's like you said, it was only the first class,' Ron argued. 'Right, Gin?'

Ginny shrugged. 'As long as you pass your N.E.W.T.s. Hey, Harry, don't you have a free period now? Flitwick's cancelled Charms because some fourth-year blew half the classroom up. Want to go down to the lake?'

'I can't,' Harry said, without thinking. 'I have to go find McGonagall.'

Ron frowned. 'Her, why?'

'It was Hermione's idea,' Harry said glumly. 'She thinks I should get permission from McGonagall to go to Malfoy Manor. She says I didn't try hard enough.'

'Oh, why should you?' Ron demanded. 'That git threw books at you! If she wants Malfoy back at Hogwarts so badly, she ought to go herself.'

'I don't want to make her go,' Harry said a bit guiltily, already leading Ron off towards McGonagall's office. 'Oh, yeah, bye, Gin. See you at dinner. Anyway, after what happened last year, I thought maybe she wouldn't want to go back there-- '

Ron shook his head emphatically. 'Well, of course she shouldn't go, Harry,' he said, as if he had been saying this for days and Harry was only just now catching up. 'No, no, you've got to go, Hermione can't go at all, absolutely not!'

Harry patted him on the shoulder. 'Right, then, I have to go talk to McGonagall.'



::



At half past seven that evening, Harry stood outside the gates of Hogwarts, raised his wand, and carefully made a half-turn into thin air. When the decompressed feeling of Apparating dissipated, he found himself standing in a quiet country lane, gasping for breath. As Harry expected, the wrought-iron gate before him twisted into a face, which hissed, 'State your purpose!'

'I'm here to see Draco Malfoy,' Harry said loudly. 'I need to talk to him.'

Far off, there was the burbling of a fountain, the sinking sun. Then the gate swung open and he was admitted.

Hands in his pockets, Harry trudged up the lane bordered with hedges and up the gravel drive, then the broad stone steps. If he had heard that he would voluntarily return to this place only a year ago, he never would have believed it. He took a deep breath and raised a fist to knock, but before he could, the door swung open and Draco Malfoy's pale face appeared in the gloom.

'Oh, it's you,' Malfoy said, as if they had just run into one another in the Prefects' bath. 'Well, come on, then.'

His tone was more clipped and polite than Harry had ever heard it, and he shut the door so quickly that Harry had to dart inside.

Malfoy led Harry through the hallway lined with portraits, all of whom whispered and pointed, and down another hall whose marble floors were so polished that Harry could almost see his reflection. He expected to go to the drawing room he remembered, or the study where they had had their firechat, but Malfoy headed to a smaller room, papered in a blue and gold pattern that reminded Harry of peacocks. A small but merry fire was going in the little fireplace, and the diamond-paned windows were polished to a gleam. A large white quill hovered above the desk and its clutter of papers, as if awaiting orders; Malfoy waved his hand and it whisked itself into a drawer.

'So,' Malfoy said, when he turned and leaned against the desk. He was wearing dark gray robes that buttoned up to his neck and fell to his ankles, but he still looked thin and wan, and he was not polite any longer, but staring at Harry with a pinched expression. 'What do you want?'

There was no sense in wasting time; to say that he and Malfoy had never been much for small talk would be a grand understatement.

'If you don't come back to Hogwarts,' Harry said, 'they're going to get rid of Slytherin.'

He was rather gratified at the way Malfoy's mouth dropped open.

'What?'

'No one's there,' Harry elaborated. 'No one came back, and the Sorting Hat only put three kids in Slytherin this year. McGonagall says they want to be re-Sorted. Hufflepuff offered to take them.'

'Hufflepuff?' repeated Malfoy slowly. He sounded half-witted.

Harry nodded.

'And that's what you came here for,' Malfoy continued, his voice rising in pitch as he kept on. 'You're asking me to return to Hogwarts so I can be the only Slytherin in Slytherin House? Aside from three eleven year olds who are deserting to Hufflepuff?'

'Well, what did you think I came here for?' Harry said, irritated. 'This isn't a social call, Malfoy.'

'But why me?'

'We couldn't think of anyone else to ask,' Harry admitted. 'I suggested Zabini but Hermione said he's in Italy with his mother.'

Malfoy muttered something about going abroad at once; Harry ignored him.

'This isn't a joke, Malfoy. I mean it. Why aren't you at Hogwarts?'

'I don't feel like it.'

'I don't believe you.'

'I don't care!'

Harry took a step forward, prompting Malfoy to cross his arms over his skinny chest as if in protection; his nostrils flared like a nervous thestral. 'Malfoy,' Harry said. 'Come back to Hogwarts.'

'Yeah? What do I get?'

'You get the dungeons to yourself,' Harry offered.

Malfoy snorted. 'I'd rather stay here.'

Harry opened his mouth, but he could not think of a good reason Malfoy would want to return and shut it again. If he were in Malfoy's position, he wouldn't exactly relish a lonely year in Slytherin with no friends and plenty of enemies.

Then again, Harry would never be in Malfoy's position.

Glancing sideways, Harry frowned at the desk littered with newspapers and old letters. Aside from one envelope with the Ministry seal, all the letters were addressed to

Mr. D. Malfoy
The Blue Bedroom
East Wing
Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire

and bore Hogwarts' seal on the back. None of them were opened, and for an instant Harry recalled being eleven and having 4 Privet Drive flooded with owls. It seemed so long ago that it was as if it had happened to someone else, and he was only visiting the memory in a Pensieve.

'Think about it, Malfoy,' he said after a second. 'Come on. I know you still need your N.E.W.T.s. I'm surprised you even passed sixth year.'

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. 'I don't care about my N.E.W.T.s. I don't see why you do.'

'I don't want Slytherin to leave the school.'

Malfoy stared at him, disbelieving. 'You hate Slytherin.'

Harry's jaw was set. 'Doesn't mean I want it to disappear.'

He glanced at the desk again: now that he thought of it, several of the newspapers lying scattered on the desk were recent and had his face on them, headlines blaring HARRY POTTER TRIUMPHS OVER HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED and SAVIOR OF WIZARDING WORLD TO RECEIVE ORDER OF MERLIN. This one in particular seemed to have made Malfoy so incensed that half the article was ripped clean away.

'Is there a reason you're still here?' Malfoy demanded. He followed Harry's gaze and quickly swept the clutter of papers into a pile, which he shoved under a thick book. It looked like the Defense book they had used in sixth year. 'I've already said no, Potter, so if you're waiting around for me to offer you a spot of tea, you're rather more stupid than I thought.'

'One day you're going to have kids,' Harry said. 'They're going to go to Hogwarts. I never took you for the father of a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff, but maybe I was wrong-- '

'I'll send them to Durmstrang,' Malfoy said. His mouth twitched.

'There were four founders,' Harry insisted. 'Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar Slytherin. There should be four houses. If you come back, Slytherin will stay. Next year there will be new first years. People will return.'

'I don't want to go!' Malfoy hissed. He sounded like a spoiled child. 'You can't make me!'

'I'm not trying to make you,' Harry said exasperatedly. 'Malfoy, I'm not marching you back to Hogwarts at wandpoint, I'm just trying to convince you that you'd be helping out your House.'

But at the word wandpoint, Malfoy had gone white, and Harry remembered in a rush just how recently Malfoy had been made to do things against his will. 'So that's it,' he said, quiet. 'You only do things when people threaten you and hold your family hostage, right? When you can pretend you don't have a choice?'

'I didn't have a choice!' Malfoy snarled.

'Oh, yes, you did,' Harry said. 'Every day you did. You're the one who stayed in this house with Voldemort and tortured people on his command, you always wanted to be a Death Eater.'

'It wasn't exactly a holiday, Potter!'

'Other people had to choose, too,' Harry said hotly. What was it Dumbledore had said once? The choice between what is right and what is easy. But he remembered, in the same instant, that Malfoy had made certain choices: he had not killed Dumbledore when he had the chance, and that night at Malfoy Manor, he had not given Harry away, even though Harry had strong suspicions that Malfoy had recognized him.

'What choice?' Malfoy sneered. He had obviously been expecting this from the minute Harry set foot in the Manor, and it was like striking a pool of oil with a match. 'I'm telling you, Potter, I hadn't got options, everyone I cared about-- '

'You could have come to us.'

'Oh, could I have? Yes, after Dumbledore was killed, after I ran from the scene, is that when? You would have welcomed me with open arms, is that what you're telling me?'

Harry said through gritted teeth, 'I wouldn't have turned you away.'

'And what exactly was supposed to convey that?' Malfoy said tightly. 'I must have missed those owls you sent-- oh, or those times at school when you made it clear that you, what did you say, wouldn't turn me away-- yes, I must have been blind, not to see that you might not cheer if I died-- '

'I'm the one who saved you from the Fiendfyre! And that Death Eater!'

Malfoy scoffed. 'Don't tell me you're waiting for a thank you card.'

'Well, I didn't want you to die!'

Tilting his head, Malfoy's mouth quirked downwards in a sour line. 'Yeah,' he said, almost soft, 'I never did thank you for the flowers you sent up after nearly killing me in that bathroom. Thanks tremendously, Potter. Except-- wait-- '

'I was busy,' Harry defended himself, though he couldn't help but recall that what had kept him so occupied were those long walks and stolen kisses with Ginny. He shook it off: he had not felt guilty then, and he refused to start now. 'The whole school was talking about whether you were all right anyway. Pansy Parkinson would tell anyone who listened about your painful recovery.'

'And that's what matters,' Malfoy said, 'that it turned out all right?' His head was bowed; he didn't even look up. 'No, you know what, Potter, I'm not doing this. Get out of my house. I'm finished with Hogwarts and I'm finished with you.'

'Well, I'm not finished with you!' Harry snapped, then paused, because he wasn't entirely sure that was what he had meant to say. 'I just mean, Hogwarts needs Slytherin.'

'Oh, now you need us,' Malfoy said, his eyes glittering. He was looking at Harry now, and he took several steps forward until they were almost touching, his mouth an ugly, angry shape. 'Now that you, what, need to fill a quota of despicable wizards who are just tolerable enough to be allowed to live, and of course you thought of me first, because I'm not bad enough to be dangerous, I'm just petty and cruel enough to fit your mold?' He was standing so close and speaking so furiously that a few flecks of his spit actually landed on Harry.

'Maybe that is what I mean!' Harry shouted. 'I have good reason to think so, don't I? You're the one who's acting the coward!'

Malfoy's mouth dropped open. 'You-- dare-- '

'You run from things that scare you, Malfoy, you always have. It's no different now, running away from Hogwarts!'

'I'm not running, you simpleton,' Malfoy snarled. 'I happen to think of it as assessing the situation and doing what's best for me. Slytherins take care of themselves, which is probably why there isn't a single one in Hogwarts, because we all know that setting foot in that castle is suicide!'

'Taking care of yourself, is that what you call it?' Harry said softly. 'How's that been working out for you, Malfoy?'

He seized the other boy by the wrist and shoved up his sleeve before Malfoy could twist out of his grasp. The Dark Mark was still there, like a black bruise, the snake flickering over Malfoy's thin pulse.

'It hasn't disappeared,' Harry said. He was almost surprised.

'No.' Malfoy stared back at him, his expression creased between curiosity and annoyance. He didn't jerk his wrist away. 'I'm not that lucky.'

'It hasn't got anything to do with luck,' Harry said. 'You know Dumbledore offered you protection.'

A shadow crossed Malfoy's face and he finally pulled his wrist from Harry's grasp. 'No one wants anything without a price,' he said. 'As if I would have been any less expendable to your side. As if you'd have protected me-- or worse, my father!-- if it came down to it.'

'Dumbledore would have,' Harry said with certainty.

'He took away Slytherin's victory in first year!'

Harry blinked. It took him a moment to recall what Malfoy was ranting about. 'Wait, you're still upset about the House Cup?' he demanded at last. 'From eight years ago?'

Malfoy's chin was stuck out belligerently. 'Yes.'

The more it came back to him, the angrier Harry got. 'Gryffindor deserved that win, Malfoy! Ron and Hermione and I beat all seven tasks to take back the Sorcerer's Stone and prevent Voldemort from becoming immortal! Don't you think that's a little more important than a handful of points you got from sucking up to teachers all year?'

'Well, how were we supposed to know you were telling the truth?' Malfoy demanded. 'You were Harry Potter, you were full of exaggerated, self-important stories!'

'I was not!'

Malfoy stared at him. 'Everything comes at a price,' he repeated. 'How was I to know I could trust the old man? Better the bad lot you know than the bad lot you don't, right?'

'Wrong,' Harry said stiffly. 'We would have protected you. Dumbledore would have, and I would have, too.'

'Oh, it's all well and good to retroactively promise,' Malfoy snapped. 'I don't believe you, Potter, but it doesn't matter. I did what I did and I'm alive, and so are my parents, so no, I don't take it back. Is that what you wanted to know? Is that why you're still nosing about my house? Because you can leave any time.'

Harry rolled his eyes; he knew that Hermione meant well, but this was altogether more trouble than it was worth. 'Come back to Hogwarts, Malfoy.'

'No!'

'What else do you have to do?' Harry demanded. 'You aren't exactly swimming in job offers, and from the look and sound of it, you aren't swimming in money either. I heard you and your mum arguing about pawning off your old things-- '

'She's redecorating!'

'And what are you doing?' Harry inquired. 'Polishing your broomstick? Ripping up newspapers with my face on them? You have to get on with your life sometime.'

Malfoy's mouth went tight. 'And what makes you think I want to spend the next ten months at that despicable joke of an institution? I've had enough of that filthy old school to last me several centuries.'

'It won't be like last year,' Harry said quietly. When Malfoy said nothing and he could think of nothing else to say either, they stood there in a stalemate. After a minute, Harry sighed.

'Look, I still have your wand. I brought it to give back to you.'

'Well, give it over, then,' said Malfoy.

Harry took the wand out and handed it to him. As he did, he noticed the fine, thin scars on Malfoy's forehead and left cheek, one sharp line of white crossing his cheekbone. Shocked, Harry realized they must be from the chandelier shards that fell during his escape from Malfoy Manor. Just under Malfoy's collarbone, where his shirt peeked open beneath his robes, Harry could see the beginning of another scar, this one a raised, silver welt.

'I expect to see you at breakfast tomorrow,' Harry said. 'At the Slytherin table, like I have all six years I've been there. You can even fling porridge at me if you want.'

Malfoy's lip might have twitched; it was neither a yes nor a no. He sneered, 'What happened to your owl, anyway? The white one?'

'She died,' Harry said, turning to let himself out. 'I'll see you at Hogwarts.'



::



By the time that morning arrived, a gray gloom, Harry was convinced that Malfoy would never return to Hogwarts, and that his visit had been in vain.

'You'll just have to try harder,' Hermione suggested, infuriatingly calm, as they walked to breakfast. 'Oh, Harry, don't look like that, it's important! I know he's unpleasant, but we've got to-- what is it?'

'Oi!' Ron said, halting so suddenly that Hermione ran right into him. 'It's Malfoy!'

And it was. He was slouched over the Slytherin table, glowering at the rest of the hall, the three first-years in a line like ducklings next to him. He had his wand in hand and looked as if he'd hex the first person to take the smallest step in his direction.

Hermione did a little jig right there in the doorway.

'Oh, I'm so happy!' she exclaimed. Her tone of voice was one reserved for getting better than full marks on an exam or completing a particularly difficult research problem. 'Look, Slughorn's beaming, the little first-years seem much better, oh, it's all such a good start!'

'When we're happy to see Malfoy, something is wrong,' Ron groaned.

'Ron, it's important that he's here! Well done, Harry. Now if you two can manage not to antagonize him . . .'

'I can live with him, the great stupid git,' Ron said bitterly, after Hermione gave him a pointed look. 'But I still think I ought to be able to punch him another couple times.'

'Ron,' Hermione warned.

'Fine, as long as we don't have to get friendly with him.'

Harry noticed that Ron sat with his back to the Slytherin table that morning, and from the way he was sitting, he seemed to be trying to block Hermione's view of it as well.

Malfoy did not appear in any of their morning classes that day, but when Harry entered Potions in the afternoon, Malfoy was seated at the front set of desks, his books neatly stacked on the table. Slughorn was standing beside him, rummaging through the largest box of crystallized pineapple Harry had ever seen.

'Oho!' Slughorn exclaimed; he was bouncing on the balls of his feet, so pleased with Malfoy's bribery that he was in an unusually good mood. 'Harry, my boy! Draco and I were just conversing about Quidditch, I had no idea the two of you were both Seekers for your Houses! Well, I knew about you, of course, who doesn't know about the youngest Seeker in a century-- '

Malfoy shot Harry a filthy look, but an instant later he was beaming up at Slughorn again, looking for all the world as if Slughorn were his long-time idol. 'What are we working on today, Professor?' Malfoy asked as Harry dumped his things on a desk further away. 'I did so enjoy your lessons last year, and I'm looking forward to repeating some of them, I'm sure there's always more to learn from you-- '

'I see he's wasted no time,' Hermione said, sitting down beside Harry. 'Honestly, he's one of four students in Professor Slughorn's house, you'd think he'd be an automatic favorite.'

'Slughorn's always been wary of Death Eaters, though,' Ron put in as he dumped his books on the table. In the resulting avalanche of parchment from the cover of his Potions text, Hermione's ink nearly spilled all over, and would have if Harry's Seeker senses had not kicked in and he caught it halfway to the ground. 'Thanks, mate. Anyway, Malfoy probably feels as if he's got extra work to do.'

They all looked at him: across the room, Malfoy was saying, 'I couldn't pass up the opportunity to work for another year under such an accomplished Potions master as yourself-- '

Ron rolled his eyes. 'Never been much for subtlety, has he? But Slughorn's eating it right up. Though I suppose he'd eat anything up, really-- '

'Says the boy who ate six full plates of food at the feast last week,' Hermione snorted. 'Oh, hush, the lesson's starting.'

They spent the class period working on a three-part restorative draught, which was neither overly challenging or overly interesting, at least in its beginning stages. Even without the aid of the Prince's book-- he still couldn't think of it as Snape's-- Harry managed an adequate flask, and tidied up his workstation feeling pleased.

On the way out of class, Malfoy tried to trip him, sending Harry stumbling straight into Hannah Abbott, who squeaked. 'Sorry,' Harry muttered. 'Hey, Malfoy! Get back here!'

He seized Malfoy by the arm of his robes. 'What are you playing at? As temporary as it might be, I'm actually glad to see you here.'

'This isn't because of you,' Malfoy hissed, 'and it certainly isn't for you. My mother wanted me here and I owe her. That's the only reason I'm at this wretched indignity of a school.'

'You owe me, too, I saved your life twice,' Harry could not help but add.

Malfoy's eyes were slitted. 'Drop dead, Potter.'

'I don't think I will, thanks.'

'Well, get away from me!'

'You're the one who accosted me,' Harry said, rolling his eyes. 'Fine, Malfoy. Welcome back.'

He watched the other boy go: Malfoy was wearing his uniform, but anyone could see the expensive gold watch circling his wrist when he moved his hands, and he smelled as if he were wearing cologne. As he walked, his back was ramrod straight.

Harry understood, after a fashion; he had never been the sort to care about expensive tastes, but he knew what it was like to keep up appearances. Malfoy might not be received warmly at Hogwarts, but he would act like he could care less.

In a way, Harry welcomed Malfoy's thinly veiled façade. It meant he could pretend, at least for a while, that you could go home again.



::



Slughorn was not the only Professor that Malfoy seemed to be wooing; in the next few weeks, Harry overheard him praising Penelope for her outstanding lessons, telling Professor Sprout that he had always been interested in the healing properties of the common shrub, and even laughing the loudest at all of Charlie's jokes. Harry noticed, however, that there were no beribboned boxes of chocolates or crystallized fruit with the Malfoy seal littering Charlie's desk.

'Knows he won't stand for bribery,' Ron said, when Harry brought it up as they stood in their usual corner of the courtyard. After a minute he added judiciously, 'It serves him right, you know, I hope Charlie gives him a T! After all those years of his jibes about our family.'

'Charlie doesn't seem to mind special treatment, actually,' Hermione said, leaning against a pillar. 'Malfoy would be wasting his time buying chocolates, since all the girls are doing it. Asking for extra lessons, and thanking him with sweets and flowers and things. Haven't you been in his office lately? It's overflowing.'

'All the girls?' Ron said darkly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Oh, use your head for a change, Ron, do I look like I need extra lessons? Honestly, he's your own brother.'

'He couldn't be up to something?' Ron wondered out loud, turning his thoughts back to Malfoy. Just then, from across the courtyard, Ginny came hurrying up to them, and they all fell silent. 'We were just talking about,' Hermione said swiftly, 'oh, um-- '

'Quidditch!' Harry exclaimed at the same time Ron said, 'How George is getting along,' and Hermione added,

'Er, with . . . Quidditch and all.'

It could not have been more obvious that they had not been talking about Quidditch but something else entirely, and from the look on Ginny's face, she knew it.

'I'll be in Gryffindor Tower if you want to talk,' she said pointedly in Harry's direction, and sparing a glare for Ron, she stomped off into the castle.

Hermione seized Harry by the arm at once and hissed, 'Go after her!'

He hadn't planned to follow, but at Hermione's insistence, he hurried off, catching up to her on the second floor staircase. Though he drew level, she didn't slow her furious pace. 'Gin,' Harry called. 'Ginny, I'm sorry. Will you hold on a second? Come on-- '

She spun around. 'Don't try and lie, I know you were talking about Malfoy! Why couldn't you tell me?'

Harry paused. For the life of him, he could not think of a reason.

'I,' he stammered, 'I suppose it's habit, we used to use that corner of the courtyard all the time, to talk about things with Voldemort.'

'And you never included me then and you won't now,' Ginny concluded, spinning on her heel and storming off once again. When she got to the portrait hole, she spat out the password and clambered inside the instant the Fat Lady swung open. She was in such a hurry that she almost tripped, and Harry reached out without thinking to steady her arm.

'Don't push me,' Ginny snapped at once. 'What do you think, I can't climb through a portrait hole myself? Because I couldn't possibly be allowed to listen in on your secrets with Ron and Hermione, not after years of hanging out with you three, even fighting alongside you-- '

They were in the common room now, and several fourth years were sitting by the fire, their eyes on Harry and Ginny.

'Gin, not here-- '

'No, I am doing this here, because I don't really fancy spending more time with you right now!' Ginny exclaimed. 'You want to have this argument? Fine, let's have it. I thought things would be different now, after the war, but they aren't, they haven't been for months!'

'I-- '

But Ginny had got her start, and much like Mrs. Weasley, she was not keen on being interrupted. 'You wouldn't even let me do anything last year, you wouldn't even talk to me because you thought I'd be in danger, but you didn't care when it came to Ron and Hermione, no, they could do what they liked! I'm tired of you treating me the same way my whole family treats me, Harry, like I can't handle myself!'

'I know you can handle yourself!' Harry shouted. 'You're brilliant at defense and everyone knows your Bat-Bogey Hex is-- '

Ginny scowled. 'Oh, and that's why you like me, I suppose, because my Bat-Bogey Hex is up to your standards?'

'I like you for lots of other reasons!' Harry said heatedly. 'You're funny and smart and a really good Quidditch player and you don't treat me like-- ' Once again, at least ten people in the common room were listening with interest to their argument. 'Ginny, please. Can't we do this upstairs?'

'You can do whatever you like upstairs,' Ginny snapped. 'I'm leaving.' And with that, she stomped back out of the portrait hole. Harry heard the Fat Lady muttering about insolent students who thought she had nothing better to do than swing open and shut all day, and then Ginny was gone.

'Tough luck,' a burly fourth-year across the room called out, nodding at Harry when he looked over in surprise. 'Have you split up, then?'

'Definitely not,' Harry snapped. The other boy sounded far too eager to merely be concerned. 'She's still-- I mean, we're still together.'

He had almost said, she's still mine.

The fourth-year shrugged and went back to his conversation as Harry made his way across the room to a chair by the window. The day was still a brilliant, unfair blue, and if he peered closely, he could make out two figures that looked like Ron and Hermione, sitting by the lake. He watched for several moments to see if Ginny would appear and join them, but she was nowhere to be seen.

It wasn't fair, Harry thought. He was the one who had slept in the dirt and watched Hermione grow thinner and thinner. He was the one who'd walked toward death and laid Dobby's small body in the earth. He was the one who had heard Hermione's screams echo through Malfoy Manor. He had been there and she hadn't. And on those long, frigid nights he lay awake listening to Hermione pretending to sleep, both of them ignoring the absence of Ron's rattling snores, he had thought of Ginny and her sleepy, sunlit smile, those secret days the spring before. He had thought, after, after.

Now, staring down at the wood-grain table covered in scribbled initials and quill-marks, he wasn't quite sure what that meant.

An hour later, when the common room had emptied for dinner, he was still sitting there. When she marched through the portrait hole, Ginny didn't look surprised. She walked straight up to him, as if she were holding a certain number of words and had to deposit them into his lap before she lost one and they ceased to make sense.

'Hi-- ?' said Harry.

Ginny wasted no time.

'Listen,' she said. 'Mum once told me that if you could see the worst in someone and still like them, you knew it was love. Well, I love you, Harry. And maybe you don't realize what you're doing, but I do.'

He said, 'Doing what?'

'Coming back to me,' said Ginny, and her eyes might have been wet for a moment, but she turned her head away from him to blink, and when she looked back, she wasn't crying. 'Pretending you want to, I mean. This isn't just about me, Harry. I can tell you feel-- '

Things had been awkward, but Harry had expected that, or rather, Hermione had expected that and told him so.

'I think we could have been good,' Ginny said, sounding subdued. 'Really, I do. But your heart isn't in it now. You leave me out and you say you're trying but you aren't, not the way you would-- you did-- before.'

'I don't know what you want from me,' Harry said frankly.

'I don't,' Ginny said; the small set of her mouth looked hurt. 'I don't want anything from you.'

'What d'you mean?'

'We aren't working, this isn't working,' she snapped. 'It's been like this since last year, you running off to do whatever you like, and leaving me to wonder what's going on and if you're all right, and when you'll tell me what's going on. I thought it'd be different after the war but it isn't, you're still keeping secrets. You don't think I can handle anything, you don't want me to be part of it.'

'That isn't true,' Harry exclaimed. 'Ginny, why would you think that? Of course I want you to be, to be involved, I do.'

'You didn't let me fight at Hogwarts,' Ginny countered. 'You knew I could have. Do you have any idea how that felt, to have you tell me I was too young and too unprepared, when you'd let everyone else?'

'Your mum wouldn't have let you anyway.'

'I looked at you,' Ginny said doggedly. 'In the Room of Requirement, I looked at you, I as good as asked you to take my side. And you didn't.'

Harry remembered Ginny's look of betrayal all too well.

'I wanted you to be safe,' he said lamely.

'You fought Voldemort when you were eleven!'

'Ginny, I was worried about you, can you blame me? I cared about you, I just wanted you to be safe-- '

'That's so selfish!' Ginny snapped. 'I love you for it, Harry, that you're always so determined to protect everyone, but what if I don't want you to protect me? You don't talk to me, you don't include me, you think you're keeping me safe but you're just keeping me out!'

Harry frowned. What was love if not protection? Wasn't that his mother's spell?

But he thought again of Dumbledore and the betrayal he had felt just after Christmas, sitting in the too-empty tent with only Hermione at his side, the heavy weight of Rita Skeeter's book on his lap.

'Love is trust, too,' Ginny said, as if she had read his mind. 'And, and equality, okay, I don't want to be my mum. Well, maybe someday, but I'd like to play professional Quidditch, and I'm not going to keep changing everything just for you, Harry.'

'I'm not stopping you from playing professional Quidditch!' exclaimed Harry, who thought Ginny would make a brilliant Quidditch player. He remembered talking to her once about Gwenog Jones and the Harpies. 'I-- how could you think I would-- '

'Not on purpose,' Ginny said impatiently. 'But what if I asked you, what if I said, could you wait a few years, could you consult me about some things you do, you never even asked me what I thought of you coming back to Hogwarts! You don't include me as part of your life!'

'You are a part of my life,' Harry said, dumbfounded at how she could think anything else.

'That's just it,' she said. 'A part of your life, that's right. I'm a small compartment and I don't get to be part of anything else. Am I supposed to be grateful to get a portion of you? I barely saw you all summer.'

'That's because your mum-- '

'-- and when I did see you, we were always in cupboards or hiding in bushes-- '

'Your mum-- '

'Maybe I didn't want to be kissing all the time!' Ginny shouted. 'Maybe I had things I needed to talk about, too! Maybe I wanted to tell you what I went through last year, if you wouldn't bother to tell me about you, but all you wanted to do was pretend it hadn't happened, you couldn't even talk about Fred, my brother-- '

'I didn't know how to talk about it,' Harry said honestly. 'I don't.'

'You do with Ron and Hermione.'

Before he could stop himself, Harry blurted out, 'Well, they were there.'

'And where were you at Hogwarts?' Ginny yelled. 'What