Index

Shannon's Fanfic

The Portkey Solution

Chapter 1 - The Letter from Gringotts

It was shaping up to be another boring day at the Dursleys’. Uncle Vernon had already left for work, glad to escape the house and Harry’s presence in favour of his office at Grunnings. Aunt Petunia was on a cleaning tear, intent on bringing every inch of the downstairs to a shine bright enough to blind. Dudley had received permission to spend the day and night with Piers Polkiss; he spent the night there at least twice a week, since it got him out from under his mother’s watchful eye and Piers’ mother was as yet unaware of Dudley’s diet restrictions. The year had seen Dudley lose a decent amount of weight, but he was still quite heavy. The Smeltings nurse’s best efforts had yet to cure Dudley of his junk food cravings.

At least Aunt Petunia had given up on passing Dudley’s clothes down to Harry. He had sprung up quite a few inches and was now nearly half a head above Dudley in height, too much for even Petunia’s sewing skills to hide without access to matching cloth. She might have ignored the sight of Harry’s forearms and shins sticking out from sleeves and trouser legs, but for a visit from a new neighbour on Privet Drive. Mrs. Angelmere, a sixtyish widow from Glasgow, was even more nosy and interfering than Petunia. The first time she spied Harry mowing the lawn in Dudley’s too-short cast-offs, she had marched right up to the door of Number Four and pounded on it in a high temper.

“How dare ye dress the boy like that? It’s no-never mind that he’s your nephew and not your own boy, but if he’s in your care ye be responsible for his well-being! If I don’t see him in decent clothes before the week is out, I’m reporting ye to Child Welfare!”

Petunia had quaked in front of such a fierce Scottish onslaught and had taken Harry shopping that very day. Not that she wouldn’t have been pleased to see Harry carted off to an orphanage normally, but she and Vernon both shuddered at the possibility of such scrutiny revealing Harry’s wizarding nature. Harry had cooperated, choosing a minimum wardrobe and looking for discounted merchandise. He didn’t much care what he wore as long as it fit, since it would all be hidden under robes at Hogwarts.

With no chores waiting—all the gardening for the week was done and he had finished painting the shutters yesterday—Harry was in his room lying on his bed. He could be doing his summer schoolwork. He could be writing to the Weasley twins, to whom he owed a letter. They were keeping him informed of their plans as they used his prize money from the Tri-Wizard Tournament to start their mail-order joke shop. He could be outside soaking in the hot July sunshine.

Instead, as he so often did these days, Harry lay on his bed and let the morning drift by, replaying the events of the last year repeatedly in his memory. He blamed himself for the things he had missed, the decisions he had made. He had sent Hedwig with a message of condolence to the Diggorys, after Hermione had notified him of a memorial service for Cedric in the Hogsmeade town common. He had used the Dursleys’ anti-magic attitude as a convenient excuse for not attending. He had nightmares at least three times a week, reliving Cedric’s murder and the duel with Voldemort.

The time that wasn’t spent in recriminations was spent worrying. What was Voldemort doing? What were his plans? Who were his targets, besides Harry? The Daily Prophet was no help at all and what little Muggle news Harry had been able to catch gave no indication of any attack by the Death Eaters. It didn't help that the two messages he'd gotten from Sirius had been brief and lacking in details as to what was being done by Dumbledore and his allies.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tapping on the window. Hedwig was there, carrying a parcel. Harry rose and let her in—he had promised Uncle Vernon not to contact anyone in the wizarding world and then simply answered what he received. So far Hedwig had been sensible enough to deliver messages while Vernon was at his office. The parcel was from Hermione again. Of all his friends, she had been in almost constant contact, sending copies of the mostly useless Daily Prophet and letters with a remarkable balance of attempts to cheer him up, sympathy for his feelings, and the occasional dose of snap-out-of-it advice.

This package contained a mix of some of his favourite sweets, Chocolate Frogs and Fizzing Whizbees, ordinary Muggle sourballs and a birthday card. Harry blinked, realizing how badly he had lost track of the time. His fifteenth birthday was indeed approaching, on Monday next as a matter of fact. He set the card up on an empty bookshelf and was about to read the accompanying note. In the distance he heard a car pull up and a door slam.

Uncle Vernon had returned home in the middle of the morning. Harry could hear him railing at Aunt Petunia downstairs, and her voice rise to match his. Then the bellowing became distinct as Vernon shouted up the stairs, “BOY! BOY!”

Harry came to the top of the stairs warily. “Yes, Uncle Vernon?”

His uncle was tomato-red, as furious as Harry could ever remember seeing him. He waved papers in his hand and yelled at the top of his lungs, “GET DOWN HERE AND EXPLAIN THIS AT ONCE!!”

Harry descended and took the paper being thrust at him. It was of high-quality stationery and showed a letterhead claiming to be from Gringotts Muggle Division in Hogsmeade:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,

As the nearest relatives and guardians of one Harry James Potter, we are writing to inform you that the fee to let bank vault 687 in our Diagon Alley branch is due at the end of August. The usual twenty-year lease may be renewed as before by simply authorizing the withdrawal of 44 Galleons 8 Sickles from the account. Please return the accompanying authorization to the address above or by owl.

The balance as it stands is below, including interest that has been compiled during the fourteen years since the deaths of James and Lily Potter. Thank you for attending to this matter in a timely fashion.

Sincerely,

Philpott, goblin

Head of Muggle Division

The considerable fortune in Harry’s vault was helpfully listed in both Galleons and pounds. Harry felt the blood drain from his face.

“This came to my office by certified post this morning. While I am appalled that we were openly contacted by those…those…it pales compared to this! YOU HAD THIS MONEY ALL THIS TIME? AND YOU NEVER ONCE TOLD US?” Vernon had progressed from tomato red to beet-purple. “AFTER WHAT YOU COST US TO KEEP?”

“I didn’t know…” Harry thought fast. “All I knew was that Ho— my school applied to the bank for my expenses. I didn’t know it was so much.” That last was partly true; all Harry had known was that the large stacks of gold, silver, and bronze in his vault added up to an extremely comfortable sum. He had never made himself familiar with the exchange rates. He still felt in shock, seeing the numbers on the page before him.

Vernon was getting himself under control, but didn’t look like he believed Harry. “You will go upstairs to your room and stay there while your aunt and I discuss what to do about this.” Petunia was developing a gleam in her eye that Harry recognized from past quarter-days when Vernon was expecting a bonus. They were going to try to take his inheritance!

*****

Upstairs, Harry scribbled a frantic note to Hermione, including the letter he had carried upstairs without thinking. He had never heard of Gringotts having a Muggle division and he had most certainly never heard of any wizarding business using the ordinary post to communicate. Hermione would be able to get to the resources needed to verify whether the letter was real. He was writing a second note to Sirius, his true guardian, when he heard Vernon’s heavy tread coming up the stairs.

Harry shoved the note to Hermione into Hedwig’s beak and scooped the owl up. “Go, Hedwig!” he hissed. “Hermione will know to get help!” She was out the window just in time and Harry closed it and turned to face the door.

Vernon opened it. He had regained his normal beefy colour but his hair still stood on end from where he must have pulled at it. He was trying to project a fatherly air and doing a bad job of it, given that greedy gleam in his eye that matched Petunia’s. “Let me have the letter, please. I’ll consult with our solicitor as how to proceed transferring the funds to our bank so we can better invest it for you.”

Harry held out his empty hands after dusting a snow-white feather off on his backside. “I gave you back the letter, Uncle Vernon. It must be downstairs somewhere.”

His uncle frowned, but did not immediately contradict him. He asked, “Where’s that ruddy owl of yours?”

Harry shrugged. “Out. She brought me a birthday present from a friend and took off again this morning.”

Vernon’s eyes narrowed. He stepped across to the window and verified that it was closed and locked. “I want you to stay in here tonight. Your aunt will bring up some lunch and supper. We have a great deal of thinking to do.”

Harry was instantly suspicious, but Vernon had made the request in such a reasonable tone that he couldn’t think of a way to avoid it. “All right, uncle.”

Vernon turned and left, closing the door behind him, and Harry knew he’d made a mistake. A key turned in the lock, the clicking sound echoing in his head as Harry realized that the Dursleys would do anything to get control of his money. He glanced at the door, tempted to violate the rules against Hogwarts students using magic, but drew a breath to calm himself and sat at the table to finish his note to Sirius. When Hedwig returned, he could alert anyone he chose about his situation.

*****

Hedwig found Hermione in Diagon Alley, sitting in front of Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour with one open book propped against the stack from Flourish & Blotts and eating an ice cream sundae of vanilla and peppermint. She landed and dropped the letter on Hermione’s hand, to convey a sense of urgency. Hermione opened the parchment and when the creamy white business letter fell out, read that first with curiosity.

Hermione’s eyes widened as she digested the words, knowing full well that the Muggle Office of Gringotts worked out of a discreet location in the City in London, not Hogsmeade. She read the note from Harry, leapt to her feet, swept her new books into her bag, and took off for the stately marble building at the end of the street.

She made herself pause at the top of the stairs and catch her breath. The goblin on duty looked at her impassively as he did all Gringotts clients. The affairs of humans were not his concern, unless they were there to try and rob the bank.

Hermione entered and went to the desk where she and her parents usually changed Muggle money. The ugly little goblin greeted her politely. “Miss Granger, out of funds so soon? You were only here Tuesday.”

“No, thank you, Locksnatch. My friend Harry Potter sent me this. It was delivered to his Muggle aunt and uncle by their post this morning. As you can see, the address in Hogsmeade is not correct…” she trailed off as the goblin read the letter, long ears twitching angrily as he finished. He beckoned her to follow and trotted toward a desk she knew to be the Head Goblin’s. The goblins put their heads together and spoke rapidly in their own language for a few moments before the Head Goblin turned to Hermione.

“Miss Granger, we thank you for bringing this to our attention. While the paper itself in no way threatens the security of the bank, and is rather optimistically inaccurate as well, it nonetheless is a fraud and we will investigate it thoroughly. We will alert Mr. Potter by owl that no funds will be removed from his account other than the Hogwarts expenditures already in place.” He solemnly reached up and shook her hand. “Thank you again.”

Hermione, equally grave, shook and said, “You’re welcome. I’m relieved that it can be handled so capably by your wonderful institution.” While Hermione did think Gringotts was a well-run bank, she was laying it on a bit thick. Over the years of dealing with the goblins, she’d learned they responded strongly to courtesy and some well-placed flattery. The Head Goblin bowed over her hand and Locksnatch ushered her to the door himself.

Once out, Hermione returned to her table at Fortescue’s, but Hedwig had already taken off again. This worried her, since Hedwig was more punctilious than most owls and usually waited for a reply. She thought for a moment and then went to the post office, fishing in her bag for several parchments, a quill, and a handful of Sickles on the way.

*****

She had been watching the house itself for about a week when Vernon Dursley returned suddenly and in high temper well before lunch on a Thursday. From her perch in the tree, wrapped in her Invisibility Cloak, she turned up the volume on the Muggle-designed sound enhancer and pressed the earphones tightly to her head. Since it gave her access to all the conversation in the house, she was able to hear the Dursleys’ alarming plan as they made it.

“…I tell you, Petunia, once we transfer that money into our account we’ll be able to pay St. Brutus’ or another facility to keep him locked up for the rest of his days! He’s not supposed to do…that…outside of his school anyway, and if we give them the right story, they’ll keep him on sedatives and unable to do…it…at all. We’ll tell that blasted school of his that he was killed in an accident, drowned at the sea or something, and we’ll finally be rid of him and his abnormality!”

Petunia’s voice quavered uncertainly. “Do you think this stuff will work?” The sound of liquid being poured.

“Don’t see why not. Marge uses it and she’s out like that in a few minutes. We’ll keep him in that room and sleeping until it’s all arranged. I’ll put new bars on the window tomorrow to keep that owl from coming back…”

She had heard enough. She turned off the enhancer and put it away, then carefully slid to the tree trunk and climbed down slowly as not to make noise or let the cloak be pulled away from her. Once on the ground she crossed three yards and came out on the street next to Privet Drive. In the shelter of a hedge she removed the cloak to reveal ordinary Muggle clothing of jeans and a loose T-shirt, stuffed the metallic material into a backpack, and walked to a pale green Citroën parked on the street. She got in, pulled out a cell phone, and punched a series of numbers.

“Will, Annie here. They’ve made their move. I’ve got to get Harry out of there as soon as possible; the Dursleys are going off the deep end for the Death Eater ruse. I need you in London ASAP. I’m driving over now and can meet you in about two hours allowing for traffic. Be sure to pack anything that will set off those devastating brown eyes.”

Chapter 2 - The Rescue

Harry awoke to find Aunt Petunia standing over him with a mug in her hand.  His vision, already blurry without his glasses, rocked and made his head swim. The last thing he remembered was eating the soup and bread she had brought him for lunch and feeling the overwhelming need for a nap.

It was dark outside. He’d apparently slept the afternoon away. He fumbled for his glasses, and knocked them to the floor. “Sorry, Aunt Petunia,” he mumbled as he groped for them.

“Don’t worry,” she replied, retrieving his glasses for him and pressing the warm mug into his hand. “You slept through dinner and I thought you might need a cup of tea or something.”

Harry took the mug and set it down. It seemed so hard to get his thoughts together through the cotton wool in his brain, but he managed the word “pyjamas”.

Petunia had looked worried, almost frightened, but her face cleared. “I’ll get them.” She fetched and laid them on the bed. “Do drink the tea…I think you’ll feel better for it.” She backed out of the room, locking the door again.

Harry looked up from trying to unlace his trainers. His aunt was never this nice to him. He felt he ought to think about this some more, but he was losing the struggle with his shoes. He sat back up and took the mug. Some hot tea might refresh him enough to get changed and maybe try and pick the lock the way the Weasley twins had taught him. Then he could look in the kitchen for a bite to eat. He drained the mug and set it on the table. Stupid of him to have left Sirius’ lock-picking pocket-knife in his trunk downstairs. If he just sat still a few minutes and gathered his strength…

Hedwig watched from windowsill, hooting softly and fretfully as Harry fell back on the bed, unconscious again. Then she took off into the night.

*****

Hermione paced her bedroom, in front of a wide-open window. She had sent owls to Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and the Weasleys and was waiting impatiently for any return word. She hoped she had conveyed the misgivings she felt about the Gringotts letter without sounding too much like an overreacting teenager. Sirius, at least, ought to take her seriously, if he wasn’t too far out of reach collecting old allies to Dumbledore’s side.

It was after midnight when she finally spotted the fluttery shape of an owl against the moonlight.  She ran to the window and watched as it flailed this way and that.  The crooked path it took to her window told her it was Errol, the Weasleys’ old and decrepit owl.  She stood back to give Errol a clear landing on her bed and gently removed the parchment from his leg.

Dear Hermione,

Thank you so much for letting us know of Harry’s predicament. We have also sent word to Professor Dumbledore and to Percy, who can inform the appropriate authorities in the Ministry. Arthur is currently away working with Charlie to improve security around the dragons in the protected habitats. We haven’t heard from Sirius in ages, but an owl will surely find him.

If you hear anything more, please keep us informed and we’ll do the same. I’m confident Professor Dumbledore will come up with something.

Take care,

Molly Weasley

While it wasn’t the slew of information or heroic plan that Hermione had hoped for, she felt better for having an adult’s backing with Dumbledore. She picked Errol up and carried him to her bathroom to water him. It wouldn’t do to have the poor pile of feathers collapse in a crisis.

*****

Petunia Dursley was not having a good morning. Vernon had called in sick to work and arranged to have Dudley spend an extra night with the Polkisses. On the phone, they had heard Dudley in the background demanding the syrup for his waffles, which meant he was breaking his diet. Then Vernon had left to meet with a solicitor, in a temper because he still hadn’t found the letter, only the authorization form to deduct the hire of the vault.

Vernon had left her strict instructions to keep Harry sedated with Marge’s sleeping draught. When she had brought the morning dose, Harry had refused it, trying to knock the glass of juice from her hand. She had forced it on him, holding him down and pinching his nose to make him drink, but she had been terrified the whole time that he would do…something, even in his dazed state.

Now she had to deal with the woman coming up the walk. Young, pretty enough, and very properly turned out, she carried a clipboard in one hand. Some poll or other. Petunia sighed and went to answer the door.

*****

When the aunt opened the door at her knock, she felt the tension immediately. What little she’d dared listen to this morning suggested that the aunt might be having second thoughts about the uncle’s scheme to pack Harry away for his money.  She pasted on her best smile and began her spiel, careful to stay in an educated British accent.

“Good morning, I’m from the housing agents of Pryce and Bassington. We’re looking to establish an office in Little Whinging and are asking for assistance of some of the residents to learn the area. May I have a few moments of your time? You look exactly like the kind of woman who knows her neighbours and can tell me something about them.”

The aunt blossomed like a wilting flower given fresh water, and the probable rejection she had been preparing gave way to anticipating a wonderful chance to gossip. She invited the girl in and settled her in the lounge. Over cups of tea they traded titbits both real and exaggerated about some of the neighbours. The aunt seemed especially interested in bad news about a widow, Mrs. Angelmere, and she obliged with a tragic end for Mr. Angelmere and trouble with getting the will settled.  Every few moments she would check her watch carefully, waiting for 10:17.

Her watch turned over to 10:17.  She set down her cup while the aunt prattled happily about a Mrs. Figg down the street and took out her wand.  The aunt saw what was being pointed at her, but before she could scream the visitor intoned, “Petrificus Totalus!”

Petunia was frozen in place instantly. The woman leapt to her feet and ran upstairs.  She found the locked door and opened it with a whispered “Alohamora”.

Harry was on the bed, still sprawled in a drugged sleep. She stepped forward and looked at him, all gangly limbs and unruly dark hair. She knelt down and took the brooch out of her lapel. Quickly pricking her thumb, then his, she pressed them together for the blood to mix. Under her breath she uttered a long incantation and ended with a slightly louder “finit”. The air around them shimmered for a moment. She stood and did a fast Healing Charm to erase any sign of the tiny wounds.

She flicked her wand with an “Expergisci!” and sprang forward to catch Harry as he bolted upright. His green eyes cleared from misty to alert instantly and he squinted at her in surprise.

She handed him his glasses. “I’m here to help! Sirius sent me. Quick, where’s your stuff?” She spoke in an American accent.

Harry changed what he was going to say at the mention of Sirius. “My trunk’s in the cupboard under the stairs.  Everything else is in here.” He started for the door but the girl stopped him.

“Appareo trunk!” Harry’s trunk obediently popped into existence on the floor. “Alohamora!” The top flew open and she began tossing his clothes in.

Harry stared at her for a second, impressed by her speed and efficiency, then started shoving the bed aside to get at the floorboard and his spellbooks. “The Ministry—”

“Is distracted from monitoring the house for about eight more minutes, if we’re lucky. Is that everything?” Harry nodded, tossing his pyjamas in and grabbing Hedwig’s cage. She fixed a Weightless Charm on the trunk and began pulling it downstairs.

At the door she passed him the trunk and a set of car keys. “It’s the Citroën in front of Number Six. I need to reset your aunt’s memory.”

Harry didn’t ask questions. He ought to be suspicious of a strange witch barging in to rescue him, but so few people knew about Sirius…and there was something about her that seemed familiar, trustworthy. If he needed to, Harry decided, he could get away from her later and catch the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley. At the moment she was his ticket away from Privet Drive and the Dursleys.

He towed the trunk to the car and unlocked the boot. He put the trunk in the one space that seemed to have been left especially for it among other bags and cases. He climbed in and put Hedwig’s cage in the back seat, next to a leather case that looked to hold a laptop computer. He recognized the purplish bundle underneath it—it looked very similar to his own Invisibility Cloak.

The girl came out of the house and slid into the driver’s seat. She handed him a bag and a clipboard, admonished him to buckle up as she did the same, then started the car and pulled out of Privet Drive. Something trilled. She pulled a mobile phone from her coat pocket and answered it.

“It’s Annie, talk to me…yes, we’re away. Mrs. Dursley will tell her husband she went shopping for more of the sleeping draught and when she came back, Harry was simply gone. I don’t think he’ll take it out on her—I poured the last of the bottle they had down the drain and left the new bottle in a bag in the kitchen with a receipt. …You are a doll and a dear and my hero. You’d better get back before anyone misses you. I’ll drop you an e-mail once we’re there. Bye.” She hung up and dropped the phone in Harry’s lap. This was followed by a bottle of water from the rear floorboard. “Perfectly safe, and you probably need it badly.” As they sped toward the A3, Harry gulped water and looked his rescuer over.

She had brown hair, brown eyes and a slightly olive complexion. She was nattily dressed in a coat and skirt of navy, with her hair pulled back from her face in a comb. A brooch with some kind of family crest was her only jewellery. Now that she was paying attention to the road, the clothes didn’t seem to suit her.  She ought to be in jeans and a sloppy jumper with a university insignia on it.

Harry waited patiently for her to either introduce herself or possibly call Sirius, since she had mentioned being sent by him (though he wasn’t sure Sirius knew how to work any telephone, much less a slim and shiny mobile like this one). When minutes passed and she did neither, he cleared his throat. She passed a lorry, then glanced at him with a mischievous smile. “Wondering who I am and where we’re going, I bet.” She opened the glove box to reveal a selection of biscuits and dried fruit. “Eat something. You’re probably ravenous.”

He nodded. She took a business card from the glove box and handed it to him.  It read “Patterson Transport and Courier. Can deliver anywhere.” The addresses listed were Washington, DC, London, Hong Kong and Buenos Aires, along with strings of letters he recognized as a website and email address.

“I don’t understand.” He looked again as he was about to replace the card and noticed a small arrow fading in on the lower right corner. He turned the card over and blinked in surprise. More letters were coming to the surface of the card, as if they had been buried in snow and the wind was exposing them.

“Anastacia Patterson. United States Agency of International Magic.”

Harry waited to see if more useful revelations were coming, then put the card on the dash. He reached for a pack of peanut butter biscuits. “How is it that you know Sirius?”

“I haven’t for a long time, actually. Albus—Professor Dumbledore—told us where you were staying and explained the situation with Voldemort.” Harry was surprised, but cautiously pleased that someone else was brave enough to say the evil wizard’s name. “I was keeping tabs on you—I know they have protections in place against dark wizards, but I was afraid the Dursleys might be manipulated into doing something foolish. And I was right.”

“Then that letter was a fake!”

Anastacia nodded. “Of course. Gringotts’ only inter-world communication departments are in London, New York, and Sydney. They would have applied to you directly anyway. Once a wizard is past thirteen, Gringotts deals directly with the account holder first.” She paused as she cut between a tour bus and a sedan. Harry realized they were heading south, not north to London.

“I figure some Death Eater with a decent knowledge of ordinary affairs came up with that letter. It worked like a charm, to use a bad pun. Your uncle put a sedative in your meal yesterday and was prepared to keep you drugged until he’d bribed a mental hospital to hide you away for the rest of your life.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. While it was no secret that his aunt and uncle detested him and all he represented, he had no idea that Vernon Dursley would have been capable of such a thing. After a few seconds, he got his voice working again. “I’m not going back there, ever! I don’t care what Dumbledore says, I can protect myself without being there. I never want to see them again!”

Anastacia smiled. “You don’t have to.”

Chapter 3 - Arguments and Answers

Albus Dumbledore sat in the Owlery at Hogwarts, stroking Fawkes who had shown up to keep him company. He waited, scanning the sky occasionally. Other times he would re-read the parchments in front of him: the message from Hermione, the one from the Weasleys, one from the Gringotts Head Goblin alerting him to the fraud and their lack of success in tracing it so far. And the one on a neat sheet of stationery that had arrived from a courier service in the United States, hand-delivered by one of their messengers who had Apparated to Hogsmeade this evening.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a shadow across the moon. It was too large to be an owl, and Dumbledore recognized the hippogriff Buckbeak immediately. He held up his wand and muttered, “Lumos,” giving them a signal as to where he was.

The hippogriff dived in and hovered just long enough for Sirius Black to scramble off his back and through a window, then took off again.

“I sent him to Hagrid’s hut to rest.” Sirius looked in decent health, his trimmed hair and a neat goatee altering his appearance somewhat.

“That will be all he can do. Hagrid is still with his mother’s family, trying to rally more giants to our side.”

Sirius shrugged. “I’ll see that he eats later, then. Now tell me, what happened to Harry?”

Dumbledore handed the parchments to Sirius, but kept the courier letter back. Sirius read through them quickly and looked back up. “I don’t understand. Why would someone tell the Dursleys about Harry’s money?”

“Apparently so the Dursleys would react by harming Harry in some way. If Harry can’t be touched by magic while he is living with them, there is nothing to prevent the Dursleys from acting contrary to Harry’s interests.” Dumbledore stroked the phoenix as it nudged its head under the wizard’s hand.

Sirius glared at Dumbledore. “Some protection, if it can only protect from one kind of attack.”

“I could not have done anything more than I did. It is not in my power to prevent all death and injury by deliberate act or mischance, or I would ensure that many, many beloved people were alive today.”

Sirius opened his mouth, but thoughts of James and Lily stopped him, along with the profound sadness in Dumbledore’s eyes. Instead, he asked, “So, do we take him from the Dursleys? Set up new kinds of protections?”

Dumbledore handed over the letter he had kept back. “It seems that the matter has been taken care of.” He held some kind of novelty pen in a sealed plastic bag.

Sirius read the last message and stared back at Dumbledore in disbelief, who gave a small sarcastic smile and nodded. “I will be leaving now.”

*****

She closed the door gently behind her, leaving Harry settled in bed for the night. It hadn’t taken much of a Restful Sleep Charm to get him to drop off, but at least he ought to be free of nightmares. She was moving toward the computer when she felt the tingle on her skin, alerting her that one of her Portkeys was being used to bring someone directly to her.

Dumbledore popped into view and glanced around the cottage, seeing the open areas and wide doorways of a modern American-inspired house. He turned to her and without a pause stated, “Anastacia, Harry must return to Privet Drive at once. When I contacted your family for support against Voldemort, I had no idea you’d respond by abducting Harry!”

“No, Albus. I’m sorry, but I won’t. You did the best you could with what you knew at the time, but if you’d done as we asked two years ago the Death Eaters wouldn’t have been able to try the Gringotts ruse.”

“Harry and Hermione both acted quickly to call for help. We could have defused the situation without removing him from the protections of his family.”

“He has those protections, Albus. Take a look.”

Dumbledore frowned, squinted at her, and paled suddenly. “What have you done? You can’t—“

“I did. I transferred the protection spell from Petunia Dursley to myself and strengthened it with the blood ritual.  You can’t break it without a bit more blood from both of us, and I don’t plan on giving any up any time soon.”

“That is dangerously close to dark magic! I cannot believe Harry would have let you—“

“He doesn’t know yet. I performed the ritual before I woke him from the sedative. Since he’s still a minor, I didn’t need his permission. And given his reaction when I told him what the Dursleys had planned to do, I think he’ll be positively ecstatic to know he can stay with me and still have the benefit of the wards you set up.”

Dumbledore looked like he might work himself up into the kind of cold rage that Harry had only witnessed once, at the end of his fourth year. She had seen it before and waited, watching impassively as Dumbledore’s face grew red, then faded back to his natural colouring as he regained his temper. “Anastacia, please reconsider. You’re young; you have a career that requires a lot of travel. Caring for a child, even one as self-reliant as Harry, is a monumental commitment.”

They both heard something fall in the next room, then the sound of someone thrashing around. She was across the room like a shot, opening the door to Harry’s room. She looked in, then beckoned to Dumbledore and entered as Harry cried out in his sleep, “No, Cedric! Get away! NOOO! DON’T!” The pain and fear in Harry’s voice startled Dumbledore and he moved to follow Anastacia.

He came in just in time to see her finish reinforcing a Restful Sleep Charm. Harry was in his pyjamas, tangled in sheets and sweating, but relaxing out of what must have been a powerful nightmare. He watched her tidy the bed around him and gently wipe his tear-streaked face with a cloth she summoned and dampened by magic. As Harry appeared to settle down again, she set the small bedside table back up and motioned Dumbledore back to the main room.

“You were saying, Albus? I know exactly what I’m doing. Harry needs the protective wards when he’s away from Hogwarts. My parents don’t need me at the firm constantly and I should be free for the rest of this summer and the next. We can arrange for me to be available on Hogsmeade weekends, Christmases, whatever is needed.

“You saw what happened just now. I’ve been keeping tabs on the Dursley house all summer and Harry’s been having nightmares like that one on a regular basis. What is it doing to him to have to suffer like that, grieve for a death that shouldn’t have happened, live with the reality that Voldemort is back and apparently stronger than before? And not just with no support from those around him, but with their active hatred of him?” She glared at him, her temper rising.

Dumbledore sighed. “I don’t like it, Anastacia.”

“You mean you don’t like that we did this without consulting you first. Unfortunately, I didn’t think there was time to ask your permission,” she snapped, then paused, realizing how she had sounded. “I’m sorry, Albus, but it’s not like this was a surprise. We’ve been asking you for two years.”

“I know.”

“I’ll have him at King’s Cross on September first, just as usual if you want. Or I’ll be happy to take him straight to Hogwarts myself. You’ve got the Portkey, feel free to drop in anytime before then—I’ll alert you if we need to leave here, but I don’t see that happening. Ninety-nine percent of the wizard population wouldn’t have the first clue how to untangle the financial maze to identify this place as Patterson property. And if someone does, they’ll have to get past the wards, my wand and my body to get to Harry.”

Dumbledore sighed again, admitting defeat in the face of her iron stubbornness. “Is there at least something I can tell Sirius, the Weasleys? They’ll be quite worried unless they can see Harry for themselves.”

She thought for a moment, then went to the desk. She rummaged around a minute and thrust something at Dumbledore. “Here.”

Dumbledore looked at the round shiny disc in a plastic sleeve that she had handed him. “What is it?”

“Another Portkey, set to send someone directly into this room once the sleeve is removed. Sirius, the rest of the Weasleys and Miss Granger can use it to come and see Harry, see that he’s all right, and leave again without knowing exactly where we are.”

Dumbledore was entranced for a moment, watching the rainbow of colours play on the disc. “But what is this thing?”

She grinned. “AOL starter software. We keep getting them in the ordinary mail and we use them for coasters or other actually useful things.” At Dumbledore’s confused look, she relented. “Ordinary people use them in computers, usually when they don’t know what they’re doing.”

He didn’t feel completely enlightened, but at least she had given him the means to appease Sirius. “When shall I bring them?”

“Monday, if you can get them to wait that long. It’s about time Harry had a proper birthday party.”

*****

Harry prowled around the house, drinking the last of the milk that had come with breakfast. They had stopped at a restaurant for lunch yesterday, where Staci (as she had asked Harry to call her) had bullied him into eating a full meal, then bought several bottles of water for the rest of the trip. When they had arrived, Harry was feeling ill from the effects of the sedative, nearly a day without proper food, and the sudden re-introduction of it. She had made him go to bed very soon after they had arrived, and he’d slept the night through without any nightmares that he could recall.

They were in a cottage on the beach, somewhere on the southern coast. It was surprisingly isolated—the only house for miles around—but as up-to-date as one could want. The kitchen was loaded with appliances that would have made Aunt Petunia drool. A satellite system brought dozens of TV channels in to a large-screen television. One of the bookcases was filled with compact discs of music, and a smaller one with software for the computer on the desk. Staci had spent some time writing and answering email, showing him just how much more there was to do on a computer besides play Dudley’s games. He had noticed that her longest message was to someone at firstof7@freenet.net.eg. Now she was shutting down the computer.

Harry ran and got two fizzy drinks from the refrigerator and followed her out to the porch. She had promised to answer every single question as truthfully as she could after breakfast, if he’d give her the chance to go through her email and phone messages first.

A strong breeze blew inland and Staci reached to pull all her hair into a comb in what looked like a reflex. The sun shone on the deserted sand and water. They climbed into side-by-side hammock chairs and Harry handed Staci the diet cola.

She looked at the water for a few minutes, as if replenishing some spiritual void, then cracked open her can and looked at him. “Thanks for letting me wade through the business first. I am all set for Twenty Questions. You may fire when ready, Gridley.”

Harry grinned and started with the obvious one. “Who are you, seriously? And not just what was on the card.”

“The stuff on the card’s out of date anyway; I went back to the family business last year. Anyway, my name is really Staci Patterson. Patterson Transport is real—my family has run it for nearly two centuries, ever since great-great-et cetera Granddad came over to New York from the Isles and founded it. The purpose is to aid in deliveries and communication between the wizarding and ordinary worlds. Some people always need to get in touch with those in the other world and we help. We also do a great deal for the U.S. wizarding agencies, of which there are many.  Not like here where it all falls under the Ministry in one department or other.”

Harry digested this, then asked, “What did you mean by you once knew Sirius? And why did you say he’d sent you?”

“I used his name, figuring it would convince you I was on your side more quickly than Albus’ or some Ministry paper-pusher. Sirius’ innocence is still not general knowledge since old Cornball Fudge hasn’t made it a priority to broadcast how badly they screwed up that time.

“I knew Sirius in school briefly. My family spent three years in Hogsmeade when I was small, and my sister attended classes at Hogwarts at that time. I was allowed to visit. And yes, I also knew your parents as well, in that everyone-knows-the-tagalong-little-sister way.”

“What’s with all the nicknames?”

“I tend to go by Staci. Since we were doing some fairly underhanded, if not illegal things in the process of getting you out of Privet Drive, Bill and I used “Will” and “Annie” instead, in case someone was eavesdropping.”

“Bill?”

She grinned. “Bill Weasley, my partner in crime.” She broke into a laugh at Harry’s astonished expression and continued, “He was the one flirting outrageously with the Ministry witch who was on monitor duty for illicit magic at Privet Drive yesterday morning. Supposedly he was there to surprise Percy. Percy had conveniently been called away to a sudden meeting with a representative…”

“…from Patterson Transport & Courier,” Harry finished with her, laughing.

“Very good,” she replied. “My uncle Jacob occupied Percy. Bill Apparated in stages from Cairo to London Thursday evening, and returned after you and I left Little Whinging. He had to do something to be covered at work, given the time zones, but he was supposed to be out in the field anyway. His email last night said he’d managed it fine. He also said he had to send a soothing owl to his mum, who was rapidly emptying the local post office with her messages to everyone about your going missing.”

Harry chuckled at the mental image of Mrs. Weasley in full temper, railing at some poor postal worker to find more owls. He felt good about what she’d told him so far, and the way she’d told him. He felt more comfortable with her than with any other adult he’d spent this much time with, even the Weasleys or Sirius. Time to try the questions that were really nagging him. “Why did you go to all this trouble for me? And why did you say I don’t have to go back to the Dursleys?”

“The protections Albus set up for you after your parents’ murders hinged on your being in the care of a blood relative. He used the Dursleys, thinking that they were your only living relatives. But a few years ago my dad got on this genealogy kick and started researching the Pattersons back beyond the point where we emigrated.

“Turns out that many-times great Granddad Patterson left England because of a massive disgrace of some sort. Bad enough that he even changed his name once he came to the States.

“Our original name was Potter. You’ve got scads of distant cousins over in America.”

Chapter 4 - A Little Personal History

Harry jumped up to get something to clean his spilled drink, cursing and trying to keep it down so Staci wouldn’t hear such language. She laughed.

“Leave it, Harry. We can magic it up later if it stains. Want another?”

“No, I want you to tell me that again.”

She leaned forward to look him full in the face. He noticed she was wearing glasses this morning, round like his but with a thin silver frame. His father had been the one to wear glasses, Harry remembered from his album of photos and the Mirror of Erised.

“Your father had family he never knew in the United States. My dad discovered the connection two years ago. We knew your story—our family stays much more informed of international events than the average US citizen. Dad traced our Potter roots back down to your father and you, just to be sure. He and Mom started asking around and eventually sussed out Albus as being in charge of your welfare, and we’ve been pestering him ever since to allow us to take you in. He kept insisting that it had to be the Dursleys, that his protections couldn’t be altered. He’s known our family for ages, but he wouldn’t change what he had set up no matter how wretched it was for you living with those wastes of good organs.

“When we heard the news about Voldemort returning, Grandpa kicked our information department into high gear. We scoured libraries everywhere for information on protective wards. We deciphered the protections that Dumbledore used and learned the spells in order to transfer them to another relative. When school let out for the summer and Albus gave no sign of changing his mind, I volunteered to be the watcher on the scene. At first I just monitored from a distance: drive-bys and such. I started watching physically most of every day after my dad alerted me that what little Death Eater activity there was had gone quiet, as if they were planning something.

“Then someone sent that fake letter and all hell was going to break loose, so I got you out of there and worked the spell to transfer the protections. They will work just as well—better, even—if you’re staying with us. Well, me, specifically. There was an extra level to the spell and I took it. I had to use a touch of our blood to do it—“

“Blood?” Harry paled and jumped to his feet, remembering the last time he had bled for a spell.

Staci stood up and took him by the shoulders. “Yes, but not like that. Not like what Voldemort did. Pinpricks on our thumbs. If there had been any other way to shift the spell off the Dursleys and know it would stick, I would have taken it, Harry.”

He felt he had a number of things he wanted to say in reply to that, but all he could get out around the tightness in his throat was, “Why?”

“Why did we act?” Staci frowned, unsure of his meaning.

“No. Why did Dumbledore leave me there?”

Harry turned and looked at the sea, watching the waves come in and crest, one after the other, in an endless cycle. It reminded him of his dealings with Voldemort, who kept returning with no end in sight. The wind blew his hair off his face, revealing the thin scar zigzagging down above one eye. But instead of calming him as he had hoped, the waves seemed to increase the growing anger inside him, as the years with the Dursleys had grown worse and worse, especially after Harry had been told of his magical heritage. He slammed a fist down on the railing and was dimly aware of pain lancing his hand.

“Why did he leave me with them? They hated me! They lied about what happened to my parents and refused to tell me anything about them!” Harry could sense Staci moving behind him and wondered if she were going to try and hug it away, the way Mrs. Weasley might react.

“I lived there like a slave, expected to cook and clean and garden without so much as a thank you! I was expected to be grateful for Dudley’s old clothes and a cupboard to sleep in and tape to repair my glasses when Dudley broke them! And no matter how often I tried to tell them I didn’t know why odd things happened around me, they never believed me! Never! And they knew about me the entire time!” He could feel tears stinging his eyes, but was too angry to let them out. “And when I came back for summers, the only way I could make it there was to trick them, threaten them, or run away! Why did I have to live like that? Why?”

Dimly, in the back of his mind, the rational part of him was aghast at this display of temper. What was he doing, raging like this at the person who had gotten him out of his prison? She would send him back, realizing what a nuisance he was, not worth keeping, not worth helping.

Staci waited until his words stopped spilling out in a torrent, hoping he would take the next step on his own. Instead he turned back to watch the ocean again, trying to regain that calm exterior that had undoubtedly been his defence for so long. Before that could happen, she turned him around and pulled his chin up so he would meet her eyes.

“Why did Albus leave you there? At the time, they were the only family he knew of and he needed a blood relative to set the protections that he did. Why didn’t he agree to let us have you when we discovered the connection? I truly don’t know. I’ve known Albus all my life; he is one of the greatest wizards ever. But he also has this streak in him—he won’t change a plan until he’s forced to. My guess is that it started when your parents died—when he failed to convince your dad to make him their Secret-Keeper and they were killed.

“Why were the Dursleys so hateful? In their twisted, bigoted way, they thought they were doing the right thing by trying to prevent your becoming a wizard. They were grossly unfair in their methods and certainly made just about every mistake there is…oh, Harry, there’s no use dancing around it. They abused you. They deserve your hate. But if you bottle up that hate, or the guilt you must still feel over the Diggory boy’s murder—“

Harry jumped as if she’d brushed him with a live wire, and scrubbed at his eyes violently under his glasses. “How do you know what I feel?”

“I was eavesdropping on the house, remember? The protections were designed to trigger at the use of active spells, so I used an Invisibility Cloak, which is passive magic, and ordinary tools like a sound enhancer and binoculars. I heard how the Dursleys treated you this summer. And I heard you when you were having nightmares. You had one last night, as a matter of fact, before I cast a strong enough Restful Sleep Charm to help you banish it.

“Harry, holding all that in is not healthy for your mind or your emotions. I swear to you now, anything you don’t want me to repeat, I won’t. If you’d rather share it with your friends, that’s fine. If you want to try writing in a journal, I can show you how to lock it away magically in a computer drive or simply spell-lock a notebook. But get it out of your head before it builds up to a point that your next explosion levels the house. You’re still a young wizard; losing control is all too easy.”

Now she hugged him, a simple squeezing embrace that didn’t last long. Not a mother’s embrace—Harry felt a much different kind of caring from her. Mrs. Weasley had wanted to take the pain away for him. Staci wanted to help him learn how to take it away himself. He was reminded strongly of the Weasley boys and Ginny and, oddly enough, of Colin Creevey and his little brother Dennis. It took him a moment to put the seemingly unconnected thoughts together: Staci was acting like a big sister.

He managed a weak grin and voiced that thought. “So, how many kid brothers and sisters do you have, to be such an expert?”

Her face lost all expression for a second, so briefly that Harry almost thought he imagined it, then recovered. She answered in a controlled tone, “I don’t have any.”

As he had so many times before, in magic, in Quidditch, he followed an instinct. “But you did.” She swallowed hard, but nodded. “What did you just tell me? To let it out?”

Staci gave a small chuckle. “Touché, mon ami.” She put an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go down to the water and share, shall we?”

*****

“What do you mean, he’s no longer there?” The Dark Lord hissed furiously at the gaping circle of nervous faces around him. Macnair, one of his braver, if stupider minions dared to repeat the obvious.

“He’s no longer there, Master. Wormtail saw the Muggle woman let some witch in, and after a few minutes he came out with his things and drove off with the witch. He had no way to follow a Muggle car in his rat form, so we don’t know where the boy is.”

Voldemort spun and, lacking Wormtail’s presence, threw the Cruciatus Curse at Macnair instead, who stayed on his feet for several seconds before collapsing in agony. “I don’t need you to repeat the obvious! I need you to find the boy!” He spun around and leaned over another minion, smarter but with too much ambition. “Malfoy, it seems that your little idea has had the opposite effect from your intentions. Instead of a Harry Potter cast out of his protection, he is now currently somewhere completely unknown to us!” Another Cruciatus Curse and Malfoy immediately joined Macnair in writhing on the ground. Voldemort’s gaze swept through the rest of his still-incomplete circle—far, far too incomplete—and rested on the one who had come back late to the fold.

“Snape, I charge you. You have spent the last four years in close proximity to Harry Potter. You still have the fool Dumbledore’s confidence. Use it. Discover the whereabouts of Harry Potter before he returns to Hogwarts and I will reward you greatly.”

The sallow, greasy-haired Potions Master of Hogwarts bowed low. “Master, I will not rest until I can provide you with accurate information.”

“See that you do, Snape. You were late in rejoining us. You must prove your loyalty to me many times over before I consider you a true Death Eater again.”

*****

They sat on the sand, digging bare toes into its silky warmth. Staci pulled out her comb, regathered her hair in it, and began talking.

“You’re rather scarily perceptive sometimes, you know that?” She paused, looking out over the water the way she had earlier. “Yes, I had a little brother. He would have been twenty-one on his last birthday. It always felt like just the two of us, with our sister Lise being eleven years older than me and never very sisterly.”

Harry waited as she paused again, this time in remembering. “We were down in North Carolina, visiting relatives in the area and giving me an opportunity to check out Appalachian State University.” At Harry’s surprised look, she nodded. “Yeah, the Patterson family tradition is a wizard boarding school and a regular college. Anyway, Mom and Dad were visiting with the aunts & uncles that live in that area and the cousins were all hanging out on campus. I wanted to stay longer, talk to some of the students, but I had driven there. I had gotten my Apparating license not a month before, so I handed the car keys to my cousin Spencer so he could drive the rest home.

“It was a drunk driver. Who the hell gets drunk at four-thirty in the afternoon? But he had an alcohol level of over 0.2, according to his autopsy. Went right through the intersection against the light and ploughed into the driver’s side.

“Spence was killed instantly. My brother Ben died at the scene. The four other cousins in the car survived.”

Staci buried her face in her hands a minute. “I had no idea until I Apparated to Uncle Max’s house that anything was wrong. My mom attacked me like it was my fault—”

“But it wasn’t!” Harry interrupted fiercely. “It wasn’t your fault at all! No one can prevent an accident like that!”

Staci smiled thinly. “That’s true. But it took a very long time for me to accept that. I spent months in a depression and years still convinced that if I’d been driving I could have avoided the crash. Or I could have magicked the oncoming car to stop or I could have used magic to keep Ben alive until the ambulance got there—the other cousins were all younger, hadn’t had the training Spence and I had.

“Mom and I eventually forgave each other, and I chose to attend college in New York instead, distancing myself from my parents and that branch of the family for a while. And I took classes to qualify myself as an emergency medical technician alongside my mediwizard training.”

“And I finally mourned my brother. It took a long time for me to really heal from his loss, just as it will take you a long time to truly mourn the Diggory boy’s—”

“Cedric,” Harry corrected absently, looking out at the grey-green water.

“Cedric’s death. But the first step you have to take is to realize that it was not your fault.”

Harry snapped his head back to look at her. “But I told him to take the cup with me!”

“Would you have done so if you’d known it was a trap?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then the person to blame in this situation is Voldemort. He set the trap. He chose to kill Cedric rather than injure or release him.” She reached out and took his hands, encouraging him to keep looking at her. “You were only doing what felt right to you. Cedric was refusing to take the win for himself, and he would probably have been killed anyway if he did. Did you ever realize that? If Cedric or either of the other champions had made it to the cup first despite Crouch’s efforts, Voldemort would surely have killed them anyway. But because he was stupid enough to follow his need for vengeance, you lived and were able to escape. It is not your fault that Cedric died anymore than it was my fault that a drunk driver ploughed into the car carrying my brother and cousins.”

Harry felt the anguish building in him and screwed his face up in order not to cry. Staci put an am around him and pulled him close, not bothering to hide the tears that were forming in her eyes. “Let it out, Harry. I know it hurts, but keeping it in will only hurt more.”

She said no more, but continued to hold him, stroking his hair and looking at the water as if she had all the time in the world. He struggled with himself for a few minutes, but was finally able to let himself cry with her.

*****

After his tears had run their course for the moment, Staci got up and pulled him to his feet. She raised her glasses and scrubbed her eyes with one hand. “Let’s go clean up a bit. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry.”

Harry nodded and followed her back up the path. He felt somewhat better, as if a huge burden on him had been shifted and was a little easier to carry. He missed something Staci said and tried to listen harder in the strong breeze.

“—need to inventory the kitchen and go shopping. You’ll have to tell me some of the things you like to eat. And of course we need supplies for Monday.”

“What’s Monday?” Harry asked without thinking.

“Besides your birthday?” At Harry’s surprised look she grinned. “Albus will be bringing a few guests for a birthday party.”

“A party?” Harry lit up with delight at the thought and jumped the last few steps to the deck. A real birthday party at last!

He was almost to the sliding glass door when the pain seared across his scar.

Chapter 5 - Connections Made

Harry fell to his knees, both hands pressed to his forehead in a futile attempt to block the agony. Staci dropped down beside him and pulled his hands aside.

“Let me see,” she insisted, pushing his hair back.

Harry blinked in surprise. The second she had touched him, the pain had stopped. She was studying his scar, murmuring to herself, “…glowing…hot…” Her voice sounded very far off.

Harry realized he was not seeing her or the beach cottage. Instead he seemed to be somewhere dark, like a cave or cellar with just a few torches lit. Figures surrounded him in a quite familiar broken circle.

Staci dropped her hand, about to get up and like that his scar was on fire again. He lost the vision and frantically grabbed her and clapped her hand to his head again.

Staci was puzzled, then recognized the distance in his eyes. “What do you see, Harry?”

“I think…it’s Voldemort’s hideout. It’s not clear…”

“Turn slowly, see if it gets any clearer in one direction.”

Harry got up and did as she asked, but before he could get more than halfway around the vision began to fade. Knowing somehow that it was over, he let Staci’s hand go.

“It’s gone.”

Staci strode inside and fetched paper and a pen from her desk. “Write it down, now, before you forget. Or dictate it to me.”

He started describing what he’d seen, the dim room, the people surrounding him in the same ragged circle he’d seen the Death Eaters form before. Malfoy and Macnair had been hit with the Cruciatus Curse. The walls had been smooth, so a cellar was more likely than a cave. And finally, just as his vision had faded, Harry had seen Snape bowing low.

Once he’d recited everything, Staci copied her notes into something more legible and added her observations to his.

“I don’t suppose anyone has noticed before, if it happened before, but your scar was glowing very faintly, the same glow that the Death Curse produces. It was also hot to the touch.” She glanced up at him thoughtfully. “Am I right in guessing that me touching you seemed to block the pain?”

Harry nodded. “Completely. That’s never happened before. And I’ve never been able to see Voldemort’s location when I wasn’t dreaming.”

She frowned. “I wonder if it has to do with the blood-bond on the protection spell, or if it would have happened at the Dursleys’.” She wrote down a few more sentences, then folded the paper and went over to the fireplace. She thumbed a switch and gas jets obligingly spit out dancing flames. She took a pinch of some powder, lighter in colour than Floo powder, from a large shell on the mantle and tossed it into the fire, stating “Dumbledore’s office.” A hole appeared in the flames, showing the headmaster’s office just as Harry remembered it. He wasn’t in the room, but Staci scribbled his name on the paper, murmured an incantation under her breath that made it shimmer, and tossed it onto his desk. She turned off the gas and both fire and hole disappeared with a pop.

Harry was thinking about what he’d seen. Snape had apparently managed to infiltrate the Death Eaters again at Dumbledore’s request. He wondered whether Voldemort trusted him—he’d been quick enough to accept the likes of Malfoy and the others who had presumed him dead and gone on with their lives.

Although there had been some satisfaction at seeing Lucius Malfoy being tortured…

Suddenly Harry remembered Neville, his year-mate at Hogwarts, and the gut-wrenchingly sad story of his parents that Dumbledore had told him. Neville’s parents were still alive, but hopelessly insane as a result of being tortured with the Cruciatus Curse. And with a start, Harry realized something that made his stomach twist with nausea: last year when “Mad-Eye” Moody had comforted Neville after his reaction to seeing the curse performed in a Defence Against Dark Arts class, it had actually been young Barty Crouch doing the comforting, one of the four Death Eaters who had tortured the Longbottoms. Harry wondered if Neville realized that; he didn’t know how well Dumbledore had kept Crouch’s impersonation a secret from the other students.

“Staci!” Harry burst out. She looked up at him from the kitchen, where she had started pulling out sandwich makings.

“Do you know who’s planning to come to…Monday?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say “my party”. It felt too precious and new to be said out loud yet.

“The Weasleys, Hermione Granger, Albus and Sirius, as far as I know. Maybe Remus Lupin if they can track him down.”

“Can we add someone else?”

Staci raised one eyebrow but nodded. “Sure, who did you have in mind?”

“Neville Longbottom. He’s in my year at school. Can I send him an owl…oh, wait. I don’t know where Hedwig is.”

Staci glanced up at a sound on the deck, and smiled. “But she knows where you are.”

Harry turned to look out the sliding glass door and saw his owl, sitting on the rail and preening proudly, a letter tied to one leg.

*****

Hermione popped through the fireplace at the Burrow, dusting soot and Floo powder from her carryall. Ron pounced on her immediately.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Where’s Harry? All my parents will tell me is that we’re going to see him Monday!”

Hermione held up her hands, backing away from the verbal onslaught. “Stop, Ron. I don’t know anything more than you do. Practically as soon as Harry sent me that phoney letter from Gringotts he disappeared—”

“Letter from Gringotts?” Ron yelled, then lowered his voice to a hiss, pulling Hermione upstairs to his room by an elbow. “What letter from Gringotts?”

Up in Ron’s violently orange room, surrounded by the Chudley Cannon posters, Hermione filled him in on the letter and how Harry had apparently gone from the Dursleys’ the very next day, with no word to Dumbledore or anyone he knew. Ron complained bitterly of first his mother’s frantic blitz at the local post office, then the letter from Dumbledore and her calm refusal to tell him anything more than they’d see Harry in two days.

“…and then there’s Bill, sending Mum an owl with some garbage of how Harry’s bound to be just fine, not to worry…how can he know anything about anything, all the way down in Egypt?”

Hermione leaned over and took his face in her hands. “Ron, calm down. We’ve got to trust the adults right now. They said we’re going to see Harry on Monday and we will!”

Ron shook his head. “That’s not good enough! Anything could happen by then! I’ll try and nab some of the Floo powder from the kitchen, if you’ll distract Mum. Otherwise it’ll be broomsticks—you can borrow Fred or George’s. Ginny’s still too enthralled with the broom they gave her to let it out of her sight.” Ignoring Hermione’s attempts to interrupt him, he started pacing. “If we can get to Hogsmeade, we can walk up to Hogwarts and demand to see Dumbledore, or maybe McGonagall if he’s not there. At the very least we can talk to Hagrid!”

“RON!” Hermione bellowed and he jumped in surprise. “Calm down. We can’t go running off on our own, especially now that You-Know—blast it!—Voldemort is active again! What if he gets the idea to come after Harry through us, the people Harry cares about?”

“Then stop saying the name if you’re so worried about him being back!”

“No, I’m not going to give Voldemort the satisfaction of being too scared to say his name! I will break that habit, and you should, too!”

Ron simply shook his head at her foolhardiness. “Hermione, he’s our best friend. After the way I treated him last year, I just can’t sit and wait for the grownups to tell us he’s all right without knowing for myself. Please, can we at least try for the Floo powder? That would take us straight to Hogwarts and back; There’d be hardly any chance for You-Know-Who to do anything.”

Hermione looked frustrated, but nodded, wondering if she dared deliberately flub at distracting Mrs. Weasley. They had gotten downstairs and were passing a parlour when arms shot out and pulled each of them in by the shoulder.

Ron had his mouth wide open to yell and Hermione’s hand was in her pocket for her wand when they realized it was Bill. “Boggarts on toast, Bill! Why’d you want to scare us like that?” Ron cried, catching his breath.

Bill looked down at them grimly. “It would appear that you need scaring. Just where did you think you were going?”

Hermione thought about covering for Ron and decided against it. Better to leave it between the brothers.

Ron turned a bright pink. “Just down to the kitchen for something to eat.”

Bill shook his head at his brother. “Ron, if you’re serious about pursuing the Auror idea, learn to lie well. You’ve got some crazy idea of trying to find Harry, don’t you?”

Ron flushed deeper. “And so what if I am? Everything I’ve heard says the adults aren’t doing anything at all!”

“That’s because they don’t have to. I know where Harry is, I know who he’s with, and I can assure you on the honour of Gryffindor that he’s just fine.”

“Just fine? And we’re supposed to believe you like that? How would you know anyway? You’ve been at your job all this time—and what are you doing here and not there?”

Bill sighed. “Ron, if you’re not going to calm down, I’m not going to say another word.”

Ron inhaled for yet another rant and Hermione stepped in and covered his mouth with a hand. “Stop it, Ron! You’re going to start foaming at the mouth in a minute.” She turned to Bill, keeping her hand firmly in place as Ron tried to twist away. “Please, go on.”

“Thank you, Hermione. I am here because I’ve taken a leave of absence from Gringotts for at least the next month to help in dealing with the threat of You-Know-Who—” Bill paused “—Voldemort, it’s Voldemort, Voldemort.” Hermione nodded in understanding.  “I know Harry’s safe because I’m in touch with who he’s staying with and she says he’s doing splendidly. He’s happy to be away from the Dursleys and he’s looking forward to seeing you all at his birthday party.”

“Birthday party?” Ron had dodged and succeeded in getting away from Hermione.

“That’s right,” she said. “Harry’s birthday is Monday. I sent a card and some sweets, and I was going to do something else as well, but I need to go to Diagon Alley…”

Bill smiled. “I’ll be glad to escort you both, if you like.”

Ron looked dejected. “What can I do? I don’t have a Knut to my name right now.”

Hermione punched him in the shoulder. “Get over it, Ron. You can help me finish my idea and it’ll be from both of us. Can we go now?”

“As soon as we tell Mum where we’re going.”

They filed down the last staircase to the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was poking at some dough with her wand, encouraging it to rise. Ginny was snapping beans at the table.

“Mum, I’m going to take Ron and Hermione to Diagon Alley for a little shopping. Harry’s birthday, you know.”

Ginny looked up, knocked the bowl of beans and caught it before it could spill. “Can I go too?”

“Sure,” Bill and Hermione replied together before Ron could say “no”.

She jumped up and pulled off the apron she had been wearing. Mrs. Weasley nodded her assent and visibly bit her lip against whatever warnings and admonishments she longed to deliver. She settled for fixing a stern eye on her eldest, who smiled in return. “If we’re not back by five o’clock, send out the Ministry, Mum.”

He ducked just in time as a wooden spoon sailed over his head and hit the wall.

*****

The letter was from Sirius. Harry took it and patted Hedwig affectionately. Staci brought out a dish of water and Hedwig hooted in appreciation. Harry took the letter over to the hammock chairs and curled up into one to read it.

Dear Harry (and Anastacia, if you’re reading over his shoulder stop it now),

Dumbledore has informed me of Staci’s taking you in, but neither of us knows exactly where you are. Please send a reply as soon as you read this and tell me what’s going on. As your legal guardian, according to your parents’ wishes, I do have a right to know more than I’ve been told so far.

A Gringotts owl came to Dumbledore, unable to find you within the time limit the goblins gave it. They haven’t traced the letter yet, but they’ll keep trying.

Harry, please be on your guard. Dumbledore wouldn’t tell me much about this Anastacia Patterson, and I don’t remember her very well—her sister Annalise kept to the Ravenclaws—but until I can get there Monday, watch your back. Hedwig can find me easily, even though I’m travelling a lot.

Write me back now.

Sirius

Harry smiled at the final directive and carried Hedwig inside. Staci glanced at him from the kitchen counter and waved at the sandwich makings she had spread out. “Tell me what you want.”

Harry looked at the selection and said, “Turkey, cheese and mustard on toast, and parchment and a quill.”

“Those last two aren’t good for your digestion, so I hear,” she quipped, nodding her head toward her desk. “Help yourself.”

She brought him a sandwich and grape juice as he worked on letters, not only composing a reply to Sirius, but also notes to Ron, Hermione, and Neville. As he labelled each one so Hedwig could take the lot, he looked around Staci’s desk, marvelling at its glorious jumble of Muggle and magical items. Biros and quills rested together in a large mug. The computer drive had a list of spells taped to its side, apparently to unlock certain enhanced functions. A non-moving action figure of a rabbit dressed as a samurai shared the top of the monitor with a wizard figure of a Quidditch player in unfamiliar blue robes with red and white trim. He paced back and forth, moving his broom as if to block the goals.

“What player is this?” Harry asked as Staci brought her own meal to the dining table nearby.

“That’s Michael Doherty, Keeper for the US team back in the late 1980s. He was Ben’s favourite player. Ben was a Keeper for his school team.”

“Do you play?” Harry asked curiously.

“No, I don’t fly well. And I just wasn’t as interested in sports as a kid. I was the type to shut myself in my room with a stack of books.”

Ah, Harry thought, she’ll like Hermione, then. He ruffled Hedwig’s head once more and thanked her as she nipped at his fingers and took off through the open sliding-glass door. He sat back down to finish his lunch and asked, “Now what?”

“Well, I’ve got a list for the grocery store started—here, if you have any favourites jot them down. After that, it’s pretty much do whatever we want: laze around, study or do work, swim…”

“I don’t swim very well.”

Staci grinned. “Then lessons might be a good place to start.”

*****