The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301
Part II - Chapter Twelve
Despite the lurking worry about what the remaining Death Eaters might be planning, it was love that was Harry's chief preoccupation when they weren't overwhelmed by the intensity of their final days of training. For whatever Mrs. Weasley's initial reaction to her youngest child's determination to marry so young, she had thrown herself into plans for their wedding, plans which had become the subject of a flurry of letters and phone calls.
The letters would arrive in bundles, in violet envelopes plastered with stamps. The phone calls, were made from a local phone booth in Ottery St. Catchpole to Hermione's mobile phone, a gift from her parents upon graduation. (They had said they couldn't figure out what to get her for graduation that was magical and thought the phone would remind her to talk to them occasionally.)
Where to hold the wedding was the chief debate. Harry would have been happy to have the wedding at the Burrow, but Mrs. Weasley was convinced that this was not good enough for their guests. Grimmauld Place was suggested, but Harry did not want the old Black house for his wedding. It would be one thing to hold a wedding in the garden in the summer, as they had Bill's, but that would hardly do in the winter. And Harry could never get past the feeling that the House itself disliked him nor the guilt for Sirius' death that resurfaced each time he was there.
"The problem, Harry," Hermione pointed out, "is that you're supposed to be dead. We'll have to have it somewhere very private and Grimmauld Place is very private."
"The devil with my being dead!" Harry roared. "I'll write the Prophet myself and announce I'm alive and getting married! I'll even give Rita Skeeter an interview about how I felt when I killed Voldemort."
This shocked everyone so much that he immediately had to apologize until Ron started to laugh. It started as a small chuckle and gathered steam until he was shaking uncontrollably and his face was flushed as red as his hair. "I can just see it," he chortled. "The Boy Who Lived Alive! Copies of his autobiography are available at Flourish & Blotts for 5 gold galleons each. Limited editions of signed copies will be sold for 200 gold galleons each. Witch Weekly will have you on their front page as winner of their Best Smile award for so many weeks you'll outdo Lockhart for that honor.
Harry was utterly horrified. "I think I'd better stay dead," he said after a moment. "No, that won't work. Why did they have to let everyone think I'm dead?" he groaned. "It's bad enough being famous without them having made such fodder by having me make a come back."
"Well, it's better than if they had let people know you were alive and having Death Eaters trying to kill you while you were still incapable of defending yourself," Ginny pointed out.
"They may still," he answered. "Perhaps this isn't such a good idea after all."
"Now don't start thinking you have to protect me by pretending you don't love me again," Ginny answered tartly. "Voldemort is dead and none of his followers are likely to be able to kill you if he couldn't."
Harry looked at her and refrained from saying, he did. He was enjoying having his friends to confide in again too much to upset them. And he was dead set on marrying Ginny as soon as possible. He felt as though he had spent his entire life in a large cage whose bars were constructed by Voldemort, the prophecy, Dumbledore and his own fears. He wanted, more than anything, to have a normal life: to be married, to have a home, to live as others did.
He was even happier when Ron cleared his throat and said tentatively, "Would you mind if Hermione and I, erm, doubled up? It'd save Mum and Dad the cost of having two weddings so close to each other."
"I can't think of anything better," Harry answered. "And don't worry about the cost, either. We just have to figure out where, unless you want to elope as soon as they let us out of here?"
"Mum would cry," Ginny replied. "Then she'd send a Howler."
It was Hermione who came up with the answer in the end. "We should have it at Hogwarts," she said. "Hagrid will be so happy and what could be more beautiful than the Great Hall at Christmas?"
Harry's happiness during the day was not always reflected in his dreams at night. He had dreamed of the Castle in the mists twice more and each time Sirius approached the Castle across a great chasm below which the sea frothed high and threatened to send him falling. Each time, he would call out in his dreams, "Be careful," and each time, Sirius would turn to look, only his face was not the face of his godfather, as he had known him. The dark hair was the same, and the pale eyes; but they were set in a face that was young, nearly as young as the handsome face he had seen once in a Pensieve.
At other times, he dreamed again of the fisherman king. And these dreams too were different. The fisherman king lay dying upon a pallet and his eyes were a light blue, like those of Dumbledore's, full of pain and weariness. His pallet was set in the middle of a great waste, which at times was the burnt out land that followed the great eruption of fire from the bomb set by the man in the black Volvo. "Heal my land," the king would whisper. "Only magic can heal this dying land."
Then Harry would wake in sweat and be relieved that outside the night birds sang and the bright security lights illuminated the trees and growing things that surrounded the Compound.
Not wanting to disturb Ginny's happiness or Ron's and Hermione's, Harry kept his dreams to himself. He reminded himself that Hermione was undoubtedly right. Not all of his dreams were meaningful. They could easily be the stirrings of his subconscious, bits and pieces of imagination making strange connections into stranger stories. And besides, Sirius was dead and the youth he dreamed of was gone in the mists of time.
He said goodnight to them all and stared out the window longing for release from the Muggle Compound. It wasn't that he minded his assignment so much anymore. But the stone and metal compound felt so dead, so lacking in magic at times, that he wanted out. He breathed in cool night air and transformed, taking wing. For an hour, he lost himself in the freedom of flight and then returned to his room to perch on the back of his chair. He tucked his head under his wing and slept dreamlessly, at peace, and out of reach from the world.
~~***~~
The two women faced each other, each holding a babe protectively in her arms. "You don't know what could happen," Pansy cried. "The spell could go wrong. It could kill my baby. I heard you!"
"We will not use the Dark Lord's child for this first attempt," the other woman replied. The hooded dark eyes in the once beautiful face were cold and threatening.
"I don't even believe that's his child," Pansy rejoined. "That was Draco's fantasy, because he resented having a brother to take his place as his Mum's favorite."
A mournful wind whistled through the cracks in the Riddle House, sliding eerily through the plywood that had been slapped up hastily to cover the broken windows and fire damage. No one from Little Hangleton would see them, though, for they had gone down through the cellar to the hidden crypt where once a mindless body had awaited possession of the Dark Lord.
A great cauldron simmered over a fire that burned unnaturally green and curled up near its heat was a large snake. Pansy stepped away from the snake and sheltered the tiny babe with her body. Her shivering increased though, when a drawling voice spoke.
"We shall not touch either of the two tonight," Lucius Malfoy said. "We shall use a substitute, one who will be merely a temporary vessel."
He swept toward the cauldron and shrugged off his cloak. In his arms was another babe, only this one began to wail as the blond wizard lifted it up and dangled it above the steaming pot.
"Clever, Lucius," Bellatrix said. "Where did you get it? Whose is it?"
Malfoy regarded the babe with distaste as he lowered it into the gently simmering liquid. "I stole it from a pram in the big town nearby. I suppose it's a Muggle. But that's of no moment as all we will do tonight is summon the Lord's spirit. He will direct us and tell us what is needful for his full return. He will choose which of the babes makes the fitter vessel for his earthly body."
Malfoy drew his wand from his serpent headed walking stick and drew a complicated symbol in the air. Bellatrix set down the babe she had held in a basket and approached the cauldron. Uncorking a crystal flagon, she poured a thick, silvery substance into the mix and steam rose high, along with the wail of the babe.
Malfoy added another substance, this one green as the snake on the floor, and then flicked his wand so that the sleeping snake rose to his bidding. Clasping the great hooded head in his gloved hands, he forced open its mouth and directed the stream of venom into the cauldron.
Dark smoke rose and took shape as the contents of the cauldron overflowed and left a trail of cracks in the stone floor of the crypt. A snake-like head coalesced out of the smoke and then sank down into the now silent babe. Its eyes opened. Blue at first - the color of infants before their true eye color sets in - they changed into red and the pupils altered from round and terrified to inhuman, with slits like a serpent's.
A voice issued from the infant's mouth, "Who calls me hither?"
Bellatrix spoke, her face approaching its former beauty in the ecstasy of her response. "It is I, Lord, your most faithful servant. We call you to tell us how we bring you forth to lead us once more."
"This vessel is too frail and lacking in magic," the voice replied. A harsh, difficult croak, it emerged from the small infant's mouth, like the cry of a raven unexpectedly come from the mouth of a dove.
The babe's eyes closed and opened and the red shimmered back to blue and then at Malfoy's call, back to red. "Tell us Lord, where to find you the best vessel for your return. We offer you these two babes, which do you choose?"
"There can be no return for me," the voice whispered, "not even to the body of mine own heir, without the blood of he who defeated me."
"But Master," Bellatrix answered, "Potter died when you did."
"Nay," the voice whispered, "Potter lives. Only his blood can bring me back. Only his death can bring me life."
The smoke vanished in a wail and the babe's eyes were blue once more. But no cry sounded from his tiny chest and no breath would fill his lungs again.
In the far corner, Pansy huddled over her infant weeping, "Not mine. He doesn't want mine."
"Be still, girl," Lucius Malfoy said coldly. "I have told you my heir will not be needed." He regarded the weeping girl with disgust and said, "Pah! No wonder Draco had no use for you. No pure blood should be such a weeping, puling weakling. Compose yourself and feed my grandson."
"Will you put your own line before the master's restoration?" Bellatrix asked.
"The master," Lucius replied, "foresaw the need when he made his own heir.
~~***~~
A few faint stars still hung in the navy blue sky as the first light of dawn glimmered on the horizon. The red bird pulled its head from its wing and blinked its green eyes. In a blur of movement, the bird transformed, and Harry yawned and stretched and padded into the bathroom to clean up for the day.
Though he felt quite rested, the feeling of anxiety bubbled back up and he wanted someone to talk to, to whom he could spill out his worries without feeling that he had stolen their happiness or given them further evidence of his eccentricity. He ruled out Ron and Hermione and Ginny immediately. His other friends, he thought, were simply not likely to take his dreams seriously and Bones had other problems to deal with.
He wanted someone like Sirius, an adult wizard who would listen and hear his concerns without panicking or belittling them. But Sirius was dead. For a moment, he stared out at the growing light and let the memory of the young Sirius looking back at him come to mind. He felt, strangely, that the young man in his dreams had heard his warning, relied on his word, trusted in him. Yet he could not answer that trust if he did not understand what his dreams were about.
Finally, it came to him that Dumbledore would be the one, if only he could get out of this place. He was on the verge of dismissing his fears. Besides, Dumbledore had not trusted Harry with the truth. Why should he now lay this before the old man?
Immediately, he knew how wrong that was. Dumbledore, he thought, had wanted to protect him. Dumbledore knew him as well as anybody, especially his tendency to rash action at the wrong time. Dumbledore would probably tell him that leaving the Compound now was just such a rash action, but the feeling that this was important weighed on him. The face of that young Sirius trusting him tugged at his heart and impelled him to action. He had, he calculated, a good two hours before he had to put in an appearance at class.
He transformed once more and took wing, but any watcher would have missed him as the red bird vanished again in the blink of an eye.
***
Although dawn had barely broken, Albus Dumbledore was awake and ready for the day. He sipped his hot cocoa and nibbled on a buttered crumpet and considered his alternatives. He knew that he would not be able to conceal Harry's survival very much longer, if only because that young man was not likely to tolerate hiding for any length of time. He felt hemmed in though by the need to act quickly. Slytherin’s Heir remained to be located and the Death Eaters were still operating and planning their master's return.
He thought their chances of success were vanishing small. Voldemort was dead and though it might be possible to summon his spirit for a brief moment, he knew of no instance in wizarding history where a dead man had been successfully brought back to life. And certainly not one who had been dead as long as four months.
A soft trill caught his attention as a scarlet bird settled onto the back of a chair and then lifted up again to hover in the air.
"Good morning, Fawkes," he said, "You're back early."
The bird scolded him briefly and flapped its wings. Its form blurred and Dumbledore could not suppress the feeling of delight and yes, awe, as the one who was most in his thoughts appeared before him.
"Hullo, Professor," Harry said. He stood poised, like a cat ready to flee at the first sign of hostility, and Dumbledore had time to mark the changes that a mere few months had wrought.
Dumbledore smiled and said serenely, as though this visit were not only welcome, but expected, "Ah, Harry, do sit down. Would you care for some cocoa and crumpets?"
He waved his wand and used the time in which his boy was distracted by the appearance of mug and plate to feel relieved at the relaxation in the wary posture and the sudden glow of a smile on the face.
"Thanks, Professor," Harry answered. He sat in the chair indicated and lifted the mug to take a sip. Then, characteristically, he set it down after only a taste and said resolutely, "I wanted to talk to you, sir."
"So you shall," Dumbledore replied. "But talking is much easier after one has eaten, I find, especially so early in the morning."
Harry ignored the food, however, and said, "I hope you don't think I'm too rash in coming here like this, but I thought there were things you ought to know." He paused and frowned and a faint shadow stirred in the bright green eyes. It was nothing like the darkness that had lived in them in the preceding year, when the burden of his struggle against Voldemort had nearly broken his spirit. So Dumbledore waited and allowed himself the relief of seeing Harry whole and healthy again, returned to his former energy and nearly fully grown.
"I'm sure Inspector Bones told you something about what happened the other day," he said tentatively. Dumbledore nodded and listened intently as Harry described his vision and the attack on the Center, as well as his concerns about Malfoy's connection with the Alliance.
"Do we know for certain that they were behind this attack?" Dumbledore asked.
"I am, sir," Harry answered. "I recognized one of the men. He was a Muggle, I believe, and an associate of Norway's - that's the one from our department who met with this Hayden and Malfoy."
"But Lucius Malfoy was not there?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry shook his head.
"But this is not your only concern," Dumbledore prompted. He noticed that Harry left out the part that Bones had worried about, the vision of the man with the suitcase bomb and focused instead on the vision of Sirius. Well, that was hardly surprising as Dumbledore felt certain that Harry blamed himself for Sirius' death even still and probably always would.
"The thing is, sir," Harry said, "the Sirius I saw, it wasn't the Sirius I knew. He was too young. Like when I glimpsed him for a moment in the Pensive, when I, erm, looked at Snape's memories."
"Professor Snape," Dumbledore corrected, but mostly to give himself a moment to think.
"I don't understand," Harry said, "How is it I saw the attack on the Center just as it was about to happen, and the very next moment, I saw something that hadn't happened yet? And then I saw Sirius, when he was young, and, as I've never seen him in life. Is it possible to see things that happened in the past without a Pensive?"
Dumbledore considered him closely. His eyes were clear and bright and full of the puzzle he had been given. He had filled out and healthy color sprang in his cheeks. "I don't know," Dumbledore answered at last.
The green eyes sharpened. "You don't?"
"True seers are quite rare," Dumbledore replied, "and those who see as you did are even rarer." He hesitated and then forced himself to ask the one question he would rather avoid forever. "You felt no sign of Voldemort stirring? No pain in your scar?"
"Not a twinge," Harry replied. His certainty reassured Dumbledore, but the question had its own reverberations. "He can't have survived, can he?" Harry asked. "I mean, he did die, when I...that is, if I survived, is it possible he did as well, but that he was simply, well, severed from me, so that I can't feel him any longer?"
"No," Dumbledore answered. "No one could have survived what happened to him."
They sat in silence a moment.
"I check every day, you see," Harry said then. "Every night and every morning, I check that he's not there. And he's not. I go as far into my own mind as I can, until it feels like I've fallen into a bottomless hole. And he's not there. And whatever dreams I have, they're my own, not seeing through his mind. I'd know if it were so. I would."
For a moment again, Dumbledore was silenced: by his sorrow for the scars that had marked his young man, scars that were far more lasting and difficult than the shadowy line of the lightning scar that was barely discernable upon his brow; and by his love for the courage that shone through and kept going, when anyone else would not.
"I think," Dumbledore, said, "that this is not a matter for immediate concern. You did not feel that it was something that would happen now or at anytime near?"
"No," Harry said, "but I felt that it was important. I felt like Sirius needed me, like he would fall off that bridge if I weren't there."
"I believe," Dumbledore, said with deliberate calm, "that whatever it was, you will know when the time is upon you, and I know you will do what is right when that time comes."
***
The knot of worry in his stomach loosened and Harry sipped at his cocoa intending to leave quickly now that he had told Professor Dumbledore his concerns. The cocoa was sweet, unlike his usual morning coffee, and seemed to rush to his head leaving behind an unusual feeling of lightness. He stood and started to say thank you, but then was reminded of his other reason for coming. He was pleased, though, and extraordinarily surprised at the pure delight in Dumbledore's eyes when he asked for the use of the Great Hall at Christmas.
A knock on the door sounded and it swung open just as he was about to stammer out his thanks. The tall, dark robed form of Snape entered.
"You're here already?" Snape asked curtly.
Harry frowned at him and couldn't think of what to say for an instant. Snape's cold black gaze assessed him and, as usual, seemed to find him wanting.
"The hair is all right," Snape continued, "but what are you doing in that ridiculous Muggle T-shirt? I suppose it's your fondness for Muggle costumes coming out again." Harry opened his mouth to object that Snape was hardly the paragon of elegance, but something about the nature of the comments kept him silent. Snape looked him up and down again and his lip curled. "And what kind of potion have you taken to change your arms like that?"
Harry gawped at Snape and looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore, however, said nothing. He was too busy laughing silently.
"Well?" Snape demanded.
Harry ran his hand through his hair and said in irritation and puzzlement, "I can't think why you've got any right to criticize my appearance." He crossed his arms and started to go on; only another person entered the headmaster’s office through the still open door. He gaped in astonishment as the person who had entered looked almost exactly like Harry himself; except as the person came forward, it was obvious that his double was several inches shorter than he was and considerably slighter. Not to mention that the other Harry's eyes were dark, not green, and the scar on his forehead was actually more noticeable than the one on his own. He was on the verge of exploding in anger when the other Harry said, "Wotcher, Harry! You look awfully good for a dead man."
Snape turned around and looked from his double to Harry and back again. His normally sallow complexion darkened. "What kind of joke is this?"
"I was about to ask the same," Harry said coolly.
His double, however, had begun to change. The shape of his nose and face altered so that in seconds, one could see that it was really Tonks in round glasses like his. She had left her dark hair in the same exact style (or non-style) as his own. She marched forward past Snape and also looked him up and down, but far more favorably. "You grew," she said accusingly. "And Snapey is right, you've got muscles, haven't you?"
Goaded now by their combined examination, Harry retorted, "You'd have muscles too if you spent three months in Muggle boot camp. And I'd really like to know what you’re doing disguised as me."
Snape interrupted before she could answer and said through gritted teeth, "I have told you before not to call me by that absurd appellation."
"It's a damn sight friendlier than Snivellus," Tonks said cheerily, apparently unmoved altogether by his hostility.
Dumbledore had got his composure back and he answered Harry’s question for them. "It's quite simple, Harry. I knew we should have to have a means of preparing the public for the fact that you are alive. The means were there, you see, as almost immediately after your fight with Voldemort, there were a number of false reports that you had appeared in various places, either alive, or as a ghost, and done some heroic act." The elderly wizard glanced at Tonks in amusement. "It occurred to me that an occasional sighting of someone looking very like you would bolster the reports, but would still be discounted by the Death Eaters. So, as you see, Tonks here has kindly lent her talents to the effort with the assistance of Professor Snape."
"You're going about masquerading as me?" Harry. "And what does Snape have to do with it?"
"He comes along as my back-up," Tonks answered. "Just in case I get involved in a situation which I can't handle alone. We had a rather nasty tussle last week with a couple of dark wizards in Knockturn Alley. Fortunately, Snapey here does know his dark arts."
Perhaps it was Tonks' casual way of referring to Snape as Snapey, but Harry's sense of humor began to reassert itself. "So you and, erm, Snapey here, were going to make an appearance, I take it," Harry inquired. Snape's black eyes were flashing dangerously, but Harry could not help enjoying his annoyance. After all, the Professor could hardly give him a detention anymore or grade him down on an assignment.
"That's right," Tonks answered. "We've got a vampire making life difficult for a village in Yorkshire. He's been after everybody, Muggles included. Can't have that, now can we?"
Harry would have dearly loved to make a vampire joke about Snape, but thought that the Professor's already strained temper would crack. Instead, his sense of mischief found another outlet. "I've got about an hour before I have to show up for work," he said innocently. "How about if I join you? At the risk of sounding excessively like Professor Lockhart, what could be better than an appearance by the real me?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Snape said waspishly. Harry could not tell which Snape found more revolting, his own participation in the operation or the recollection of Lockhart and his vanity.
"I think it's a great idea," Tonks said.
"He's supposed to be recuperating," Snape retorted. "Fighting a vampire is hardly guaranteed to improve one's health. Not to mention the idea is to let people think they might have seen him; not to have them actually see him. The news will be plastered all over the Daily Prophet tomorrow."
"My health's just fine," Harry answered. He added quite seriously, "And thank you for your concern."
"What are you doing here anyway?" Snape asked. "I feel quite certain you are breaking some rule somewhere by being here."
Harry merely raised an eyebrow. He had Snape himself to thank for his ability to screen out unwanted intrusions on his mind.
"Well?" Snape demanded.
Harry glanced at Dumbledore to see how the elderly wizard was taking all this, but Dumbledore's expression was purely curious and it appeared that he would not attempt to direct Harry's response. Harry shrugged and said simply, "I wanted permission to have my wedding in the Great Hall here at Christmas." And moved by the look of surprise on the Professor's face and the look delight on Tonks' he added, "All the professors are invited, of course."
He had never seen Snape look so dumbfounded. "I'm invited to your wedding?" he asked in astonishment.
For an instant, Harry was tempted by all their history of anger and dislike to say, not you; but he could not. He nodded and said, instead, the strict truth, "I owe you my life several times over. Of course, you are invited."
***
It was by Hermione's watch three minutes to eight. The recruits were all gathered outside at the edge of the Compound's woods in preparation for the day's simulation. This was to involve another exercise in tracking and detaining suspects. However, instead of tracking only one suspect, they were working in groups tracking a group of suspects. The exercise would require, as Lieutenant Daniels had emphasized, tight cooperation.
Hermione glanced at the other recruits with anxiety. Everyone was already there except for Harry and the Lieutenant was about to start. She could not imagine where he could be. She and Ginny had knocked on his door on the way out, as he had not appeared for breakfast. There had been no answer, but that had not stopped Ginny from trying the door. When it proved to be locked, Ginny stamped her foot in annoyance. Then keeping a lookout for anyone watching, she had surreptitiously drawn her wand and opened the door. But Harry had not been there.
The bed had been neatly made and a glance at the bathroom showed that he had been there not long before. A damp towel hung from the towel bar and soap and razor were sitting on the bowl of the sink. But Ron had not seen him and they had not found him. They had gone out for the morning exercise debating whether to ask any of the others if they had seen Harry. She had voted firmly against it. The last thing they needed was to alert everyone that Harry was missing.
Daniels began calling out the roll, even though it still lacked two minutes to the hour. Hermione had to clear her throat to answer when she was called and as the lieutenant progressed through the list, she was sure that Harry was going to be in terrible trouble. The Lieutenant called out, "Potter," and to her astonishment, Harry replied, "Here, sir."
She turned to stare at him as his voice had come from directly behind her. "When did you get here?" she asked in a whisper.
"I was right here behind you," he answered. His green eyes were limpid and clear and he looked perfectly fresh and rested. His uniform was immaculate and the only thing odd was a long thin cut on the palm of his left hand.
"What have you been up to?" Ginny asked. She grabbed hold of his hand but was forced to let go when Daniels said, "Good gad, Weasley and Potter. Can't you refrain from holding hands at least during exercises?"
Ginny flushed with embarrassment and glared at Harry. "My razor slipped," Harry answered mundanely. "You could kiss it and make it better," he whispered, so that only those around him could hear.
Just to their front, Hawkins turned his head and snickered and Harry grinned back unrepentantly. Then they all had to jog into the woods to take up their positions and there was no more time to question Harry further.
Infuriatingly, Harry was assigned to the group playing the suspects and Hermione found herself assigned to the group who had to track them. He grinned at her and Ron and loped off into the woods next to MacCready.
They had to give the "suspects" a three minute lead, but Hermione was determined to catch up with Harry and give him a piece of her mind. It wasn't difficult to track them at first. For one thing, MacCready was so big that he left quite clear footprints in the soft forest track. It became evident, however, after several hundred yards that the two of them had split up or doubled back to lay a trap for their pursuers.
She stopped and said, "He's playing games with us, isn't he?"
"He's just doing what he's supposed to, Hermione," Ron answered pacifically.
She gave him The Look and said, "Just because you let yourself be fooled by that innocent act doesn't mean I am. He was up to something this morning."
"If he was," Ron answered, "you're just annoyed because he didn't let you in on it. And anyway, he could just gone for a walk or something. Ginny says he's still having nightmares."
"Still?" Hermione asked. She frowned thinking that perhaps she had been wrong to discount his dreams. That was the trouble with Harry: even when he was just sleeping, he could still manage to get into mischief.
It didn't take more than five minutes to catch up with MacCready. Naturally, Harry was not with him. She looked at MacCready accusingly and said, "You're supposed to stay with him."
He looked at her with alarm and said, "We thought it would be more difficult for you to track us if we split up. It's within the rules, you know."
"Never let Harry Potter out of your sight," Hermione said tartly. "He'll always get into trouble if you do."
MacCready stared at her steadily and said, "That's some testimonial coming from his friend, Granger."
Ron snorted and said, "Yeah, but it's true. Haven't you got the measure of him yet?"
MacCready examined them both thoroughly. "It's a bit difficult to get the measure of a wizard, or a psychic, or whatever he is. But you've seen him do that trick before, haven't you?"
"It's not a trick," Ron said scathingly. Hermione had to step on his foot to stop him saying anything more. She had a feeling that they would not get off lightly if they revealed any more to the Muggles than had already been let out. She was astounded; actually, the Wizengamot for doing magic in front of Muggles hadn’t called up that Harry. Of course, she reflected, it's a bit difficult to call up someone you insist is dead.
They went down the path where MacCready had seen Harry go but they could find no further sign of him. Hermione was tempted to pull out her wand and use some of the spells they had learned in Defense for Stealth and Tracking, but refrained since MacCready had amiably decided to join them and help in their search.
After an hour, Harry was the only "suspect" still not caught and Hermione was beginning to worry for real. Perhaps, she thought, he had fallen and gotten hurt. Perhaps he had finally cracked and used magic to get away. Ron seemed to have followed her thinking, for he said reassuringly, "I bet he's found some nook where no one would expect him to be."
When they reported their inability to find him, Daniels contrived to look both irritated and impressed and he sent out three more recruits to join them in their tracking game. After another three-quarters of an hour, they still had failed to locate Harry and Daniels was starting to get more than annoyed. "He can't have left the grounds, can he?" the Lieutenant asked. Hermione understood that was not a question that ought to be answered.
After consulting with Worthington, Daniels decided to blow the whistle, which indicated the exercise was over. Once again, as in the morning, all of the recruits were assembled immediately except for Harry. Just as Daniels was about to call in an alarm, however, Harry came trotting out of the woods exactly where he had gone in.
For an instant, Hermione could have sworn that in the bright light he seemed rather faint about the edges, as though he was turning transparent, as though he was turning into the living ghost that Luna Lovegood had once described. Then the light dimmed as the sun went behind the clouds and he was just Harry, solid, and real and quite alive.
"Where have you been?" Daniels demanded.
"Hiding, of course," Harry answered, "Like I was supposed to."
"Yes, but where?" Daniels asked. "We've been looking for you and no one could find you, not even with infra-red scopes."
Harry raised his eyebrows and shrugged maddeningly. "They can't have looked very hard," he replied. "I just climbed a tree and watched everyone go by."
"Climbed a tree?" Daniels echoed. His face was darkening in a manner similar to Snape's when Harry had been particularly difficult.
Harry nodded and said cheerfully, "Well, yeah. Most people never look up, you know. And when they do, they don't see if they don't know what to look for."
"Now that was clever," Worthington said. "I shouldn't like to have to chase you for real." He stopped and then said, "Unless, of course, you've been using your, erm, magic?"
"Course not," Harry replied instantly and quite indignantly. "That would be cheating."
It took Worthington a full minute to remember to close his mouth after that and Hermione understood exactly why Professor Snape got so infuriated with her friend for the very first time. How could anyone so clever combine such innocence and such - well, arrogance - all at once?
She strode over to him meaning to lecture him, except that like her previous attempt, she was frustrated by the officers' call to attention.
