reborn

Harry Potter awoke with a dull pain in his head. Looking around, he saw he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had spent enough time in hospital here when he was a student that he recognized his surroundings immediately and, in fact, felt strangely at home. Looking down the row of beds, he saw Madam Pomfrey standing at the other end of the room speaking with someone hidden from Harry's view by one of the screens used to cordon off the beds. He sat up and the sudden change in position made his head swim. He clutched his forehead and found that it was swathed in bandages. Madam Pomfrey saw Harry swaying and, fearing that he might faint, rushed towards him, followed by a tall slim figure that emerged from behind the screen. He was dressed in dark robes and Harry saw that they were well worn and patched in several places.

"Remus...” Even before he saw the face, Harry recognized the robes as belonging to Remus Lupin, a werewolf and wizard who had been one of his father's best friends and, for a short time, a teacher here at Hogwarts.

"Harry, you mustn't rush about, you've been injured and need rest." Lupin's eyes showed his concern, Harry had been through quite an ordeal over the past month, it had been a pitched battle that covered most of three continents finally ending here at Hogwarts with the deaths of many people, some deservedly and some tragically.

Harry sat at the edge of the bed, his head still swimming. "What happened? How long have I been here?"

"Rest, I said Harry. It's been almost a full week, there's nothing you can do now."

Harry's eyes suddenly lit with a fire that burned through the fog in his brain. "A week? Where is he now? We must find him before he can regroup the Death Eaters." Harry lunged up and tried to walk, but Remus grabbed him and, firmly but gently, returned him to the bed. "It's over Harry," he said. "There's no one to chase anymore."

"Yes, Harry. Voldemort is dead." Lupin said, "Or at least as dead as anyone can make him." Then more quietly he added, "You did it, Harry."

Harry simply couldn't comprehend what Remus had said. "But what about.." Harry tried to think of one person to ask for but he knew so many who had been hurt or were missing that thinking of just one was impossible.

"Many people have died, Harry, both good and evil. Voldemort was crushed when you collapsed the walls of the Great Hall down upon him; Severus was killed then as well. Pettigrew hasn't been found, but even if he is still alive, without Voldemort he's nothing."

"I'm sorry Harry, but Albus is dead also. Voldemort's last attack finished him. He was dead by the time we could get to him."

Harry collapsed back against his pillows, Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard and the kindest man Harry had ever met was dead and it was his fault. "What about Ron and Hermione?"

"Hermione is missing, she was badly hurt before she was portkeyed and no one knows where she went. Ron has gone looking for her. I expect to hear from him any time now."

"You mean after you were knocked unconscious? That was basically the end of it. The walls of the Great Hall were collapsing. Voldemort saw it at the last minute and tried to get out but Snape lunged and grabbed him, throwing both of them into the falling debris. It was brilliant of you to do that, destroy the hall I mean. It was obvious, after so many of us had attacked him magically with no effect, from Dumbledore all the way down to some first years at Beauxbatons, that Voldemort had somehow protected himself from any curses we could throw. But you, Harry, you didn't attack HIM that last time at least not with magic. Instead you struck at the walls; the fallings stones crushed him before he could portkey to anywhere else. Severus made sure of that and gave up his own life to do it."

Harry exhaled greatly, so Dumbledore was right about that too, as much as Harry had hated Professor Snape, he was on their side after all.

Remus continued. "After the Dark Lord was killed the battle was over. Even at Beauxbatons, the Dementors sensed that he was gone and the fight all but left them. Oh, Sirius and the giants continued to attack them of course, and the Dementors still took a good bit of killing - some of them had sucked a hundred souls and so were quite powerful - but in the end they were crushed. Some have escaped but they will be hunted down. The school itself was totally destroyed and is so haunted now by the souls released from the Dementors that no one is trying to rebuild it. Maybe someday, but not for quite some time. Fudge is in Azkaban, along with those Death Eaters who haven't been killed, Lucius Malfoy, MacNair and a few others. It will be tough to guard them now that the Dementors are gone, but a way will be found.

"There was extensive damage here at Hogwarts, and not only to the Great Hall. Two of the towers had collapsed. When word got out of the damage, a hundred alumni showed up to help rebuild. In fact, much of the work is already done and we should be able to start classes again on time, September the first."

"The Board of Governors has asked Professor McGonagall to serve as Headmistress Pro Tem and she has accepted. I think they’ll confirm her permanently before Christmas. There are a number of faculty positions to be filled, however, and Minerva is working half the night sending out owls recruiting new teachers."

"So, it's really over? For good?" Harry couldn’t believe that the horror that had plagued him since he was a baby, and the whole magical world for longer than that, was finally over.

"Yes Harry, I think so. After we examined Voldemort's body - and that was no mean feat, let me tell you, he still had at least 9 portkeys left hidden in his robes. After the third person vanished, we moved the body to The Hog's Head so that whoever got sent to Goodness Knows Where could just apparate back there and not have to trudge all the way back into the school through the debris. Besides, it also meant we could stop for a stiff drink now and again. Anyway, after we were done, Professor McGonagall transfigured the body into sand. We then gave the sand to a glassblower that smelted it down and molded it into seven glass balls. Then we sealed each ball with Unbreakable Charms. Each of the seven balls was finally dropped into the deepest part of each of the seven seas; Sirius has just finished with the last of them."

"Then Sirius is alright?" Harry brightened a bit at this news, Sirius Black was Harry's godfather and, wrongly accused of being a spy for the Dark Lord and a murderer, had spent 12 years in Azkaban Prison with the Dementors, foul creatures who lived by draining all hope and happiness from their victims until even their very souls were consumed. Ever since Black had returned through the veil he had been consumed with destroying the Dementors and had commanded the small army of giants fighting them. He was also the closest thing to family that Harry had. "Is he coming back?"

“No, not permanently, I don't think so. He says that, after Azkaban and being on the other side of the veil, he has had enough of cold and wants to live in the warmth of the sun. He will be returning to Hogwarts often though, to visit."

Professor Lupin smiled, "Minerva has asked me to return to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts again, but things being the way they are, I will need a substitute several days each month."

"During the full of the moon." It was a statement, not a question. With the right potions, Lupin could control the violence of his wolfine periods, but not stop them. So with every full moon he locked himself into his chambers while he was in wolf form.

“How would you like to be my assistant, of course? I know you only graduated a year ago and don’t have the seniority to be a full Professor, but you taught those D.A. classes, so no one can question your experience. You will be teaching when I can’t and assisting me during the remainder of the month.”

Harry thought for a moment. Stopping Voldemort had been all he had thought about for years and now that it was done what else was he to do. “I can’t think of any reason to say no.”

“Good man. Welcome to the faculty. I hope you don’t mind but I assumed that you would agree and so I’ve had your things moved into a room here. Your Aunt and Uncle seemed quite relieved when we came to collect your trunk. Didn’t even blink at the house elves that carried it out.” Harry couldn’t imagine the Dursleys not blinking at a bunch of squealing house elves trooping through their oh-so-proper and oh-so-not-magical-thank-you-very-much house on Privet Drive but he guessed anything was possible.

“You’re probably tired of the Hospital Wing by now, so what do you say we troop over to your new digs. It’s not much but it is homey.”

Harry stood up carefully and, with Remus and Madam Pomfrey on either side in case he fell, walked out the door. As the door closed, there was the softest of sounds, like a small animal scurrying from under one of the bedside tables.

The young woman shakily gained her feet and stumbled from beneath the tree where she lay. She stood on an expanse of lawn that was shaggy and had clearly been untended for quite some time. Ahead of her she could see a large house standing on a hill. There would likely be people there, she thought, and help, but He might be there as well. She couldn’t quite remember who “He” was but she knew He was evil. He was looking for her and trying to kill her. Something sticky had run into her eyes and she raised a hand to wipe it away. She gasped as a bolt of pain shot through her arm and cradled it to her side. She was injured, how badly she didn’t know yet but she needed to find someplace where she could hide and tend to herself. Turning her back to the large house she ducked under the low branches of the tree and went the opposite way.

On the other side of a narrow line of trees, in a low hollow, stood a small hut. It appeared deserted, with the door hanging half open and one hinge snapped. Cautiously, she circled around to the rear of the hut, where there were no windows, and approached. She stopped often to listen but no sound came to her. It seemed empty and she circled around the side. She peered into one of the windows and looked around. It seemed to be a small cottage and she was looking into a bedroom, dirty and disheveled. Circling further she reached the front of the building and the broken door. Listening carefully, she waited. Still no sounds came so she entered and quickly moved into the shadows on one side of the door and waited for her vision to adjust.

The building was obviously abandoned. There was dirt and dust on everything. Teenage vandals had covered the walls with graffiti and the floor with cigarette butts. Moving into the bedroom she saw the bed had been stripped of linen and the thin mattress slit in several places, exposing the ticking. Old newspapers and snack food bags littered the floor. Although no secret, the place was out of the way enough that it might provide some security for her. Beside the bed was a dry sink, with the pitcher gone and the mirror above smashed. The woman looked at her crazed reflection. She was young, probably no more than twenty, with shoulder length bushy brown hair that was matted with dirt and leaves. There was a cut on her head, above the hairline that had now stopped bleeding and bruises were around her cheeks. She was covered with dirt, as if she hadn’t bathed in weeks and her clothes were tattered. Her clothes… She wore a dark garment that seemed to have been some sort of cape or poncho made of heavy linen, underneath she had on a cotton shift and knickers. Inside the cape she found a label. It read “Granger”. She didn’t think it was the manufacturer's mark so could this be her name? On her feet was a ragged pair of sneakers and what might have at one time been socks. The cape was beyond repair but discarding it and walking about in her underclothes was out of the question. She would need to find some new clothes. And a bath.

Over her shoulder she had a canvas carryall. She dumped the contents on the mattress and emptied her pockets. She was carrying several large maps showing areas of Europe, Asia, and Africa. The maps were scrawled with circles and lines that meant nothing to her. She also had a compass and a few pencils. In the pockets of her cape she found some coins, three of gold, five of silver, and a handful of bronze, she assumed this was some kind of money but what kind she had no idea. There was also a Boy Scout pocketknife and a strange stick of wood. It was a rod about a foot long with an obvious grip at one end. It looked to her to be a pointer of some sort, but what it was supposed to point at she had no idea so she set it aside. There was no food and no matches.

Stopping to think for a moment she figured her first priority was to see how badly hurt she was, her right arm was very sore and she could barely move it, her scalp was cut and she was severely bruised. Scrounging in the other room she uncovered a saucepan and, taking it outside to an old-fashioned hand pump, rinsed it out and filled it with clean water. Going back into the bedroom, for more privacy, she carefully took off her clothes and began to wash her wounds.

She didn’t think the arm was broken, just badly sprained, but only an x-ray would tell for sure and she had no intention of going to a hospital where they might ask questions that she didn’t want to answer, or couldn’t. The bruises would be sore but didn’t seem serious. The cut on her head, although no longer bleeding, was deep and might become infected. She washed it as best she could then threw away the water and refilled the pan.

This time she washed herself. It took three pots of water to get the dirt out of her hair and she used her fingers to comb it as best she could. Three more trips to the well got her as clean as she could get without soap and a bathtub. Finally, she tried to wash some of the grime from her clothing. Although far from clean, she didn’t think she would attract too much attention if she had to go out in public. There was nothing to eat so she lay down on the filthy mattress and tried to rest.

After what seemed to Harry like hours of climbing staircases, his head beginning to pound with every step he took, the trio came to the end of a short passageway. The stonework here was obviously new, with three large pictures on the wall, one to the left, one ahead of them, and the third to their right. This last one was a large painting of a Quidditch pitch and on it players were soaring about, tossing a red ball about the size of a soccer ball between them. Remus Lupin stopped, faced the painting and said, “Gryffindor scores.” The painting then rolled up of its own accord like a window shade, exposing yet another spiral staircase going up.

“The rolling was Professor Flitwick’s idea, it saves a good deal of space compared to having the whole frame swing out into the corridor and the players actually seem to enjoy the ride.” said Remus.

After climbing to the top of the stairs and passing through a door, they came to a small landing leading to two rooms. They turned to the left and entered a small sitting room, semicircular in shape. There was a settee and two armchairs with a table between. A short bookcase stood against the outside wall and atop it stood a strange sort of wooden sculpture, modernesque in design; it resembled nothing so much as a large letter “Z”. It was made of rough wood still covered with bark, almost as if it had been taken from an extremely gnarled tree.

“Yes,” said Remus, even before Harry could ask, “it’s from the Whomping Willow. Professor Sprout had to do quite a bit of trimming to try to save it and I thought this would make an amusing perch for Hedwig.”

Professor Sprout taught Herbology at Hogwarts and trimming the Whomping Willow, an animated tree that seemed to like nothing better than to beat to death anything that came within reach of its branches, must have been quite a task. Almost as if on cue, a large Snowy Owl flew in through an open window and circled the room before landing on the limb.

“Hello, Hedwig, it’s good to see you're doing well.” In response to Harry’s comment the owl clicked its beak several times and ruffled its feathers, settling into a comfortable position.

“I hope you don’t mind the ceiling,” said a voice from behind them, “but the ceiling in the Great Hall has been a trademark here for centuries and we are striving to recreate it. I thought I should have a bit of practice on a smaller scale before tackling that task.”

Harry looked up and, instead of seeing a ceiling above him, he was watching as a patch of soft summer clouds blew over the sun and cast the room into shadow. Harry knew that a real ceiling was there, but it had been bewitched into transparency to show the sky above.

“I think it’s lovely,” Harry said as he turned to the new voice, it belonged to Professor, now Headmistress, McGonagall. She stood as straight as a candle in deep red robes and had her hair in its usual tight bun.

“Well, how are you feeling, Mr. Potter?” She spoke in her usual stern tone but Harry knew she was concerned.

She moved forward and embraced him hard, “Indeed, you have earned it if anyone has, come into the bedroom, dear boy, so you can lie down.”

They passed back through the landing and into a bedroom on the other side, slightly smaller than the sitting room opposite. It completed the circular top of one of the towers. Against the straight length of common wall stood a large four-poster bed, hung with curtains of rich scarlet.

“I though you might like some familiar things about, so I had them bring up your old bed from the Gryffindor dormitories.” She led Harry over and sat him on the bed, its softness felt wonderfully comforting to him.

“Now, Poppy, do you think these bandages might come off?” McGonagall touched the casing of white cloth that bound Harry’s head softly.

“Yes, I think his head is as healed as it's going to get.” Poppy replied with a smile, she had mended enough of Harry’s injuries, including re-growing all of the bones in his right arm in a single night, to have absolute confidence in her abilities. She stepped forward and began to unwrap the coverings.

Finally, when all of the bandages were laying in a tangle on Harry’s lap, the three, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Remus Lupin, leaned in to take a look.

“Now, I am not one to put much faith in Omens, but if I were I would say that this is a very good one.” said the Headmistress.

“What are you talking about?” said Harry rather sharply. He hated being gawked at like some sort of specimen in a jar.

Madam Pomfrey responded, “You see Harry one of the falling stones struck you on the head, and although it, fortunately, didn’t fracture the skull, it caused considerable damage, including a severe concussion.”

“Harry,” said Remus stepping in, “one of the stones hit you on the head and, even though it didn’t crack that thick skull of yours, it did tear off most of your scalp.”

“The healing went perfectly.” injected Madam Pomfrey, as if someone had dared to question her abilities. “There’s not a hint of scarring.”

At the word “scar” Harry stood and pushed through the group to a mirror standing against the curving wall. The reflection looking back at him was no longer the skinny boy who had first come to Hogwarts eight years ago, with mended glasses and ill fitting hand-me-down clothes. He stood slightly taller than average, though still quite thin. Most of his unruly black hair was gone, close stubble showed where it was regrowing and shaped his high forehead. His forehead! It took a moment to sink in. The lightning bolt shaped scar, caused by a death curse thrown at him by Voldemort when he was only a year old, was gone. His forehead stood smooth and unmarked, there wasn’t even a wrinkle. His whole life people at looked at that scar. Stared at it while trying not to look like they were staring. Strangers on the street stopped to gape at it, sometimes to shake his hand. He was the boy with the scar. The one who lived. Protected by the magic of a mother who had sacrificed her life to save his, he had single-handedly and completely unknowingly brought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named down the first time, causing him to go into hiding, barely alive, for thirteen years. Surviving with nothing but the lightning bolt scar to show that anything at all had happened, Harry had become famous. That scar was more famous than he was, and now it was gone.

“Wow” was all he could say. Harry sat back down on the bed. That scar had connected him to Voldemort; it had acted as a claxon, warning him when the Dark Lord was near. Now it was gone. Perhaps, that meant that Voldemort was truly gone too. “Wow.”

The sun was high when the young woman finally awoke. She got up and decided to go out and look at her surroundings. Trying to stay hidden from view, she held to the shadows going around the large house then down the drive to the street. She moved slowly and carefully towards the small town beyond. She was hoping to find some wash hanging out to dry, so that she could get some more decent clothes but no one seemed to be doing laundry, or at least no one was air drying it.

Closer towards town she caught the smell of fish and chips. It was a small street-side shop where a passer-by could order from a sidewalk window and then continue on his way eating his dinner as he went. The smell awakened the hunger within her. She didn’t know when she ate last but she guessed it must have been quite some time ago. Looking up and down the street she saw a few people but none of them seemed the least bit interested in her, so she decided to take a chance. As casually as she could she walked up to the window and ordered “one, please, to go” and placed one of the silver coins on the counter.

“Here now. Wha’s this supposed t’ be?” The proprietor was large, greasy and quite unpleasant. “If’s ya’s wan’ food, ya’ll have to pay fer it. And with Pounds, not this trash.”

He picked up the silver coin and held it to the light. “Wha’s this anyway? Where’s it from?”

Not knowing what else to do, she ran, leaving the vexed man standing in the window of the shop still holding the coin. She ran as far as she could but given her state of fatigue and injuries that wasn’t far. Cradling her injured arm to her body she stopped in the shadows of an alleyway. Her breath coming in heaves. Getting food was obviously going to be more difficult than she had hoped. This was not going well. She looked about her as she desperately tried to think.

She was in an alley with rubbish bins on both sides. Evidently there was a restaurant on the left because the bin was full of tossed scraps. She didn’t like the idea of eating garbage but was seriously considering it when she noticed a bag sitting at the back of the bin. She carefully reached over the garbage, not wanting to get any filthier than she already was, and picked it up. It was a doggie bag filled with leftovers. Eating someone else’s leftovers was slightly more appealing than eating garbage and the rumbles of her stomach overcame any further objection. Taking the bag she moved out of the alley and down the street. At the corner was a bus stop with a bench and here she sat down to eat. Inside the bag was an aluminum dish with a small amount of ravioli and two pieces of garlic bread. It must have been a fairly good restaurant because even cold the ravioli was excellent and she sat watching traffic while she ate.

The stop was located at an intersection. Across the street was a Laundromat called "The Laundry Corner" and there were several people, all women, inside doing their wash. While she ate and temporarily solved one of her problems, she saw a chance to solve the other, clean clothes. She watched the women carefully, three were about her size. She waited to see if she would get a chance. One woman finished folding her wash and left. One down and two to go, she thought. The second woman settled into one of the plastic chairs and began to read a tabloid magazine. Two down. The third woman stood leaning against a row of washers watching her loads go round and round in the dryers. Finishing one cigarette she patted her pockets looking for another. The woman on the bench leaned forward. Nothing in her pockets, number three reached for her bag and started rummaging around.

"Don't be there. Don't be there." She was leaning forward, almost falling off the bench, concentrating with all her might. Willing the bag to be empty.

The woman finally gave up, there were no more cigarettes there and tossed her bag on top of a washer. She looked about the shop for a vending machine but found none. Finally, with a glance at her watch and another at the dryers, she picked up her bag again and walked towards the door. At the same time, the woman left her seat at the bus stop and started to make her way across the street. Waiting for a sedan to pass, she reached the door seconds after the other woman turned to walk down the street. She would only have a few minutes at most so she had to work quickly. Woman number two was still buried behind her magazine as she reached the dryers and opened one. Reaching into the still wet clothes, she searched for something suitable. There, a T-shirt, that would do fine. Now if she could only find a pair of shorts or something. No luck. Turning to the second machine she resumed her search. Finally, she found a pair of jeans that she hoped would fit. Rolling her finds into a tight bundle she turned to the door. A few more steps and she would be outside. She turned for one last check on number two...

Spinning back she saw that her way to the door was blocked. Another woman, whom she hadn't even noticed, was standing between her and her escape.

The uniform darkness surrounding him changed, Harry realized he was flying, flying through thick black smoke. He nudged the Firebolt upward, trying to climb out and gain some vision. He broke from the smoke and saw below him the expanse of countryside. There were rolling hills with a ring of forest surrounding a huge estate. At the center, amid a cluster of formal gardens and buildings stood a castle, not the turreted and moated castle that was Hogwarts but one less martial, more of a palace than a castle. It stood four stories tall, with short square towers at the corners. It was Beauxbatons, like Hogwarts a school of magic, and it was now under attack.

To his left Harry saw a great sea of black seething along the ground towards the ruins of a building. Cornelius Fudge had said that there were no more than a hundred Dementors around the world, but that had just been another of his lies; there were thousands of them below, an army of soul-sucking monsters ready to do the Dark Lord's bidding. Facing them were less than a hundred giants led by Sirius Black. Black stood alone atop the ruined building, directing the giants and using his wand to throw stones torn from the broken walls around him at the incoming tide of Dementors. Harry watched as several hundred Dementors emerged from the woods behind Sirius. Gliding up unseen from behind, they would soon overwhelm the place where Sirius stood. Harry had to do something. Removing his wand from beneath his robe, he touched it to his throat and whispered, “Sonorus”. Then he pointed the wand at this new wave of Dementors and his now magically amplified voice rang “Expecto Patronum!” Silver magic erupted from the tip of his wand and flowed towards the Dementors like a tsunami. It took on the form of a stag, but amplified it was the size of a bull elephant as it tore into the black army, using its huge antlers to throw a dozen of them at a time into the air. The sudden appearance of the Patronus broke the attack but four of the monsters managed to close in on their target. Harry was madly trying to think of what to do next when a dusky blur descended and attacked the four Dementors. It was a hippogriff, a magical creature half horse and half eagle, and rearing on its hind legs like a stallion it tore at the Dementors with its talons. Its name was Buckbeak, also wrongly condemned by the corrupted Ministry of Magic, he had escaped with Sirius and they had become inseparable. Sirius turned and in an instant saw what was happening. With a leap, he mounted the still fighting hippogriff and joined the fray. The hippogriff's long talons tore one Dementor in two while Sirius threw a boulder the size of a small car to crush three more.

As each Dementor was destroyed, no one could use the word kill because no one was sure if Dementors were truly alive, clouds of mist escaped it. Dementors sucked out the living souls from their victims to be held captive, deriving strength from tormenting them. With the destruction of the Dementor these souls were released again and the air was rife with their tortured screams. Harry took a pair of omnioculars from a pocket of his robes and trained them on the scene. Harry zoomed in on Sirius, his long black hair tossed about, his gaunt face lit by a maniacal fury. Looking at him, Harry knew that there would be no retreat this day, or mercy. The setting of the sun would see the death of Sirius Black or the final destruction of the Dementors.

Tearing his eyes away from this scene Harry looked to his right. There was Voldemort, surrounded by a protective ring of Death Eaters. They were backing their way up a short hill. Voldemort had trained his minions well. They formed a tight phalanx around him, the front row crouched and maintained a steady flow of defensive spells and counter curses while the inner ring stood and fired their attacks over them. Voldemort laughed as he added his power to the curses. Facing them, and making slow progress, were about two dozen wizards and witches, led by Albus Dumbledore. Gone was his demeanor of a kind and aging headmaster, Dumbledore stood there as what he truly was, the most powerful wizard in the world, his silver hair and beard shone about him like an aura. To his right was Remus Lupin, on his left stood Arthur Weasley, his head of bright red hair shining in the sunlight. Looking along the line of fighters Harry saw other heads of the same red hair that told him at least three other Weasleys were in this fight as well. Voldemort and his men had gained the top of the hill and were successfully repelling the onslaught. The attack had stalled and with a flash from one of the Death Eaters’ wands Harry saw a Weasley fall. Harry turned in midair and, like a hawk, stooped to the attack. He wondered if the Wronski Feint had ever been used during battle before as he urged the broomstick to its fastest speed. The circles of Death Eaters formed the perfect target, with the Dark Lord in the center. The wind whipped his hair and the ground grew alarmingly close. At full speed and the last possible second, Harry wrenched the stick up, the toes of one shoe actually brushing the grass, and skidded around in a tight circle. Startled by his sudden appearance, the Death Eaters stumbled, falling over each other as Harry sideswiped three of them. Harry spun the broomstick to face Voldemort and kicked off. Falling backward to avoid being struck, Voldemort screamed as he rolled on the ground.

Harry jinked the stick around to his right then back to his left. As always, the Firebolt responded as if it were a part of him. The searing red bolts of hexes flew past on either side as Harry dodged as quickly as he could. Gaining altitude, Harry turned his head and saw a beam of rose colored light shoot up towards him from Dumbledore’s wand. Harry immediately spun and dove straight towards it. It blossomed into a glowing bubble and Harry shot through the outer skin just an instant ahead of a dozen curses. Dumbledore's spell destroyed the curses and changed their energy into a deluge of bubbles that clung to Harry until the wind swept them away. Harry brought the broomstick down just behind the line of wizards and drew his own wand again to join the fight.

“Crucio!” shouted Dumbledore and three of the Death Eaters fell, contorting in agony.

The phalanx was broken. All around him, Voldemort saw his protection failing. Spinning in a circle, his hand flew beneath his robe searching for something; a hidden portkey. Knowing what was about to happen, two of the remaining Death Eaters flung out their hands and grasped the Black One’s robes before he disappeared. Their leader gone, the remaining Death Eaters were quickly overwhelmed as they dropped their wands and begged for mercy.

“Blast, gone again!” shouted Lupin, “How many of those things has he got!”

Hermione Granger, covered with dirt and with leaves tangled in her bushy brown hair, quickly dropped to the ground and began to unroll a large map.

“Harry, go back aloft and see if you can tell which direction he went in.” said Dumbledore quietly. The rest of them were panting from their exertion but Dumbledore stood calmly, only the debris on his robes told the tale of his efforts. Harry immediately kicked off from the ground and rose slowly to a height of about a hundred feet. Slowly, he circled, searching with his scar. It was burning, as it always did when Voldemort was nearby or feeling particularly murderous. Harry circled again, trying to feel the direction of the pain. He shut his eyes and tried to shut off his mind. He had spent years studying Occlumency, to learn to block out Voldemort, but now he wanted nothing more than to let him in. Reaching out for Voldemort's mind with his own thoughts, he tried again. He could just feel something, a slight increase in the pain as he faced a certain direction. Careful not to open his eyes, so as to shut out any distraction, he went back and forth, narrowing down his motion until he was certain which direction caused the most pain. That was where the Dark One lay waiting for him and that was where he would go. Harry opened his eyes and looked in the direction the pain in his scar came from. Taking sight of a distant object to keep his bearings, he lowered himself down to the ground. As his feet hit the ground, Hermione rushed up to him.

“That way,” pointing with his fingers, “Towards that tall tree poking over the steeple there.”

Hermione looked in the direction Harry was pointing then raised a muggle compass to her line of sight. As adept as most wizards were at magic, simple non-magical devices, such as this compass, confounded them. Hermione was Muggle-born and here, as on many other occasions, it came to great use. She took a sighting on the distant tree then read the bearing from the compass. Then setting the compass on the map she drew a line from their current position in the direction Harry had indicated. She sat looking at the map, trying to find some location along the line that would be Voldemort’s destination. It struck her like a blow. Hermione stood, her face ashen.

Harry awoke with a shudder, out of instinct his hand went to his forehead but there was nothing there, no pain and no scar. He sat up in bed and looked out the window as the rose colored fingers of dawn stretched their way across the clouds. Another nightmare, only they weren’t nightmares, they were memories. In his dreams he had relived them all. All the scenes of that last, weeks long, battle with the Dark Lord. From England, to Romania. From Romania to Mongolia, then to Egypt, then Durmstrang, then Beauxbatons. Now the only thing left was the final meeting, here at Hogwarts where Voldemort was finally finished. And Dumbledore. Harry dreaded seeing that again. He hoped he wouldn’t have to but deep inside he knew he couldn’t avoid it. Seeing Dumbledore die, as his parents had died, saving him. It was his fault.

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Chapter 2 - Reparations and Preparations

Abigail Cross stood looking at the young woman. Obviously, she was a runaway, like so many of the other young girls who would sneak into the shop to steal clothes. She was filthy and had obviously been sleeping without a proper bed for quite a while. There was dirt in every crease of her skin and her hair was as knotty as a bird’s nest. Abbey noted that there were bruises on her cheeks as well. Maybe, she thought, this was something more than just a teenager who spent more energy looking for drugs than taking care of herself.

“Why don’t you just put those back where they belong, dearie.” She said sternly and on her guard. She watched carefully, looking for the darting eyes or sharp movements that indicated the girl would either flee or try to attack. Neither came, instead the girl seemed resigned. She turned back to the dryers and, placing the bundle of damp clothes down first, opened the dryer with her left hand.

Thinking that this scene might be more exciting than her tabloid, or at least more immediate, Woman #2 had put down her magazine and stood to watch.

“You want me to call the Constable? You keep your eye on her now; I know what that lot can do.”

“No thank you. I’ve dealt with her type before. I know what I’m doing.” Abbey hoped the woman would decide to leave but knew that the prospect of a bit of excitement would keep her watching. Turning back to the young woman, Abbey saw that she had re-closed the dryer door and even started it running again. At least she had some courtesy. “Now, why don’t you just go on back into the storeroom and we’ll see if we can’t handle this situation right here.”

She pointed towards a door in the back of the shop. The young woman turned and started to go. Wheeling suddenly about, the girl started to push past towards the door, but Abbey was expecting this and grabbed at the girls wrist. At the sharp yelp of pain from the young woman, Abbey recoiled and released her grasp. The young woman cradled her arm to her and, although she remained silent, tears were running down her cheeks.

“That’s the ticket. A good beating is what she needs. If you ask me, it’s all the parents fault. Spare the rod and spoil the child! It was good enough for my parents when I was a youngster, it ought to work today. But noooo, people today think they know better. They think they should just coddle their kids and let them run amok and do just as they please. I tell you, I never let MY children behave like that. Let me tell you...”

Abbey cut in while she could, “Listen, the inspectors will be here in a few minutes. I’m sure they will be wanting a statement from you. Why don’t I just nip into the back and get you a pen and some paper so that you can start it now?”

These words had the desired effect; the woman not only shut up but also sat back down and began to look about her as if expecting the police to burst through the door at any moment. Abbey turned and pointed again to the rear of the shop.

“Let’s just step into the back now, shall we?”

The young woman, still cradling her injured arm, turned and walked slowly in the direction Abbey had pointed. Using her uninjured hand, she turned the knob and entered the backroom. It was a small but tidy space. There were shelves along the right wall stacked with laundry supplies. A small table served as a desk along the left. There were no windows but there were two other doors, the one in the rear wall was metal, barred and obviously the rear entrance to the shop, the second was next to the table on the left wall. There was one plastic chair by the table and Abbey indicated that the young woman should sit in it.

“He hurt you, didn’t he? And that’s why you ran away.” The girl nodded her assent but didn’t speak.

“You know, this will go a lot faster if you just talk to me.”

The girl just looked at her in silence for a moment with her mouth tightly shut, but when she opened her mouth, the words came in a torrent. “Please don’t call the police, please. If you do, he’ll find me and then I don’t know what will happen. Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t take anything. Please, just let me go and you’ll never see me again. I can’t let him catch me; you don’t know what he’s like.”

“Shush dearie, I’m not going to call the police. I just wanted to shut that woman up, and unless I’m horribly mistaken, which I rarely am, she is no longer on the premises. Her kind loves to watch other people’s troubles then gossip about them all day, but ask her get involved and she turns tail and runs. No, she’s gone and the police aren’t coming.” At this the girl relaxed a little but was still on her guard. “She will be back though, but probably not for a couple of hours.”

“How do you know that?”

“She left her washing, of course. So let’s try to get finished here before she does. Now, what’s your name, dear?”

The young woman looked at her, not sure if she could trust her she was reluctant to say anything, but she did need help and there was no one else. “Granger”, she said at last.

“Granger, that’s an unusual name, but it does seem to suit you. Now, Granger, who was it that hurt you, your boyfriend? Husband? Father?”

“I…I can’t tell you his name. I don’t want to get you into trouble. Please, I just need to get away.”

“Then where are you going to go? And how are you going to get there? Do you have any friends or family who can help you?”

The young woman just hung her head and Abbey knew the answer was no, she was alone.

“Do you have any money? Any at all?”

“Yes, but the man wouldn’t take it. He said it was strange and I got scared and ran.”

She reached into a pocket of her tattered poncho and drew out some odd looking coins. They glittered as she dumped them on the tabletop. Abbey picked one up and examined it. It was silver and eight-sided. She looked at the words and images on the coin but couldn’t recognize any of it.

“It’s obviously money, but not English. I can’t make out where it’s from. Well, if it is money then the bank will know it and be able to change it into pounds for you. I don’t know how much this is but anything’s a help.”

The girl fidgeted in her seat, but only to get more comfortable, not to try to run again. Abbey saw this and relaxed a little as well. “So, you can’t tell me who he is, but can you tell why he hurt you?”

“He just likes to hurt people. It gives him pleasure to have power.”

“Typical. Many weak men seek pleasure from hurting those who are even weaker.” Abbey observed.

“But he’s not weak. He is very powerful; he just likes to hurt people.”

“Well, he’s certainly hurt you. Perhaps we should get you to a hospital?”

“NO! I can’t go to a hospital; they’ll start asking questions that I can’t answer. He’ll be able to find me there. No, I have to get away!” Abbey saw the girl get excited again and knew that the hospital was out of the question, but still this girl needed medical attention.

“Well, at least let’s clean you up a bit.”

“Is it that bad?” She asked with a slight cringe.

“Yes, it is. The loo is right behind you. There’s a handheld gizmo on the faucet that does a reasonable shower, there’s a floor drain, and everything in there is waterproof so you don’t have to worry about splashing. I’ve cleaned up there myself a few times.”

The girl stood and turned to the door Abbey pointed to. She opened it and looked about, there was a large commercial sink there and, indeed, there was a handheld showerhead attached to the faucet. On a shelf above the sink were soap and even a small bottle of shampoo. She closed the door and began to undress.

“Granger!” came Abbey’s voice through the door. “Here are a couple of clean towels and a flannel for your face.”

“Thank you. Is there anything you could do for my clothes?” After she asked the question she cringed. She could just see the look she was being given from the other side of the door.

Indeed, Abbey had her head tilted to one side and an eye half closed as she stared at the door in disbelief. Did this girl just forget she was in a laundry? “I’ll see what I can do.” She called, and then added more quietly, “Perhaps the rubbish man hasn’t been by yet.”

Granger finished taking off her tattered clothes and, opening the door a crack, dropped them on the floor outside. She took the washcloth and towels she was handed and shut the door again. As Abbey heard the water being turned on, she picked up the telephone and began to dial.

* * *

Harry was startled awake by strange sounds coming from his sitting room. It was the sound of nails scratching against stone and, wrapped around it, the beatings of wings. Harry left his bedroom and crossed the landing into what was now his sitting room. Hedwig was dashing herself around the ceiling as if trying to fly upwards through it.

“You stupid git!” Harry scolded her. “There IS a ceiling there you know, you just can’t see it. You’d think that after three days you would come to realize that.”

He tried to catch the owl, either to calm her or chuck her out the window depending on how hard she struggled, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be caught. Instead she kept attacking the ceiling of the room. Finally, Harry managed to get a hand on one of her legs, but instead of settling down as she would normally do she gouged him with the talons of the other causing a nice cut on his forearm.

“Blast, Hedwig! What’s got into you?” Harry quickly wrapped a handkerchief around the cut. “I’d better go see Madam Pomfrey before breakfast now. If I get an infection from this Hedwig, I swear I’ll send you back to Privet Drive for the rest of the year.”

The owl paid no heed to this and continued to flutter around the ceiling looking for a way through. Harry hurriedly put on his robes and left his rooms for the infirmary, hoping to get his arm fixed in time for a good breakfast. A few minutes later, Hedwig, now exhausted, returned to her perch and stared at the ceiling.

Poppy healed the cut almost instantly; it would take longer for the house elves to wash the blood out of his handkerchief, Harry thought grimly. Harry headed down the main corridor towards the rebuilt Great Hall. Turning a corner, he heard a cold slow drawl coming from a doorway to his left and knew at once that it had to be Draco Malfoy, a fellow Hogwarts alumnus but from Slytherin house and Harry’s nemesis for his entire school career.

“Mother, I’m doing everything I can, will you just leave me to do it?” Draco’s voice was full of anger, “Father was a fool! Throwing everything away for what? To become a lackey for the Dark Lord! And now that Voldemort is dead, he’s in Azkaban and I’m left to pick up the pieces.”

The last person Harry wanted to speak to right now was Draco Malfoy so, hunching his head down, he tried to slip past the doorway as quietly as possible.

“HARRY POTTER! Is that you?” Too late, he had been spotted. “I hardly recognized you without that thing on your forehead. You just blend into background now, nothing special about you at all.”

Harry stopped and reluctantly turned back to face Malfoy. He might not want to talk with Draco but the last thing he was going to do was to turn his back on him. There was no trace of his previous anger on his face and when he spoke it was in the same condescending drawl that never failed to irk Harry.

“So, tell me, Potter, how does it feel not to have that scar? Not to be special anymore?”

Harry stopped and thought a moment. “Bloody marvelous, actually. But Draco, tell me, how does it feel to have scars? To have people staring at them all the time?”

Malfoy’s face retained its almost unearthly whiteness but Harry could see his neck and the edges of his ears begin to turn pink. So, the rumors were true. At the end of their fourth year, while returning to London on the Hogwarts Express, a jumble of curses had struck Draco, deservedly, from five different people, one of them Harry, and he had been left unconscious on the floor of the train covered with an alarming collection of boils and pustules. Since no one cared enough to help him, he just lay there for several hours until the house elves that cleaned the train found him. There were rumors for the rest of their time at school that Draco had spent the summer in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and although they removed the curses, they couldn’t remove the scars they left behind. It was even whispered that Draco, in his vanity, always wore makeup to conceal the scars but when he got really angry the boils began to erupt again.

“I wouldn’t know, Potter.” Draco said through tightly pressed lips.

“So, what are you doing back at Hogwarts, Draccie?” For the first time since they had met, Harry wanted to prolong a conversation with Draco Malfoy, just to see if he would sprout anything.

“I’m here to help, if you must know, Potter. When I heard that the Dark Lord had caused some damage to Hogwarts, I straight away came to see what I could do.”

“How very generous of you, Mr. Malfoy.” The voice came from behind them. It was Professor McGonagall, who still had a knack for appearing at the most opportune times. “There is still much work to be done.”

“Work?” said Draco flustered. “I thought the servants would be doing that. I was thinking perhaps a contribution...”

“Oh, Hogwarts has no need for money, my dear Draco, what we do need are strong wands and wizards to use them.” She smiled at Malfoy in a way that told Potter that more was coming. “Indeed, we need people right now to assist in reinforcing the kitchens. Why don’t I have someone show you the way and you can get right to work.”

“The kitchens? I’m not sure I…”

“Oh, don’t worry. I have every confidence in you. Come along, right down this way.” She turned to lead Draco down the very corridor she had just emerged from.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Professor. I’m sure I can find my way.” With this, Draco began to walk down the hall and, turning his head, he called over his shoulder, “Come along, Mother.”

Narcissa Malfoy was Draco’s mother, the first time Harry had met her was at the Quidditch World Cup five years ago and, at that time, she had been a physically beautiful woman marred only by a haughty sneer on her face that reminded Harry of someone who couldn’t get the stench of dung out of their nose. The fall of Voldemort had changed her. She now looked like nothing so much as a pet that had been beaten too often by its owner. Her blonde hair was flat and streaked with a dull gray, her eyes were haunted, with dark bags beneath them, and she walked with the mincing steps of someone who expected bad news to leap out at her from around every corner. She was wearing an expensive looking robe of turquoise with ruby trim, even to Harry, who knew nothing about clothing except how to put it on, it seemed a little too much for tramping around a castle in the midst of being rebuilt.

“Yes, Draco dear,” She called as she skirted around Harry and Professor McGonagall, “but I thought we were going to London today to see the Minis…”

Draco cut her words off with a look. “We will, Mother, but we have to help out here first.”

Minerva McGonagall, the usually stern Professor, looked at Harry and he could tell that she was working very hard to keep herself from grinning. “We can always use an extra pair of hands, even if they belong to Draco Malfoy.”

“Yes, and speaking of work, what do you need me to do today?” Harry had spent the last three days helping to rebuild the castle. Actually the house elves did most of the work. House elves were very magical creatures but with a strange lot in life. They served wizard families, usually wealthy and powerful ones, as servants for life, virtually slave labor, but were capable of extremely powerful magic. They tended to be a bit scatter-brained and usually confusing to talk to although absolutely loyal, even to cruel or evil masters. Hogwarts had over a hundred of them - some of them actually paid employees - to do the cooking and much of the routine chores around the castle and grounds. During the reconstruction efforts it was the house elves that did the actual work. Moving, shaping and transfiguring the stone like children playing with clay. All the humans had to do was to coordinate their efforts and make sure that things were sized for beings more than three feet tall. Harry had watched them rebuild the kitchens, which were located directly beneath the Great Hall, and storerooms. In the seven years he had spent here Harry had never stopped to consider the complexity of running a place as large as Hogwarts. The storerooms were huge and a constant stream of foodstuffs and other articles flowed into and out of them everyday.

“Actually, there’s little left to be done today, dear boy.” Harry looked at the new Headmistress and again marveled at how she seemed to have changed. She still wore a black ribbon on her maroon robes and Harry knew she still mourned Dumbledore although she did not broadcast her sorrow, but gone was much of the demeanor of the stern instructor. She seemed to be lighter somehow, gentler in her ways and more apt to smile.

“The day after tomorrow the new term begins” she continued, “and I think we are ready for it. Oh, yes! There is something you can do Harry.”

“What is it?”

“We need to do some renovations of the Gamekeeper’s cottage. Hagrid is down there now and I think he might appreciate some help laying things out.”

“No problem, Professor. But would it be alright if I got a little something to eat first?”

“Of course not, Harry. They probably won’t even begin any real work there for another day or so, just the planning today I’ll wager. Go and get yourself a good breakfast.”

Then she did something that totally caught Harry off guard, she reached out and touched his cheek, just a light lying of her palm against it but it was something Harry had never seen her do before. “Now, I must be off. One of the new instructors is about to arrive and we must speak.”

Harry blinked a few times as she moved towards the Entrance Hall and thought that the new job certainly seemed to be agreeing with her. Harry shook his head and entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

The Hogwarts Great Hall was the largest single room in the castle, there were four long rows of tables, one for each of the four houses, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor, and another shorter row of tables across the front, on a slightly raised dais, for the staff. All of the tables were occupied; the alumni who had come to help rebuild the school buildings were enjoying a hearty breakfast before beginning the day’s work. The Hufflepuff table was completely full, and there were even some sitting at the next table over, Slytherin, which seemed to have the least number of returning students. Out of simple habit, Harry began to move towards the Gryffindor table, which was his old house, but stopped when Professor Lupin waved him over to the staff table. Harry smiled as he sat.

“I guess I just can’t get the knack of sitting up here,” he said.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

Remus Lupin looked jubilant. Usually, at least to Harry’s recollection, he appeared haggard and in need of a few square meals. This was because he was a werewolf and most people shunned him. He was used to being out of work and needing to skip a few meals because he lacked the money to pay for them. Even his robes showed the rough life they had led. Although scrupulously clean, they were well worn and patched in several places. Harry had the suspicion that Remus almost liked them that way. In addition to being a lycanthrope, Remus Lupin was a bit of a rogue and in his student days had gotten himself into quite a bit of mischief, along with his three closest friends: James Potter, Harry’s father; Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather; and Peter Pettigrew, who had betrayed the group to the Dark Lord which led to the deaths of Harry’s parents and the wrongful imprisonment of Sirius. This mixture of personality and experience is what made him such an excellent teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts; he kept his classes exciting as well as educational.

"You certainly look happy, Remus."

"Do I? Well, yes, I guess I am. For the first time since I graduated from Hogwarts, I think I'm happy, or at least I have the chance for it." Remus thought for a moment then continued. "You see Harry, all my life people have feared and even hated me. Except for the years I was a student here, I've spent my entire life wandering from one place to another, never settling down or even getting to know anyone, an odd assignment here or there for a year but no prospects of any permanency. Don’t get me wrong, those years were great. I won't say that they weren't hard, they were, but I learned an incredible amount of things that I never would have if I hadn't been traveling as much as I did. And there were some really great times. Like that time your dad came to visit me, he told Lily he was only coming for an evening, to play some wizard chess, but he wound up being gone for two weeks because we met up with some...” Seeing the wide-eyed look on Harry's face Remus coughed and continued, "Anyway, I wouldn't trade them for all the gold in Gringott's but I'm getting older now and, frankly, I'm tired. I want a settle down someplace where I can unpack without thinking of when I’ll have to repack again. Six years ago, I came back here to Hogwarts and it felt like I had come home, but things being the way they were, I had to leave again. Well, Voldemort is dead now, knock wood," at this Remus tapped his wand lightly on the tabletop, bouncing pale blue sparks across his breakfast, "Sirius has been cleared, and the fates have given me another chance to make myself a home. Harry, I intend to grab that chance, make no mistake about it."

"I do know what you mean. Growing up with the Dursleys, in a cupboard, being constantly reminded that I didn't belong there and wasn't really wanted, wasn't much fun and certainly didn't make me feel at home. Then I came to Hogwarts, and Dumbledore, and Hagrid, and Professor McGonagall and everyone made me feel like this was where I belonged. It was a great feeling but I'm just not sure I want to settle down yet."

Remus looked at him and smiled. "Harry, you've just turned nineteen. You don't have to settle down. You've barely begun your life, although it has been a full one up to now. I'll bet you're still looking for some direction, huh? Where you want to go and what you want to do."

Harry tried to return his look but couldn't. What was he going to do now? He just didn't know. Remus had hit on the question that had been nagging at him since he finally understood that Voldemort, and the fight against him, was finished: what next? He shook his head slightly to chase the thoughts away and tucked into his breakfast. Between bites, he looked around the room, seeing whom he could recognize. At the Hufflepuff table was Amos Diggory, a senior official at the Ministry of Magic, and his younger son Andrew. Cedric Diggory, his eldest son was killed by Voldemort the night he returned to power. He had been a sixth year Hogwarts student when he was murdered for the simple crime of standing too close to Harry. At the Ravenclaw table was Cho Chang, dabbing a handkerchief at the corners of her eyes. She had completed Hogwarts a year ahead of Harry. She looked terrific and Harry still left a nostalgic tug of the crush he had had on her in school. The Gryffindor table seemed packed with redheads and that meant that the Weasleys were out in force. Harry saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Bill, their eldest son; Percy; and the twins Fred and George. Ron, their youngest son and Harry’s closest friend, was away searching for Hermione but Harry had no idea where Charlie and Ginny, their only daughter and youngest child, were. Finishing his breakfast, Harry got up from his seat.

“I guess I’ll go over and say ‘hullo’ to the Weasleys.” He went over to the Gryffindor table and took a seat across from the twins and next to Molly Weasley. “Hello everyone. Where’s the rest of the family?”

Arthur Weasley replied, “Well, Ron's still out searching for Hermione, I got an owl from him yesterday saying he still hasn’t found a clue about where she is. He’s starting to lose hope, I think. He’ll be in London tomorrow and will be here for the start of term feast. There’s going to be a few announcements that he wants to hear in person. Ginny is already working at her new job in the Ministry. She’s working in the Muggle Relations Office.”

“And where’s Charlie?” Harry asked.

The whole group suddenly went quiet; from the stricken looks on their faces Harry knew that he had said something desperately wrong. He began to turn his head, looking from face to face. The twins just gaped at him and he saw Percy flush. Mrs. Weasley began wiping her eyes with a napkin.

Bill said, “Harry, didn’t you hear?”

“Hear what? What did I say?”

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. “I guess you were so busy that you never had time to hear the news. Probably halfway to the Gobi Desert when it happened.” His voice trailed off.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“Harry, Charlie was killed in Romania.” This was from Bill again. “A couple of days after You-Know-Who disappeared, a bunch of his Death Eaters came back and caused a stampede among the dragons in the preserve. Charlie rushed in to try to control it. He didn’t have time to put on his fireproof suit. He was killed.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m so stupid.”

At this, Molly Weasley grabbed Harry around the shoulders and hugged him so tight Harry could hardly breathe. “No, you’re not, Harry. You just didn’t know. You weren’t there after all, you were off searching for…for…” Harry could sense how she was struggling with the name. Most wizards didn’t speak Voldemort’s name aloud, he had made them so terrified that even his name was too much to say aloud. “VOLDEMORT!” She spat the word and all of her children recoiled at the sound of it. Turning to their unasked question, she answered, “I’m not going to be afraid of him any longer. We beat him and MAY HE ROT! I won’t be afraid anymore!”

Her defiance seemed to spread across the table as one by one her children all nodded.

“Harry, dear, you had no way of knowing. You sped right off to find V-v-voldemort and when it happened you were elsewhere. It’s not your fault.”

“But still, I should have...” Harry hung his head in his embarrassment. How could he have been so dense? They had lost a son and he had just reopened the wound. He couldn’t face them. He quickly got up from the table and left.

“I’ll see to this, Molly. You all just finish your breakfast.” Arthur Weasley rose and followed Harry out. He caught up to him in the Entrance Hall.

“Harry! Hold on a moment.” Harry stopped and turned. The Weasleys had been like a surrogate family to him, showing him the love and affection that his own Aunt and Uncle had not. How could he have hurt them like that?

Arthur looked down at the young man and saw his eyes shining. His heart went out to this boy who had carried such a heavy burden all his life. “Harry, there’s no need to be upset.”

“But how could I have been so stupid? I shouldn’t’ve said anything. I should’ve known.”

Arthur put his arm around him and walked with him out the door. The sun was bright upon them and the day was already warm.

“Harry, what happened right after You-know…” he stumbled a moment, “Voldemort…”

“You don’t have to say his name.” Harry said.

“No, Molly is right. We beat him. We mustn’t let him make us afraid anymore.” He continued, “What happened right after Voldemort disappeared from Romania?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. "I got on my broom and started searching for him again.”

“Exactly, and when you found him what did you do?”

“I came back, told Dumbledore and we all when to Mongolia. When we got there, we attacked him.

“And when Voldemort and the Death Eaters left Mongolia, what did you do?”

“I spent most of a week searching for him until I found him in Egypt, trying to raid the Gringotts holdings there.”

“And so, we all went to Egypt to fight. Afterwards, Voldemort disappeared again, and you went off searching for him again.”

“Yeah, but what has that got to do with anything.”

“Harry, listen. We all fought, but when the battle was over, we rested. You always left immediately and searched out Voldemort in his new hiding place. And then when you found him and called the rest of us, you always joined right in the attack.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Everyone used those short breaks to rest. We healed and we dealt with our loses. During that whole affair the only time you rested was when one of us managed to slip you a sleeping draught.”

Harry irked at this. “I slept.”

“When? An hour here or there? Where? On your broom? Harry, more than anyone, you fought that battle. You didn’t take the time to rest because you knew that when you did, Voldemort grew stronger. You did more than anyone…”

“What about Dumbledore?”

“Dumbledore rested too, Harry. We all had to. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t fly yourself to death out there. That’s certainly what Voldemort wanted.”

Harry looked into Mr. Weasley’s face. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you think Voldemort bounced around like that? He was trying to wear us out. He didn’t care about his Death Eaters. Most of the ones we captured he had abandoned. He left them behind when he portkeyed and they had no idea where he went. He was trying to get you, Harry. You were the only one who could track him and you were the only one who could kill him.”

“Wha’?”

“Harry, we knew about the prophesy, or at least most of us.”

“You knew?”

“Yes, Harry. Dumbledore told us about it. How you were destined to face Voldemort and only one of you would live.”

Outrage suddenly flared in Harry, “He had no right to say that.”

“He needed to tell us, Harry. We needed to make sure you didn’t do something foolish.” Harry’s eyes flashed. “No one thinks you’re a fool, Harry. No one, so just settle down. Dumbledore was worried that you might sneak off and try to meet Voldemort on your own, that you’d do that to try to protect us all.”

“Well, wouldn’t you?” Harry asked angrily.

“Yes, Harry, I probably would but I would be foolish to do it.”

“How?”

“It would have been a noble act, Harry. To ride off alone to face the enemy in order to protect the ones you loved. But V..voldemort wasn’t noble. He wouldn’t have faced you alone. He never did.”

Harry nodded, “I guess you’re right.”

“We weren’t trying to shield you Harry. We were trying to make sure that you had a fair chance and that’s what we did.”

“But that prophesy was bollocks,” Harry said.

“That may be so, Harry, but Voldemort believed it and that’s what counts in the end. And whether you believe it or not, Harry, Voldemort had to kill you before he could hope to defeat Dumbledore.”

“Yes, it was Dumbledore he was after! Not me.” Harry was still stunned. Dumbledore was the Dark Lord’s main target, and he, Harry Potter, was just a minor player in the whole affair.

“Yes, you’re right. In order to be victorious, Voldemort would have had to kill Dumbledore, and he knew that he couldn’t do that straight up, in a fair fight. The only way to do it would be to ambush him, to take Dumbledore by surprise. But he couldn’t ambush Dumbledore as long as you could track him, you see. He had to kill you first, and the best way to do that was to make you fly yourself to exhaustion. Harry, think of it like a game of Wizard’s Chess. Dumbledore was the king but you, Harry, you were both knights, dashing about the board and spoiling any attack before Voldemort could really begin it. He needed to eliminate you before he could checkmate Dumbledore and he couldn’t. So he lost.”

“But Dumbledore died too, so it turned out a draw.”

“No Harry, it wasn’t a draw. My analogy isn’t perfect, none ever are. Voldemort is dead, the Death Eaters are either dead too or in prison. The Dark Forces have been defeated, for now. Yes, our side paid a terrible price too. Dumbledore, Charlie, maybe Hermione, and so many others, but we won the war. We won, Harry. Never forget that.”

Harry looked into the eyes of Arthur Weasley. This was something he would have to think about, for now all he could think of to say was, “I’m sorry about Charlie.”

“So am I, Harry, so am I.” Arthur quickly wiped something from his eye. “You’d better go and help Hagrid. He seems to be a bit overwhelmed.”

Harry looked down the sloping grounds and saw Hagrid, the Hogwarts Gamekeeper and instructor in The Care of Magical Creatures. A half-giant, Hagrid stood about twice as tall as most men and three times as broad. He was surrounded by about a dozen house elves that didn’t come up to his knees. They were busy trying to avoid getting crushed as Hagrid stamped about waving his arms. Also stamping about was Madam Maxime, a lovely woman who also stood twice Harry’s height. The two were obviously having a very animated discussion.

* * *

The hot water felt glorious and Granger made sure she was well washed. There was little enough shampoo for the quantity of her hair but she made do. Granger began to feel much better, even her injuries hurt less now that she was clean. After making sure that all the soap and dirt had been rinsed down the floor drain, she shut off the water and dried herself off. She wrapped one towel around her body and the other around her hair. She used the flannel to wipe down and dry the surfaces of the room as best she could. This woman was nice enough to help her, the least she could do was be a tidy guest. Finally, she unlocked the door and opened it.

“Feeling better, now that we’re all washed up?” It was not Abbey, this woman was older and somehow more bureaucratic looking, as if she didn’t just follow the rules, she lived them. Granger drew back and closed the door, afraid that she had been turned in. She was about to lock the door when she heard Abbey’s voice.

“Granger, there’s no reason to be afraid. This is a friend of mine.”

Granger cracked the door to peek out.

“Who is she?”

“She’s a nurse who works in a local clinic. I told her that you needed care but couldn’t go through the usual routine so she has come down here to take a look at you.”

“Come on out, dear. Abbey told me that you've gotten banged up a bit and she just wants to make sure you’re going to be alright.”

The woman's manner was professional if slightly impersonal. She took hold of Granger's arm and probed about the elbow with her fingers, then up to the shoulder and down to the wrist. Once she was reasonably certain that no bones were broken, she took a firm grasp of the wrist and straightened the arm until Granger winced. She rotated the forearm and the shoulder. Finally, she released the arm and without a word began to examine the wound on her scalp. She opened a large bag and took out an orange ball of yarn, setting this aside she reached in again and removed the rest of her knitting. Then she took out what appeared to be her lunch, in a series of small plastic containers.

“What’s next? A rabbit?”

The woman took absolutely no notice of Granger’s attempt at humor. “I only have the one bag and this is my break so I brought my lunch along. Now just relax.”

At the bottom of the bag at last, she removed some scissors and started clipping at Granger’s wet hair. After a minute she had cleared away enough so that she could get a decent look.

“Not too serious, but it should have gotten a few stitches. Cuts too old now though, already starting to heal. It should leave a bit of a scar; luckily it’s hidden under all this hair. It looks like it might be a bit inflamed though. I’ll just clean it up a bit and put on some ointment. You’re very lucky, it’s not nearly as bad as it could have been.”

Finally, she poked at the bruises on Granger’s cheeks. She hmmm’ed a few times but was evidently not displeased.

“No, fractures there either. All in all, I’d say you did get banged up a bit but things aren’t so bad. The worst is probably that wrenched elbow you have. Nothing broken and it doesn’t look like any serious damage was done to the tendons or ligaments but it will be sore for another week or so. Let me give you a sling for that arm, just to make it more comfortable.”

Reaching again into her bag, she withdrew a small packet containing a sling and showed Granger how to put it on.

Granger said, “I would like to thank you for coming here. It was awfully nice of you.”

“Well,” came the reply, “Abbey here seems to attract lost lambs so I’m used to getting calls from her. You take care of your head, try to keep it clean and dry, also you should take it easy with that arm for awhile, don’t rush trying to use it too much.”

“Yes, I’ll be careful.”

The woman packed up her bag again and Abbey rose to see her out.

“Thanks again, Sarah. I owe you one for this.”

“You already owe me a lot of these. I’ll just add one more to the list.”

When Abbey returned she was smiling. “Sarah’s a sweet one, don’t let her manner put you off. She’s always been willing to help out someone who needs a little hand.”

“And you, too? I gather that I’m not the first woman to wander in here dirty and come out clean. Speaking of clean, were you able to do anything with my clothes? They’re all I have.”

“I did with them the only thing that I could do; I threw them in the dustbin.”

Granger’s mouth began to work but Abbey cut her off. “They were too far gone to even try to clean, but don’t worry, there’s enough clothing lying about the place here that I should be able to outfit you fairly well.”

She reached under the desk and pulled out a large cardboard box filled with assorted pieces of clothing. Rummaging through it, Abbey pulled out a nice red t-shirt and handed it to Granger. Sifting through the contents of the box a little further she came up with a pair of well worn but intact jeans, a pair of shorts and some panties. These she also gave to the young woman and said, “Those should do for a start. Go back into the loo and try them on.”

Granger stood and took the bundle into the washroom and began to dress. It was a bit tricky, pulling the t-shirt on over her injured arm but it fit well enough. The jeans were too small but the shorts fit. Granger felt a bit awkward wearing someone else’s knickers but figured they were better than nothing, at least for the time being. Now, fully clean and fully dressed, Granger felt like a new woman. Stepping back out into the office, she looked at Abbey.

“I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve really been much too kind considering you caught me trying to steal and all.”

“Don’t you worry about it, Granger. I know what it’s like to be in a tight spot and need a bit of a fresh start.”

“I’d like to repay you if I can. I mean I don’t have any proper money but if I can change what I have…”

Abbey cut her off, “There’s no need to pay me for helping. That’s what we’re put here for in the first place, to help each other. Just remember, when you see someone who looks like they’re trouble, it may well be that all they need is a bit of a helping hand and you’ve got two of them.”

top

Chapter 3 - To Lunch and London

Harry spent the entire morning going back and forth between the house elves, Hagrid, and Madam Maxime. It seemed that Madam Maxime was doing her best to try to reconstruct the Beauxbatons palace in the gamekeeper’s cottage, complete with grand ballroom and formal gardens. Hagrid, on the other hand, didn’t see why the place wasn’t just fine the way it was, “It mi’ need a new cupboard or two but naugh’ else I can see”. The house elves, meanwhile, just wanted to get started working, no matter what they were building. It took Harry at least an hour to just get them all settled down enough so that he could speak without being interrupted every sentence. In the end though, he came up with an idea that might just please everyone, and the house elves started gathering the materials they would need to start work.

His head still spinning, Harry walked back up to the castle for lunch. It was still full summer and the hot sun danced on the flowers that sprang up from between the cobblestones of the walkways. The day was glorious and it put a smile on Harry’s face just to be outside. He looked around him and wondered if anyone would notice if he skipped lunch and went for a swim in the lake. Deciding it would be better to eat and make sure no one needed him first; Harry mounted the stone steps leading to the entrance Hall.

Inside the hall was a cluster of people gathered around two objects covered with sheets. There was Professor McGonagall, Arthur Weasley, Remus Lupin, and a wizard Harry had never know. He was middle-aged and wore robes of deep blue and a maroon fez, complete with tassel, on his head. The wizard also carried a thin walking stick, not sturdy enough to really be used as a cane, with some sort object on the top but Harry couldn’t quite see what it was. The four of them were talking when Harry walked up and joined the group. Harry nodded his head in greeting to Remus, and Professor McGonagall turned to the motion.

“Oh, hello Harry. Everything going well with Hagrid and Madam Maxime?” she asked.

“Yes, there was some difference of opinion but I think we found some common ground.”

“Excellent, that's good to hear. Please, let me introduce you to our new instructor for the History of Magic. Mr. Harry Potter, this is Professor Ali ban Fez. Professor Fez meet Mr. Harry Potter. Harry will be assisting Professor Lupin in teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Prof. Fez shifted his cane to his left side and shook Harry’s hand. His eyes did the automatic flicker to Harry’s forehead, looking for the scar, but finding nothing didn’t linger. Harry thought that he could get used to that, people not staring. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter. I have, of course, heard much about you. I’m curious to get to know the real person behind the myths.”

Fez was obviously of Arab decent but when he spoke it was with a crisp Oxford accent. The cane, Harry now saw, was topped with an orb of amber with something imbedded in its center.

“The pleasure is mine Professor Fez, and I hope the real me doesn’t disappoint you too much.”

“I’m sure it won’t, from what I’ve heard from your friends here, you are quite a remarkable young man.”

It made Harry a bit uncomfortable, having his former teachers referred to as his friends. He just didn’t feel grown up enough to be their equals. Luckily, they quickly returned to their former topic of discussion.

“But as I was saying, Arthur. Broomsticks may be fine for younger people, but a little undignified for we who are older, don’t you agree? Now a flying carpet, that is a conveyance more suited to people of our station and stage in life.”

“I see what you mean, Ali, but the ban on importing flying carpets has been in effect for quite some time...”

“Surely some consideration can be made? After all, I am new to your country.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure that, at the least, I can get you an individual waiver so that you can bring in your own personal carpet.” To change to subject he said, “That is an unusual cane you have there, Professor. What is it exactly?”

“This?” raising the cane so everyone could get a closer look. “This is my wand, of course. Most wizards here in England prefer smaller wands but in my country we prefer a slightly larger variety.”

Arthur Weasley seemed fascinated by the orb at its tip. “What is that inside the amber, Ali? Some sort of beetle?”

“That it is, a scarab beetle to be precise. As your wands have cores of unicorn hair or dragon heartstrings, mine has a scarab beetle.”

“Was it alive when it was encased it in the amber?” He leaned forward, intent on the insect.

“Was? It still is alive, my good fellow. Amazing creatures these scarab beetles, they can be encased like this for centuries and yet when released they awaken fully, completely unaffected by the passage of time.”

“Completely? Surely there must be some effects.” Arthur was amazed, as if he were talking about something more important than just a beetle.

“Who can tell? They are only beetles, I mean. What effects could there be?”

“Hmmm” Arthur Weasley extended a finger and poked at the amber, as if expecting the beetle to move within its amber case. “Hmmm, I wonder.” Then shaking his head to clear it. “Ali, I think we may be able to assist each other in some small ways. We’ll have to get together later and discuss this in more depth.”

Ali ban Fez looked at Arthur as if he didn’t know what could be so interesting about a beetle. To break the awkward pause, Harry said, “Professor McGonagall mentioned that you were the new instructor in the History of Magic, what happened to old Professor Binns? He IS a ghost after all, what could have happened?”

“When I was in his classes, we often wondered if he even knew he had died at all.” Remus added with a smirk.

Harry also grinned at the memory of the stupefying boredom that seemed to fill every class Binns had ever taught. Professor Binns had been the only ghost teacher at Hogwarts and the rumor was that he didn’t even realize he was dead. One day he fell asleep in his usual chair in front of the fire in the staff lounge and when he woke up to go to his next class he just left his body behind and never missed it.

“Indeed, that may have been the case after all.” Said Minerva McGonagall with a small grin. “It seems that during the umm… recent disturbances, a large stone fell from the ceiling of the staff room and crushed the chair that Professor Binns always napped in when he wasn’t in class. I can only assume this disturbed him and when he looked at the crushed chair he reckoned no one could have survived such a blow and he must, therefore, be dead. Anyway, he has disappeared and not been seen since. We were quite lucky to find that Professor Fez was looking for a new position. It will be challenging to bring in a more international point of view to magical history.”

“Indeed, it should be interesting.” said Fez. “The fault of many in the British magical community is that they seem to feel that magic begins and ends at their shores. They never seem to consider that magic has flourished in other parts of the world for millennia.”

“Really?” said Arthur Weasley, still staring at the amber encased beetle on the end of Fez’s wand. His head bobbing like a cork on the water as Ali gestured with his arms.

“Yes. Let’s take for an example the recent events with You-know-who. Very nasty indeed but hardly new in the history of the world.”

“Fascinating” said Arthur talking to the beetle.

“Yes, it is. For example, what do you know about Pao Zhing?” Everyone shook their heads so Prof. Fez began. “Pao Zhing was a dark wizard in China over three thousand years ago. Like your Voldemort, he wished to conquer the world, but unlike recent events here, Pao actually succeeded. Through destruction and murder he managed to gain control of all of China, both magical and muggle, and ruled it for two hundred years before he died. It was an horrendous time, filled with the most vile of things.”

“But how was he overcome? I assume he died or was killed” Remus asked, “Voldemort took many precautions to try to ensure his immortality.”

“Indeed, so did Pao. It was a dragon that killed him. Pao kept a number of them as pets and guardians of his palace. One of these guardians caught a cold or something and sneezed on Emperor Pao. Being such intensely magical creatures, the flames cut through Pao’s personal protections and burned him to a cinder. Quite an excellent bit of luck, eh? Little wonder dragons are so prized by the Chinese as omens of good fortune.”

“Quite fascinating and exactly why I was so anxious to have you join our staff,” said McGonagall, “but I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this some other time. If you'd be so kind Professor Lupin, I could use a bit of assistance getting these into the Great Hall.” She pointed her wand at one of the covered mounds and with a spray golden sparks it rose a few inches off the ground and she began to herd it into the Great Hall.

“No problem at all, Minerva, I’ll be glad to give you a hand.”

Remus took out his own wand, lifted the second object and followed behind the head mistress. Harry turned to followed the unlikely parade. Mr. Weasley, however, took the opportunity to pull Ali ban Fez aside and began to talk to him privately.

Inside the Great Hall, Remus and McGonagall set their objects down in front of the staff table. Looking around the room, which was about half filled, Minerva thought for a moment then turned to Harry.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Professor?”

“If you’re through with the Hagrid problem for the moment.” Harry couldn’t help but grin at the thought of his mornings work being called 'The Hagrid Problem'. “I wonder if I might give you another little assignment?”

“Of course, do the kitchens need to be redone?” Harry smirked, thinking Malfoy might have botched the job.

“Oh no, the kitchens were quite finished yesterday. I was hoping that I could ask you to run down to London. Our new Transfiguration instructor will be arriving tomorrow and I would like you to escort her here.”

“Couldn’t she just apparate into Hogsmeade? I mean that’s what most people do, isn’t it?”

“No, dear boy. You see, she is coming over from the United States and has never been to Hogsmeade, or Hogwarts for that matter.”

“Oh?”

“She is also bringing her daughter along, both are transferring here from the Salem Witch’s Institute. Her daughter will be starting in her fourth year, I believe, and her mother wanted her to arrive via the Hogwarts Express along with the rest of the students.”

“So they’re American?”

“Yes, indeed. I’ve been trying to continue Albus’ efforts to give Hogwarts a more international approach to magical education. With the additions of Professor Fez and now Professor Stevens, I believe we at Hogwarts will have the greatest variety of wizarding backgrounds of any of the schools worldwide.” She continued, “Professor Stevens is quite renown for her knowledge of transfiguration. She comes from one of the most prestigious magical families in the colonies, I mean States. Her daughter also is quite talented, I’ve heard.”

“It would be my pleasure to meet them, Professor. Besides, I have a few errands I’d like to run in Diagon Alley before the term starts.”

“You might even run into young Mr. Weasley there. The two of you haven’t seen each other for a while and I’m sure you’d like to catch up. I’m interested in how the search for Hermione is going, as well. I’ll admit that I’m quite concerned about her continued absence.”

* * *

Granger patted herself on the knees, it was time to do something, she thought. She was washed and dressed and cared for by the generosity of others and now it was time to do something for herself.

“Abbey,” she stated, “I’m going to run out and find a bank. See if I might be able to change some of this money.”

Abbey was surprised at the change she saw. Just two hours ago, this girl was filthy, injured, and dressed in tatters, more like a trapped animal than a person. Now she stood straighter and carried herself with a confidence Abbey wouldn’t have thought she possessed. She seemed ready to take charge of her own life.

“I think that’s a good idea. There’s one just ‘round the corner.”

Granger rose and strode out of the shop without a second look. Abbey smiled, sometimes you just guess right, she thought. Good for you, Granger.

The air was warm on her skin and there was a nice breeze on her legs, thanks to the shorts she wore. These are comfy, she thought to herself, a nice change for those heavy robes. Then she stopped. What robes? She looked around her. There were many people about, but none dressed in robes. Everyone wore shorts or pants, like normal people. Where did she come from that people wore robes? Some kind of church? Had she been a member of a cult? She shook her head. She wasn’t there anymore and right now she felt like she could do anything. First some money, then some clothes of her own, and then some food. That is what she needed and that was what she would do.

Around the corner from the laundry was a small bank. She strode in and up to the counter. There was a clerk free to wait on her, a rather small and bookish looking fellow of around her own age.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“Yes, I have some foreign currency that I’d like to exchange, please.”

“Do you have an account with us?”

“Uhh, not at the moment but I could open one. Is it necessary?”

“The fee for changing currency is waived for our own customers, but no it’s not necessary. What type of foreign currency do you have?”

Granger took the coins from her pocket and deposited them on the counter. The clerk looked at them, obviously without recognition.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to get my manager.” The young man said and stepped away from his window.

Granger felt a sudden surge of panic. He knew... somehow he knew she didn’t belong. She wanted to grab the coins and run before anyone could catch her but she didn’t. By sheer will, she forced herself to remain still if she couldn’t remain calm. She was not a rabbit to run frightened at the sight of an owl. In a moment a woman appeared at the clerk’s window.

“Good day, madam.”

“Hello” Remain calm, Granger told herself, you can handle this.

“Rather unusual currency you have there. May I ask where you came by it?”

“If you must know” her mind raced for a plausible idea, “I got it from my grandmother. She has had it for some time I believe and just asked me to exchange it. Is there a problem?” She strained to hear the answer and prayed it wouldn’t be “yes”. She hoped her anxiety wasn’t visible.

“Well, no, not really.” Granger felt herself relax. “It’s just that we don’t normally trade in this type of currency, you see. We frequently deal in Francs, Marks and Guilders, most of the European currencies, but we rarely see this type.”

“Can you change it or not?” Granger asked, trying hard to sound a touch vexed rather than frightened out of her wits.

“There’s a bank in London that normally handles this type of currency, you see. If you could go there?”

“But I’m not IN London, am I? I was hoping to change it here.”

“I’m sorry, miss. I don’t even know what the exchange rates for these are. It may take as long as a week to find out. If you’d like, we can open an account for you with these, and then see?”

No, Granger didn’t want to wait that long and couldn’t risk being traced through the money either.

“No, I’m afraid that won’t due.”

”I’m sorry, miss, but then I’m afraid we can’t be of any assistance.”

“Well, thank you for your time anyway.”

She scooped up the coins and walked out of the bank in what she hoped appeared as a bit of a huff. Outside, she quickly moved down the street and around a corner. Once out of sight of the bank, she stopped and leaned against a wall, one hand pressed against her heart. That was close. She imagined the manager on the phone talking to a dark shape. “Yes, it was her. I’m sure of it. She was right here just a moment ago, she can’t have gone far.” NO! Those thoughts led to panic and that would ruin her chances of getting back. Getting back to what? Never mind that for now. First things first, and the first thing she needed to do was to get herself some useful money. Walking further down the street, always keeping a mind on where the laundry was, she started looking in the shop windows for what she needed. She didn’t have to go far before she found it: three white globes hanging above a shop door, a pawnbrokers shop. A small sign in the corner of the window read: “We buy old jewelry and gold”.

She entered the shop. The little man behind the counter appeared in his forties; his thin gray hair was patchy with a large bald spot on the top of his head. His nose was pointed, his chin weak, and his skin pallid. He reminded her of a sickly rat and for some unknown reason, she didn’t trust him, not at all.

“May I help you? Looking to buy? A nice pair of earrings, perhaps? I have a nice set of antique...”

“I understand you buy gold here,” she interrupted him before he could go further.

“Why yes, we do." His attitude turned a bit colder. "Do you have any to sell?”

Granger reached into her pocket, took out a single coin, and placed it on the counter. Better to play it safe she thought to herself. The man’s eyes glittered momentarily at the sight of the coin. Be on your guard here, Granger, she thought to herself. He reached under his counter and brought up a small tray with several dropper bottles on it. Taking one of these, he placed a single drop of liquid on the surface of the coin and watched as it bubbled.

“It does seem to be gold,” he said quietly.

“18 karat, if memory serves me correctly.” Granger said. She didn’t know how she knew this but felt it was important to sound confident.

“Yes, about that.” Came the answer.

The fellow took the gold coin from the counter and placed it on a scale. He took up a small calculator and punched in some numbers.

“Its value is, let’s see now…” He consulted a table pinned to the wall showing the value of gold that day, bought and sold. “About 17 pounds, miss.”

“Actually, I think it’s a good deal more than that, according to your scale and that chart there.” She said pointing at the wall.

“But miss,” a bead of sweat appeared on the man’s nose, “the chart shows prices per Troy ounce…”

“Yes, I can read, thank you. And your scale reads in grams. As I recall, there are about 33 grams to the Troy ounce and that means, this coin is worth about,” she paused for a second to figure, “36 pounds odd, isn’t it?”

The man ducked his head and returned to his calculator.

“If you’d prefer, I’m sure I could sell this at any other gold dealer in town. There must be one fair shop about.”

“Miss! There’s no need to be cruel. I just made a mistake on the adding, that’s all. I’m sorry. You’re right, the total is 36 pounds 32 pence.”

“Very well, as long as I’m not being cheated.”

The man counted out a stack of notes and added a few coins on top. Before Granger could begin to pick up the money the gold coin had disappeared as if by magic.

“Anything else I can help you with?” The man’s tone was now unctuous. “More coins to sell, perhaps?”

“Not today, thank you. Maybe another time.”

“I’m here to serve.” The man said, “Pettigrew’s Brokers is open six days a week for your convenience.”

Granger walked out of the shop feeling flush. She had to resist the urge to rush out and spend it all. No, she needed to sort out her priorities and husband her money wisely. She would need some food; the small amount of food she had harvested from the bin wasn't going to keep her stomach quiet for much longer. She also needed more clothes, and if Abbey's reactions were any way to judge, she also needed to stay reasonably neat and clean. Finally, she needed a place to sleep, the abandoned cottage might due for one or two more nights but she would need better housing soon or she would have to move on. OK, so how best to use her money.

She wasn't particularly hungry right now so she decided to do some shopping. A quick trip through a discount store gave her the prices of clothing and even a single change of clothes would seriously deplete her small purse. She did make a few purchases, though, including some toiletries. With these items in hand she began to walk about the town. It felt a little strange, just walking, somehow she felt as if she should be darting about from shadow to shadow but she knew that that would just draw the type of attention she was trying to avoid.

She went a couple of blocks further then turned right, intending to circle about and end up back at the laundry. After 15 more minutes of window-shopping, Granger came to a churchyard, the old church was surrounded by a cemetery which was very old with gravestones cracked and fallen. Hurrying past, she didn’t know why but those graves gave her the willies, as if the markers were staring at her, she came to another row of shops. The first of these was a church thrift shop. She eagerly entered. It was filled mostly with second hand women’s clothing and baby items. The latter she didn’t need but she was keenly interested in the ladies clothes. Shopping carefully, she picked out a number of neat and serviceable garments. Asking if there was a changing room, she took her goods and tried them on. After about 30 minutes of searching and trying on, Granger had managed to find three changes of clothes that fit and looked presentable. In a bin of loose shoes and sandals near the checkout she even managed to find a pair of simple leather flats that fit well, her own tennis shoes left much to be desired. Now, considerably lighter in funds, which she kept tucked well inside the sling on her arm, but burdened with bundles of goods she left the shop and returned to the laundry.

* * *

As lunchtime grew nearer, the crowd of people in the Great Hall increased. Professor McGonagall waited until she felt that everyone was there and then raised her voice to be heard above the crush.

“Your attention, please! I have something I’d like to show you.” The crowd quickly grew quiet for her. “As you all know, Hogwarts lost some dear friends in the fight against the Dark Lord, our own Albus Dumbledore and Professor Severus Snape, the potions master, among them. I felt, and I am sure you all will agree, that these fine men deserve some sort of memorial here at the school where they served.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd, although Harry felt sure that more than a few eyes crossed at the idea of Snape getting a monument. Minerva reached over and with a flourish drew away the sheets that covered one of the two objects that stood beside her. The silence that followed was crushing. Underneath the sheet was a life-size statue of Severus Snape made of solid obsidian. The black glass seemed to glow as if lit from within. Harry looked closer. The eyes; inside the eyes of the statue were flecks of silver that glowed and seemed to follow him as he moved. Harry noticed that there were highlights of silver showing within black robes as well.

“Excuse me, Potter.” The slick and oily voice made Harry jump. It sounded just like Snape. “Would you happen to know the password?”

“Errr… No, I wouldn’t.”

“Then I suggest you go back where you belong!”

Harry flushed, it was just like he was a student again and Snape had caught him skulking about where he shouldn’t be. The voice was spot on. Harry took a step backwards, not knowing how to react.

“An excellent likeness, I must say.” Said the headmistress.

Professor McGonagall was grinning widely. Looking about, Harry noticed that many people were holding back laughter and others were just standing with their mouths open.

“I thought the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories could do with a new guardian, and Severus would be an excellent role model for the students of that house to emulate.”

Harry blinked several times then broke into a grin himself.

“Remarkable, it nearly scared the wits out of me.”

“It will be installed this afternoon. And for the main entrance to the castle we have…”

She pulled the cover from the second shape and revealed a portrait. The gilt frame was nearly eight feet tall and four wide. It contained a smiling Albus Dumbledore, standing on the sloping grounds with the castle standing in the background.

“Greetings. Greetings to you all, and welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

The eyes twinkled as Dumbledore smiled down at the group. Applause erupted from behind him and Harry was swept away too, clapping as hard as he could to welcome the old Headmaster back. The applause continued for a long time before McGonagall raised her hands for silence.

“And now I suggest that you enjoy your lunch, afterwards we can finish up what work there is to be done and you can all return to your homes with my deepest gratitude.”

* * *

When Granger moved towards the back of the shop she noticed a young girl of about 10 sitting on a stool pouring over books spread out on one of the large tables used for folding laundry.

Abbey came around a corner and spoke. “Granger, this is my daughter Miranda. Miranda, this is my friend Granger.”

“How do you do, Miss Granger.” The girl said, sitting up from her work and looking Granger straight in the eye. They shook hands quite seriously and in a most grown-up fashion.

Abbey said, “I see you must have been successful at the bank.”

“Not really, the bank hadn’t seen any coins like them either,” came the reply, “but I did find a shop where they bought jewelry and the like, and I sold them one of the coins.”

“It must have been worth quite a lot,” said Abbey, her eyes going over the bags Granger held. One of them bore the logo of a very upscale department store.

“Oh, no. I bought most of this lot at a second hand shop a few streets over. Nothing fancy but it will keep me from getting arrested when I walking about.”

“Let’s see! Let’s see!” piped Miranda, her eyes glittering with curiosity.

Granger dutifully opened the bags and showed Abbey and her daughter the things she had gotten. Abbey smiled as she saw that the clothes were all practical and would serve Granger well.

“There are still a few things I need, however.” Granger added when the lot had been returned to the bags.

“Oh, and what’s that?” Abbey asked.

“A place to sleep, and a job so I can pay the rental.”

Abbey laughed a second at this. This girl certainly had a good head on her shoulders. Abbey wondered what kind of trouble had led her to her current state and how she had gotten into it. Oh well, she would talk in her own good time.

“Abbey, I hate to make more demands on you,” Granger said cautiously, “but would you possibly know of anywhere that needs some help. I’m a hard worker and I’ll do almost anything.”

“Actually,” said Abbey smiling, “I might just be able to point you towards both of your needs.”

“Really? Abbey, you’re an angel. I can’t believe how much you’ve done for me.”

“Well, don’t get too appreciative yet. You haven’t heard the details and…”

“The devil is in the details.” Both women said in unison. They laughed and Granger continued, “Great minds think alike. So, tell me.”

“Well, as far as a roof over your head, there is the Riddle House at the edge of the village. It’s a big old house and the new owners, I understand, are letting rooms. I don’t know what their rates are but there might be something there for you.”

“Great, maybe I could take a walk there this afternoon. I might have to sell a few more coins to pay the first and last, but that will give me time to find some work.”

“Yes, as to work. You know that anyone who hires you, legally, will need to see some identification for the taxes and withholdings?”

Granger frowned, she hadn’t thought of that. In her excitement she had forgotten that she didn’t belong here. She had no identification and didn’t even remember what her true name was. How would she work this out?

“Now, it just so happens,” Abbey broke in, “that I need some help around here. I can’t afford to out and out hire someone, the shop doesn’t make that much money.”

“I could help you out. You wouldn’t need to pay me, I owe you so much already.”

“No, Granger. You owe yourself and as a human being you carry a debt to the rest of humanity.” Abbey continued, “I could only afford to pay you a couple of pounds per hour and that would be off the record. No taxes nor forms, but no benefits either.”

Granger tried to think of what benefits she would need with a friend like Abbey. “What would I be doing?”

“Well, you would have to watch over the shop. Make sure people don’t come in and try to steal the clothes...” Abbey watched for Granger’s reaction to this and was pleasantly surprised when the girl giggled. “And I have a couple of accounts that need to be seen to. The Riddle House is one; they send the sheets and towels over to be laundered. And a few of the hair salons here about bring me their towels and such to clean. They need to be washed and folded. Then you need to watch the machines, that’s fairly simple, put “Out of Order” signs on them when they break, I’ll call in the repairman, clean out the lint traps on the dryers, mop the floors and the like.”

“I reckon I could handle that. That is, if you want me.”

“When can you start?”

“Is now too soon?” Granger laughed.

“In fact it is.” Abbey said with a feigned growl. “First you have to go over to the Riddle House and see if you can get a room.” Abbey smiled, “When you get back I’ll run you through some of the routine here before I go up and start Miranda’s and my dinner. You can work till closing.”

”Abbey, you ARE an angel!” And Granger leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Abbey blushed beneath her copper skin.

“Miranda, why don’t you go and point out the Riddle House to Granger then get back to your lessons.”

“Yes, mum.”

Miranda led her out to the sidewalk and pointed down the street.

“That’s it. The big house with the tower goin' up.”

Granger quailed a bit. It was the same old house where she had regained consciousness just yesterday. Could this be just a coincidence or did it mean something? Perhaps it would be best if she didn’t go there, maybe she had enough to buy a ticket out of town, maybe to London.

“Go on, it’s not tha’ far.” Miranda must have sensed her apprehension and mistaken it for concern over the walk. “I could go ask Mum if I could go with you if you like?”

“No, Miranda, that won’t be necessary. You get back to your studies. Schoolwork is important if you want to make the most of who you are.”

“Now your starting to sound like Mum.” Miranda said glumly as she turned back into the shop and Granger smiled at the young girl’s back.

Again screwing her nerves to the sticking point, Granger set off towards the Riddle House. Determined to meet her fears head on and not running away.

Actually, it went better than Granger had hoped. The Riddle House was basically a bed and breakfast sort of place, mostly for couples away on weekend holiday, but there were a few permanent residents. When Granger explained to the landlady, Mrs. Seward, that she needed just a simple room and that she was on a tight budget, Mrs. Seward had thought for a moment then told her that there was one room that might suit her needs. It was small, just a single bed, and at the top of house. That was the reason the rates were her lowest; few people wanted to face all those stairs, and she would have to share a common bath with other tenants. When Granger said these would be no problem, she was shown the room.

“It’s right under the attic” Mrs. Seward explained, “and of a time the wind blows through the chinks and makes a bit o’noise.”

“Oh, I’m sure that won’t bother me,” said Granger. “How much is it to let?”

“Well,” said Mrs. Seward pausing, “It would normally go for ten pounds a night, fifty for a week and two hundred monthly, and that includes breakfast.”

Granger hesitated then said that was a bit more than she could afford. After a few moments haggling it was decided. Granger agreed to pay one eighty per month, but no deposits and she would pay ten pounds each day at the start until the first month’s rent was done in full. Mrs. Seward reminded her that she would have to tidy her own room at that rate. A fresh set of sheets and two towels on Saturdays, if she needed more it would cost extra. Handing over her first ten pounds, Granger left the house fairly dancing.

Working at only two pounds an hour, Granger saw that almost half her wages would be going towards her room, but that included one meal, she reminded herself and Granger promised that she was going to get her money’s worth on that account. Whistling, she started the walk back to the laundry. As she passed the chip shop again, she decided on the spur that she would do something nice for Abbey and Miranda. Taking most of what was left of her money, she stopped and ordered three dinners to take away. The proprietor, the same greasy and unpleasant fellow who had frightened her so this morning, was much more pleasant this time and obviously didn’t recognize her. Granger smiled to herself, she must have been quite a sight indeed.

* * *

The pawnbroker sat, his frozen Shepherd’s Pie sitting uneaten in front of him, staring at the gold coin which lay gleaming on the shabby table, in the shabby kitchen, in the shabby apartment above the shabby shop. His eyes seemed glazed and any casual observer who be left wondering if he really saw the coin at all or did it just happen to be in the path of his vision which was focused miles, or was it years, away. His meditations were broken by a scratching sound that came from a window. Shaking his head, he turned towards the sound and to what, to any normal person, would be an unusual sight. Perched on the ledge outside his window was an owl, scratching at the glass to gain entrance.

“So, what's this now? Things just keep getting curiouser and curiouser.”

He opened the window to admit the owl. It landed on the back of a nearby chair and held out its leg upon which was tied a small piece of parchment.

top

Chapter 4 - The Hogwarts Express

Whenever Harry entered Diagon Alley he felt the same feelings that he had felt the very first time he came here. Hagrid had brought him here the first time to buy the things he would need for his first term at Hogwarts and when the bricks in the rear of the Leaky Cauldron opened to reveal the streets behind Harry had been swept away with feelings of excitement, of movement, of many strange and secret things going on right under the eyes of the muggle world beyond. His stomach had fluttered then with butterflies as he looked at the vendors selling things like mummified dragon's toes, or powdered rat spleens and it still fluttered today.

It was getting on towards suppertime and Harry had a few things to do before he could eat. His first stop was Gringotts, the wizard’s bank. Harry had inherited a small fortune when his parents had been killed and it lay in a vault miles under the city, watched over by the goblins of Gringotts. He entered the bank and walked up to an available goblin whose long nose pointed at him as he approached.

“Can I help you?” the goblin asked coldly.

“Yes, I need to take some money out of my vault,” Harry replied.

“Your name, please?”

“Potter, Harry Potter.”

Even the goblin’s eyes did the almost automatic flick to his forehead but there was no longer anything there to be seen.

“And do you have your key, Mr. Potter?”

Harry was about to withdraw his small golden key when another, evidently more senior, goblin came up behind the first. Harry recognized him; his name was Griphook.

“Mr. Potter. Here to make a withdrawal, I assume.”

“Yes, yes I am.”

Griphook spoke to the smaller goblin next to him. “Excellent. Hobtail, take Mr. Potter down to his vault and assist him.” Then turning back to Harry, “The deposits to your account have been proceeding nicely, Mr. Potter.”

“Deposits? What deposits?” Harry was confused, he rarely made deposits to his accounts, and in fact he couldn’t remember ever having made a single one.

“You have been receiving regular deposits, on a monthly basis, for almost a year now. There was none last month, but we assumed that you didn’t make it for obvious reasons.” At this Griphook raised one green eyebrow knowingly.

“How much have these deposits been for?” Harry was confused but he hoped it didn’t show.

“Well, the amounts vary but they have always been made on the 20^th day of the month. We assumed you were making them or at least authorizing them. Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem.” Harry stuttered, “I just didn’t think you kept that close an eye on your accounts.”

“Normally, we don’t but with the recent events we have been... extremely careful.”

During the final battle, Voldemort’s followers had attached several of the Gringotts branches. The Dark Lord himself had launched a raid on the main vaults in Egypt, which Dumbledore and the others had foiled, and another group of Deatheaters had tried to reach the underground vaults here in London but were stopped by Gringotts' own internal security. None of the London attackers had been recovered; the rumors were that they had been eaten.

Harry thought for a moment. If they were aware of deposits to his vault then perhaps they would know if Hermione has been taking money out of hers. If she has, then she’s OK and just doesn’t want to be found. If she hasn’t, then that was one more thing they could cross off their rapidly dwindling list of ideas.

“Hmmm, maybe there’s something else you can help me with.”

“What is that?”

“Well, could you tell me if there have been any withdrawals from the account of a Miss Hermione Granger?”

“Sir, we here at Gringotts hold our clients privacy very dear. It is strictly against our policy to reveal details of an account to anyone but the account holder.”

“But, I’m not looking for details. I only want to know if there has been any activity.”

“Excuse me?”

“You see, Hermione…Miss Granger went missing a week or so ago, while fighting Voldemort. She was injured and accidentally portkeyed somewhere and hasn’t been seen since. We have been trying to trace her whereabouts so that we can find out if she’s all right.”

“So why are you concerned about her accounts?”

“It’s simple you see, if she has withdrawn money from her account, or even if she has made a deposit, then we would know that she is alive and well.”

“So, you aren’t inquiring as to the balance of her accounts with us?”

“Oh, heavens no. I don’t care about how much she has, only if she has used her accounts recently and, if she has, perhaps at what branch so that we can narrow our search for her.”

“Well, that is a different matter. I’ll bring it up to the manager while you’re traveling to your vault. I may even have an answer for you by the time you return.”

With this Griphook departed and Harry was led to the underground railway that in turn led to the vaults below. The rail ride down through the underground caverns beneath London was something tfor which any amusement park owner would give his teeth. Full of hairpin turns and precipitous drops that left your stomach behind. Harry knew from experience that it was best to face it before eating. When the cart finally came to a stop in front of his vault, Harry was dizzy and needed a moment before he could stand.

“Key, sir.” The goblin’s voice was crisp and he seemed totally unaffected by the journey.

“Here it is.” Harry said, shakily gaining his feet and worrying that he might fall when he tried to get out of the cart.

The goblin took Harry’s key and opened the vault. This gave Harry a few extra seconds to regain his equilibrium and walk without falling on his face. The heaps of gold, silver and bronze coins that Harry remembered were still piled there, but in front of them were newer and smaller piles, mostly of silver Sickles. Harry didn’t know how much there was nor where they came from. He skirted around these piles and scooped a quantity of Galleons into a leather pouch and left the vault again. Looking over his shoulder he watched Hobtail close the vault and they were off again. The trip back up to the surface was no less harrowing than the trip down but at least it ended in sunlight. Leaving the cart Harry again encountered the goblin Griphook.

“So, can you tell me anything?” Harry asked impatiently.

“Sir, under normal circumstances, no I could not, however, given the extenuating nature of your inquiry and the extraordinary services you have recently performed, we will make a small exception to the rules. I can tell you that Miss Granger’s accounts with Gringotts Bank have not seen any activity, either deposits or withdrawals, for approximately 32 days.”

Harry frowned, “Well, thank you for the information.” They say that no news is good news but in this case Harry wasn’t so sure.

“I hope it was helpful.”

“Only in that we can cross off another possibility of how we can find her.”

“Well, good luck to you, Mr. Potter. If we can be of any further service, please let us know.”

Harry left the bank and walked down the street towards Madam Malkin’s Robes for all Occasions. He needed some new robes if he was going to be teaching this year. As he walked he passed Quality Quidditch Supplies and noticed a crowd gathered around the window.

“Oh no, they took it out of the window!” said one young man of about 16.

“Ya think they SOLD it?” came the reply from one of his companions.

"Looks tha’ way don’ it.”

“Who could afford it? It was one o' the first ever! It must have cost a fortune!”

Nosing his way through the crowd, Harry looked into the window and saw an empty display stand. At the base of the now vacant stand was a small placard that announced:

Introducing the new CYCLONE!

The Absolute Latest in International Grade Brooms!

Price upon request.

Harry's broom, a Firebolt, had been the latest and greatest broom when he had gotten it five years earlier. A surprise gift from his godfather, Sirius Black, it had caused quite a stir at Hogwarts when it arrived. He wondered what this new Cyclone was like and who would be the first one at Hogwarts to get one. Maybe he should go inside and see what the price was? Whatever it was he could afford it and he did need a new broom didn't he? After this past year his Firebolt was definitely a little worse for wear. He hadn't even seen it for over a week; Ron had borrowed it to go searching for Hermione. No, Harry thought, he didn't need a new broom, the Firebolt was just fine, all it needed was a little maintenance, maybe some new twigs for the tail. He didn't even know what this Cyclone looked like anyway, so Harry turned and continued on his errand to get some new robes.

After spending nearly half an hour with Madam Malkin, Harry decided to head back to The Leaky Cauldron for some supper. He hadn’t taken but a half dozen steps when something bounced off of the back of his head. Harry turned about to look but didn’t see anyone paying any particular attention to him. On the ground he saw a crumpled piece of parchment. He bent to pick it up, it was a sheet from the Daily Prophet and just as he began to uncrumple it to see if anything was written there another bounced off his head. Harry whirled around again but saw nothing except a few passersby. A third wad struck his head and Harry now noticed that a few of the people on the street were pointing at him and smiling behind their hands. Quickly, Harry ducked into a narrow alley between two buildings and sprinted to the end.

Drawing his wand, he turned to face the entrance to the alley he said, “Accio.”

A soft shimmering cloud of fabric flew through the air and draped itself over Harry’s arm. Standing in front of him, with another crumpled wad of paper in his hand and a wide grin on his face, was Ron Weasley.

“Why, you…” Harry started but then he burst out laughing, Ron laughed too and the two embraced fiercely.

“So, now that I have my cloak back,” Harry asked, “where’s my Firebolt?”

“I dropped it off at the Quidditch shop for a bit of a tune up. We have been flying it rather hard lately.” Ron noted ruefully. “It should be ready to go tomorrow morning.”

“Great! I have to go to King’s Cross tomorrow. We can meet there.” At Ron’s quizzical look he continued, “McGonagall asked me to meet a new professor and her daughter there and make sure they get on the train to Hogwarts.”

“My, don’t you have an exciting job! Maybe after this you can be the doorman for the Great Hall!” Ron jibed.

“Hey!” Harry responded, “I’m an assistant instructor at Hogwarts now, so you mind yourself or I’ll use you as a class exercise. And I wouldn’t talk if I were you, what kind of a job could a git like you get? Does the Knight Bus need a new conductor?”

The two friends laughed and continued back to the Leaky Cauldron. Over supper they joked together, just like they were back in school. Talking of nothing more important than Quidditch and England’s abysmal showing in the World Cup, like that was anything new, England hadn’t fielded a decent team for the Cup in almost ten years, and the two sat renewing themselves until long after midnight. Finally, just as they were about to go to bed, Ron turned to Harry, his face lined with sorrow.

"I can't find her, Harry. I've looked everywhere I could think of and I just can't find her."

Harry bumped shoulders with his best friend and said, "Yeah, I know."

"What am I going to do?"

"Tell you what. Tomorrow we'll sit down and work out a plan. We'll have the whole trip up to Hogwarts to figure something out."

Ron's head went down in a nod but didn't rise again and the two men trod up the stairs to their rooms.

The next morning, after breakfast and asking Tom, the proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron, to wrap up a few sandwiches for the train ride, they were getting a bit old to dine on Chocolate Frogs and pumpkin pasties the entire long trip, they split up again, Ron to go to pick up the Firebolt and Harry to the station to make sure he didn’t miss Professor Stevens.

The train to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Hogwarts Express, departed from platform 9 ¾ at 11 am. The way to gain access to the platform was to walk right at the barrier between tracks 9 and 10. If you belonged on that track you would pass through the solid wall and arrive on the platform, if you didn’t you would bump your nose and look ridiculous. Harry stood off to one side, watching as the people walked past. Occasionally he would see a wizarding family, they always looked slightly out of place in the muggle world, with a son or daughter pushing a trolley loaded down with a trunk and other things walking past and before he could look twice they would be gone, passed through the barrier. No one but him seemed to notice that whole families were disappearing and he often wondered if the muggles saw it happening at all.

Harry had been standing there, leaning on a railing, for two hours and there was no sign of the new professor or her daughter. He was getting rather bored when he noticed the muggle girl. She was leaning against a pillar about 50 feet from him and seemed to be waiting for someone also. She wore a form fitting t-shirt, and Harry saw she had quite a form to fit, above a pair of low-slung blue jeans. She had gorgeous red hair that seemed to flow in waves to just past her shoulders. She was reading a magazine closely so Harry couldn’t see her eyes. She just seemed so… so right somehow. She struck Harry like a thunderbolt. Gone were thoughts of Professor Stevens and her daughter, Harry stopped looking for them. He just stared at this girl. She stood there casually, hips cocked to one side, reading and waiting. Harry wanted to get a closer look but was afraid. She might think he was some kind of weirdo and leave, and Harry definitely didn’t want that. He just stared at her and as she stood there Harry’s chest began to swell. He could feel his pulse in his ears and his breath came shallower. Maybe she would turn and notice him? He wished she would. Maybe even come over and strike up a conversation. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and lowered her magazine. She would see him staring! Flushing, Harry quickly stooped and began to fidget with the laces of one of his shoes. Glancing up through his unkempt bangs he managed to see that she was still looking in his direction. Harry stood and turned away as if reading some notices posted on the wall. He could feel her looking at him but didn’t dare turn back to meet her gaze. What would he say? “Hi, you don’t know me but I think you’re beautiful.” Yeah, would that sound brilliant. So he just stood there and said nothing. Finally, he turned back towards her and saw that she had resumed her earlier pose of leaning against the pillar and reading, so Harry resumed his posture of just looking. Every time she would seem about to turn her head Harry would look away. He felt a little silly and didn’t know why he was doing this but he couldn’t stop himself. He just had to watch her.

“Oi, Harry! You awake there?” Harry jumped so at the sound of Ron’s voice that he almost crashed into the wall.

“Oh, Ron, it’s you.” Harry managed to stammer.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’ll never guess what happened when I went to pick up your Firebolt! The manager of Quality Quidditch had one of the new Cyclones…” Ron stopped mid-sentence. “Harry, you there?”

Harry quickly turned back to Ron; he had been looking at the girl again. “Yeah, I’m here. You got my Firebolt.”

“Well as I was saying, he had a Cyclone and somebody had put a deposit on it then backed out, decided he couldn’t afford it.” Harry had turned away again so Ron thumped him on the shoulder.

“Ouch! Wha’ cha do that for?”

“What’re ya staring at anyway?”

“Sssh, she’ll hear you.” Harry said franticly.

“She who?”

“Hush” he whispered sharply. “That girl over there, the muggle.”

Ron looked where Harry had indicated, the girl started to turn her head and Harry ducked away to avoid making eye contact.

“Her? You don’t mean…”

“Yes, her and will you keep your voice down. I don’t want her to hear.”

“Hear what?” Ron plainly didn’t understand. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize…”

“HUSH! You’ll frighten her away.”

“Harry, if you haven’t already scared her off, I don’t think I could.”

“Just look at her.” Harry said. “Just look. Isn’t she just everything you could want? I mean really.”

“Not quite my type actually, but if you want to meet her, I’ll go and arrange an introduction…” Ron made as if to walk over to the girl and Harry nearly panicked.

“DON”T!” He hissed, “D’you want her to think I’m crazy?”

“Think you’re crazy? Mate, you ARE crazy. Some people may think you’re a great wizard Harry but, ya know, sometimes you can be a right perfect git!”

“Yeah right.” Harry took Ron by the shoulder and steered him so that he screened the girl’s view of Harry. “Now just stand still.”

“What are you supposed to be doing here anyway?” Ron asked.

“I’m waiting for the new American professor. She should be here any minute.”

“Or sooner.” Ron pointed somewhere behind Harry.

Harry turned around and there indeed, walking along the platform was a tall woman pushing a laden trolley and holding a piece of parchment in her hand. Harry flushed slightly and went to speak to her.

“Excuse me, are you Professor Stevens?” The woman smiled and nodded. “I was sent from Hogwarts to make sure you were able to find the platform. I’m Harry Potter, an assistant instructor, but you can call me Harry.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She extended a hand to Harry; he was pleased to note that she didn’t look for the scar. “And please, call me Tabitha.”

They shook hands, her grasp was firm, and Harry turned towards Ron. “Let me introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Ron Weasley.”

“Weasley? Are you the son of Arthur Weasley?”

“Just one of many I’m afraid.” Ron also shook hands. “It’s a pleasure Professor. Do you know my father?”

“Not personally, no, but I’ve heard many good things about him and I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

“Well, you will tonight, he’ll be at the Welcoming Feast. I thought your were going to be bringing your daughter along?”

“I am. She ought to be around here somewhere.” She turned and looked over her shoulder. “Sam, could you catch up for a moment.”

Now, Professor Stevens was tall and slim with hair that sandy blonde color that just seemed so typically American, so Harry assumed her daughter would be of similar appearance. He was wrong. The girl that was walking towards them, although of average height and trim build, looked nothing like her mother. She had painfully straight, flat black hair framing a pallid face with rings of black mascara around her eyes. She wore a heavy steel chain, like a dog collar around her neck and more chains wound around each wrist. Her dress was likewise black, like some Victorian mourning gown, and she covered it with a black leather motorcycle jacket. Her outfit ended with black hose and clunky black leather boots.

“You called, mother.” The voice fairly dripped with teenage sarcasm.

“Yes, dear,” said the professor without the slightest hint that her daughter looked anything other than perfectly normal, “I’d like you to meet Misters Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.”

Harry reached out his hand but the girl just leaned in and stared.

“Where’s the scar?”

“Sam!”

“Don’t worry, Professor, I get that all the time.” Harry pushed his hair up off of his forehead. “Sorry, the scar’s gone. See?”

“Too bad, it must’ve been bitchin'.”

“SAM!”

“Sorry, mother” she said in a tone that told the world she was anything but.

“Harry, you’ll have to forgive my daughter. She’s…”

“That’s quite all right, Professor. But I have to say, your daughter is not exactly what I expected.”

“I’m right here, you know. I’d appreciate it if you two wouldn’t talk about me like I’m not.”

“All right then,” said Ron, “why exactly do you dress like that? It can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s not supposed to be. It’s Goth.”

“Goth?”

Professor Stevens interrupted, “Goth, as in gothic. It’s a style of dress for mortal teenagers who are, shall we say, preoccupied with the gothic myths of how witches dress and behave.”

“I’ve never known any witches who dressed like that,” said Ron, still confused, “…mortal teenagers?”

“Not magical, here in England I think you call them muggles,” said Sam.

“So, wait a sec… You’re a witch, right? I mean a real witch.”

“Duhh.”

“But you dress like a muggle trying to look like what she thinks real witches looked like a hundred years ago?” Ron’s confusion was complete now.

“Yeah”

“Tha’s daft.”

“I take it irony is not your strong suit.”

“Sam, be polite at least if you can’t be nice.”

Sam looked at her mother, tilted her head in an attitude that screamed “what-everrrr” and turned away.

“McGonagall’s just going to love her.” Ron said shaking his head.

Looking at the expressions on the faces around him, Harry couldn’t help but smile. “I dunno, I kind of look forward to it. Won’t be boring, at least.”

Tabitha Stevens smiled back. “Just wait, you’ll be the parents of teenagers yourselves one day. Now, how DO we find this platform 9 ¾?”

After getting the professor and her daughter to the platform and loaded onto the train, and gathering quite a few stares along the way, Harry and Ron found a compartment to themselves in the first car. Harry tossed his bundles on the seat next to him while Ron lifted the his bundle onto the overhead rack. It was about 5 feet long and a foot in diameter.

“Its that the Firebolt?” Harry asked.

“That and more.” Came the response.

“More? What more?”

“Like I was trying to tell ya in the station, ya’ll never guess what happened when I went to pick up yer broom.”

“What?”

“Aren’t ya goin’ t’guess?”

“You just said I couldn’t.”

“No, I said you wouldn’t. Anyways, the manager there had a Cyclone! One of the first ones made. Somebody had put a deposit on it when they were first announced but when it came in he decided he couldn’t afford it and backed out of the deal. Manager was plenty miffed, I tell you. So anyway, I come in as he’s just about to put it back in the window and I ask if I can look at it. It’s bloody gorgeous, I mean! Anyway, he’s so miffed that he asks if we could make a deal on it.”

“Can you afford a broom like that?” Harry asked, almost afraid to brooch the subject knowing how sensitive Ron was about his family's finances.

“NO WAY! But I says, what kind of a deal are you talking about?” Ron’s face split into a grin that reminded Harry of nothing so much as the look the Weasley twins, Fred and George, would get when they were planning a particularly nasty prank.

“And he says that he’s keepin’ the deposit that prat left on the broom and would give me a discount.” Harry didn’t like the way this was sounding. “He didn’t want to put it back in the window, just in case the other buyer came ‘round again. Wanted it to look like customers were fighting over it and he just missed out.”

“But still, it must have been really expensive and you don’t have a job yet, do you?”

“Well, not a REGULAR job, but I am earning a bit o’ money. While I was searching ‘round the Beauxbatons castle, I came up on Avery Oglethorpe hidin’ in the forest, he was a Deatheater and I stunned him and turned him over to the French ministry. Guess what? They’re paying a bounty for any Deatheaters captured and turned over to them! I got a hundred Galleons for Oglethorpe! So, I tells the manager I’m a free-lance Auror. Well, he’s all sorts of impressed, especially when he hears my name, and he makes me an offer. I don’t have to pay the whole price up front. Instead I give him a partial payment now and a little each month until the broom’s all payed for. AND I get to take it with me. I figure he’s got to be real pissed at that other guy or he’d never make an offer like that and I’d better strike while the iron’s hot. So we make the deal and now I got myself a genuine Cyclone!”

Alarm bells were ringing in Harry’s head but he didn’t want to squash Ron’s excitement. “So, what’s this Cyclone look like?”

“It’s a beauty! But not here, tomorrow’s Saturday, no classes, so I’ll tell ya what, I’ll meet ya on the Quidditch pitch after breakfast and we’ll shake it out. See how it matches up against the Firebolt.”

“All right, it’s a date." Harry said. He looked at Ron and within a heartbeat they both knew it was time to pick up their other topic. "Now, how are we going to find Hermione?”

All business now, Ron sat down and told Harry how he had backtracked Voldemort and searched all of the places they had been. InFrance he had found Oglethorpe but couldn’t get any information out of him. InEgypt, the Gringotts people had been extremely helpful, especially so since Bill had been with him, but there was no trace of Hermione. InMongolia, likewise, there was no sign of her, or in Romania. Harry noticed that Ron hesitated a bit when he talked about Romania, that was where Charlie had been killed.

“Did you find any other Deatheaters there?” Harry asked.

“No, but then I wasn’t looking for any.”

“Well, maybe we ought to go back there and look. If we find one, maybe they'll know something.”

“But what if they don’t? Where do we go from here? I mean, it’s been almost two full weeks now. If she were alive don’t ya think she would have gotten in touch somehow?”

“Unless, she couldn’t.” Harry answered. “Maybe she portkeyed to some secret place and was captured by Deatheaters.”

“Hmm, I hadn’t thought about that.” Ron said glumly, but then he suddenly brightened, not at the idea of Hermione being held prisoner, but with hope that she could still be alive. “That might be the answer, she was captured and she's being held somewheres." Ron seemed to find renewed energy in this thought. "Besides the more Deatheaters I find, the faster I can pay off the Cyclone. But where is their hideout?”

“That’s the question.” Harry thought for a moment and then remembered how Arthur Weasley had equated the battle with Voldemort to a game of Wizard’s Chess. Ron was the best chess player Harry knew. “Let’s look at this like a chess game. We know the moves that Voldemort made, now we have to figure out what moves he planned but hadn’t made yet.”

Harry and Ron were deeply engrossed in talking, their heads bent low over a map of Europe covered with lines and circles, when the door to their compartment opened.

“There you two are! I’ve been searching the whole train for you.” It was Ginny Weasley; Ron’s younger and only sister.

Ron looked up. “Oh, hullo Ginny," he said with a wide grin on his face. “Harry, aren’t you going to say hello too?”

Harry straightened, “Huh? Hello, Gin…” The words died in Harry’s mouth as he turned and looked towards the door. It was HER. It was the muggle girl from King’s Cross. It was… She was… GINNY! There was an audible clunk as Harry’s jaw dropped to the floor.

Ginny Weasley stood framed in the door of their compartment, one hand on the jam and the other on her hip, staring at the two of them. Harry saw the sun glinting off the gold in her hair and wondered if hair really could look like that or was it an enchantment. Ron looked about to burst from trying not to laugh and Harry just stared with his mouth open.

“So… Ginny…” Ron said as he tried to take a full breath without choking. “What were you doing in King’s Cross dressed as a muggle?”

“If you must know, Dad asked me to keep an eye on things. To make sure nothing funny happened.” She shot Harry an inquiring look. “Harry? Are you ill?”

Harry couldn’t speak. Every time he tried his mouth would just sort of hang open and it would take him a couple of seconds to get it to close again.

“Something funny happened all right.” Ron said with a snort. “You just missed it.”

Harry tried to swipe a hand at Ron but since he couldn’t take his eyes off Ginny standing in the doorway, he missed.

“You look nice in muggle clothes, Gin. Doesn’t she Harry?”

“Well, mixing with muggles IS a part of my job, you know. Harry... Harry! Say something!”

Harry’s jaw just worked soundlessly as he continued to stare. Ron began to snort as the strain of holding in the laughter built up in him.

“Say something! ANYTHING!” Finally she snapped, “Gawd! You both are just impossible! You know, sometimes the two of you can be a pair of right perfect gits!” and she slammed the compartment door on them.

With Ginny gone, Harry regained some of his senses.

“Why didn’t you tell me that was Ginny at the station? You let me make a fool out of myself.”

“I didn’t let you Harry, you charged off in that direction all on your own,” Ron said. He had both arms wrapped around his stomach to keep in under control.

“That was Ginny. GINNY! When did she start looking like that?”

Ron couldn't take it anymore. He let go of his stomach and dissolved into a fit of laughter.

“What are YOU laughing at?” Harry screeched.

When he could catch his breath, Ron replied, “Stick a fork in you, mate. You're done!”

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Chapter 5 - Sorting Things Out

The Hogwarts Sorting Ceremony and Start of Term Feast was always exciting. The newly arrived first years were brought across the lake in small boats and led into the Great Hall. Once there, they were paraded before the entire school population and sorted into one of the four houses, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Slytherin, where they would live for the next seven years. There was always great debate among the houses about who would get the most new students and who would get the best. There was great fanfare and much applause as each was sorted. Professor Sprout, the Herbology Master and head of Hufflepuff House, would call the names, one at a time, and the new student would come forward, sit on a tall, rickety, three-legged stool and the Sorting Hat would be placed on his or her head. The hat, created by the four founders of Hogwarts to judge which of their houses the student was best suited for, would examine the heart and mind of each and announce through a slit-like mouth the name of the student’s new home. This year, however, there were a number of transfer students who would need to be sorted as well. Many came from the ruined school of Beauxbatons, students who had followed their Headmistress, Madam Maxime, to Hogwarts, and most of these were sorted into Ravenclaw House. The line of new faces slowly dwindled until Professor Sprout finally called out “Samantha Stevens”. When Sam stepped up to the stool to put on the Sorting Hat, still wearing her leather jacket and chains, the room got oddly quiet and more than a few students stood to get a better look. When the hat called out “Gryffindor” there was more applause than usual and Harry noticed that most of it came from the other three houses. At last all the new students were sorted and Headmistress McGonagall rose to speak.

Chapter 1	Chapter 6	Chapter 11
Chapter 2	Chapter 7	Chapter 12
Chapter 3	Chapter 8	Chapter 13
Chapter 4	Chapter 9
Chapter 5	Chapter 10

Index

BJ's Fanfic

The Phoenix Reborn