The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301

Part III - Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Who did it?” Snape asked. He gazed down at Dumbledore’s worn old face with a mixture of feelings he did not care to analyze.

“Whoever attacked Fawkes,” Potter answered. “Someone he trusted, or someone he had no cause to fear.” Potter’s green eyes were intent on the old man and he had not bothered to wipe the moisture from his face.

“How do you know that?” McGonagall asked. She looked suddenly terribly old herself and Snape felt as though a shift in time had taken place: that all that they knew, every assumption on which they stood had altered in an instant. The bedrock of their lives had crumbled. No longer were Dumbledore and McGonagall the pillars of support. They now were fragile, to be cared for, and the young, the children had become the caretakers.

“The door wasn’t locked,” Potter replied. “And no one used magic to break in. Whoever was behind it was admitted by the Headmaster.”

Snape did not like the inevitable conclusion. Either a Hogwarts staff member or a Hogwarts student had been behind this. He glanced at Sirius, the child of the Dark Lord and wondered. What had Dumbledore meant? He could not have been the attacker, Snape thought, as Dumbledore had not accused him. And he was sure of one thing: whatever leeway the ancient wizard might have given to a troubled student, there would have been none for one who had attacked Fawkes.

Madam Pomfrey returned with the restorative that would steady the Headmaster’s heart. Snape reached for it, not knowing quite why, and sipped the potion. The healer made a furious sound, but he ignored that and said merely, “It’s all right.” He administered the potion himself, again ignoring her offended mutterings. He waited to be sure that the potion had taken effect, looking for the steadier breathing and smoother pulse, before looking up at Potter in challenge. To his surprise, Potter only nodded. He seemed to hesitate and then asked, “What about a stronger potion, one that will do more than merely stabilize him?”

“There really isn’t anything that can counteract old age,” Madam Pomfrey answered. “And he wasn’t attacked. This was the result of wear and tear and long term stress.”

“What about the Elixir of Life?” Potter asked, “or the Bloodflower Potion?”

“He would not seek that,” McGonagall answered sharply, with some of her old vigor.

“There is no Philosopher’s Stone available,” Snape answered practically. “Nor any Bloodflower either. And it’s too late to take advantage of the equinox to obtain any, if you dared in any case.” It struck him with peculiar force that they were all answering to Potter now, that he was the Headmaster, and that it felt perfectly natural that it should be that way. He searched for the remains of the initial flash of resentment that he had felt at Dumbledore’s unexpected selection. It was odd, he thought, that he could not feel that resentment just now. With just a touch of the old malice, he added, “What are your instructions, Headmaster?”

“Professor Dumbledore is still alive,” Potter, answered swiftly. “I am not Headmaster.”

“The Headmaster doesn’t have to die to appoint a new one,” McGonagall answered. “And once appointed, there is no denying It.”

“But it’s not right,” Potter protested. “I’ve barely ever taught. You should be headmistress. Or any of the other Professors should be appointed. You would be better than I, and if you don’t want to, Professor Snape would do better.”

Snape raised his eyebrows at that.

“It’s true,” Potter insisted. “And it’s not possible even if I wanted this, when I have another Head to answer to.”

“The Ministry will have to spare you,” McGonagall said acerbically.

“Someone else can do the paperwork,” Sirius put in.

Potter turned his head to look at his adopted son and Snape thought for sure he would snap at the boy. He paused almost imperceptibly and said steadily, “It’s not the paperwork I’m worried about.” His tone was dry and Sirius’ eyes lit with satisfaction and admiration, “Catching Death Eaters?” he asked.

Snape thought that Potter would not answer, but he did so almost reluctantly. “Something like that.” The bright green eyes focused intently on Sirius and after a moment he asked, “What were you doing out in the corridors at midnight anyway?”

“Patrolling,” Sirius replied. He seemed surprised at the question, yet he flushed slightly as he added, “We’re Head boy and Head girl.” He seemed to be trying to decide whether to be offended that his father had forgotten this. “We saw Professor Dumbledore and followed him,” he continued.

Potter continued to look at him and Snape could not help comparing the two. They were nearly the same height and both were slim and black haired. Yet though Potter still looked almost as he had at that age, there were palpable differences, profound differences, he thought, between Sirius and Potter even as he had been as a Seventh year. Sirius was extraordinarily good-looking as his namesake had been. He had the glow of health and the indefinable sense of assurance that comes from knowing one’s own talent and self-worth: the product, Snape supposed, of having grown up knowing one is cared for, and loved. Potter, he thought, had been thinner, almost unhealthily so, and full of tension, almost a wildness that resembled an animal fighting for its life. Well, he had been, Snape thought. He had come to school already damaged, and it was a miracle he had survived this far. And even now, after years of relative peace and marriage, he retained the coiled and barely contained energy of one prepared to do battle at any moment.

Potter looked from his son to the Bones girl and raised an eyebrow, but said only, “You’d best get some rest then, both of you.” Sirius flushed a bit more and as he left, he muttered, “How come you always know everything?”

The green eyes watched the young ones retreat, then returned to rest on Dumbledore’s sleeping face. “I’d better see to Fawkes,” he said, “and we’ll talk more tomorrow about what to do for now.” Though his words promised the change was temporary, Snape thought that the mantle of leadership had changed for good, though Potter did not quite accept it yet. He himself, could not quite accept it yet; but when he looked into the young face and into the green eyes, which were as old and knowing as some ancient demi-god, he realized that all his old conceptions about Potter were outworn and useless. He would have to tread warily now or find himself in a no-man’s land caught between the animus of the Death Eaters he had betrayed and the distrust of the side he had supported. He was going to miss Dumbledore’s leadership, he realized. He had depended on Dumbledore far more than he had known. In that, he thought, he and Potter were entirely the same.

*****

Harry sat on the couch in the Headmaster's office and stared out the window at the rising sun. It promised to be a fine fall day, but Harry could not feel cheerful when Dumbledore lay ill, perhaps dying. He knew quite well that Dumbledore did not fear death and that death was not evil, but that did not alleviate his anxiety. They were now entering a time of great danger, he believed, and Dumbledore's wisdom and leadership could be crucial to the outcome of things. He did not understand why Dumbledore had appointed him to be the new Headmaster. He was not fit for it, he thought. He had nothing like Dumbledore's brilliance or talent. And Dumbledore must know, as Harry himself did, that his ability to defeat Voldemort had been the side effect of his Mum's sacrifice and that his own survival was a peculiar mystery, a strange and cosmic joke.

His mind tumbled from thought to thought and he could not reconcile what he had seen in the mirror last night with what he had expected to see. It had been a desperate hope, the idea that if he wanted it badly enough, the Mirror of Erised would show him where Hayden and Malfoy might be. He had thought that if only he could find then, surprise them quickly before they could entrench themselves, that the coming war might be averted.

He had seen Hayden and Malfoy, but not in the present. He had seen Hayden hanging from a gallows. He had seen Malfoy; a crippled, wasted creature hunched the ruins of his old home. It ought to comfort him, except that those images must be merely dreams, illusions, and the Mirror must have lost its enchantment somehow. For he had also seen other images that terrified him: Muggle buildings crumbling, falling, melting, looking as though the tall skyscrapers were volcanoes collapsing in on themselves as their own fires consumed them; great expanses of land that were as bare and rocky and dead as the moon; and marshes full of poisoned water in which dead animals and bird floated. The Mirror, he thought, must have been broken, altered somehow, when Dumbledore enchanted it to trap Voldemort. Or perhaps the struggle between Harry and Voldemort for the Stone had corrupted the Mirror. The one thing Harry did know was that the things he had seen in the Mirror of Erised were not his heart's desire.

A cheep from the baby bird distracted him. Without thinking, he transformed and settled on the perch beside Fawkes, sheltering the baby bird with his own crimson wing. He tucked his head under the other wing and surrendered to the luxury of a sleep soothed and comforted by the soft trill of phoenix song.

***

The next morning, Dad sat in his usual place at the head table and Dumbledore's seat was left empty. Unusually, the entire school was assembled for breakfast, and when Dad stood to speak, everyone fell silent at once.

"You may have heard," Dad said, "that Professor Dumbledore was taken ill last night and it may be some weeks, perhaps, before he recovers and takes up his duties regularly once more. In the meantime, Professor McGonagall will stand in his place, with the assistance of Professor Snape and myself. Classes will continue as usual; however, the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin which was to be held this week has been postponed until further notice."

Ordinarily, there would have been many a groan and complaint at this last news, but no one said a word. All the students understood that Professor Dumbledore's illness must be serious indeed, though neither Matilda nor I had told anyone what had happened last night. Lily and James and Vicky and Bryony were sure to be angry that we hadn't, but until Dad said we might, I thought it better to stay quiet. I could not help wondering why Dad had not said anything about Dumbledore having appointed him to be the next Headmaster. I also could not help wondering just why he had to keep his work at the Ministry so secret all these years.

In the next weeks following Professor Dumbledore's illness, things went on much the same, at least on the surface. Dad's class, however, was far more intense and there were days when we all left the class drenched in sweat and thoroughly exhausted. For several weeks, all we did was learn to fall and dodge and defend ourselves without a wand at all and some of the other students complained that if a Dark wizard attacked they wouldn't have a clue what to do but to run. The complaints were never made in Dad's hearing though, and in class, no one dared to slack or work half-heartedly in the face of Dad's intense green stare.

There were times when I felt as though the person who had shown up to teach at Hogwarts was a different man altogether from the one whom I had lived with until then. My whole understanding of who he was, of what he was, had undergone a revolution. I was prouder of him than ever; yet I felt as though I had lost something, too. When I mentioned this to James and Lily they admitted to having some of the same feelings.

"The thing is," James, said, on a freezing afternoon in December, "we've never seen him at work. We only know him from home, where he had no need to..." He stopped there as it was really hard to quantify the real difference.

"What bothers you, Sirius," Lily said thoughtfully, "is you always saw Dad as being so much like yourself. You think of him as quiet and gentle and sensitive and poetic, and it's hard to reconcile that with....well...The Boy Who Lived."

I thought that did sum it up. I had seen the pictures in the book but I still had trouble believing that Dad, my Dad, was the hero who defeated He Who Must Not Be named. I could believe it more since I had seen evidence of his skill at Defense Against the Dark Arts. Yet even after classes with him, even after seeing him undo the dark spell that had bound Dumbledore's phoenix so easily, I still did not altogether believe or understand who he was and what he was.

Between classes, Dad was often absent, although he appeared most nights now for dinner. There was an air of abstraction about him, as though he was literally in two places at once, and I had not tried to talk to him again about my questionable plans for the future as he looked so tired and worried every time I stayed after class for an extra word. "Everything all right?" he'd ask, and I'd respond, "Brilliant, Dad," because I couldn't bear to add another burden to the present load.

For many of the students, nothing much seemed changed. But they were the ones who ignored the Muggle world religiously. I had the benefit of my friendship with Matilda, who got copies of the Muggle paper as well as the Daily Prophet. The first time I had seen her reading it, I had been a bit surprised, but I quickly realized that I could keep up with my own extra-wizard interests this way. She would save the paper for me and after lunch, we would huddle under the beech trees if the weather was fine or slip into the Prefects' Parlor to read the paper without being teased about it.

Matilda would take the news first and I would look at the science and music. I liked her more and more as she was the only witch or wizard I knew who did not think my interest in Muggle science was not only eccentric, but also somehow almost treasonous. What neither of us could help noticing, however, was that more and more peculiar events were reported in the Muggle papers that looked as though they should have been reported in the Daily Prophet. A train had derailed on the Richmond line when the conductor had failed to switch tracks at the right moment. This would have seemed like a perfectly ordinary accident was it not for the fact that the windows on the train had suddenly changed from clear to opaque. A terror group had taken credit for the accident but there were also editorials about poor engineering and the need for the government to overhaul Britain's aging mass transport system.

The train derailment was not the only odd incident. A village in Kent had reported being attacked by a troop of vampires. The Muggle papers had scoffed at this one and attributed the event to a mass hallucination. There had also been reports of a break-in at a chemical laboratory. I would have passed over that, but Matilda had pointed out that every substance stolen could easily be used in wizard potions. I thought that one was a coincidence: I had enough knowledge of Muggle chemistry to realize that the ingredients could also make a crude Muggle bomb. All of this would be easy to ignore if I didn’t know that the Death Eaters were lurking out there, planning who knew what.

On a fine day a week before term was to let out, I arrived at Defense class early, thinking I might have a chance to see Dad and talk to him about something pleasant for once. I had seen an advertisement in the paper for a concert on Boxing Day and I was hoping he would allow me to go. I arrived there nearly at the same time as Professor Snape. I pushed open Dad’s office door, which stood partially ajar and received a great shock.

Dad was standing with his back to the door fiddling with his watch. At the same instant, Dad was also standing facing us, although his body seemed to waver and to be growing somehow and then solidify. The very moment that he did, the first one disappeared in the blink of an eye.

I stared speechlessly. Professor Snape looked equally stunned, but only for an instant. His eyes narrowed and he said in the unpleasant tone he reserves for the very worst and most stupid of students, "You asked to speak to me. What games are you up to now, Potter?"

Dad's face was quite pale and he blinked, perhaps at the Professor's tone, but he did not seem to take offense. "No games," he said hoarsely. He dug his hands into the pockets of his robes and brought out masses of small red flowers of a kind I had never seen before.

"There," he said. "Take them. I want you to make the potion for Professor Dumbledore."

Professor Snape did not move. "Where have you been and how did you get those at this time of year? It's too late for the equinox and too soon for the solstice. And which potion in particular?"

"The one you gave me at the end of sixth year," Dad answered, "after I fought Voldemort. And the one they gave me after seventh after I fought him again. The one that gave me back my strength and health."

"After your seventh?" Professor Snape repeated. "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't make any potion for you that summer."

"I thought you did," he said. "It was a reddish colored potion. It tasted like the one you gave me, the Bloodflower potion. Ginny told me it was just Revitalizing Potion, but I knew better. Even I'm not that stupid at potions that I don't know Revitalizing Potion is blue." He looked as though he would press it further, but then he shrugged a very small shrug and held his hands out with the flowers. They had very deep crimson petals and looked so dewy that each separate petal might have been made of a drop of blood.

Professor Snape moved then, not to take the flowers, but to catch Dad as he collapsed. "You're a bloody moron," he roared.

"It's for Professor Dumbledore," Dad insisted. "We need him. We can't do without him. Everything will fall apart into chaos if he's not here to guide us."

Almost fearfully, Professor Snape asked softly, "Have you seen something?"

"I keep dreaming it," Dad answered, "cities dying, the world changed, people scratching out survival in a waste and everything good and fine we know quite, quite gone." He said, "Make the potion for Dumbledore, please Severus." Then he closed his eyes and did not open them when the Professor shook him just a little.

"Gather the flowers," Professor Snape directed me, "and take them to my office and put them in water. They need to be as fresh as possible."

"But Dad," I said terrified, "what about him? How ill is he?"

Professor Snape pushed back the sleeves of Dad's robes and I could see there were pink cuts on his arms that still oozed blood. "He'll be all right," Professor Snape replied abruptly, "as soon as Madam Pomfrey gets some blood replenishing potion in him."

My anxiety must have shown for he said gruffly, but gently at the same time, "He's survived far worse than this, I assure you. And if you don't get those Bloodflower in water immediately, all the blood he poured out to make them will have been wasted."

With shaking hands I gathered up the crimson flowers though I loathe touching them. All I could think of was that I was literally being bathed in my own father's blood and I was sure that I would be covered in blood by the time I had got through preserving them. I thought I should weep when Dad opened his eyes once more and said, "Hurry, Sirius. We're relying on you."

I don't know why, but I blurted out, "Mum's going to be so mad at you."

Dad gave a tiny chuckle and said, "Oh, yeah. She'll be mad I didn't take her along with Me."

"Where?" I asked.

Dad didn't respond, but I could have sworn I heard Professor Snape say, "When? And how?"

*****

Dumbledore woke from the sleepy afternoon drowse into which he fell so often these days. Dismay and fear moved him to try to sit and then to rise as Snape laid Harry down on a nearby bed and Madam Pomfrey rushed in to administer a potion to the unconscious man. Harry’s face was still and pale and he did not wake even when the potion dripped on his neck. The long slim fingers hung lax and his normally untamable black hair was matted down with sweat.

“What’s happened?” Dumbledore asked Snape.

Snape moved quickly to press Dumbledore back down, an action Dumbledore could not help resenting most fiercely though he knew that it rose out of the man’s concern. Snape waved his wand over Dumbledore’s chest and did not reply immediately. “Well?” Dumbledore demanded. “Tell me. There’s nothing you can do for me other than that.”

Snape’s face took on that peculiar closed look that told him the man was attempting to conceal his thoughts and fears. With a sigh, he turned back to Harry and delicately plucked a tiny spot of color from his sleeve and turned back to show Dumbledore his prize.

“I don’t know where or how,” Snape said, “but he thinks I can use these to make a potion that will restore your health and youth.”

Dumbledore contemplated the tiny, perfect star-shaped Bloodflower. “He should not have,” he whispered. “I have told him, I do not seek extraordinary measures. His time has come and mine is faded.”

“He will not believe that,” Snape answered. “He is blinded by his affection for you, and as ever, he would fly in the very face of nature itself.”

“It is that which makes him great,” Dumbledore responded.

Snape’s bony face grew taut and some hint of trouble found its way into his cold black eyes. “He says he has dreams of some horror coming. He says you are needed to prevent it.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes and drew on all his long years of control. “There is little I can do about anything anymore.”

He opened his eyes again and saw that, unusually, Snape appeared undecided about something. He started to speak and stopped again. Dumbledore forced himself to remain calm and to keep a serene expression on his face.

“He says,” Snape said, with a nod back at Harry, “that someone made a potion after his last fight with the Dark Lord. A potion that gave him back his strength and health. He thought I made it. He thought it was the same one I used after his sixth year, of Bloodflower and mimbulus mimbletonia. He thinks that that potion will restore your health.” Snape stopped again; his black eyes searched Dumbledore’s as he waited for enlightenment, for an explanation, perhaps to be told why Dumbledore’s trust had not extended to the making of that potion.

“He sleeps still?” Dumbledore asked.

Snape frowned and nodded. His thin eyebrows drew together and his thin mouth pursed sourly. “We gave him a sleeping potion along with the Blood Replenishing Potion to be sure he rested long enough to recover.”

Under Snape’s unrelenting gaze, Dumbledore could no longer avoid answering, not without losing the man’s trust. And he was certain that Harry would need Snape on his side. “Nicholas made the potion.”

It was a good thing, Dumbledore thought after, that he had destroyed the Philosopher’s Stone Flamel had made after finding sanctuary in Hogwarts. Nicholas had made it for only one purpose: to save Harry, if it were possible. He had refused to take any more of the Elixir and he had finally died the following year after seeing Harry returned to health and married. Dumbledore had never told Harry nor anyone else what had been in the potion that had restored his health. Nor did Dumbledore explain to Snape that it was not on account of the Elixir of Life that Harry had lived. That still remained a mystery. The Elixir had given him back his health, although Dumbledore suspected Harry would have recovered on his own anyway, had he been allowed a longer time to rest, instead of being forced into that strenuous Muggle training program only weeks after his defeat of Voldemort. It had been much harder to get Snape to promise not to tell Harry all of this. Not that Dumbledore believed it mattered. The Stone was destroyed. Dumbledore had destroyed it himself, and no one else would make another. He was content with that, too. Soon, soon, he would find that next great adventure. But not before he gave Harry every bit of magic and knowledge he possessed.

***

In the bright afternoon sunlight, Dumbledore face looked almost young again. The lines that scored his face seemed smoothed and the bones beneath the skin were clearly defined. Yet Harry knew that the old wizard was terribly fragile and could not hope to live much longer. He waited impatiently for Snape to arrive as he felt in the deepest part of himself that it would soon be too late for anything.

Outside, he could hear the voices of children laughing, arguing, living life at full tilt. He felt as though out there somewhere was the ghost of the child he had been and that he was an utter stranger to that child. Yet, he thought, he felt at the same time that he was still only eleven and that the only shelter and protection he had was the old man lying in the bed.

Dumbledore's blue eyes were open and they were regarding him with the same affection and concern as always. As if he had read Harry's mind, he said, "We always keep the child we were in some part of us. I dream sometimes of my own childhood, you would think, wouldn't you, that I was well behaved and that my brother Aberforth might have been the one who made trouble; but it isn't so. I was always the one who borrowed my mother's wand and stole out to play."

Harry smiled, trying to imagine Dumbledore the child. "You spent all your pocket money on sweets," he said. Then he stopped as he just could not imagine any further what the quality of Dumbledore's childhood might have been like a century and three-quarters before.

"We all grow up," Dumbledore said, "even the Boy Who Lived."

Harry drew in his breath as Dumbledore never referred to him by that name. "We grow up, yes," he answered, "but we don't all reach the same measure of talent, ability or responsibility. I am not your equal, Professor. I will never be your equal and I am not capable of being what you want me to be."

Dumbledore sighed and Harry hurried on vehemently, "I survived Voldemort by luck, by some extraordinary mystery, because ... well I don't know why. Because the heavens weren't done with me, but that doesn't make me wise as you are. I was never the best student in my class. Professor Snape will even tell you I was one of the worst."

"You had burdens no other student ever had," Dumbledore said softly. "Professor Snape underestimated you as did everyone else, including Voldemort. Voldemort underestimated your courage and your goodness and your willingness to sacrifice everything in order to defeat him. He should have taken your mother's example more seriously and understood that your character would be so affected by her love that he could never come near you and defeat you."

Harry shook his head. "You make me out to be more than I am. Everyone does. I know I am an ordinary average person. And I know I am not fit to meet the coming times without your advice and leadership."

"None of us are."

Harry turned. Snape's harsh voice was softened and he thought, how odd, that in this one thing we are in complete agreement. Snape held a crystal goblet in his bony hand and inside the goblet was a crimson drink.

"That's it, then?" Harry asked unnecessarily. He bent to lift Dumbledore to a sitting position and cradled him while he drank.

Dumbledore drank the potion and grimaced. "I think I prefer my daily dose of cocoa."

"Sugar ruins the effectiveness of potions," Snape answered.

"It's the stink sap in this one," Harry answered. "Stink sap tastes awful." Remembrance struck him. He could almost taste the sap and almost he could Neville's round earnest fact burning with embarrassment as he and Harry and Ginny tried to wipe off the sticky sap and Cho Chang looked into their compartment to say hello.

He eased Dumbledore back down and said anxiously, "How do you feel?"

"Old," was Dumbledore's dry reply. "Like I could sleep a thousand years," he added. The light blue eyes closed and Dumbledore slept again.

"It's not working," Harry said to Snape. "Why isn't it working?"

"It may be, or it may not," Snape replied. His thin brows drew together as he drew his wand and waved it over the Professor's sleeping form. After a moment, which seemed to last a century, he added, "His heart seems to be steadying." He turned to meet Harry's anxious gaze and his face and voice were gentler than Harry had ever known. "The thing is, he has no injury. He is simply very, very old. And nothing can really cure old age."

"That's not what you said the very first day of class," Harry retorted. "You said you could put a stopper in death."

Snape sighed, an uncharacteristic sigh. "Dramatics, Potter, for first years, for the first day. All teachers are guilty of it. It's almost true, but not quite. I have told you before, there are limits to magic, Limits in space and time. We are wizards, not gods, and nothing can alter the laws of nature so that old age can be averted forever. Even Flamel, after using the elixir of life, did not retain his youth; he extended his life, but he did not stay young."

"Flamel," Harry said quietly. "If he were only alive now."

"As ever," Snape said in his more normal acid tone, "you think foolishly, emotionally, seeking that which is impossible."

"This is not about emotion," Harry answered. "This is about the survival of the wizard world. This is about the survival of Britain. This is about preventing the worst war we have ever seen."

"The Dark Lord is gone," Snape said, "and none of those Death Eaters who escaped have anything remotely like his powers."

"You don't understand," Harry said. "They have allied themselves with a man who believes in fantasies and who will do anything, anything to make his fantasies come true. Voldemort was evil. More evil than any of these men and far more powerful, But he was perfectly sane. He understood reality and whatever destruction he wrought was not the kind that he could not have repaired himself if he chose to."

"Don't say that name," Snape said.

Harry stared in surprise. "He's dead. You just said so yourself. How can you fear his name even after he's dead."

Snape shook his head and said, "Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."

Shrugging off the idea that Voldemort could be wakened again, Harry said, "Listen. We are going to re-activate the Order of the Phoenix. I'd like you to contact those you know, Moody and Tonks and let them know we are meeting at my house on Christmas Day."

"Grimmauld Place?" Snape asked.

"My house," Harry repeated. It's in Ottery St. Catchpole."

"On Christmas Day?" Snape asked again. "I always stay at Hogwarts for Christmas."

"Don't worry," Harry, answered, "you can be sure we'll have a proper meal for everyone."

Snape looked as though he would protest, but Harry stopped him with a gesture. He had felt the faint vibration from his two-way mirror that told him he had an incoming call. He drew the mirror from his pocket and stepped away from Snape toward the window. The falling light reflected in the glass made a halo about Bones' image.

"What?" Harry asked briefly.

"Bentley says you're to report to the office immediately," Bones answered.

"Now?" Harry asked. He glanced at Dumbledore and looked for signs that the potion was working, but all he could see was the shallow but steady rise and fall of the old man's chest.

"We've had a credible report of an imminent attack by the Alliance. Bentley wants you. Now."

"Where?" Harry asked. "When? And how credible?"

"Very credible," Bones answered, "and we need to get into position in less than an hour if we are to prevent it."

Harry turned to find Snape watching him curiously.

"I'll need you to take my classes for the rest of the day," Harry said.

"Off to do the Muggles' bidding?" Snape asked, with a return of some of his old acidity.

"Where the Alliance are concerned," Harry said tersely, "I go at my own bidding. It's entirely possible that the Death Eaters will show." He moved quickly through the infirmary and took the stairs back toward the Headmaster's office as rapidly as he could. Snape followed, his gait ungraceful as always, yet nearly as quick as Harry.

"You should take other members of the Order then," Snape said. "And notify the Ministry to send their aurors."

"Bones will have contacted Ron already," Harry replied. "And there's no time to summon anyone else."

"I am here," Snape said, "and Professor McGonagall."

Harry stopped dead and said, "Don't be foolish. If the Death Eaters show, they will go after you before anyone else, even before me. You betrayed them and they know it. And besides, someone has to be in charge here."

The door to the Headmaster's office swung open for him and stayed open just long enough for Harry to step through it before closing again on its own. Harry flung off his outer robes and threw on his dragon hide jacket over his jeans and sweater. Without knowing why, he paused once more, to take up his sword and belt it about his waist beneath his jacket. "Watch over Professor Dumbledore," he said to Fawkes as he transformed and took wing for London. The faint trill of his brother bird stayed in his ears, a sustaining hum that accompanied him as he transformed back again in a booth in the men's room at Thames Street and followed him as he strode through the office into the situation room, where the very air was permeated with the scent of men who know that battle is upon them.

Bentley greeted Harry with such enthusiasm and relief that Harry was taken aback. He looked around as casually as he could for Locherman, but he must have been more transparent than he had thought. "He's not back from France," Bentley said. "Good thing, too," he added. "We've got to keep this operation under tight control. I've got Austin supervising the regulars. We've stationed sharpshooters all along the parade route and we've got security tight as can be at the Castle and at Westminster."

"Whoa," Harry said. "Just what is going on?"

"The opening of Parliament," Bentley answered impatiently. "They had to put off the opening after the elections because the Queen wasn't feeling well. She'll ride in her carriage in procession to Westminster and then address the House of Lords and House of Commons. It's a nightmare, trying to get everything in place when we only got word the Alliance intends to attack less than half an hour ago."

"I see," Harry said. "And do we know if they're targeting the Queen or the Prime Minister?"

"Both, probably," Bentley replied, "but primarily the Queen. We've notified the Prime Minister and he is not happy. He's the one who asked for you."

"Are you really expecting them to use magic?" Harry asked. He would have thought the idea preposterous except that a memory bubbled to the surface, seeing Death Eaters attacking the Queen through Voldemort's eyes, desperately flinging an attack at Voldemort through the mental connection which he had tried so hard to block off. He answered his own question before Bentley could. "If they can get the Queen and the Prime Minister at once, it would be chaos." He paused and said, "What's the plan? How are we going to get in close enough without anyone noticing?"

"Hang on," a familiar voice interrupted. "Don't start making plans without us."

It was Ron and Hermione. Harry raised his eyebrows. They were dressed like Muggles in ordinary business clothes.

"Don't look so surprised," Hermione said swiftly. "We're not about to show up in robes for this."

Harry did not respond directly, but he was hugely glad that they were there. He did not bother to comment that Hermione was not an auror or to wonder why the Minister's Secretary to the Muggles and Head of magical Law Enforcement was showing up to take an active part in this operation. Long experience with Hermione's temper had taught him to keep quiet when it didn't pay to protest.

"Harry will ride in the procession in front of the carriage and then he will be among the Queen's guard that precede her into the House of Lords," Bentley said generally. "That way, you can be right on hand in case she's attacked."

"Ride what?" Harry asked suspiciously. "And how am I supposed to get away with being in such a prominent position. That's assigned to some high muckety-muck lord normally, isn't it?"

Hermione made an impatient cluck. "If you can ride Buckbeak or Tenebrus, Harry, you can ride an ordinary horse."

"And don't worry about the title," Bentley said. "The Prime Minister said he’d work on explaining it somehow."

"There's not much to explain," Hermione cut in again. "Harry already has a hereditary title. Lord Gryffindor."

"Hermione," Harry said loudly and in considerable annoyance. "Just because Godric Gryffindor might've had a title over a thousand years ago doesn't mean I have."

"Course, you have," Ron said. "Stands to reason. You're his last descendant. If he had one, so do you." He grinned at Harry and bowed low.

"Git!" Harry hissed. He was not impressed with the arrangements. What if he messed up the protocol or something? He was a security agent, a dark wizard catcher, not a member of the Queen's house.

Bentley looked absolutely delighted. "Ms. Granger - er - Weasley, your idea is just brilliant."

"Her idea?" Harry repeated.

Bones, who had stood by quietly till then said, "She thought it all up within seconds, as soon as the Prime Minister contacted her about the warning and asked for help from the Ministry."

"We'd better get a move on," Bentley said. He gave Harry a nudge and moved quickly to the elevators and down to the garage where a limousine awaited them.

"And where will you be?" Harry demanded when Ron and Hermione slid in beside him.

"I'll be slipping in with the Prime Minister's personal security detail," Ron answered.

"And I'll be on the outside with Deputy Bentley and Inspector Bones, coordinating. Ron has more aurors on call in case Malfoy and the Death Eaters show."

It took longer than they would have liked to reach the Palace as the streets were already filling with spectators come to watch the procession. Harry had an uneasy feeling that had nothing to do with the possible danger and everything to do with being in a public role so near the Queen. He hoped devoutly that he wouldn't have to say anything.

They were let in through a gate by a guard who saluted as they drove through. Harry was not happy with the plan and was trying to think of a way to persuade Bentley that he should be left free to follow the procession in his own fashion. What he really wanted was to either follow on a broom up above concealed by an invisibility spell, or to transform and take advantage of flight and the hunting vision of his other form.

He took little note of his surroundings as they were ushered into the presence of the Queen, though on another occasion he might have been awed by the splendor and by what the place represented. He recognized both the Prime Minister and the Queen and bowed his head in acknowledgment. In the inner most recesses of his mind, he could not help thinking that both of them looked so much older than he had remembered. But then it had been seventeen years since he had last met either of them.

The Queen was already dressed in a heavy silk gown and her white hair was already adorned by the heavy weight of the Crown. Another elderly man looked very put out as the Queen told him to surrender his costume to Harry. "I don't even know who he is," the old man said in a quivery voice. "How can he be a peer of a rank high enough to precede Your Majesty if I don't even know who he is?"

"I know him," the Queen replied. "And if he is not your equal in rank now, I shall make him so."

At this the old man looked even more offended, and Harry opened his mouth to protest. Bentley had whispered in the Prime Minister's ear and the Prime Minister straightened up looking relieved. "He's already got a title," the Prime Minister said soothingly.

"Which one?" the old man asked. "Why don't I know it? I'm the consultant to Burke's Peerage. I ought to know him."

Harry felt that he wanted to disappear into a hole somewhere. The old man was looking at him in just the same way his Aunt Petunia used to: as though he was some lower form of life no better than a roach. At the same time, annoyance rose fast, the same kind of annoyance he felt when wizards talked about Mudbloods and half-bloods as though they, too, were inferior. He made an almighty effort to hold onto his temper, which was tried even further when the Prime Minister said, "This is Harry Potter, Lord Gryffindor."

The Queen looked satisfied, but the old man looked suspiciously at Harry through rheumy eyes. "Don't see how. That's an old peerage, and the last one died over thirty years ago."

Boldly, Hermione spoke up, "That was Harry's father. He died when Harry was a year old."

The Prime Minister did not say anything, but he made a production of pulling out a pocket watch and looking at the time. The old man huffed again when the Queen said, "Well, go on and give him your processional clothes," and handed over a plastic bag on a hanger. Harry opened the bag and drew out the suit he was to wear for the procession. It smelled as though it had been in mothballs for several centuries and looked even worse than Ron's dress robes for the Yule Ball had in the their fourth year. It was all black, with an enormous white lace neck that looked like the kind of ruff nearly Headless Nick had on. The trousers were short, coming only to the knee and there was a short black cape to go with it.

Harry cleared his throat and said as tactfully as possible, "How am I supposed to actually defend anybody in this?"

The old man huffed again and handed over a long leather box with great reluctance. Harry looked around for somewhere to lay down the suit but couldn't find a piece of furniture that wouldn't be ruined by contact with the moldy old thing. Hermione took it from him and gave him a severe stare, which he returned with equal irritation. He opened the leather box quickly and drew out a jeweled sword. It was heavily chased with gold, but lacked the magic of his own. The blade was polished to a high gleam, but a close inspection showed that there were minute flaws in the steel.

"This belongs in a museum," he said.

"Of course, it does," the Queen, replied. "So does my crown. It's all part of the ceremony. People expect it."

"I don't mean to be rude, Your Majesty," Harry said, "but this will break if I try to use It."

"It's a showpiece," the Prime Minister said. "We don't expect you to use it."

Harry gently slid the Queen's sword back in the box and handed it back to the old man. "Why don't you take your normal place in the procession," he said, "and I'll go beside you and follow what you do."

The old man's eyes brightened and then fell. "You must have the proper clothing, Lord Gryffindor, and the proper accoutrements."

"I don't know about the clothing," Harry answered, "but I think this ought to do for the accoutrements, don't you?" He pulled open his jacket and drew out his own sword.

Hermione glanced at Ron knowing he was thinking exactly the same thought as she was. Trust Harry to do something so dramatic without even realizing his effect on others. The Prime Minister gawped at the sword. Hermione found herself staring at it with almost the same awe. The golden lion with the great heart shaped ruby clasped in its paws seemed almost alive. She noticed for the first time that the lion's eyes were actually tiny emeralds and they winked in the soft interior light with a gleam that was very like the one in Harry's own.

The huffy old man looked at the sword with approval. "Gryffindor, eh?" he said, "They managed to save some of the family heirlooms after all, then. I heard the whole house was destroyed."

"It was," Harry replied. "This wasn't in the house when Voldemort attacked. Maybe my Dad would have killed him then if it had been."

"That is the one you used to kill Volde -- the Lord of Death?" the Prime Minister asked.

Harry's face went quite still and you could see the withdrawal in his eyes, as even now, even after years, he still avoided speaking of that final confrontation. He said, however, "I fought him with this, yes, and if any of his former disciples show up today, I will fight them, too."

The Queen held out her hands and said, "I should like to see it."

Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise, but complied, running his hand over the Sword first, to temporarily undo the Sword's defenses, Hermione knew, before handing it over.

The old Queen took the Sword in her hands and touched the golden lion and the heart-shaped ruby clasped in its paws. Though she was frail, she seemed to have no difficulty holding the Sword. Perhaps it was the magic in it that made it feel quite light to the holder.

"This is a royal sword fit for a king or prince," the Queen said.

Harry's reaction surprised Hermione. He had, she knew, little patience for titles or classes and she was sure he had never entirely believed that his ancestor's title belonged to him.

"It was originally Godric Gryffidor's, Your Majesty," Harry said, "and the ruby there is the Heart of Gryffindor, which the King gave to him for his service in defending the people and the Crown. It was an oath between them; and who carries the Sword and owns the Heart is bound by that oath. So I am bound, and so I serve."

"I remember when you were a boy as young as you still appear," the Queen replied, "and the service you gave then was beyond what even mature men render. And I recall that you have never been properly rewarded for that service."

This time Harry looked alarmed. "I don't want any reward," he said hastily. "Or if you're going to give out rewards, you should reward everyone here - Ron and Hermione and Deputy Bentley and the Prime Minister as they have all fought in some way or another just as much as I have."

The Prime Minister coughed gently. "You are quite right to remind of the time, Prime Minister," the Queen said. "We shall consider the question of a suitable reward later. In the meantime, we must begin the procession now." She turned her steely gaze upon the old lord and said, "Teddy, will you please see that Lord Gryffindor has the proper attire to ride beside you?"

Harry opened his mouth, undoubtedly to object to the clothing again, Hermione thought. She cut him off without a shred of guilt. "We shall see that he is suitably attired immediately, Your Majesty."

Harry looked at her in alarm and she could see the beginnings of his formidable temper stirring. She gave him The Look and, fortunately, Ron picked up instantly on her plan. "I'll help, if you'll just show us to a place he can change," he said matter-of-factly.

Minutes later, they returned. Harry was dressed now in a rich looking black suit not all that different from Lord Burlington's. The neck collar, Hermione noted with amusement, had no lace and the only concession to such ornament was the crimson lining of his cloak. No one, she thought, suppressing a giggle, would realize that Ron had simply transfigured Harry's clothing, and from afar or from the telly, no one would realize that unlike Lord Burlington's, Harry's costume was brand new. Harry looked rather flushed about the cheeks, as did Ron. She wasn't sure if this was due to temper or hilarity for once. Harry's bow to the Queen when he took back the Sword of Gryffindor was purely respectful, however, and all signs of temper disappeared completely when he quietly confirmed their positions and communications as they all proceeded to their places for the procession.

***

The streets were choked with people waiting for a glimpse of the Queen's carriage as it passed on its way to Westminster. Soon, Hayden thought, soon, they would crowd the streets waiting for a glimpse of him instead of that old fraud of a queen. The black limousines and motorcycles of the City of London police and the more discreet Security Services were modern abominations that would have to go. He ignored the bland commentary of the announcer and followed the procession intently, waiting for the exact moment to signal the strike. Beside him, Malfoy stirred impatiently.

"I don't know why you bother with Muggle things like that telly," he said harshly. "There are better ways of viewing things from afar."

"Ways that will make enough noise to alert the Ministry of Magic," Hayden said sharply. "This will do for now. We don't want them interfering before the coup is complete. And once they have a wizard king on the throne, they will fall in line faster than the rest of the people."

The foot guards in their bright red uniforms were passing now, followed by mounted guards. The first of those were uniformed too, but as the carriage came into view, one could see that the men riding immediately in front of the royal carriage were dressed in courtiers' clothes and that they carried not guns, but swords. That was one thing he would keep. The announcer noted that the white haired man who looked almost too old to sit a horse was Lord Burlington and that the young man beside him was someone called Lord Gryffindor. Malfoy cursed abruptly and furiously.

The camera zoomed in closer and Hayden looked to see what had disturbed Malfoy. "Gryffindor!" he said, "Harry Potter! What's he doing there, interfering, always interfering, the brat."

"He's just one man," Hayden said striving for calm. He recalled his own last encounter with the Boy Who Lived and the unrelenting emerald gaze of their nemesis. He had sworn he would take revenge on Potter for his six years in prison. It would take very little, he thought, to adjust the plans to kill Potter along with the Queen.

"You'll have to call it off," Goyle said. The younger man's face was pale with terror as he stared at The Boy. "He's got the Sword with him. He'll kill us all if we try now."

"He's only one," Hayden bit back. "And he can be killed like anyone else when a Muggle bomb explodes."

"He's survived the Killing Curse three times," Malfoy said. "You don't know him as we do."

"This is no good," Goyle said nervously. "They're on to us. They know."

"That's not possible," Hayden denied. "There's no way they could know."

"They must," Goyle said. "Look who else is there." His finger pointed at others glimpsed and then gone as the cameras panned by. "Weasley and Granger. They've got the Ministry out in force. I'll bet they have aurors scattered all through the guard. I'll bet they have aurors right in the House of Lords, just waiting for an attack."

Hayden watched, waiting for the exact moment when the royal carriage would roll over the steel plate that covered up a manhole which until this morning had been the access for street repairs and which now covered over the bomb which would annihilate the Queen. He was sure that the explosion would take care of Potter as well.

"Not even your Ministry's aurors can stop a bomb like this," Hayden said.

"You rely too much on Muggle weapons," Malfoy said, "and Muggle men to do your bidding."

"There are more of them than us," Hayden said. "And they make good soldiers. Fodder for my enemies."

"Your plans always go awry," Malfoy said coldly. He spoke into his two-way mirror and the voice that replied was nearly drowned out by the roaring crowd.

"You'll have to call it off," Malfoy said. "They've put an Imperturbable charm on the royal carriage. If you set off the bomb, the carriage might be knocked over, but the explosion will mostly rebound and do damage to the earth below. And if you send men to attack, they'll have Potter to deal with and the Ministry's aurors. Call off the attack."

"We can still apparate in as soon as the explosion goes off," Hayden answered. "One of us can counter the Imperturbable and kill the Queen. The others can take The Boy, or what's left of him."

"I'm not fighting Potter," Goyle said. "You can, if you want. I'm not. You have no idea what he's like."

"He's a man, like any other," Hayden said.

"Then you can have the honor of fighting him," Malfoy said silkily. "You can show us just what kind of a wizard king you'll make, Lord Hayden. But if you're wise, as a king should be, you'll call off the attack and let us work out a better plan. One to take out Potter first, before you go after the Muggle Queen."

The carriage rolled majestically on, right over the steel plate, right over the concealed bomb. Hayden breathed in and out, once, and twice, as he trembled on the verge of giving the command to go after all. The Death Eater was watching him, his pale gray eyes were unafraid and seemed to measure Hayden and find him wanting.

"Very well," Hayden said in his most regal tones. As though it had been his intention all along, he said into his mobile, "Abort the mission. Security forces appear to have been tipped off. Abort."

He turned to Malfoy and said, "Just remember, the Dark Lord failed. I will not." Abruptly, as though it had been the topic of their conversation all along, he added, "Tell me more about the Sword of Gryffindor. What are its powers? How powerful is The Boy without it?"

***

"It must have been a false alarm," Harry said afterwards.

The procession had rolled smoothly through the streets without incident and they had walked into the House of Lords and escorted the Queen to the chair - throne - at its head without any attack at all. He had been mightily impressed by the Queen's complete calm.

"My government," she had said, "will continue to make this country a place of peace for all of my subjects, of whatever race or religion. My government will oppose terrorists of any kind, here at home and abroad, with our allies and friends. My government will continue to improve the hospitals and schools so that all of my subjects have access to the best healthcare and the best education possible. My government will continue to promote trade and international partnerships. My government will continue to be a leader in research and development of new industries and new technologies that seek to implement the Kyoto accords."

"My government," the Queen finished, "shall promote the integration of all of my subjects into one harmonious whole. All of my subjects shall be free to enjoy the benefits of our laws without fear, and no loyal subject shall feel the need to live in hiding or to conceal his talents for fear of persecution."

Harry could not help noticing that Hermione was looking very pleased about something after it was all over. He, on the other hand, was trying to figure out how he was going to fit in his newest job along with working for Security Services, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts and standing in for Dumbledore as Headmaster of Hogwarts. For after the ceremonies were over, the Queen had called him back and appointed him to a position in her household. He was to train with Lord Burlington to take over Burlington's position as the old man's only heir had died some years ago when he'd been thrown from his horse in a steeplechase.

"I'm not going to be editor for Burke's Peerage," Harry said firmly.

Ron had howled at that and said, "You'll just have to hire someone to do it."

*****

The last two weeks of the term flew by. We Seventh Years could hardly lift our heads up as all of the teachers had loaded us down with work and the exams were as difficult as any we'd ever had.

When Narcissus Malfoy complained, Professor McGonagall had eyed him with her beadiest look and said, "This is just a shadow of what you can expect on your NEWTs, Mr. Malfoy. Be prepared to return from your holidays and really work."

We all groaned and Brittany looked deeply depressed. "I'll never get through this. All of you get to go home to wizard households and really study. I'll have to go home and keep quiet about magic as Grandmum gets awfully upset anytime we mention it."

"Don't feel so bad," Vicky advised her. "I'm just as behind and all Dad does is tell me I'll get through it like everyone else. Then Uncle Fred tells me to just quit like he and Uncle George did, but I Dad says if I do, he'll never talk to me again as he doesn't want Nana to take it out on him. Weasleys do not drop out of school!" She said this last so exactly like Nana that I couldn't help laughing.

I didn't laugh when we had our Defense Against the Dark Arts exam though. I couldn't believe Dad's exam was the hardest one of all. First we had to do a written exam and then we had a practical. We had to do every spell he'd taught us, and every non-magical defensive move as well. Some of the class was almost in tears at the end of it and not even the girls who had crushes on Dad had anything nice to say about him after. He didn't seem to notice anymore than he ever noticed when they did look dreamily at him. All he said when someone muttered something rude at the end was, "It's better to be prepared."

"Even our NEWTs aren't that hard," Lionel said daringly. "I looked up the syllabus for the exam and half this stuff's not even on it."

"Yeah, well," Dad said coolly, "no Death Eater will ask you what spells you've learned when they attack and half of them won't be anything that's on any exam either."

Lionel looked at him in horror and said, "They're not going to attack us here, are they?"

Everyone else looked quite terrified at that except for Narcissus Malfoy. He looked as though he'd enjoy watching that. Perhaps he'd even join in. What took me by surprise was Dad's response.

He turned away from us and looked out the window toward the Forest. I noticed that his face was drawn tight and he had shadows under his eyes as though he'd been sleeping badly. Then he swung back and the expression on his face was as grim as could be. "This is exactly where Voldemort came for his last attack. Don't fool yourselves that you're safer here. You're not. And I can tell you; I don't care what your grades are. All I care about is whether you can defend yourselves when the time comes that you have to."

"When?" Matilda asked.

"Just be alert," Dad replied. "Just in case."

The others left quickly, some almost at a run.

I started to say something to Dad, to ask him if he was all right, but he cut me off before I even had a chance. "I won't lie," he said. "I won't tell them what they want to hear just because the truth is frightening. They have to be prepared. We all have to be ready."

"But Dad," I finally said, "there aren't very many of them. And besides, you're here. They won't come here if you're here."

Dad looked really tired then. "They've never refrained from attacking before just because I was there. In fact, it's just possible that they'll be even more inclined to attack if they know that I am here."

He rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair so that it looked more untidy than usual. Then he seemed to focus again on me and he added, "It's too bad Professor Dumbledore isn't strong enough. I'd be able to leave if he were. Then you probably would be safe here. Safer, anyway."

I must have looked startled for he answered my next question before I could say anything just as though he'd read my mind. "I gave him my word, you see. He made me promise to stay."

There didn't seem to be anything to say to that. Dad's popularity plummeted even further when we found out that he was the one who cancelled our last Hogsmeade visit of the term. This made the atmosphere at school so tense that it was a relief to get on the train for the holidays even though I was expecting trouble from Narcissus Malfoy. I had a nasty feeling that he'd go after someone else's pet again or worse. I resolved to spend, as much time as I could in the compartment with Lily and James, as I was afraid they would be his first targets after me.

It turned out that the ride was dead quiet though. Not an incident occurred. Not a fight, not a murmur. That's because Dad rode back down on the train with us. He paced the train's corridors appearing lost in thought, but no one, not even Malfoy, was willing to risk drawing his attention. The funny thing was, I still had a hard time seeing him as the hero who defeated You Know Who. So okay, I had seen how good he was at Defense. But I was still stuck on the idea of him that I'd grown up with. He was still my Dad: a quiet, nice guy; the kind of Dad who tucked you in at night and read you bedtime stories; the Dad who worked in the Ministry and spent most of his time filling out parchment; the ordinary guy with glasses and the manners of a gentleman.

*****

Bones leaned casually on the divider between Platform 9 and Platform 10 and slid through onto Platform 9 and three-quarters. The Hogwarts Express chugged to a stop and its whistle blew. The sound seemed to have pushed a button in his brain as in a flash he could almost see himself descending from the train and dashing to meet his own parents. In his memory, fine flakes of snow fell onto the platform and his Mum's hair shone golden in the light. All about him, other children were chattering, full of the holiday excitement.

The chattering children were descending from the train just as he had. He spotted his own daughter Matilda and was shocked to see how grown up she looked, so like her Mum. Descending beside her was a tall, black-haired boy whom he thought he would have to dislike because of the way Matilda was looking at him. Behind them came another black-haired boy; this one with an untidy mop of hair and the lean grace of a hunting cat. Not a boy, he realized, not really.

Harry put a hand on the other boy's shoulder and then moved quickly toward the barrier. His green eyes spotted Bones, and for an instant, he felt as though he might be the prey. He snapped out of that thought quickly and nodded unsmilingly at Harry.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.

Edgar looked over to where his daughter was approaching and said, "Meeting my daughter," and more quietly, almost at a whisper, he added, "making sure things are secure."

A faint frown creased the too young face and Harry replied, "Are they?"

"Fay's out front," Edgar answered, "and we've posted men from the Yard in plainclothes all about. We told them it's a training exercise."

"Do you know something?" Harry asked. His glance raked the crowd of students descending and he raised a hand to stop the children approaching from exiting through the barrier, Matilda and the black haired boy.

Another pair caught up with them. A boy with bright red hair and hazel eyes who was otherwise nearly identical in feature with Harry and a slight girl with a long mane of jet black hair and the very same bright green eyes as her father. The other boy whose eyes were a light blue-grey said, "What's the hold up, Dad?"

Harry turned back to the boy and said, "I just need to check things out before you all go through. Sirius, you and Matilda can organize the others so they can go through two at a time. James, you and Lily help them, okay?"

Harry turned back to step through the barrier, and Bones almost forgot to stop him in his surprise. The other boy, he realized, the tall black-haired one Matilda liked was not Harry's own son. This was the one he'd taken from the cupboard in the dungeon in the Castle in York. The other boy, who just might be the son of the Dark Lord himself.

"Wait," Bones said, but he didn't finish his sentence as the boy, Sirius, drew his wand and said, "I can go with you, Dad. You shouldn't be alone if the Death Eaters show up."

All of the other three, Matilda included, drew their wands and said, "Yeah. We can help."

"No," Harry said tersely. "Do as I say. I'll be right back soon as I see that it's safe."

Edgar stopped him with a faint cough. "Don't be a right idiot, Harry. If they do show, they'll go for you immediately. Stay here and I'll let you know if all's clear."

Matilda gawped at him and started to say something, but he silenced her with a look. Harry shook his head stubbornly, and then appeared to change his mind. "Just be careful, will you? And at least draw your wand," he added in exasperation.

Bones shook his head. "It's the Alliance we're worried about, not the Death Eaters. The chat rooms were busy this morning. So, no wands, okay, not unless you want to get arrested for breaching the Statute of Secrecy."

The children - young men and women, really, he realized with surprise - looked at him with identical expressions, innocent excitement and curiosity, and not nearly enough fear. Harry gave a small snort, as if to say, they won't arrest me, but he did not reply, and surprisingly, he let Edgar go through the barrier for the final sweep of the station. Fay gave him a nod and went to meet him. She was supposed to look like any other Mum meeting her daughter's train, but she didn't quite. Well, she couldn't help looking more like a model than a copper; but even with her looks, she still exuded the aura of authority. An average citizen might be fooled; a criminal never.

The children came though the barrier, two by two, a Noah's ark parade of wizards and witches, and really, they might well have been exiting from the ark as so many of them carried cages with owls, or baskets with cats or croaking toads. None of the Muggles noticed, however. Bones wondered whether some wizard a hundred years or so ago had placed a spell on the station to keep them from noticing the children emerging. They would run to greet their parents, and the station echoed with the cheery sounds of family reunions. The station began to clear and Edgar tried not to glower too much at the tall black haired boy - Sirius. He was talking shyly to Fay, who seemed quite taken with the boy and was being unnecessarily nice. He had to remind himself that this was Harry's adopted son, and not an enemy.

Fay moved over to nod to him and to exchange glances with the men she had planted at key points - one at the newsstand, one at the way out, another by the ticket booth. "What are you glowering at?" she asked. Then she followed his line of sight and laughed. "Don't tell me," she said, "you're going to be an over-protective father. That's Harry's boy."

"The adopted one," he answered.

She stared at him a moment and her blue eyes narrowed. Then her face cleared and she said, "Don't mention that. I don't think the boy knows. He's Harry's son and very proud of it, you know."

"How do you know that?" Edgar asked.

"Matilda wrote to me about him. She likes him a lot." Edgar liked that even less, but when he looked at the boy, he could not bring to bear his knowledge that this might be the son of the one who had murdered his parents. He was a nice looking boy with nice manners and could have nothing to do with the red-eyed hooded monster known as Lord Voldemort. Even thinking about You Know Who's name made him shiver. Deliberately, he forced his thoughts back to the present and said, "How come she didn't write me about him?"

Fay laughed again. "Don't be silly, Edgar. Girls don't write their fathers about the boys they like. It's unnatural as fathers almost never like the boys their daughters date."

"She's dating him?" Edgar asked in horror.

The tall boy had taken his eyes off Matilda and was watching another one leave. This one was not quite so tall, but had sleek blond hair a shade paler than Edgar's own. The expression on the tall boy's face was not so nice anymore. It was grim and intense and Edgar had to think again. Sirius moved to follow the blond headed boy, much more quickly than anyone would have expected, so that he was past the shelter of the station and the Yard’s men before any of them could stop him.

Harry moved quickly to follow, calling his adopted son's name, but the boy kept moving, following his target.

Rare anger flooded him as Harry saw Sirius go off alone for the station exit. What was he doing, putting himself at risk? He strode after and then ran as he saw Sirius yank open the door of a black taxicab. His wand was out and Harry had a glimpse of a blond head and a white one exiting the other side. He flung himself forward, pushing a rather fat lady with a purple-feathered hat out of his way.

"Don't you dare!" he bellowed at Sirius.

Sirius paused, but instead of looking abashed, he said, "Hurry! They're getting away!"

He pointed at the form of a white haired man, who slipped behind a light pole and then vanished.

"They got away," Sirius said with disgust.

"Who?" Harry said. His anger took him by surprise as he added, "What the devil do you mean running off like that without permission? Who was that?"

Sirius gawped at him as he realized how angry Harry was and said defiantly, "Malfoy, that's who it was."

Harry stared at him. The light eyes were snapping with annoyance and he looked so much like his godfather in one of his reckless moods that Harry's anger died.

"Malfoy?" Edgar said. He had caught up to them and looked extremely worried and the glance he gave Sirius raised the hair on Harry's neck.

"Yes," Sirius said impatiently. "I thought he might do it. Meet his grandfather, you know."

Edgar's eyebrows rose and Harry felt the same. He felt stupid not to have thought of it himself.

"Narcissus Malfoy," Sirius explained. "His grandfather is a Death Eater, as he reminds us often enough."

"That was Lucius Malfoy?" Edgar said.

"I think so," Sirius answered. "It looked like the picture they had in the Daily Prophet." He looked at the now empty taxi with irritation. "He had white hair just like in the picture. He was the one in the driver's seat and Narcissus got in the back. Only they both got out and left when I opened the door."

"Lucius was waiting," Harry said slowly, "and Narcissus got in and got out immediately? He didn't sit down? They didn't even try to drive off?"

Sirius shook his head. Then he looked suddenly horrified and said, "I messed it up, didn't I? You would have caught him if I hadn't done that."

"It wasn't him we were expecting," Edgar said.

"You weren't?" he asked.

Harry looked at the cab and felt a sudden spasm of terror. Without thinking he yelled and shoved both Sirius and Edgar away from the cab, away from the sudden wave of flames and sound that blasted out of the ordinary black cab. The concussion from the explosion rocked the street and chunks of glass, metal and cement went flying in a lethal rain. Harry was sure people must be screaming, but he was momentarily deafened from the blast and heard only the echo of the boom.

He knew Edgar was alive by the mugged sound of his cursing, but his heart contracted in terror when he saw Sirius's face was quite still. Others were running towards them, policemen, and James' vivid redhead and Lily's black one. Lily shoved in front of everyone, for once getting in even before her twin. She was saying something, but Harry seemed to have cotton wadding in his ears. He shook his head and reached out with a shaking hand to feel his for son's pulse. Sound came back with a rush as he felt the reassuring pump of blood rushing through his son's veins. Then the pale eyes opened and Sirius sat up wincing. "What was that?" he asked.

"A bomb," Fay said calmly. "A Muggle bomb." Harry rose shakily and held out a hand for Edgar. James and Lily had helped Sirius up and he wobbled a bit as he leaned on his brother's shoulder. The anxiety that flooded Harry then was like nothing he'd ever felt before. He saw them there, the three of them, and in the still blazing fire nearby, he seemed to see the three of them again, and terror gripped him as he knew that the three in the fire faced a danger too great for them to manage on their own.

***

Harry blinked and shook his head again and James stepped away from a now steady Sirius and said, "Dad? Are you hurt?"

Harry swallowed back the cry of warning that had nearly escaped him and managed to say, "I'm all right,” with almost the right measure of annoyance.

~~~

It was Christmas Eve, or rather, Christmas Day, as it was past two in the morning. The house was still and peaceful and beside him, Ginny was sleeping quietly, curled up on her side like a cat napping at ease. He should have been completely happy, Harry thought, but anxiety dogged his thoughts and bit at his heart, providing a grim companion to chase sleep away. He slipped out of bed and made the embers of the fire leap high and hot. The crackling flames shed glimmers of light that reflected off of Ginny’s vibrant hair and gave the illusion of cheer.

He padded silently down the hallway and peered in at Lily. Her long black mane was a silken shadow about her smooth, young face, and she too slept peacefully, a hand tucked under her cheek. He crept closer and watched the gentle rise and fall of the coverlet. Reassured, he went into James’ room next. He had to step carefully to avoid the trail of books, Quaffle, bat, and odd items strewn about. Though his hair was as vibrant as his Mum’s, James slept in exactly the same position as his twin, one hand tucked under his cheek, his legs curled up half-way, his breath silent and soft. At the farthest end of the hall, he eased into Sirius’ room. Unlike James’, the room was neat and orderly. Books were lined up neatly on the shelves, music sat open on a stand and on the desk beside the bed, the leather box, which held Sirius’ flute, sat open. Faint glimmers of moonlight shone off of the silver instrument and case and shimmer on Sirius’ face. He, too, slept peacefully. Apparently, no nightmare remembrance of the other day’s explosion marred his dreams as it did Harry’s.

Satisfied that all of his loved ones were well, Harry wandered downstairs and made a cup of tea. He padded into the library and slouched on the crimson couch where he watched the fire dancing and considered whether the packages under the tree needed arranging. He had got the tallest tree he could and they had spent the previous day decorating it. Sirius had played endless rounds of carols on the piano and they had all gone out in the afternoon for a snowball fight, even Ginny. He knew he ought to rest as he had requested, no demanded, that everyone who could possibly help with the Order be at the house at noon for dinner and then for a meeting. Bones had protested that he could not leave Fay and Matilda, but Harry had said briefly, “Fay’s a member and Matilda can visit with the other children.”

“They’re hardly children anymore,” Bones said dryly. “They’re older than you were when we dragged you out of the ocean after you went off on your own to chase You Know Who.”

“That was different,” Harry had said. Bones had shrugged and shaken his head, but at least he had promised to come. Even Snape had agreed to come, though he had complained that Harry's house could not be as safe as Grimmauld Place or even Hogwarts. Harry had not bothered explaining anything, but had politely insisted and surprisingly, Snape had grudgingly agreed.

***

I woke early on Christmas morning to the sound of James and Lily whispering in the hallway. Although I am usually slow to wake up in the morning, I jumped out of bed and was out of my door in time to race the other two downstairs. We made a bit too much noise though as Mum showed up right behind us looking rather irritated. Long experience with Mum’s temper chastened our excitement, but only a little.

We all trouped into the library where the Christmas tree stood. Underneath its branches, heaps of presents glittered and we would have gone for the presents immediately but for one thing: Dad was sprawled on the big crimson couch with his glasses on and a book dangling from his hand. He was sleeping I thought except that he said something soft and indistinguishable and his hands were twitching.

“Looks like he’s having a nightmare,” James said. “I suppose we ought to wake him.”

Mum started to say no, but James had laid a hand on Dad’s shoulder, perhaps to shake him. In a flash, Dad had not only woken, but had drawn his wand and had it pointing right in James’ face and he had even drawn breath and begun what ever spell he meant to use before he realized who it was. Then he turned quite pale, even paler than he had been, and said, “don’t wake me up like that!”

James turned bright red and gently pushed Dad’s wand aside. “Sorry, Dad,” he muttered.

Mum, however, launched in on Dad. “What are you doing down here? What did you get up for and why didn’t you wake me?”

Dad shrugged and looked uncomfortable and I couldn’t help wondering what had disturbed him so.

“You’re were dreaming just now,” Mum said accusingly, “Weren’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Even as Dad shook his head she continued, “What were you dreaming?”

“Nothing important,” Dad answered. But although his gaze was direct, the tone of voice was carefully neutral, and anyway, we had all seen him twitching in his sleep. He’d been having a nightmare, I was sure. Mum was too as she followed up. “Was it about Voldemort?” she asked, “or about now? The train station?”

The three of us cringed at her cavalier mention of You Know Who’s name. It made me feel better that James and Lily did too. I had to think that both Mum and Dad must be exceptionally brave to say his name when everyone knew you might be cursed if you did.

“Dad should be having nightmares about what happened at the station,” I blurted out unwisely.

Dad changed the subject abruptly. “What did you think you were doing going off on your own like that?”

Mum, however, wasn’t having any of it. “Why do you say that?” she asked me.

“Well, it’s obvious,” I answered. “They were after Dad, weren’t they? Matilda’s Dad said you’d be the first person they’d go for,” I said to Dad.

“Voldemort’s dead,” he said shortly. “It’s not about me personally anymore.”

“Of course, it is,” I said. “You’re the Boy Who Lived. If they can kill you, they reckon they can get rid of their greatest obstacle.”

“It was a Muggle bomb that went off,” Dad retorted. “It was a terrorist attack, meant for anybody nearby.”

Mum kept looking from me to Dad and something about her expression gave me the shivers. I left that for another day to wonder about because Dad’s reaction was really a bit scary. I thought for sure he’d get himself killed if he didn’t take precautions.

“It was meant for you,” I insisted. Lily and James were both staring at me, gawping really, as none of us ever contradicted Dad. “They figured you’d follow Malfoy. They figured you’d expect his grandfather to show up and that’d give them a shot at you.”

“They would have used magic, then,” Dad objected. “Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater. He doesn’t use Muggle weapons.”

"Maybe they think they have a better chance of killing you that way. They've never succeeded at killing you by magic. And besides," I added vehemently, "they didn't set off the bomb until you showed up. Malfoy got in and then his grandfather immediately got out and he followed. It had to have been planned that way. If all they meant to do was leave, they could have just driven away. They waited until you got there, they got out and then the bomb went off."

"And why did you go after him? Did you guess what they were up to?" Dad asked. His green eyes were bright and so intense I nearly squirmed under his regard.

I frowned and said, "I dunno," I answered. "Not really. I just noticed that Malfoy didn't leave with the Parkinson’s like he always does and I thought it was odd. I didn't really expect his grandfather to be there. I figured out the rest after," I added to his unspoken question. Then it burst out of me, "I think you should be careful, Dad."

"So should you," Dad said sternly. "I don't want you going off like that again."

I would have protested, but Mum made a noise between a snort and a sob. "Look at you," she said to Dad, "as if you weren't going to do exactly that. As if you haven't gone off on your own a million times and nearly gotten yourself killed. As if --"

Then Dad got really mad, but he didn't raise his voice. He went really quiet and that was much scarier than if he had yelled. "It's bad enough to have had my Mum and Dad and my godfather murdered because of me. I'm not having my children put at risk now! I'm not!"

Then Mum got really pale and said, "That wasn't fair, Harry. That's not fair at all. Sirius is right. You should be careful and you shouldn't go taking unnecessary risks just because you're so worried about protecting everyone else that you don't stop to think." Then she rounded on me said, "You listen to your Dad, too. You'd better not go off on your own either." She was so fierce we all cringed a bit and everyone was silent and awkward except for Dad, who looked simply exhausted. He shivered and his eyes looked very dark then, almost black with depression.

From the corner, Hedwig scolded and clucked at us as though she'd been following the conversation and she flew up from the back of the chair where she'd been perched to sit atop the Christmas tree. Then Dad shook himself just like a puppy getting rid of the mud and said, "This is no way to start off Christmas. I say we have cocoa and open our presents and damn the Death Eaters for the moment."

***

The cocoa went right to his head almost as quickly as a shot of firewhiskey. Harry watched the others go for their presents, their enthusiasm for the holiday almost restored to its normal level. He felt that his anxiety and nightmares had nearly ruined the day and resolved to find a way to deal with them so that his family would not have to suffer along with him. He'd have to have a talk with Ginny, too, about not having those kinds of conversations in front of the children.

Lily flew over and gave him a resounding kiss and hug and he wished she were little again. He wished they were all small again and that he could tuck them in bed and carried them on his shoulders and play the silly games they had loved when they were little.

"That's a smile, Dad," she said. "You must have some happy thoughts after all."

"You are my happy thoughts," Harry answered.

"That's so sappy, Dad," James said. He had already put on his Weasley sweater though (gold with little red dragons) and his hazel eyes were full of pleasure as he stacked his hoard of presents to carry upstairs.

Sirius had finally got to the big package at the bottom; the one Harry most wanted him to open. "It's not a broomstick, is it?" he asked.

"Can't be," James answered. "It's not long enough for that."

"Go on and open it," Lily urged. Her green eyes, as Harry's own, were bright with anticipation and she glanced at Harry for confirmation that the box was the one present they knew would make Sirius the happiest.

He tore open the paper and stared at the leather case in the long box. Slowly and carefully he opened the case and then took out the cherry red guitar. "How'd you know?" he asked.

"How did you know?" Sirius asked again. Only this time, he held out the pair of tickets to the concert he'd wanted to go to.

"You dropped the advertisement," Harry answered.

The look in his son's eyes was everything then. And Harry felt how odd it was that such a small thing could be so important.

"Will you come with me?" Sirius asked.

"Course I will," Harry answered. "Unless, erm, you'd rather go with a friend?"

Sirius shook his head. "None of my friends really like Muggle music, and Ian and Geoffrey already have tickets."

"All right, then," Harry answered. He looked at James and Lily. They had identical expressions of mock horror. "We're going to Lionel's on New Years," Lily said. "Just don't forget to take ear plugs so you don't go deaf from those Muggle amplifiers."

"Yeah," James added. "And don't forget you'll have to leave your wand home. Otherwise, who knows, the whole concert might be ruined."

Harry smiled as Sirius slung the guitar around his neck and plucked a string. The sound was fine and right on key and Harry hummed along when Sirius picked out one of the few folk songs Harry knew.

"I didn't know you could sing," Sirius said. His eyes were more blue than grey just then and his face was lit with pleasure at the sound of the music.

"Everyone sings," Harry said vaguely. "Play more," he urged. He wanted to hear the sound of it, and lose himself in the rhythm. Music did have magic, he thought. He was reminded of Fluffy, Hagrid's great three-headed dog, who could be soothed to sleep by the simple sound of music. The right music could soothe the world, if only people would listen.

By noon, the guests had started to filter in, although Mrs. Weasley had been there much earlier helping Ginny with the cooking. Harry had gone in several times to pitch in, thinking he could work off his nerves that way. Ginny, however, had thrown him out and insisted he go up and rest some more. The last thing he had wanted was to sleep then, so he had settled for joining the children in a furious quidditch match. The cold air and occasional flurries of snow had been more reviving than any nap and he'd had the pleasure of stealing the Snitch right out of Lily's hand. He'd felt a little bad afterwards when she indignantly said, "No fair!" but not too badly.

When Edgar arrived with Fay and Matilda, Harry was amused at the looks Edgar kept giving Sirius. Apparently, he had realized that Matilda liked Sirius and was battling that instinct to lock his only daughter away. Fay, on the other hand, had smiled at Sirius quite nicely.

The low hum of chatter and laughter filled the house with the illusion of holiday cheer as the others all filtered in. Ron and Hermione had arrived with all of the children as had Bill and Fleur. Lupin and Tonks and Moody had come together in an ancient black taxi. Of the three of them, only Lupin had stopped to stare at Sirius, though he had recovered quite quickly.

"He's Sirius's double, isn't he?" Lupin had muttered to Harry.

Harry nodded and handed Lupin a butterbeer. "It's odd, really," he said, "How things repeat themselves."

"There was only one Voldemort," Lupin replied.

"Yes, thank heavens," Harry answered. "But he has left a dangerous legacy nevertheless."

Lupin stared at him and looked at Sirius covertly.

"Not him," Harry said in a near whisper. "And don't even think of mentioning it to him. I meant," he clarified, "the Death Eaters who've escaped and the Alliance whom they've joined. They've all taken lessons from Voldemort in terror and would like to outdo him if they could."

"Which is the point of this meeting," Lupin said. His eyes continued to follow Sirius and James and Lily, though he returned most it often to Sirius and he looked most astonished when Sirius stopped an impending fight between Edward and little Freddie by allowing each of them a turn at his new guitar.

Harry hoped that they would get through the meal and the meeting without too much trouble. He could see, however, that things were going to be touchy when Ragnok, the goblin and head of Gringotts arrived. Bill, of course, welcomed Ragnok warmly, but several of the others appeared uncomfortable, though they worked at not showing it.

Carter, for instance, kept shooting surreptitious looks at Ragnok as though he expected an attack any moment. Harry made sure to give him a large drink and to seat him next to Brittany, who was not supposed to be there at all. She had shown up with Johnny and had told Harry quite firmly that he was not keeping her out of things this time. He had said quite apologetically that he hadn't meant to, as he was quite certain she would feel obliged to prove her worth by flattening him at his next physical training session if he said anything different.

The greatest aggravation came when Dudley arrived with his daughter and wife. Harry had been expecting Dudley, and of course Brittany Rose was inseparable from Bill's daughter, Victoria. He had opened the door thinking that Dudley had come a long way from the great, overbearing bully who was terrified of wizards. He had not counted, though, on Dudley's need to placate one person more than anyone.

When he opened the door, Dudley was there, looking rather sweaty and pink in the face. Brittany bounced right in and immediately looked for the other children. Her Mum came in without hesitation, her blond hair swept up in a chignon and her fur-trimmed coated dusted lightly with snow. Behind Ashley was Harry's Aunt Petunia, the one person Harry had expected never to see again.

Her face was pinched and she regarded Harry with the same look of distaste as always. Ignoring the pleasant proportions of the house, which she would have admired had it been owned by anyone else, Petunia said with a sniff, "So you're still alive. You look just the same, too. You still can't get a decent haircut, can you?"

Dudley looked as though he'd like to leave, but Harry, who had wanted him there for his plan, could not find a single word to answer his Aunt's criticism. It was as though he had been transported back in time to when he was ten and knew nothing more than that his Aunt and Uncle loathed him and that he would never be good enough for them.

***

I couldn’t help gawping at the woman. The sheer dislike in her voice made me cringe, and I couldn’t help wondering why Dad didn’t just show her the way back out. He stood entirely still for a moment, and I couldn’t tell what he thought. After a second though, he said quite calmly, “Happy Christmas, Aunt Petunia. You’re just in time for dinner.”

“I came for the meeting,” she said coldly. Her pale eyes gave me the shivers and her bony hands clutched a small handbag as though it were a lifeline.

Dad shot Brittany’s Dad a glance and said, “That’s later. Please come and join us. I promise you the food’s quite good.” With a sudden shrug of annoyance he had added, “and I promise I won’t blow anyone up.”

Mrs. Dursley took the woman’s arm – Dad’s Aunt Petunia, I thought; Brittany’s Grandmum; and my own great-aunt – and led her into the dining room. I decided then and there that I really didn’t like the woman. I also was dead curious to know what the meeting was that Aunt Petunia was crashing and why she thought Dad, of all people, would blow anyone up.

“What meeting?” I whispered to Brittany as we all made our way into the dining room.

“I don’t know,” she answered. Her green eyes, which were so like Dad’s looked unusually distressed and she actually grabbed at my arm when her Grandmum spoke again.

“You thought I didn’t know about Brittany Rose,” Aunt Petunia said to Mr. Dursley. “You told me she went to Ashley’s school, but I’m not blind. I always knew she was a witch.”

“Grandmum,” Brittany said at the same time as her dad said, “Mum,” but Aunt Petunia kept going, not seeming to care that she must be offending everyone there and especially my Dad. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on her and saw she had your eyes, her eyes. She looks just like her. How could she not be.”

“Her name was Lily,” Dad said. “Your sister’s name was Lily. And yes your granddaughter looks just like her. And she’s quite a good witch, and a good girl, just like my Mum.”

This had to be the most unpleasant holiday ever. Except for my guitar. I wanted to say something, to stop the unpleasantness because it made Dad so miserable and he’d already been unhappy about something. Fortunately, Nana has never been one to mince words.

“Sit down, Petunia,” Nana said in her most no nonsense voice, “and stop blaming Harry for You Know Who’s evil.”

Peculiarly, Dad defended his Aunt, though I couldn’t imagine why. “It is my fault Uncle Vernon died,” he said. “Voldemort had him killed because of me. If I’d left for good sooner, or if Aunt Petunia hadn’t taken me in and raised me, he’d still be alive.”

A jumble of voices denied that, but Aunt Petunia nodded. She lifted her head up so that her very long neck looked unnaturally like a stork’s or an ostrich’s. “You killed him, though, didn’t you? You did kill Lord Voldemort?” She said this quite calmly, ignoring the fact that no one except Dad and a few extra brave people ever said You Know Who’s name. It quite gave me the shivers the way she said it. Not nasty any more. Just confirming the fact of it.

Dad said quietly, and everyone could hear perfectly because everyone had shut up, even Nana, “Yes. I did.”

“And now you’re going to stop the others who helped him?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Dad answered. “And Dudley’s here because he’s going to help.”

“Very well,” Aunt Petunia replied. I thought it all quite odd, Dad answering to his Aunt as though she still held some power over him. She might have said more, but this time Nana interrupted again in the voice that no one ever disobeyed.

“Everyone will sit down and no one will speak of this matter during the meal or in front of the children again!”

We all sat down hastily, and this time, even Aunt Petunia did. I had the inkling that she was afraid of Nana even if she wasn’t of Dad. When I said something to James afterwards, he remarked, “I expect it’s because it’s hard for a person to be afraid of someone when they’ve changed his diapers or once upon a time could tell him what to do.”

I noticed that Dad didn’t eat much, even after the talk at the meal returned to something like normal. Afterwards, James and Lily and I followed the others to the back of the house where Dad has his private study. We tried to act very casually as if we had a right to be at this meeting that we didn’t know about. Only when we got to the top of the stairs, Mum said firmly, “Go back downstairs. This meeting is not for you.”

Nana snorted and gave Mum a look, but she said, “Go on. Do as your Mum says.”

"But we want to fight them, too," James protested.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm the one that almost got blown up at the train station," I added.

"GO BACK DOWN AND SEE TO YOUR GUESTS!" Nana said loudly. She started to shut the door, but she had to give way because Uncle Fred and George came through behind her. George went through behind Nana and winked at Fred. Uncle Fred slipped something into my hand just as I was about to turn away. He grinned at us and said, "They've all forgotten, but we haven't. Extendable ears, just what everyone wants for Christmas." Then he closed the door firmly behind him.

I was really furious at being shut out and considered kicking the door. Lily smacked me on the arm and put a finger on my lips. Then she grabbed one of the Extendable Ears and placed it against the door. James and I took the hint and followed suit. We could hear almost perfectly.

****

The round room reminded Harry of Dumbledore’s office and was one of the reasons why he had chosen this particular house. It had a domed ceiling with murals of the night sky and large windows that let in the light. Outside, snow flurries drifted through a pale blue winter sky and the scene from the window was peaceful, a pastoral view of trees, and in the distance, the empty expanse of a neighboring farm’s fields. It felt strange to be conducting a meeting of the Order without Dumbledore and he wished that Dumbledore were well and present and that he did not have to try to bring all these conflicting personalities together.

They had arranged themselves in groups: Ragnok sat with Bill, Ron next to Hermione, Dudley next to his wife and Mum. Molly and Arthur were seated on either side of Bill and Ron and Fred and George were next to Ginny. Lupin, Moody and Tonks were on the opposite side from Snape, who had arrived after the meal and whose loathing glances were equally divided between Lupin and Aunt Petunia. Professor McGonagall had stayed at Hogwarts so that someone was there to supervise the Castle. Johnny and Brittany sat together, with Edgar and Fay providing the buffer between them and Ragnok.

“You all know why I called this meeting of the Order,” Harry said quickly. “We need to move quickly to stop the Death Eaters and the Alliance from solidifying their support and from doing any further damage to either Muggles or wizards.” He paused and then hurried on, wanting to say what he had to before anyone could protest that what they were doing was better taken care of by the Ministry of Magic and the Muggle authorities. “As I told the Wizengamot, the Death Eaters have joined with the terrorist Alliance and they pose a greater threat to both the wizards and Muggles than Voldemort did.”

“None of them have even a particle of the Dark Lord’s powers,” Snape commented.

Johnny and Edgar both stirred as if they would answer, but Harry cut them off. “No, they don’t,” he agreed. “It’s not what they can do individually,” he added. “It’s what they plan to do together that’s so dangerous. They intend to overthrow our government – our wizard government and the Crown – and to set themselves up as the absolute rulers of our country.” He stared at them all and said bluntly, “We don’t have time to worry who’s a wizard and who’s a Muggle. We have to put our heads together and fight them on every front.”

This time, no one interrupted when he paused to collect his thoughts, but many of them gawped when he continued. “Ragnok, as most of you know, is the head of the wizard bank. Dudley’s father-in-law, that’s Ashley’s Dad, is a director of an investment bank in the city.”

“Actually,” Dudley interrupted, “He’s retiring and Ashley’s taking his place. That’s why I brought her.”

Harry nodded and would have gone on except Fred said jokingly, “What are you going to do, sic the Gringotts dragons on their gold?”

George laughed and even Ron grinned. Edgar, however, looked grimly amused.

“In a manner of speaking,” Harry said matter-of-factly. “None of them, not Hayden, nor the Death Eaters, can operate for long without money. They have to buy their weapons and pay their gang members. Ragnok is going to put a stop on all of the Death Eaters vaults and Dudley and Ashley are going to arrange to call in every loan and to freeze every bank account that Hayden and the Alliance own.”

“That’s not going to stop them from cursing people,” Moody said skeptically.

“No,” Harry replied. “But it will stop them from buying any more weapons and from getting anything new. I don’t want them bombing any more train stations or shopping malls or anything like that.”

“That attack on the Queen and Parliament was a false alarm,” Ron said.

“No, it wasn’t,” Snape, replied.

“How do you know that?” Ron asked. “You weren’t involved. Or were you?”

“Professor Snape was not involved,” Harry said sharply. “He’s near the top of the Death Eaters’ list.” He frowned and asked Snape, “But how do you know it wasn’t a false alarm?”

Snape’s black eyes glittered with irritation at Ron’s accusation and Harry thought for a moment the Potions professor would get up and leave. “They called the attack off because they saw you there, Potter. Hayden wanted to go ahead with it but none of the Death Eaters wanted to take a chance on fighting The Boy Who Lived.” His tone was ironic and Harry knew that Snape had deliberately used the nickname that so annoyed Harry. He fought down his own rising irritation and asked again calmly, “How do you know?”

“I have an informant among them,” Snape answered. “Someone who’s turned against them and wants to help us now.”

“Who?” Ron asked and the same time as Bones. Harry could see that they both felt Snape was treading on their official territory. Hermione, however, had that expression she wore when she was putting together clues that no one else had observed.

“Goyle, obviously,” Hermione said. A faint narrowing of Snape’s dark eyes confirmed her guess. “He joined them because of his father originally and he stayed on with them after Voldemort died because of Pansy. Then Bellatrix killed Pansy and Goyle wants revenge on Lucius Malfoy for letting Bellatrix kill her and for taking Pansy’s baby.” She added impatiently, “It’s obvious, isn’t it, that he thought the baby might have been his and not Draco’s.” She turned back to Harry and said, “Tell us the rest. I think it’s brilliant so Far.”

“The rest is simple,” Harry said. “Johnny, Brittany, Edgar and Fay will be arresting every Muggle gang member known to associate with the Alliance. Ron and the others will be tracking and hunting down the Death Eaters.” He turned to Snape and asked, “And if you can get Goyle to tell you where they’re headquartered, that’d be a big help.”

Snape inclined his head and said, “They’ve moved several times, and Goyle has to be careful about when and how he contacts me.”

“The main thing is,” Harry, said, “we’re going on the offense now. We can’t wait for them to strike again.”

They all filed out of the meeting and Harry wasn’t sure whether anyone agreed with Hermione’s assessment of his plan. He hoped that they would be able to pull it off because he was sure in his bones that time was running out. He stared out the window at the falling light and thought wearily that he ought to stop by Hogwarts to see Dumbledore. He wanted badly to talk to the Headmaster and to get his thoughts on the plan. If only Dumbledore were awake and strong enough to listen.

“You didn’t get any rest, did you?” Ginny asked accusingly.

Harry shrugged and said, “I’m fine, Ginny. Don’t nanny me.”

“Stubborn git,” she said, but not nearly as sharply as she could. She kissed him on the cheek and said, “At least you’re not trying to do all of it yourself, for once.”

“I wish Dumbledore was here,” he said. Then he looked at her and felt, as he sometimes did when he looked at her, everything worrisome fall away and he kissed her thoroughly before pulling away to say regretfully, “I’ve got to check on him and on the school. I’ll be back in a bit.”

***

We slid aside as everyone came out of the meeting. I looked at James and Lily and I could see that they, too, were annoyed at having been kept out and surprised that Dad was the one giving orders to all these people. Uncle Ron, after all, was in charge of the auror department at the Ministry and Aunt Hermione was second only the Minister of Magic. What was more peculiar was that Ragnok, the head of Gringotts and Brittany's Muggle parents were in on it and following Dad's requests.

We wandered back to Dad's study, which was now empty except for Mum and Dad. Instead of asking questions though, we just gaped for a moment. Mum leaned up and gave Dad a swift kiss on the cheek, and that was nothing surprising. Then Dad started kissing her and it was pretty weird to see the two of them snogging like, well, like teenagers. After a second, James yanked at my arm and hissed really quietly, "Give them some privacy, you idiot."

"Did you see that?" I said when we reached the safety of my room.

"Yeah," James said. He grinned and said, "So what? Where did you think we came from anyway?"

I huffed at him in annoyance. "Well, they're --"

"Old?" Lily said. "It sweet isn't it, that they're still mad about each other. "

"They're not old at all, when you think about it," James retorted. "I mean, they must have been, you know, doing things when they were in school even."

"How do you reckon that?" I responded.

James rolled his eyes. "It's obvious, Sirius. You're the numbers wizard. Just do the math. Didn't you realize Mum must've left school because of you?"

"I never thought about it," I said stiffly. I wasn't sure why the subject bothered me, but it did.

"You are such a sentimentalist," James said. "Look, it's not as if you've never yet..."

I glared at him and said, "It's not your business whether I have."

"What about Matilda?" James asked. "You have with her, haven't you?"

"I wouldn't tell if I have," I said in annoyance.

James gave a hoot of laughter. "I'm your brother, you git. Like I'd say anything to anyone else."

I continued to glare at him until he sobered up. Then he said, "If you haven't, I mean, if you're really not that interested in her, tell me. ‘Cause I think she's brilliant." His hazel eyes were wistful and I couldn't decide whether to be furious or not that my younger brother liked the girl I was dating.

"She's all right," Lily grumbled.

"Better than Lionel," I answered, ignoring the fact that Lionel and I had been good friends since first year.

Lily gave me a dirty look and said coolly, "Lionel is just fine."

"Well he'd better not be doing anything..." I started to say, but Lily cut me off. "It's not your business, Sirius. I know what I'm doing."

"I guess Mum thought she knew what she was doing, too," I said nastily, ignoring the fact that I owed my existence to her having thought she knew what she was doing.

Aunt Hermione poked her head in the room and said, "Doing what?"

I gawped at Aunt Hermione. She is my favorite aunt and the only one I know who really likes books and numbers in the same way that I do. But she can be very stern and I don't like to annoy her.

James, on the other hand, has no fear at all. "You know," he said. "Back in school, too. Her and Dad were," he added.

"She was," Aunt Hermione, corrected, no doubt to give herself time to think of an answer. Then she did get all stern and said, "That's not any reason for you to..."

"That's a bit hypocritical, isn't it?" James said. "A lot," Lily said. They have this way at times of completing each other’s sentences or finishing thoughts.

Aunt Hermione frowned and said quietly, "Listen. You don't know what it was like then. It's not the same now."

This irritated me, as it was the same excuse for keeping us out of things as if we were too young when they'd all been having adventures at a much younger age than we were. "How isn't it?" I asked.

She gave me her most severe look, which normally would have intimidated me, but just then, my curiosity was aroused. "We're not children," I added firmly.

"You are," she said quietly, "and so were they, so were we, though we didn't think it." She got a distant look in her eyes so I supposed she was remembering things. Then she said fiercely, "You don't understand what it was like when Voldemort was alive, when he came back. He kept trying to kill Harry, your Dad. He nearly succeeded, too, a few times. He did kill people we knew, schoolmates, friends, even adult wizards, and fully trained aurors. Your Dad thought he was going to die. None of us could see how he could survive if he had to really face Voldemort and fight him."

We all stared at her, mesmerized, because no one had ever talked to us like this. No one had ever told us there was any doubt that Dad might not have succeeded in defeating You Know Who. And Dad never spoke of it at all.

Aunt Hermione looked at us and said soberly, "He wanted... they wanted... a few moments of happiness, a chance to love, even if it was to be cut short. So yes, it was different. It's true some of the Death Eaters have escaped, but it's not the same. No one is interested in killing you particularly. And if anyone is directly in danger right now, it's your Dad, because he stands in their way."

Just then, Mum poked her head in and said, "What's going on? What are you telling them, Hermione?" Her face was flushed and her ears were red, a very bad sign. She drew in a breath, preparatory to her worst lectures, but Aunt Hermione cut her off.

"I'm telling them the truth, Ginny. They don't like being in the dark any more than we did."

"They're not in the dark," she said angrily. She held up an Extendable Ear and Lily and James actually cringed before her.

Aunt Hermione looked at the small flesh colored "antennae" dangling from Mum's hand and started to laugh. "It's not funny," Mum hissed.

"Tell that to your Mum," Aunt Hermione said.

"You wouldn't laugh if it was your children," Mum retorted.

"I wouldn't be surprised either," Aunt Hermione responded.

***

When Harry arrived at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was sitting in a chair by the window in the infirmary with a purple woolen blanket on his lap. In the pale winter light, the old wizard's skin was pale, almost transparent, and the veins stood out on his hands and at his temple. Harry tried to squash the fear that stole through him as he realized just how old and weak Dumbledore was.

The light blue eyes were perfectly serene when they spied Harry, and though Dumbledore's voice was rather trembly and weak, its tone was as calm as ever. "That's quite a feat," he commented, "having goblins and wizards and Muggles all in the same room and all working toward the same purpose." Dumbledore smiled at Harry's stare and said, "Professor Snape told me. He thinks you are allowing your ideals to sway your understanding of reality."

"If you don't believe in something, and try to make it happen, you might as well believe in nothing," Harry answered. "And besides," he continued, "I'm merely using the people most likely to succeed at doing what I want done. I just didn't have time to meet with each of them separately."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened and grew more penetrating so that Harry felt as though he were a first year all over again for the second time that day. "You are being sensible about spreading yourself too thin?" Dumbledore asked. "It's not easy to be the Headmaster instead of the teacher. It's not easy to step aside and let others be the ones with the most active roles."

"I haven't had a chance to hire someone to replace me for the Defense position yet," Harry responded, answering the question literally.

"The odd thing is," Dumbledore said, "when we try to make more time, to do more, time has a way catching up and closing in on you when you least expect it and are least prepared for it."

"I'm not you," Harry said. "I don't have your vision. I don't have your wisdom. I can wave my wand all I want but I don't have what it takes to be your replacement. And I don't want to replace you. I want you healthy and back being the Headmaster again."

"You always did underestimate yourself even more than everyone else did," Dumbledore replied. "And you overestimate what anything magical can do for me. The world turns and people grow old and die. You know full well that it is natural and not to be feared."

Moved by his nightmares, Harry knelt beside Dumbledore and said, "I don't fear death. I know it is not evil in itself. But I fear what will become of this world without you to guide us. The death of a nation, many deaths too soon and before their appointed time, that’s what I do fear. And I fear they will come pass if I am the one left to prevent it." He paused and said painfully, "You made me into your weapon against Voldemort, but I cannot defeat the forces allied against us now the way I defeated Voldemort. They do not want to fight me alone or even in battle. They wait and bide their time and kill from afar and I don't know how to stop them."

"I see," Dumbledore said softly. "You're been dreaming again. Just remember, Harry, even true dreams, when they glimpse the future, may end up being only dreams as they are glimpses of possibilities, not of certainties." He paused a moment and Harry felt horrible as he saw that the blue eyes looked weary and dark now and he felt as though he had unloaded a heavy burden on one who was too ill to bear it.

A soft trill sounded and Dumbledore's expression lightened as Fawkes lit on his shoulder. Harry reached out to stroke the beautiful bird's feathers and he was heartened by the sudden notion that if the world could contain something so indestructible as the phoenix, it could never be completely destroyed no matter how evil might threaten from time to time. Dumbledore, perhaps read some this, for he said, "You should follow through with your plan and trust those you've chosen to do their jobs. And get some rest!"

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