On the last day of term, Harry, Hermione and Ron walked back to the castle after their morning
run. Following breakfast, there would be the Dueling Club Exhibition, then the leaving feast, and
the long train ride back to King’s Cross. Harry could hardly believe that his fifth year was
almost over, that he was almost sixteen. He thought of some of the other things that had
occurred during the previous year--not least among them, Hermione--and shook his head in
wonder as he walked.
They left her at the girls’ prefects’ bathroom, and Ron was going to leave Harry at the boys’
bathroom and go up to Gryffindor tower, but Harry said, “Oh, come on, Ron; just use this one.
It’s early; no one’s to know.”
Ron looked up and down the corridor uncertainly, then after Harry gave the password, he
followed him in. To say that Ron was floored by the opulence of the room would have been a
gross understatement. Harry thought of the utilitarian white tile and simple candle-sconces lining
the Gryffindor Tower bathrooms. He immediately wondered whether this was a mistake,
another instance of his tactlessly rubbing Ron’s nose in what he didn’t have--in this case, regular
access to a marble-lined Roman bath.
Then he thought it was a mistake for a different reason, as Ron’s wondering gaze reached the
tub, and the person lounging there, eyes closed. The Dark Mark was clearly visible on his left
forearm and his upper arms were still decorated with purple-green bruises.
“Oi! Malfoy!” Draco Malfoy opened his eyes and screamed, “Weasley! Potter, what the hell is
he doing in here? He’s not a prefect!”
“Oh, stuff it Malfoy. Who cares what shower he uses? Mind your own business.”
“This is my business. It’s bad enough my personal sanctuary is invaded by you on a regular
basis, but when it’s also invaded by Weasley, I draw the line...”
Ron wasn’t shaken up by this; he merely smirked at Malfoy. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll tell
my sister about any physical inadequacies you might have?”
Malfoy looked uncomfortable and shifted some bubbles in the water with his hands. “Great.
Somehow, by being involved with your sister, I seem to have given you the idea I’m interested
in you. Can’t even take a simple bath without being leered at by Weasley. Or are you in here to
see Potter? What about it Potter? Is there something the two of you should be telling Granger?”
Harry walked to the showers, humming. “Only if you want us to tell her about your ‘physical
inadequacies,’ too.”
“I do not ...” Malfoy started to say, before realizing that he’d been tricked. Once he heard the
showers turned on for both Harry and Ron, they heard him get out of the tub and pad over to
the wardrobe where the bathrobes were kept. A little later they looked up to see him peering
round the corner at them in Slytherin green.
“If you two like, I could tell all the girls in the school about your ‘physical inad--’” Then he got
a really good look at them and was speechless. When he finally found words again, all he could
utter was a soft, “Oh, shit.”
Ron and Harry both threw back their heads and laughed. When they had finished their showers,
they wrapped towels around themselves. Malfoy went to the door, trying to get in a last dig,
“I am so going to whip your arses in the exhibition,” he sneered at them before leaving. He
slammed the door and they couldn’t help laughing again. Well, Harry thought as he retrieved a
deep red Gryffindor bathrobe and handed one to Ron as well; Malfoy hasn’t lost his edge. It
was comforting, somehow, like Snape taking house points away.
While they were walking back to Gryffindor Tower, Ron suddenly stopped. “Hey, Harry, what
do you suppose Malfoy meant? I mean, he’s not supposed to be going up against us. You’re
paired with me and Roger Davies, and he’s paired with Niamh and Fred. He and Hermione and
I are supposed to be going up against you alone, but that’s one of the scripted bits.”
Harry shrugged. “I think he just meant he was going to do better than us in the individual duels.
He’s beaten Niamh. But Fred’s good; he’ll have to work pretty hard to beat him. He and
Yarrow were really impressive with the sun bulls and the Chthonians.”
Ron shuddered. “Those things were...” Ron couldn’t go on speaking and shuddered. “I am so
glad we don’t have to worry about that for two more years.”
Harry nodded in agreement. The Chthonians made him remember the skeleton in his
dream...and seeing Hogwarts in ruins. These images haunted him during his waking hours now,
in addition to his sleeping ones, and he really didn’t need Ron reminding him of the dueling
skeletons.
They dressed for breakfast in their best robes. The exhibition would immediately follow. It was
originally going to be on Wednesday, but Snape rescheduled it because of Dudley’s funeral.
Harry’s stomach was starting to act up in anticipation; he could barely get down a bite of toast
or a sip of juice. He watched Ron eat a bowl of porridge, two slices of toast slathered with
butter and marmalade, five sausages and some kippers.
“Hungry much?” he asked Ron, feeling ill as he watched.
“Mmm?” Ron mumbled back at him, his mouth full. It seemed to be an effort for him to notice
that anything in the universe existed outside of the food in front of him. “Wan’ be bebaird,” he
said through a mouthful of porridge. Harry nodded, grimacing and leaning back in his seat, so he
wouldn’t be sprayed with food. You’d think it was a thirty-mile hike, he thought, not a dueling
exhibition.
After breakfast, the entire population of the school advanced on the Quidditch pitch. The
spectators would have to stand round the edges of the pitch to watch the duelers in the center,
since the stands were quite high up and designed for viewing people flying about in the air. The
various duelers could stand at the edges and also watch, or wait in the Quidditch changing
rooms, if they wished to continue to practice before they were slated to appear.
Harry went into the changing rooms and sat down on a bench, trying to steady his breathing.
Why was he so nervous? He’d do fine. He was the captain. Flitwick had given him an advanced
Charms O.W.L. for his dueling. Nothing to worry about.
He thought he was going to throw up.
Hermione sat next to him and put her arm about his shoulders. “Harry?” she said uncertainly,
peering in his face. He seemed not to hear her at first, then he lifted his eyes to hers and gave a
feeble smile.
“Fine. I mean, fine I’m. I mean, I’m fine.”
She smiled. “Okay, whatever you say. It’s a good thing we’re going out there to duel and not
recite Shakespeare soliloquies.”
He grimaced at her. “That wouldn’t be a problem. Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would
melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew, or that the Almighty had not fixed His canon
’gainst self-slaughter... ”
She frowned. “Did you have to choose something about suicide?”
Harry’s eyes opened wide. “Oh. It just came out. I didn’t think...but Dudley didn’t really
commit suicide, remember.”
“I know. It’s just...” She stopped and drew her lips into a line. “Nothing. We’ll be up soon.
Ready?”
He nodded. Roger and Evan Davies were standing nearby, and Draco Malfoy and Ginny stood
together near the door, their arms around each other in a gentle embrace. Ron sat down near
Harry and Hermione, clearly keeping an eye on his sister and Malfoy.
“We’re next,” Ron told Harry, not moving his eyes away from them as Ginny brushed her lips
lightly against Malfoy’s cheek. Harry turned now to look at them.
“...love you,” he saw rather than heard Ginny say to him, she was speaking so quietly. Malfoy
swallowed and brushed her hair out of her face.
“I love you so much,” Harry heard him say very softly, then he kissed her quickly and lightly on
the lips. He looked startled to turn and meet Harry’s eyes. Then he frowned.
“Ready, Potter?” Harry swallowed and turned to Hermione, who was looking at him strangely.
He turned back to Malfoy and nodded. This was the scripted exhibition, Harry against the three
of them. Ron looked suspiciously at Malfoy.
“You’re sure you remember what you’re supposed to do, Malfoy?” he asked him.
Draco Malfoy gave a very unreassuring lopsided smile. “I know exactly what I’m going to do.”
Harry thought, I don’t like that answer, as the four of them exited the changing rooms. Ginny
followed them out and took up a position on the edge of the pitch with the other spectators.
Snape stood in the center of the pitch. The spectators’ applause for the previous duelers died
down and Snape pointed his wand at his throat to announce the next combination.
“Sonorus. Next,” his magically magnified voice sounded around the pitch, “Harry Potter will
face Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy in a three-on-one attack.”
Snape pointed his wand at his throat again. “Quietus, ” he said, then moved to the perimeter of
the pitch with the others.
Harry stood a little off from the center, where Snape had been, facing the goal posts nearest
him. Ron, Hermione and Malfoy were arrayed behind him. When practicing this, it had
reminded him unnervingly of when Ron had been about to curse him in the forest, and Lucius
Malfoy, his son and Wormtail had been behind Ron. He tried to put that out of his mind now.
He knew just what was going to happen. It was all rehearsed.
Sandy hissed at him.
Uh oh, Harry thought. He didn’t usually duel with Sandy on his arm, but he had forgotten to
leave her by the fireplace in the common room before going down to breakfast; the fire wasn’t
usually lit now, since it was late June. Harry worried about what to do. He’d have to think fast;
with any luck, those in the crowd who weren’t in the Dueling Club and hadn’t seen them
rehearsing wouldn’t know that anything was wrong.
Harry braced himself; he didn’t want to start too soon. Malfoy, Ron and Hermione were
supposed to hit him very quickly from behind with successive Passus Curses that--in theory--
were supposed to give him pain in three parts of his body.
“Gastro suo--” he heard Hermione begin, and he began the process, the separation of mind
and body...
“Tracheo suo--” Ron said a split second after her.
“Capo suo--” Draco Malfoy said almost as soon as Ron had spoken.
“Passus est. Passus est. Passus est.” All three had finished their curses, but Harry didn’t feel a
thing, floating above his body, turning to look at them, their wands connected to his body by
crackling waves of light. Then he saw it, he saw the moment when Malfoy turned and broke the
connection between his wand and Harry, when he turned and pointed his wand at Ron, who
turned his head slowly in surprise as Harry watched Malfoy’s lips move in an unheard curse, as
the beam of light arced the short distance to Ron’s body. Ron’s wand broke the connection
with Harry as Malfoy’s curse struck him.
Hermione broke her connection with Harry now, turning to Malfoy, and Harry slid down into
his body again, but before Hermione could get her curse out of her mouth, Malfoy had broken
the connection between his wand and Ron, and pointed it at her instead, and the second that
Harry was fully integrated again, he heard him cry, “Impedimenta! ”
Now Hermione appeared to him to be moving even more slowly than when he had been in his
separated state; so slowly that any movement was indiscernible. Harry had decided what to do.
Originally, he was supposed to demonstrate a shielding charm that he could put upon himself, to
allow him to continue to cast spells, but preventing people and most spells from penetrating from
the outside and affecting him.
Instead, did something he remembered from the book Sirius had given him for his birthday.
Harry pointed his wand to his side, crying, “Serpensortia! ” whereupon a snake began to
emerge from the tip of his wand, growing more enormous by the second, until the spectators
backed up from the pitch, nervous.
“Stop!” he hissed to it, and the huge serpent turned its head to look at him curiously. “You will
obey me,” he told it.
“Yessss,” it answered him.
“Position yourself in a circle around those people,” he hissed, pointing at Ron, Malfoy and
Hermione, “and take your tail in your mouth.”
The snake slithered to do his bidding. When Malfoy had put the Impediment Curse on
Hermione, Ron had had to catch his breath for a moment. He clutched his throat (Malfoy had
done Tracheo suo for the Passus Curse he’d put on Ron) and then turned his wand on Malfoy,
saying, “Stupefy!” as the snake surrounded them and put its tail in its mouth. Malfoy promptly
fell down on the pitch, and that’s when Ron noticed that he was surrounded by an enormous
snake’s body.
He looked with alarm at Harry; he knew that Harry was forced to improvise as much as he
was, thanks to Malfoy throwing the script out, but suddenly he seemed to be much less sure of
Harry than he was of Malfoy. Harry pointed at the Snake and cried, “AEGIS! ”
A blue light sprang up from the snake’s body, a glowing column that extended far over Ron’s
head, fading as it reached the clouds. The shield charm was now a prison charm, meaning that
Harry could send spells into the blue column, but Ron could not send any out, or get out himself,
although if he could find a rock and throw it (or some other inanimate object), that would go
through. Ron hurled himself against the shield now, and his body stopped abruptly, as though he
had struck a glass wall. Malfoy was on the ground beside him while Hermione stood nearby,
also in the column, still moving with imperceptible slowness. Harry smiled at Ron, then pointed
his wand toward the prisoners inside the snake’s circle.
“Accio! ” he cried, and all three of their wands flew through the shield and propelled themselves
into Harry’s outstretched hand. He turned to the spectators nearest him and smiled, holding his
own wand in his outstretched right hand, the three other wands in his left.
He took a sweeping bow as the tumultuous applause started to move around the pitch. When
he rose, he caught Snape’s eye. He wasn’t clapping, but he gave Harry a very small nod. Harry
nodded back. He turned and pointed his wand, saying, “Finite Incantatem! ”
The blue column of light and the snake disappeared. He walked to Hermione and took the
Impediment Curse off her, then pointed his wand at Malfoy and said, “Enervate! ”
Malfoy lifted his head, blinking and looking about with confusion. He saw Harry standing over
him with a crooked smile, and sighed. Harry helped him to stand, then gave each of them their
wands back. They took a bow together, all four of them, as the applause increased, and as they
bowed, Malfoy muttered out of the side of his mouth, “Made it more interesting, didn’t I
Potter?”
“That’s all you were trying to do?” Harry asked softly, unconvinced.
“Of course.” Malfoy’s smug grin was thoroughly unbelievable. Harry wondered again about
trusting Malfoy. He can’t even do a simple dueling exhibition without ruining hours and hours of
planning and practice, Harry thought. And now Malfoy knew about Sirius. Well, Sirius had
sanctioned that. There wasn’t much Harry could have done to stop it...
When the applause died down, they all left the center of the pitch except for Malfoy, who was
about to engage in a real duel with Niamh Quirke. Harry, Ron and Hermione stood near Ginny,
who had her hands clasped together in front of her stomach. Her knuckles were white.
Harry watched the duel without really seeing it. Luckily, Sandy had told him what Malfoy was
going to do, before he turned to attack Ron. Harry knew that having Sandy with him, predicting
things, was perhaps not the most sporting thing to do, but he was glad now that he had not
removed her from his arm before breakfast. Malfoy hadn’t exactly been sporting, either.
After several feints and some exchange of curses, Malfoy landed the disarming charm on
Niamh, and she went flying backward into the crowd, her wand zooming into Malfoy’s hand.
As the people who had Niamh land on them helped her to stand, applause went round the pitch.
Niamh and Malfoy returned to stand with the other spectators, Niamh near her brother and
sister, Malfoy with Ginny, standing next to Ron and Hermione.
It was time for Harry and Ron to duel. Hermione turned to Harry and kissed him on the cheek.
“Good luck.” She stopped Ron from going and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek also. “Good
luck,” she said again, more softly. Ron glanced at her, then Harry. He nodded at Harry. There
was a strange look in Ron’s eyes.
They both advanced to the center of the pitch. After bowing, Ron promptly pointed his wand at
him and cried, “Apiarium! ” Immediately, Harry had the sensation of there being bees all over
his body, crawling on every square inch, exposed and unexposed. He jumped; this was new.
Ron had never done this before; indeed, Harry had never heard of the spell before.
Then the stinging began.
Harry cried out once. Then he clamped his jaw shut. He could do the pain blocking, but he
decided to work through the pain instead, so he would be able to cast spells on Ron as well.
The unseen bees were starting to sting him in very sensitive places...
He pointed his wand at Ron, wincing as he cried, “Otoexodus! ” He watched Ron’s bafflement
as his hearing left him. Ron stared round at the cheering crowd, who, Harry knew, would now
look to Ron like a television with the sound turned off. People moved their mouths, and yelled
and shouted, but Ron could hear none of it. He wouldn’t be able to hear his own voice, or the
spells that Harry was casting. Harry had made him temporarily deaf.
Ron and Harry circled each other now. There was a light in Ron’s eye that made Harry
nervous. It reminded him of the way he had looked in the forest, when he’d been speaking so
hatefully to him and Hermione. This, Harry thought, wasn’t just about dueling. This was about
much more, and Ron had permission to do whatever he wanted, within reason. He was torn
between letting Ron get it out of his system and protecting his own reputation as captain of the
Dueling Club. Harry wished Sandy would say something, but he knew her Sight could not be
forced, he couldn’t even ask her. If she had something to tell him, she would.
Harry twitched more than a little from the sensation of still being covered by stinging bees.
Sweat was running down into his eyes, and he blinked. His glasses were fogging a little; Ron
appeared to be advancing on him through a cloud of mist. He dodged Ron’s curse, then Ron
dodged one of his own. A few more exchanges like this occurred, and Harry remembered that
Ron had been watching when he’d been dueling Flitwick. Taking notes, Ron? he thought, as he
dodged another hex and sent an ankle-stabbing Passus Curse in Ron’s direction.
Ron went down on one knee, his face contorted in pain, his head bowed. Harry smiled. He
would be all right. Ron was in a good deal of pain, and now he could just--
“Expelliarmus! ”
Ron had pointed his wand at Harry suddenly, lifting his head. Harry had thought Ron was
caught up in his pain, but knew he’d been a fool as he now he felt himself flying backwards, his
wand leaving his hand, drawn to Ron like a magnet. Harry landed on the pitch, breaking his fall
by throwing his hands behind him. He remembered Flitwick telling him the duel was a draw,
then disarming him. He stood uncertainly after a moment, brushing grass off his robes (and still
flinching from the bees). He walked back to Ron, who took the Beehive Hex off him, and Harry
restored his hearing. They shook hands and turned to acknowledge the applause, but Harry
couldn’t help notice where Ron’s eyes had gone.
Hermione looked at them both, smiling and laughing. Harry looked back at her, trying to smile.
It wasn’t just that Ron had been more aggressive in the duel than Harry had ever seen him; he
seemed to have as much to prove as the day they’d heard the Ravenclaws gossiping and he’d
charged upstairs to Parvati....And now he could say he’d beaten Harry Potter, captain of the
Dueling Club. Of course, some people would think that this was a choreographed duel, or that
Harry had thrown it so his best friend could win. In a way, he had won because he was Harry’s
friend, because Harry had paused to let him get his breath, where he might not have done that
with someone else. Harry looked sideways at Ron, smiling at Hermione. He felt his stomach
clench and remembered the way Ron had looked in the forest again. He was suddenly more
worried about Ron than about Malfoy, and he didn’t like feeling that way.
They moved to the perimeter to stand with Hermione and watch the others duel. In a little while
Harry would go up against Roger Davies. Lovely, he thought. A Head Boy with something to
prove. He had drawn some great dueling partners...
Hermione stood between them, short enough that Harry could look right over her head at Ron.
Ron turned and met Harry’s eyes. He suddenly looked very hostile. Then Ron looked down at
Hermione, and his gaze softened; his eyes smiled.
Harry turned to watch the duels, knowing that his hardest fight lay ahead of him, and knowing
that it would not be with Roger Davies, but with his best friend.
* * * * *
On the way back to the castle, Colin and Dennis Creevey were animatedly dissecting Harry’s
performance against Roger Davies (Harry had won) and the three attackers as well.
“And when the snake just oozed out of your wand...”
“And when you hissed at it...”
Harry grimaced and looked sideways at Will Flitwick, walking nearby. Colin and Dennis were
one and two years behind him, still starstruck about The Great Harry Potter, while Harry felt
that Will Flitwick, a full four years behind him, treated him like a normal person.
“Uncle Filius said you did really well on your Charms O.W.L.s, and that you’d dueled with
him.”
Harry frowned. “Who? Oh, Professor Flitwick. Yeah, he was pretty tough.”
“I guess you wanted to give Ron a chance to win one, huh?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Something like that, yeah.”
The leaving feast was waiting for them when they returned from the Quidditch pitch. Everyone
was ravenous from standing about watching the dueling or participating. They filed into the
Great Hall and went to their house tables, anxiously awaiting the news of who had won the
House Cup. No one house had won the year before; the decorations on the walls had been
black, in honor of Cedric. At least, Harry thought, none of the students had died this year. None
of the students at this school, anyway. He thought of Dudley.
The food was already laid out on the tables, and everyone started heaping their plates with their
favorite dishes. Ron started in on a large turkey drumstick as though he hadn’t had a perfectly
enormous breakfast before the dueling. Harry smiled at Hermione, and they both shook their
heads over Ron. He seemed perfectly normal again, and Harry tried to put out of his mind the
entity he now thought of as Dueling Ron.
Before moving off to the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy dramatically kissed Ginny’s hand, while
she looked at him with a glazed expression. Ron snapped his fingers in front of her face.
“What? Oh, Ron--” she said, flustered. Then she noticed his plate. “Oh my! Are you afraid
mum and dad won’t have any food when we get home? Because you could probably ask the
house elves to pack you a picnic hamper for the train...” Ron looked at her, chewing. “Ver’
fuh-ee.”
Ginny laughed and sat next to him. After he chewed and swallowed, he looked at her very
seriously. “Gin--I just want to know. Malfoy. He--treats you all right?”
She put her hand over his and patted it. “Yes, Ron. He treats me like a princess.” She smiled at
him, then kissed his cheek. He actually recoiled slightly.
“What was that for?”
“Ron, you’re sixteen. Grow up! You were being sweet. Note the past tense. Sorry to alarm
you...”
He went back to eating, but Harry noticed him looking surreptitiously at him and Hermione.
Harry remembered the intensity of dueling with him. It had meant far more to Ron than to him.
He was getting something out of his system by coming after him that way.
Finally, after the pudding, Dumbledore stood and everyone looked at him expectantly; they
would finally find out who had won the House Cup. He gazed round the hall at them, his blue
eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles and a gentle smile on his face.
He held a parchment before his face and peered at it. “Well! I am pleased to announce that this
year, the House Cup goes to...”
“Excuse me, Headmaster,” Snape said suddenly, appearing at his elbow. “I have a deduction in
house points to report. A student in Gryffindor left the school grounds without permission. I
neglected to tell you before, but I have it right here.” He handed a small piece of parchment to
Dumbledore.
Ron, Ginny and Hermione glared at Harry, who felt like disappearing under the pile of turkey
bones on Ron’s plate. Dumbledore opened the folded slip of parchment and read, “Fifteen
points from Gryffindor. Well, let’s see how that leaves us...”
Harry frowned, looking straight at Snape. He met Harry’s gaze, expressionless. He’d taken
twenty-five points away, not fifteen points. What was he up to?
“Actually, that leaves us exactly where we already were! Gryffindor was twenty-five points
ahead of Slytherin, and now they are ten points ahead. Gryffindor wins the House Cup! And
now for the appropriate decor...”
He clapped his hands and the red-gold Gryffindor hangings showing a rampant lion rolled down
the walls of the hall, warming the grey stone. He could have tied us for the House Cup, Harry
thought. Like I did with the Quidditch Cup. But he didn’t. He could have taken away a few
more points and won it for Slytherin, but he didn’t...
Harry’s throat felt tight. He looked at Snape. Snape looked back at Harry, expressionless. The
Slytherins weren’t looking very happy, but the Gryffindor table was in an uproar, as palms
slapped each other in the air and some couples kissed (a bit too enthusiastically for Professor
McGonagall, who broke Lee and Katie apart with some well-aimed sparks).
Harry grinned at Hermione, Ron and Ginny, who looked floored. Dumbledore quietly waited
for peace to return. “Congratulations, Gryffindors. Tying for the Quidditch Cup with Slytherin
made it very close, but it’s my understanding that Professor Moody--” and he turned to the old
Auror sitting near him “--received some especially fine essays from the fifth year class which
warranted house points a number of times. You should be proud of yourselves.” Now Ron
colored deeply, and Neville did too. They were the only ones to get points from Moody for
their essays, and Ron received points more often than Neville. Dumbledore didn’t mention the
three-hundred points they’d earned for their house because of the Lucius Malfoy affair. That
had been a draw with Slytherin as well, as Draco Malfoy had received the same number of
points afterward.
“And now, for some sadder news. At the end of last year, we mourned the death of Cedric
Diggory. Fortunately no such tragedy has occurred this year to any Hogwarts student.
However, that does not mean that we here at Hogwarts have been untouched by the return of
Voldemort, who was responsible for Cedric’s death. A number of young people have recently
been recruited to be Death Eaters, as you may know. Many of you here knew Penelope
Clearwater and Marcus Flint, who completed their education here in recent years. Marcus was
a fine Quidditch player. He also had the strength of character to say ‘no’ when his own father
wished him to become a Death Eater. He and his mother are now dead. Penelope was a prefect
in Ravenclaw here at Hogwarts and worked at Witch Weekly; she will be missed by many. Her
family was also killed, including her brother Jeremy, who would have been in first year here at
Hogwarts in September.
“Cedric was one of the first casualties in this war, for we are at war, I am sorry to say, and the
Clearwaters and Flints will not be the last people we mourn, I fear. Some of you--especially
those finishing your seventh year--may be approached to serve Voldemort. Penelope and
Marcus were meant to be lessons, to show you what might happen if you refuse. I cannot tell
you what to do; I think all here know what decision I would recommend if you were to find
yourself in such a position. Just remember what you have learned here, and think about what is
important to you. I have spoken before about choosing between what is right and what is easy.
I am not here to preach. But I hope that if we have taught you anything, it is how to make sound
decisions, to weigh the consequences of your actions, and to make well-considered sacrifices
when necessary.
“That said, I ask you all now to stand and remember your former classmates, Penelope
Clearwater and Marcus Flint.”
The students stood as one and raised their goblets. Even every last Slytherin was standing, in
honor of Flint. The names rumbled through the hall, and some Ravenclaws who hadn’t heard
about Penelope and her family were crying quietly, while the Scottish girl at the Slytherin table
put her hand on Malfoy’s arm, her eyes wet. Harry looked at Ginny. She hadn’t seen. Well,
Harry thought. We already know she’s got nerve. She asked me out. Perhaps it doesn’t bother
her that Draco has a girlfriend. He’s not interested anyway, Harry thought. He looked at Ginny
again. If Malfoy hurt her, he’d...
“Harry!”
He looked around, confused. Hermione pulled at his robes to get him to sit. Everyone else had
sat down again. He stopped worrying about Malfoy and the Scottish girl and drank some
pumpkin juice. They socialized at the table for a little while longer; in half an hour, the horseless
carriages would take them to the train. Suddenly, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and he
looked up into the contorted face of Mad Eye Moody.
“Potter,” he said gruffly. “A word before you go.”
Harry nodded and rose, followed Moody to the entrance hall, where house elves were still
moving students’ trunks into the carriages.
“Potter,” he said again. “I didn’t have a chance to give you my condolences on your cousin’s
death.”
Harry hadn’t expected this. “Oh. Um. Thank you.” He knew he was being stupid and
awkward, but he was caught totally off-guard. Moody seemed to be overlooking this, however.
“It’s hard. Losing a mate at your age. I know. I think I mentioned that I finished school in
1915?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there was a war going on, and I had had enough of magic for a while--or so I thought--
so instead of looking for a job in the wizarding world, I signed up for the Muggle army. My best
mate from home was going. He was a Muggle. I’m half and half. He knew from the time I got
my Hogwarts letter that I was a wizard. I didn’t spill it before then; even though some strange
things had happened, I wasn’t completely sure I wasn’t a Squib until then. He never stopped
being my friend. When he told me he was going into the army, at first we thought it would be
Ireland. Pretty close by, blokes you’re fighting also speak English. Not too bad. Not great, but
there you go. If you had to pick a war, he thought--”
Moody looked out the front doors. “But he was sent to the Dardanelles. Gallipoli, in Turkey. I
got myself sent, too, so I could be by his side and protect him. We were both eighteen. I knew
it wasn’t legal, of course, to be planning to help a Muggle with magic, interfering in a Muggle
war. The Ministry would break my wand if they knew. But I wasn’t planning to try to win the
war for England; just protect my friend from harm. In the end, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t
prepared for the trench warfare, for the mustard gas, for the commanding officers sending mere
lads over the top running into machine-gun fire with nothing but effing bayonets...”
He sighed and his magical eye rolled around to look at Harry. His normal eye was still fixed on
the road to Hogsmeade. “There was nothing I could do for him. I carried his body back to the
trenches, so his parents could bury him properly. I hated the idea of him being out there on the
battlefield, carrion birds circling overhead...” Moody shuddered. Harry swallowed, to think of
something so horrible it made Moody react this way. “The Anzacs were much worse off than
we were.” He noted Harry’s puzzlement and explained, “That’s Australian and New Zealand
troops. Horrible, horrible number of dead...
“When I was back here in England I took his mum and dad some letters he’d written that never
got posted. I didn’t exactly get off scot-free either. A month after he died, my leg was
amputated in a field hospital. I was pretty broken up about my mate; didn’t much care about
taking care of myself anymore. I’d cut my calf on a rusty piece of barbed wire, put a pain charm
on it so it wouldn’t hurt. Turned out that was the worst possible thing I could have done. If I
could have felt the pain, I’d have known it was getting infected. Gangrene. No choice. It was
amputated by a twenty-six year old Muggle doctor with a saw he’d poured rubbing alcohol on.
I had no anesthesia. So I didn’t lose my leg to dark wizards, as you might assume, but I did lose
it to evil. Gallipoli is something I’ll never forget.” Harry remembered him talking about Gallipoli
in class. Worse than decimation, he’d said. He knew firsthand.
Harry swallowed, watching the last of the trunks float into the horseless carriages. “I’m glad,”
he said throatily, “you came back to teach. I’m glad you recovered from--from what happened
last year.”
He nodded. His magical eye swiveled around to look at the road outside the door again. “Well,
as I’ve just told you, I’ve been through worse. Not much worse, but worse. I’m afraid, Potter,”
he put his hand on Harry’s shoulder again, “you are not out of the woods yet.”
Harry grimaced. “I know. Just when everything seemed to be improving--Dudley.”
“Well, you should have a summer that’s all right. You’ll be well looked-after.”
Harry frowned. “How do you know? I’ll just be with my old baby sitter.”
He brought both of his eyes to focus on Harry. “You don’t know?” He glanced into the Great
Hall, then back at Harry. “Well, I don’t see the harm in telling you. The Headmaster’s having his
brother check up on you. He doesn’t mind the Muggle world, unlike many wizards. He’s better
at blending in than some of us, too.” He smiled craggily at Harry. “In fact--they call the
Headmaster a Muggle-lover, but his brother, well--he lives in the Muggle world all the time.
Hardly ever uses magic, except emergencies. Or like when he came here to teach in Flitwick’s
place. That’s the real reason he’s got such a bad reputation. He’s got a philosophical problem
with it. Doing magic, that is. Thinks it’s an unfair advantage we have over Muggles.”
“But--he never said anything when he was teaching us. And he was really good, too.”
“It’s not that he can’t do magic. He’s perfectly competant. He knew it wasn’t his job to feed
you propaganda. He’s a good man, Aberforth Dumbledore. That goat thing was just a cover his
brother made up for him, complete with the rumor that he might be illiterate. To take the focus
off the real issue. He goes along with the joke, too. But even some folks you’d think would be
fairly tolerant of this sort of thing are scandalized by it.” Harry remembered Flitwick’s reaction
to Aberforth teaching his classes; he remembered that McGonagall and Sprout were also not
Aberforth supporters.
“So that’s it? He doesn’t use magic, and that’s why he’s--”
“Persona non grata. Yep. There’s some things some magical folk can’t contemplate, like
marrying Muggles or Muggle-borns. There’s some who can’t stand the idea of walking around
in Muggle clothes, or going to Muggle stores...but almost all magical folk can’t stomach the idea
of a magical person who won’t use his magic, just on principle. It just rubs ‘em the wrong
way.”
Harry looked at him shrewdly. “It doesn’t seem to bother you.”
“No. It doesn’t. You’re looking at someone who decided at eighteen to go to Turkey to fight in
a war I didn’t understand because my best mate was going, and he was a Muggle. I don’t hold
anything against Aberforth Dumbledore. I like a man with principles, even when sticking to them
makes his life harder than it has to be. He’s one of the few people I truly admire in this world,
Potter. I won’t tell you who the others are. If I want to see you turn red, I’ll get your girlfriend
out here to kiss you.”
He smiled again, and Harry felt himself redden anyway. The other students had started coming
into the entrance hall from the Great Hall, and Harry extended his hand to the old Auror, who
took it.
“Thank you, sir. It’s been a privilege.”
Moody nodded. “The pleasure’s been all mine, Potter. All mine.” He turned and hobbled up
the marble stairs, one step at a time, while a sea of students surrounded Harry. Soon he was
swept down the steps and into a carriage by Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Malfoy following
closely behind. He tried to look back, to see Dumbledore, but he could not. He thought about
Aberforth and his self-imposed exile from the wizarding world.
We must choose between what is right and what is easy.
Aberforth Dumbledore, like his brother, had made that choice, and had accepted the
consequences of it. Harry felt himself, like Moody, admiring the renegade wizard with all his
heart. And now he knew what he’d meant when he said he’d see Harry soon. He smiled in
anticipation. Perhaps this would be a good summer after all.
* * * * *
Ron had claimed a compartment for the five of them. They sat as they had on the trip down to
London for the trial, Harry and Hermione on one side, Ron, Ginny and Draco Malfoy on the
other. They all tried to keep things light. They played card games. They played with the three
cats (Crookshanks, Mackenzie and Argent). They needled each other (especially Ron and
Malfoy--Ron swore he’d get back at Malfoy for that Passus Curse during the exhibition). They
ate too many Chocolate Frogs and pumpkin pasties. And, as much as they professed to be
annoyed with each other over various things, they all seemed to feel a dread at the impending
separation that would come when they arrived at King’s Cross. Ron and Ginny would go back
to the Burrow; Harry would go back to Surrey; Malfoy was being picked up by his former
nanny; Hermione could go home and see her parents at last. But they wouldn’t be together.
As they neared London, Ginny was using her wand to heal some scratches Malfoy had received
from Mackenzie. Harry was holding the black cat on his lap, rubbing her under the chin while
she purred like a new car. Crookshanks slept on Hermione’s lap and Argent on Ron’s. Harry
had tried to warn Malfoy about Mackenzie; not because Ginny’s cat was known to be vicious,
but because Sandy had said, “A cat will scratch a dragon.” Possibly the least cryptic prediction
she’d ever given Harry. He’d told Malfoy to be careful or he’d get scratched, and sure enough,
he had. As a result, Harry was able to give Malfoy a smug I-told-you-so look, which he was
rather enjoying.
While Ginny was still working on his hands, he looked at the four of them. “Well,” he said.
“You may thank me, Gryffindors.”
They all frowned at him, Ginny included, as she finished putting the binding charms on his cat
scratches. It really hadn’t taken Sandy to predict his getting scratched. He wasn’t at all a cat
person.
“What for, Malfoy?” Ron wanted to know.
“I am why you won the House Cup.”
Harry’s jaw dropped a little; had he told Snape to do what he did?
Hermione made a face. “What did you do, break into McGonagall’s office and get her to dock
you a hundred house points?”
“No, but close. I took them away from my own housemates. Prefect’s privilege.”
Now all of their jaws had dropped open. “What?” Ron said.
Hermione added, “You didn’t.”
“What, Granger, you never took house points from anyone, in your house or out of it? Or you
Potter?”
They shook their heads. He shook his head back at them, for a different reason. “You two had
better toughen up. You probably saw someone doing something they should have been called
on. I certainly--experienced enough.” He sighed. “Ever since my dad’s trial, most of the
Slytherins have been such pricks...except for a couple of people. I expected some of that. But
after a while, the shitty stunts they were pulling on me were getting tiresome. Turning my
mattress into a bed of nails, taking my clothes before the house elves could get them and
soaking them in itching potion, stealing my homework, transfiguring my texts into poisonous
frogs--you name it. I got bloody tired of it. Every chance I got, every small infringement of the
rules that I could catch someone in, I started taking away house points. I told them, all right, if
they wanted Slytherin to lose the sodding House Cup, that was just fine with me. I’d take away
house points until we were in negative numbers, if I had to. It took a while, but the harassment
finally stopped. They figured out that I was serious. And Snape backed me up. Millicent
Bulstrode did too. She even took some points away from people who were pulling stunts on
me. I reckon Snape knew what he was doing making her a prefect. But there were still some
things that happened where I never caught anyone...”
Ron actually looked concerned. “What are you going to do in September? You’re just going to
have to go back to Slytherin again.”
“I’m going to owl some of the other Slytherin students this summer who I think were just going
along to go along. Try to find out who’s with me...What I need is a block of allies in Slytherin. I
don’t seriously think everyone is from dark wizard families. I know Bulstrode isn’t. And take
Mariah, for instance...”
Ginny frowned. “Mariah? Mariah Kirkner?”
“Yeah. She’s in your year. You have Potions and Care of Magical Creatures with Slytherin,
right? She’s got kinky black hair, skinny, pale.”
“Yes, I know what she looks like...” Ginny said absently, looking at him.
“Well, she’s all right. Older brother works at the Ministry. Her dad’s at Sweetbriar Publishing
and her mum’s on staff at St. Mungo’s. She’s going to help me owl people. Try to get a feel for
what camp everyone’s in.”
Harry nodded. So that was her name. Now that he’d heard the name, he was sure he’d heard
it before.
“She’s a pureblood, but her parents are actually kind of ashamed of it, or something. Her mum
was in Slytherin when she was in school, but her dad was in Ravenclaw, and so was her
brother. She says her mum says the women in their family have always been devious and
ambitious.” He paused, looking at their impassive faces. “It’s a joke.”
They smiled feebly at him. Ginny’s smile was feeblest of all. Harry remembered the times she’d
been disturbed by Malfoy’s attentions to Hermione; now she seemed equally disturbed about
Mariah Kirkner.
“Well,” Harry said to him, “don’t go overboard taking house points away from Slytherin next
year. We’re going to win the House Cup again, but it won’t be by default.”
“Oh really? How close was it this year?”
“Ten points.”
“Want to know how many points I took from Slytherin? It was a hell of a lot more than ten. As
I said, you may thank me.”
They looked back and forth at each other, then said in unison, “THANK YOU!” before
breaking up into laughter.
They chatted innocuously during the rest of the ride back to London, trying not to think about
parting. As the train pulled into King’s Cross, they all looked at each other wistfully. They’d
been through so much together during the previous year, weathered so many changes in
themselves and their relationships. If possible, they’d become even more important to each
other. Harry thought fleetingly again of the wisdom of his having friends at all....but then he
thought about not having friends. He remembered the young Tom Riddle, from the diary. A
handsome and charming boy, bright and quick. But did he have friends? Not that Harry had
seen, when he had entered the diary. It used to worry Harry that Percy was like that, so
dedicated to being Head Boy, then a perfect Ministry lackey...but although he didn’t have a
slew of friends, he had his family, to which he was devoted. He’d had the love of Penelope
Clearwater, and her parents as well, who had clearly been looking forward to welcoming him
into the family. He worried about Percy now, but not because he thought he might become
dark. Not anymore. He worried about Percy spiraling downward in despair, now that Penelope
was gone. He had already asked Ron and Ginny to be especially nice to him over the summer,
to not let him isolate himself too much and wallow. Yes, he would need to mourn, but he
shouldn’t cut himself off from his family. He needed them.
And of course, Harry realized, he needed his friends. As tempting as it was to cut them off and
say that they’d be better off without the danger of being his friends, he knew he couldn’t do
that. Even Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, a friend, he thought in wonderment. But it seemed to
have happened. He remembered the small eleven-year-old boy chatting him up in Madam
Malkin’s robe shop, not realizing that he was the Harry Potter. He remembered talking to him
on his first train ride to Hogwarts, trying to warn him about associating with “the wrong sort” of
people. Harry smiled to himself; now he was seeing Ron’s sister. Perhaps he’d really been
trying to make friends with Harry, and just didn’t know how. He remembered him saying in
Arthur Weasley’s office that he’d never had a friend, not really. Like Tom Riddle. Like the
young Severus Snape, supposed vampire.
Harry thought of dueling with Malfoy again, and shuddered; he was becoming a very powerful
wizard, he even knew how to Apparate already (which he was not supposed to do again for
another year, when he would be of age and could apply for a proper license). He was glad that
Ginny was such a good influence on him. He thought of the two of them behind Hagrid’s hut
again, how intense that had been, the way she had responded to his touch...He shook his head,
to clear it. He hoped Malfoy wouldn’t pressure her too much, wouldn’t make her push him
away. He also hoped she would continue to resist his advances...No, no. He tried yet again to
clear his head. He had no business hoping that. He had Hermione, and he wasn’t Ginny’s
brother, not truly. She had plenty of brothers.
The train had come to a full stop. Then they were on the platform, having collected their trunks.
They were standing about, staring at one another while a maelstrom of people swirled around
them. Saying goodbye was so hard...Finally, Hermione put her arms around Ron, who
reciprocated, and she kissed his cheek quickly.
“Have a good summer,” she said with wet, shining eyes. He stepped back from her, nodding
mutely.
Then he turned to Harry. Ron swallowed. “Bye, Harry. I--what I mean is--”
Harry nodded. “Yeah.” And he stepped forward and, for the first time, hugged his best friend.
He did it quickly, and when he stepped back, he could see the emotion on Ron’s face. Ron was
the best friend anyone could have, and Harry had spent the better part of the previous year lying
to him...he never wanted to do that again. He knew that technically, Ron forgave him, but the
memory of that deception would always be with them. And then there was the memory of things
said and done in the Forbidden Forest, and the look on Ron’s face during the duel that
morning...Forgetting was not an option.
“Bye Malfoy,” Ron said croakily. “Try not to be such a git next year.”
Malfoy smirked. “Yeah. Having you for a role model probably made me damn annoying.”
Ron laughed then, turning and dragging his trunk behind him as he walked toward the barrier.
Argent rode on his shoulder, claws sunk in deeply, as he didn’t have a carrier for her. He was
shaking his head and still laughing. Will wonders never cease? Harry thought. Malfoy insults him,
and Ron laughs. No wonder he forgave me; if he could forgive Malfoy, he could overlook just
about anything, Harry thought.
There were hardly any people left. Harry put his hand out to Malfoy, who took it with no
hesitation. Harry remembered shaking hands with him before the Quidditch match. That seemed
a hundred years ago. Throwing him for a loop by using Ginny as the Seeker, then defending him
afterward...they didn’t need to say a word. Malfoy nodded at him and Harry nodded back. If
we spoke, we’d just insult each other, Harry thought. It’s better this way.
Ginny and Hermione had exchanged a hug while they shook hands, and now each boy turned to
the girl next to him. Harry swallowed and looked down into her face, brushed a curl away from
her brow. He could never have imagined this a year ago, all of the things that had happened
between them. She slid her arms around his neck and he held her closely, hesitating for a
moment, looking over her shoulder at the few remaining people on the platform before lowering
his mouth to hers and kissing her. He drank her in, holding her tightly, trying to imprint her on his
memory for two months...He couldn’t believe they would be apart for so long! It had never
mattered before, in other summers. Now owl post just wouldn’t be enough...
He opened his eyes a crack while kissing her; over her shoulder he could see that Malfoy had
also enfolded Ginny in his arms. She grasped his upper arms as he held her waist; he didn’t have
to bend over, as he did with Hermione. Then he realized that Ginny was looking at him too,
over Malfoy’s shoulder, and he closed his eyes abruptly, but he ended the kiss, planting
additional kisses on her cheeks and forehead. She gazed hungrily at him, as though she would
scandalize everyone left on the platform by ripping off all of his clothes and attacking him. He
caught his breath; there, that was it. That was the look in her eyes that he would miss...
They heard Sandy hissing. Harry was startled. Could he have heard correctly? He looked at
Ginny and Malfoy. He didn’t know what to make of what she’d said. Then he looked back at
Hermione.
“Well, Harry? I asked you what she said.”
“Oh, she just said--that friends would say goodbye.” She smiled and nodded, kissed him again
on the lips, briefly, then turned with her trunk and Crookshanks’ carrier and walked toward the
barrier. Malfoy also took his trunk and headed toward the barrier; they reached it at the same
time, and Harry could see Malfoy’s lips moving, then Hermione’s, her face contorted
sarcastically. They were at it again, he thought, smiling and shaking his head. But Hermione
could give as good as she got, he knew.
He looked around the platform. Everyone else had gone. He and Ginny were the only ones left.
He looked at her, and she looked back, and he could see that she wasn’t the same little girl who
had peered through cracks in doorways at him when she was eleven. She was a beautiful young
woman, a powerful witch, and a good friend. He still started to shake when he remembered
finding her in the Potions Dungeon, Malfoy apparently attacking her; that it turned out to be fake
was immaterial. It didn’t change the way he felt, seeing that.
He stepped toward her and she nodded, with a small smile, she put her arms around his neck
and he put his around her back. They held each other closely, more an affirmation that they
were there for each other than a hug. His face was buried in her hair and his throat felt tight.
“Gin, I just wanted you to know how scared I was--when we found you in the Potions
Dungeon...”
She separated from him, reddening. “I know that was stupid, Harry. We just--we had to think
of something that would really set Ron off.” She paused and looked up at him. “Or you.”
Harry gazed back at her, unable to get the dream Ginny out of his mind, his hands on her silky
skin...He swallowed and whispered, “I was just so glad you were all right.”
She leaned forward, kissing him quickly and lightly on the lips. “Thank you, Harry,” she said
softly. Harry stared at her. Even though Sandy had said, “A ram will kiss a lion,” he still felt like
he might have misunderstood what she meant. It reminded him of something...The lion will lie
down with the lamb...and a little child shall lead them. He thought that was it. A lamb was
just a young ram. He had some vague memory of the fragment of scripture from Christmas or
Easter when he was young. Going to St. Bede’s for the funeral must have jogged his memory.
He checked the rest of the platform; it was deserted. Everyone else had gone through the
barrier. He looked at her. She was turning to go through, back to the Muggle station. He
watched her disappear; she didn’t look back. He stood on the platform for what felt like a long
time, gazing at the empty space where so many bodies had been jostling not too long ago. It
was time; it was time to face his aunt and uncle. Time to get on with the business of living. He
reached down for his trunk with his right hand, picked up Hedwig’s cage with his left, and
walked toward the barrier.
* * * * *
“Petunia!” Uncle Vernon’s voice bellowed from their bathroom. “Where are the extra loo
rolls?”
Harry smiled; some things never changed. Vernon Dursley had cut himself shaving again, and
run out of toilet paper to put on the cuts. Although he knew his uncle probably wasn’t
comforted by having small nicks and cuts all over his face, Harry was. It was a constant.
Harry had just finished showering and shaving himself, in the bath that opened off the hall,
between his bedroom and the guest room. He’d picked up an electric razor at MacTavish’s
when they’d been shopping there; he knew that to stay within the law, he should use neither his
wand nor his Animagus training to take care of shaving while he wasn’t in school. He still
wondered why his uncle didn’t use an electric, but he also knew that no well-meaning
suggestion from Harry would ever be taken in the spirit intended.
He rubbed his face as he returned to his room, towel wrapped around his waist. It wasn’t as
smooth as when he used magic, but he wasn’t covered in cuts, either. After he dressed, he put
Sandy around his arm and went downstairs, humming. He planned to call Dick after breakfast,
ask for a job. It was nice to feel that he might be really useful, and make some money as well,
doing something he enjoyed. He tried to think of what wizarding jobs might take place out-ofdoors,
for he’d decided that, when possible, he didn’t want to work in cooped-up, enclosed
spaces. Quidditch player was all that came to mind so far. Oh, well, he thought. There’s time to
consider all that.
He sat down at the table, in his usual spot. There were places laid for three of them; Dudley’s
side of the table was bare. It even looked as though they were avoiding putting the newspaper
and toast rack and teapot there. No man’s land.
Harry poured himself some orange juice from the pitcher on the table and reached for some
toast and marmalade. He practically jumped out of his skin when his aunt spoke to him. She had
her back to him, standing at the stove making his uncle’s eggs.
“That Dick called,” she said sharply. “Wants you to go to Seven Magnolia Crescent tomorrow
morning at eight. Says he has a job for you. What good you’ll be to him, I hardly know...” she
added, putting a great deal of salt on Vernon’s eggs. Well, he thought, that saved him from
having to call Dick. Harry looked at her back. She was pretty damn constant too, he thought.
He was glad she hadn’t designated him a substitute for Dudley; he couldn’t have taken it. The
fussing would have been unbearable. He was used to this; this was far better.
“Do you want me to give the garden here a going-over today? Looks like there’s a fair number
of weeds. And that wild ivy’s going to choke the climbing roses.”
She made a noise like, “Hmmph!” Then she said, “If you like. If you haven’t gotten so soft that
a little real work will kill you...” Then she stopped and looked at Harry, horrified. Harry froze.
He never thought about it much, but death really did crop up in everyday speech a great deal.
He swallowed the bite of toast he’d been chewing, wondering what she was thinking. Pity it
wasn’t you instead of my Dudley, probably. It would be logical. It’s what I would be thinking,
he realized. Who wouldn’t?
He nodded. “I’ve already been running this morning. I’m all set to go. Is the potting shed
unlocked?”
She pointed mutely to the key on a nail by the door, still looking appalled that she’d used the
turn of phrase she had. He felt that he should probably say or do something compassionate, pat
her hand, at least, but instead he rose and moved toward the door to the garden, unhooking the
shed key, leaving her standing there, letting Vernon’s eggs burn.
Suddenly, she came to life again as her Dudley-substitute entered the kitchen. She smiled and
laughed, turning off the flame under the eggs. Then she took some sausages from a pan where
they’d been staying warm. She arranged them on a plate, put the plate on the table and pulled
out the chair slightly.
A small Yorkshire terrier leapt upon the chair where Dudley used to sit and brought his front
paws up onto the table, starting to nudge the sausages with his nose. After a couple of tries, he
finally succeeded in getting one in his mouth, and he chewed it contentedly. Aunt Petunia cooed
to him and patted him on the head while he chewed.
“There’s my little Dunkirk! My little Dunky-wunky! What a good boy...” Aunt Marge had
brought the terrier over the day after the funeral. She had thought Petunia could use the
companionship. His aunt had taken to the small off-white dog right away, and he to her. Aunt
Marge wasn’t so bad, Harry thought, when she wasn’t insulting people’s parents...
She returned to the stove, preparing to dish up the burnt eggs to her husband. Harry could hear
him descending the stairs. He’d already become accustomed to his wife putting Dunkirk first; he
didn’t question it. Harry actually thought this bit of consideration was rather touching. He never
really thought of his aunt and uncle showing affection for each other. (Although they must have,
once, to have Dudley.) The dog’s sausages had been carefully heated so as not to be too hot
for him, nor too cold, but just right. Vernon, on the other hand, could eat burnt eggs.
Dunkirk barked when Vernon entered and sat down at the table, taking his place opposite him.
The dog barked again. Vernon smiled feebly at Dunkirk, looking a little nervous. Harry tried not
to laugh. Dunkirk did not recognize Vernon as his daddy, that much was clear.
Harry smiled at the cute little dog, then started to also pat him on the head, as his aunt had done.
The dog turned his head and gave a growl low in his throat when he saw Harry’s hand
approaching. He pulled his hand back abruptly; he had thought the dog was just in a mood and
hadn’t gotten used to him when he’d tried that upon returning home, but now he was wondering
whether he was possessed by the spirit of Dudley Dursley or something. Another possible
constant, he thought. Or maybe--Sirius aside--I’m just more of a cat person. He watched the
dog observing Vernon with what seemed to be suspicion. Clearly, Dunkirk was Aunt Petunia’s
puppy, and that was that. Harry opened the back door.
The garden was in half shade in the morning, until the sun passed over the house. In the shadow
of the house it was cool and moist from the dew that still clung to the blades of grass and the
leaves and flowers growing so profusely from the wet English spring Surrey had experienced.
After getting a trowel and pail from the shed, he went to work first where it was warm and
sunny, where the early morning dew had already evaporated. He knelt on the soft, springy
grass, throwing uprooted weeds into the pail, the satisfaction of restoring order to the flower
beds bringing him a sort of contented calm.
“Harry Potter,” Sandy hissed at him suddenly.
He was momentarily startled. She’d been very quiet since he’d come back to Privet Drive from
the station. “Yes, Sandy?” he hissed back softly.
“Please put me on the ground.”
Harry did as she asked and went back to work. He watched her slither around the roots of one
of the rose bushes, then move on to the ivy, quickly disappearing among the dark green glossy
leaves that served as ground cover before they rose up to cling to the wall of the house. Harry
had a sudden thought.
“Sandy?”
“Yes, Harry Potter?”
“Do you want your freedom?”
There was a pause. “I have not been free?”
Harry frowned. “That’s not quite what I meant...”
“Have you been keeping me prisoner?”
“Not exactly...”
“I was with you of my own volition, Harry Potter. But I think now...I think now I will live as I
was meant to once more.”
Harry swallowed, watching the last place where he’d seen her. The leaves under which she’d
disappeared still vibrated. Sandy gone. He’d just offered her the chance to leave, but he hadn’t
thought she’d really consider it. He thought of all the times her predictions had changed his life;
but it was possible that just being able to talk with her had been the most important thing to him.
Perhaps he should have known that she wouldn’t want to stay with him forever.
“Of course, Sandy. I understand.”
“We each have a place where we are meant to be. This is mine.”
He nodded, although of course, she couldn’t see this. He wished he knew where he was meant
to be. “I understand, Sandy,” he said again, his throat tight.
“I know you do, Harry,” she answered. He smiled through the beginnings of his tears. She had
called him by just his first name. He would miss her a great deal.
“Will I see you here in the garden?”
“Possibly. And other gardens, perhaps. You will find other garden snakes, no doubt. I will tell
of you to all of the snakes that I meet. When any one of them meets you, they will hear of the
young wizard who is a Parselmouth, who can become a golden griffin, but who is not our
enemy.”
He nodded again. “I hope I see you again soon.”
He waited for her response. And waited and waited.
“Sandy?” It sounded like English to him.
She was gone.
Harry tried not to cry, but it was difficult. He would encounter her again, he told himself. He
would. He thought again about one of the last things she had said to him.
We each have a place where we are meant to be. This is mine.
Perhaps someday, Harry thought, I’ll be able to say that as confidently as she did. But for now,
he had the dark, moist soil under his fingers and the sun on his back and the smell of the garden
in his nose...
That was enough.
~*~*~*~*~ T H E~*~*~*~*~
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