Black and Potter | H. Potter

47 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆ beautiful mess.

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| BEAUTIFUL MESS |
song: end of beginning by djo.
TW: mentions of blood.

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I'VE JUST BEEN ATTACKED BY DEMENTORS AND I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here.

Harry copied these words into three separate pieces of parchment the moment he reached the desk in his dark bedroom. He addressed the first to Sirius, the second to Ron, and the third to Hermione.

It's fine, Nyx, I'm just glad you're okay. I want to know what's going on, you need to get me out of here, I know you of all people can understand.

This last letter was for Ara, and Harry had pondered on what to say for a moment, should he ask how she's doing? If she's angry? But he decided to keep it short, preferring to speak of these matters in person.

Hedwig was off hunting; her cage stood empty on the desk. Harry paced the bedroom waiting for her to come back, his head pounding, his brain too busy for sleep even though his eyes stung and itched with tiredness. His back ached from carrying Dudley home, and the two lumps on his head where the window and Dudley had hit him were throbbing painfully.

Up and down he paced, consumed with anger and frustration, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, casting angry looks out at the empty, star-strewn sky every time he passed the window, his gaze lingering on a particular constellation. Dementors sent to get him, Mrs. Figg and Mundungus Fletcher tailing him in secret, finding out that Ara knew he was being followed all along, then suspension from Hogwarts and a hearing at the Ministry of Magic — and still no one was telling him what was going on.

And what, what, had that Howler been about? Whose voice had echoed so horribly, so menacingly, through the kitchen?

Why was he still trapped here without information? Why was everyone treating him like some naughty kid? Don't do any more magic, stay in the house. . . .

He kicked his school trunk as he passed it, but far from relieving his anger, he felt worse, as he now had a sharp pain in his toe to deal with in addition to the pain in the rest of his body.

The only one who hadn't made him feel like he had done something wrong was Ara, she'd even congratulated him for fighting the dementors, and she hadn't sounded disappointed at all. . . .

Just as he limped past the window, Hedwig soared through it with a soft rustle of wings like a small ghost.

"About time!" Harry snarled, as she landed lightly on top of her cage. "You can put that down, I've got work for you!"

Hedwig's large round amber eyes gazed reproachfully at him over the dead frog clamped in her beak.

"Come here," said Harry, picking up the three small rolls of parchment and a leather thong and tying the scrolls to her scaly leg. "Take these straight to Ara, Sirius, Ron, and Hermione and don't come back here without good long replies. Keep pecking Ron and Hermione, till they've written decent-length answers if you've got to. Understand?"

Hedwig gave a muffled hooting noise, beak still full of frogs.

"Get going, then," said Harry.

She took off immediately. The moment she'd gone, Harry threw himself down onto his bed without undressing and stared at the dark ceiling. In addition to every other miserable feeling, he now felt guilty that he'd been irritable with Hedwig; she was the only friend he had at number four, Privet Drive. But he'd make it up to her when she came back.

They were bound to write back quickly; they couldn't possibly ignore a dementor attack. He'd probably wake up tomorrow to letters full of sympathy and plans for his immediate removal to the Burrow. And with that comforting idea, sleep rolled over him, stifling all further thought.

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ARA, RON, AND HERMIONE WERE TOLD NOT TO ANSWER HARRY'S LETTERS. To say that Ara was infuriated by this demand would be an understatement. They were told that it would be unnecessary since Harry would be joining them soon enough, though that didn't ease Ara's irritation. She had attempted to send one despite the rules that had been set but Hedwig and Pig had been taken away from her, much to her annoyance.

Now, she had her arms crossed and a scowl settled on her face as she sat in between Sirius and Atlas at the dinner table, she begrudgingly attended this particular meeting even though she hadn't wanted to, there were multiple members present this time and they were arranging who would go fetch Harry from Privet Drive tomorrow night. Ara's favourite Order member hadn't attended, Professor McGonagall was apparently too busy arranging things for the new term to be present, only adding to Ara's gloomy mood. The Professor had been present in a fair amount of meetings and each time, Ara would get her to at least stay ten more minutes to have tea.

Unsurprisingly, various people had volunteered to get Harry, many of them were excited about officially meeting The Boy Who Lived, and Ara had to stop herself from making a snarky comment. Most people were talking about him as if he were a piece in a museum that they were eager to see and Ara found it disgraceful. He wasn't something, he was someone, a person, not an object. She just hoped that when the time came they wouldn't overwhelm him.

"The group shall consist of nine members, we need one more," Dumbledore's voice brought Ara back to reality and she immediately perked up at the opportunity.

"I can—"

"Yeah, that's a no," Sirius cut her off, and she rolled her eyes.

"We're using brooms as transportation right?" Ara looked at Kingsley Shacklebolt, whom she'd met some time ago, the man was usually quiet but she liked his mysterious persona, he had a calming and recurring voice as well as a commanding stature that made him admirable. He nodded in confirmation. "I'm one of the best flyers, I can go—"

"As good as that is, you're not seventeen, remember?" Sirius pointed out, the other members watching the exchange quietly. Though most of the Order had been hesitant to let a kid such as Ara join, she'd quickly gained the respect of many, showing that even though she was young, she was just as willing and helpful as them.

"It's not supposed to be a dangerous mission, Dad!" Ara whined, even if she was tired most of the time, she still had enough energy in her to hold her ground.

"I 'gree with Sirius—"

"I suggest you nip it, Dung," Atlas said with fake sweetness, throwing Mundungus a heated glare as well. "This doesn't concern you."

Sirius sighed heavily, placing a hand on Ara's shoulder and whispering quietly only for her to hear, "pup, I—I don't want you overworking yourself, I know you have to be at least a little bit tired from all the meetings. . .I don't want you to put more pressure and responsibility on your shoulders, you're already doing more than enough, take tomorrow to rest, okay? Harry will be in good hands."

"I know he is, I mean Moony's going but. . ."

"You don't trust him with anyone but yourself," Sirius said, by now most of the Order was scattering around the kitchen, talking amongst themselves to give them a bit of privacy so that they could talk more freely. "You think he's safest with you."

Ara shook her head, "That's not it, it's just. . ." Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Fine, yeah, maybe that's it."

"Look, you two have gone through so many situations, so young. . .it's natural to want to protect each other, but just trust me on this one, can you do that?"

Ara reluctantly agreed, "Fine, but they still need one member so—" she threw a stern look at Atlas, "—you'll be the one going."

"Excuse me?" Atlas did a double take. "I didn't voluntee—"

"I did it for you," Ara smiled, narrowing her eyes, "you'll go, won't you? Or else something unfortunate might happen to you in your sleep."

"Woah, wait," Sirius held up a hand. "I didn't stop one of you from going just so the other one could go instead!"

"He's seventeen, Dad, he can make his own choices," Ara pointed out.

"This doesn't feel like I have a choice really," Atlas muttered under his breath, looking back at his sister. "You literally threatened me!"

"Did it work?"

Atlas frowned.

"Fine. . . I'll fetch lover-boy for you."

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"SO THEY'RE BRINGING HARRY TOMORROW?"

Ara nodded at Hermione's question as she sat on her bed, throwing Venus, who was curled up on her desk chair, a fond look. As soon as the meeting had ended, she'd dragged Ron and Hermione into her room so she could tell them all about how the Order would be bringing Harry tomorrow.

"Finally," Ron said. "Bloody owl's been pecking our fingers off,"

Ara chuckled, looking at Ron and Hermione's bandaged fingers, "can you blame him?"

"Of course we don't," Hermione said earnestly. "I suppose he'll be really angry tomorrow, won't he?"

Ron's face turned into a wince as he thought about the storm that would come soon enough.

"Maybe, maybe not," Ara shrugged, clearing her throat with discomfort. "I suppose you never know with him, especially now."

"When he arrives. . ." Hermione started off hesitantly, sharing a meaningful look with Ron. "Can you maybe talk to him first? Ease him up a bit?"

Ara raised an eyebrow, "you want to throw me into the lion's den?" She started to rub her temple, her eyebrows furrowing as she felt her head begin to pound with a fierce force, she blinked a couple of times, trying to make the dizziness go away. She'd managed to hide her constant headaches and faintness long enough, she couldn't be passing out right now, Ron and Hermione would just go tell Sirius, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and they'd all prohibit her from doing Legilimency. They were already concerned enough without even knowing the full length of her issues.

"Oh come off it," Ron scoffed. "He physically can't be angry with you, he'll eat us alive!"

"You think he won't—" Ara coughed into her palm, "—be angry with me too? Hell, he's probably more angry with me—" she cleared her throat painfully, feeling a metallic taste in her mouth, "—I haven't written a single letter to him besides that last one!"

Ron frowned as he looked closely at Ara's face, "You're bleeding. . ."

Ara's eyebrows furrowed as she touched her face, finally feeling the way the red liquid fell from her nose, "It happens sometimes."

"Never that much!" Hermione stood up from her place on the bed and made her way over to her to inspect it closely. "How many meetings have you attended this week?"

"I don't keep count. . .I don't know why—" Ara was cut off by her own cough, she placed her hand over her mouth as she felt the sudden need to throw up all over her carpet, though what her body expelled wasn't any food, just crimson blood. She became even more disgusted by the overwhelming metallic taste that overtook her senses as she scrunched up her nose in agony, images flashing through her mind

"Bloody hell," Ron was suddenly on his feet too, her friend and brother now towering over her. "Y'know I'm not sure this is normal—"

"Of course it isn't!" Hermione yelled exasperatedly, grabbing Ara's arm before glaring at Ron, "Help me take her to Sirius!"

Ara could barely hear or feel the both of them now, she screwed her eyes shut, as an involuntary tear of pain trickled down her cheek, she hoped for darkness to fill her vision but her hopes were torn down as scenes filled her head. There was a cave, a cave so dark one could barely see their own hands, there was a very small island surrounded by water. . .water that contained humans or things that once were people, she couldn't tell.

"I don't like this Hermione. . ." Ron muttered, looking sideways at his sister who had a blood-smeared face.

"Just help me—!"

"What happened?" came in Bill's frantic voice, who was standing at the bottom of the staircase with Atlas by his side, before either teen could even utter a word, both of the elder brothers were rapidly making their way towards them.

Bill cupped Ara's face, where her barely conscious eyes were fluttering.

"We—we were just talking and–and then she just–started bleeding," Hermione talked at her fast pace, stumbling over her words as she looked towards her friend worriedly, tears in her eyes. "We didn't know what to do—"

"We need to bring her downstairs," Atlas said, as he and Bill were now the ones supporting her weight, he looked at Ara, "Hey, hey, Ara, can you hear me? Nod if you can."

Ara gave a tired nod as she suppressed the urge to let her weight fall onto the ground where she wanted to lie for days.

"I need you to stay awake okay? We'll get you help. . . ."

But Atlas' words were drowned by the ringing in her ears, and the colours surrounding her faded away. Finally, her wish came true, and she was swallowed by a void of darkness.

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ON THE FOURTH NIGHT AFTER HEDWIG'S DEPARTURE HARRY WAS lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.

"We're going out," he said.

"Sorry?"

"We — that is to say, your aunt, Dudley, and I — are going out."

"Fine," said Harry dully, looking back at the ceiling.

"You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away."

"Okay."

"You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions."

"Right."

"You are not to steal food from the fridge."

"Okay."

"I am going to lock your door."

"You do that."

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, clearly suspicious of this lack of argument, then stomped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Harry heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later he heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive.

Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned.

The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.

And then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below.

He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard their car.

There was silence for a few seconds, and then he heard voices. Burglars, he thought, sliding off the bed onto his feet — but a split second later it occurred to him that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so.

He snatched up his wand from his bedside table and stood facing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.

Harry stood motionless, staring through the open door at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment and then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs.

His heart shot upward into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; nine or ten of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.

"Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out," said a low, growling voice.

"No need to get defensive, Harry," said another voice, this one more soft.

Harry's heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew those voices, but he did not lower his wand.

"Professor Moody?" he said uncertainly. "Atlas?"

"The one and only," said the much younger voice, and someone nudged him to be quiet.

"I don't know so much about 'Professor,' " growled the voice of Moody, "never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly."

Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it, nor did he move. He had very good reason to be suspicious. He had recently spent nine months in what he had thought was Mad-Eye Moody's company only to find out that it wasn't Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who had tried to kill Harry before being unmasked, and someone could have used Polyjuice potion to look like Atlas. But before he could make a decision about what to do next, a second, slightly hoarse voice floated upstairs.

"It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away."

Harry's heart leapt. He knew that voice too, though he hadn't heard it for more than a year.

"P-Professor Lupin?" he said disbelievingly. "Is that you?"

"Why are we all standing in the dark? Atlas, move over," said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman's. "Lumos."

A wand tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing intently up at him, some craning their heads for a better look.

Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Remus looked tired and rather ill; he had more grey hair than when Harry had said good-bye to him, and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back through his shock.

"Oooh, he looks just like how Ara described him," said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there, besides Atlas; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet.  "Wotcher, Harry!"

"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus," said a bald black wizard standing farthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. "He looks exactly like James."

"Except the eyes," said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. "Lily's eyes."

"Yeah, yeah, he's gorgeous, can we get going?" said Atlas impatiently, he was standing beside Remus, looking as bored as ever with a smirk plastered across his face as he winked at Harry.

Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled grey hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harry through his mismatched eyes. One of the eyes was small, dark, and beady, the other large, round, and electric blue — the magical eye that could see through walls, doors, and the back of Moody's own head.

"Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?" he growled. "It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"

"No need for that," Atlas cut in. "Not many people know this—Harry, how does my sister like her tea? What does she put in it?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows at him, not understanding the meaning of the question but answering anyway, "Uh, with one teaspoon of honey."

"Yeah, it's him, he's down bad," Atlas chuckled along with a few others making Harry turn a pale shade of pink.

"Shhh," Remus shushed them to be quiet, though seeming amused himself. "Harry, what form does your Patronus take?"

"A stag," said Harry nervously and still flustered by the previous question.

"That's him, Mad-Eye," said Remus.

Harry descended the stairs, very conscious of everybody still staring at him, stowing his wand into the back pocket of his jeans as he came.

"Don't put your wand there, boy!" roared Moody. "What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!"

"Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?" the violet-haired woman and Atlas asked Mad-Eye interestedly.

"Never you two mind, you just keep your wand out of your back pocket!" growled Mad-Eye. "Elementary wand safety, nobody bothers about it anymore. . . ." He stumped off toward the kitchen. "And I saw that," he added irritably, as Atlas rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

Remus held out his hand and shook Harry's.

"How are you?" he asked, looking at Harry closely.

"F-fine . . ."

Harry could hardly believe this was real. Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove him from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this were a long-standing arrangement. He glanced at the people surrounding Remus; they were still gazing avidly at him. He felt very conscious of the fact that he had not combed his hair for four days.

"I'm — you're really lucky the Dursleys are out . . ." he mumbled.

"Lucky, ha!" said the violet-haired woman. "It was me that lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition, it was Ara's idea, brilliant girl she is, pity she couldn't come. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now. . . .Or they think they are."

Harry had a fleeting vision of Uncle Vernon's face when he realised there was no All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition and he felt the urge to grin.

"How do you know Ara? Is she okay?" he said when no one else spoke, his heart was hammering in his chest in anticipation, maybe they were finally going to tell him something.

"We'll explain everything later," said Atlas with a teasing smile, looking as if Harry's question satisfied him to no end, though there was an edge to his voice. "But she's. . . fine."

Harry had to stop himself from rolling his eyes, he wouldn't believe that until he saw it himself, but decided to ask no more questions about that matter.

"We are leaving, aren't we?" he asked. "Soon?"

"Almost at once," said Remus, "we're just waiting for the all-clear."

"Where are we going? The Burrow?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Not the Burrow, no," said Remus, motioning Harry toward the kitchen; the little knot of wizards followed, all still eyeing Harry curiously. "Too risky. We've set up headquarters somewhere undetectable."

Mad-Eye Moody was now sitting at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, his magical eye spinning in all directions, taking in the Dursleys' many labour-saving appliances.

"This is Alastor Moody, Harry," Remus continued, pointing toward Moody.

"Yeah, I know," said Harry uncomfortably; it felt odd to be introduced to somebody he'd thought he'd known for a year.

"And this is Nymphadora —"

"Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus," said the young witch with a shudder. "It's Tonks."

"— Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only," finished Remus.

"So would you if your fool of a mother had called you 'Nymphadora,' " muttered Tonks.

"And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt" — he indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed — "Elphias Doge" — the wheezy-voiced wizard nodded — "Dedalus Diggle —"

"We've met before," squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his top hat.

"— Emmeline Vance" — a stately looking witch in an emerald green shawl inclined her head — "Sturgis Podmore" — a square-jawed wizard with thick, straw-coloured hair winked — "and Hestia Jones." A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster.

Harry inclined his head awkwardly at each of them as they were introduced. He wished they would look at something other than him; it was as though he had suddenly been ushered onstage. He also wondered why so many of them were there.

"A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you," said Remus, as though he had read Harry's mind; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

"Well, Ara would kill me if I didn't so I was technically forced," Atlas pointed out, but everyone ignored him, making him throw his arms up in annoyance.

"Yeah, well, the more the better," said Moody darkly. "We're your guard, Potter."

"We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off," said Remus, glancing out of the kitchen window. "We've got about fifteen minutes."

"Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?" said the witch called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. "My Dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just like with wizards?"

"Er — yeah," said Harry. "Look" — he turned back to Remus —"what's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol — ?"

Several of the witches and wizards made odd hissing noises; Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again, and Moody growled, "Shut up!"

"What?" said Harry.

"We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky," said Moody, turning his normal eye on Harry; his magical eye remained pointing up at the ceiling. "Damn it," he added angrily, putting a hand up to the magical eye, "it keeps sticking — ever since that scum wore it —"

And with a nasty squelching sound much like a plunger being pulled from a sink, he popped out his eye.

"Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?" said Tonks conversationally.

"Get me a glass of water, would you, Harry?" asked Moody.

Harry crossed to the dishwasher, took out a clean glass, and filled it with water at the sink, still watched eagerly by the band of wizards. Their relentless staring was starting to annoy him.

"Cheers," said Moody, when Harry handed him the glass. He dropped the magical eyeball into the water and prodded it up and down; the eye whizzed around, staring at them all in turn. "I want three-hundred-and-sixty degrees visibility on the return journey."

"How're we getting — wherever we're going?" Harry asked.

"Brooms," said Remus. "Only way. They'll be watching the Floo Network, and it's more than our life's worth to set up an unauthorised Portkey."

"Remus says you're a good flyer," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice.

"He's excellent," said Remus, who was checking his watch. "Anyway, you'd better go and get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes."

"I'll come and help you," said Tonks brightly. She followed Harry back into the hall and up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest.

"Funny place," she said, "it's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? It's a bit unnatural. Oh, this is better," she added, as they entered Harry's bedroom and he turned on the light.

His room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Harry had not bothered tidying up after himself. Most of the books he owned were strewn over the floor where he'd tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside. Hedwig's cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell, and his trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizard's robes that had spilt onto the floor around it.

Harry started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk. Tonks paused at his open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.

"You know, I don't think purple's really my colour," she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. "D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?"

"Er —" said Harry, looking up at her over the top of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland.

"Yeah, it does, Ara said to try pink," said Tonks decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she were struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.

"How did you do that?" said Harry, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.

"I'm a Metamorphmagus," she said, looking back at her reflection and turning her head so that she could see her hair from all directions.

"Oh, so. . .you can change whenever you want, right?" Harry said, recalling what Ara had said to him the night that they were doing research for the second task.

"Yup! I can change my appearance at will," she beamed. "I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great."

"You're an Auror?" said Harry, impressed.

"Yeah," said Tonks, looking proud. "Kingsley is as well; he's a bit higher up than I am, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking, I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?"

"You have to be born a Metamorphmagus, right?" Harry asked her, straightening up, completely forgetting about packing.

Tonks chuckled.

"Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?" Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.

"No, I wouldn't mind," Harry mumbled, turning away. He did not like people staring at his scar.

"Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid," said Tonks. "Metamorphmagi are really rare, like you said, they're born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand or potions to change their appearance. . . . But we've got to get going, Harry, we're supposed to be packing," she added guiltily, looking around at all the mess on the floor.

"Oh — yeah," said Harry, grabbing up a few more books.

"Don't be stupid, it'll be much quicker if I — pack!" cried Tonks, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor.

Books, clothes, telescope, and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk.

"It's not very neat," said Tonks, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside. "My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly — she even gets the socks to fold themselves — but I've never mastered how she does it — it's a kind of flick —"

She flicked her wand hopefully; one of Harry's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess within.

"Ah, well," said Tonks, slamming the trunk's lid shut, "at least it's all in. That could do with a bit of cleaning, too — Scourgify —" She pointed her wand at Hedwig's cage; a few feathers and droppings vanished. "Well, that's a bit better — I've never quite got the hang of these sort of householdy spells. Right — got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! You've got a Firebolt too? Ara showed me hers the day we met, she even let me fly it, we caused a bit of chaos around the house but she seemed amused."

"Sound like Ara," he gave a meek smile.

"And I'm still riding a Comet Two Sixty," said Tonks enviously. "Ah well . . . wand still in your jeans? Both buttocks still on? Okay, let's go. Locomotor Trunk."

Harry's trunk rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductor's baton, Tonks made it hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Hedwig's cage in her left hand.

"Wait—just one more thing," Harry stopped on his steps. Tonks turned to look at him. "Everybody keeps telling me the same thing, that Ara's okay, but it doesn't feel that way for some reason, I-I feel like they're lying to me, so, can you be honest with me, please?"

Tonks sighed heavily.

"You know Ara better than me, Harry," she started, placing a hand on his shoulder, "but from what I've picked up I've noticed that she's very closed off when it comes to talking about what's troubling her, so I can't really tell you how she is, because I don't know. Truly, I have no idea what goes on in that head of hers, I'm not sure anyone does, but I can tell you that she needs someone there for her, someone who understands her. I know her family has tried and they really make an effort, but as much as they want I don't think they can really comprehend what she feels or how she thinks. In my opinion, what Ara needs is you. You were there with her, you're the only one that can really relate to what she feels. I think when you see her you should try to get her to talk, everyone's going mad with worry especially after. . .nevermind."

Without saying anything else she turned around and continued walking, Harry followed her down the stairs carrying his broomstick, his mind racing. After what? What had happened? He clenched his jaw, his worries simply doubling as endless horrible possibilities rushed through his thoughts. Had no one truly managed to actually get a read on her? The rational part of Harry was telling him that it wasn't anybody's fault that Ara was so closed off, but the irrational one was screaming in anger, asking, how could they not get past that wall that she'd built?

Back in the kitchen, Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made Harry feel sick. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Atlas Black, and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. Remus was sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys.

"Excellent," said Remus, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. "We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harry, I've left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry —"

"They won't," said Harry.

"That you're safe —"

"That'll just depress them."

"— and you'll see them next summer."

"Do I have to?"

Remus smiled but made no answer.

"Unless my mental sister kidnaps you," mumbled Atlas, though no one heard him except for Harry, making him smile lightly.

"Come here, boy," said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harry toward him with his wand. "I need to Disillusion you."

"You need to what?" said Harry nervously.

"Disillusionment Charm," said Moody, raising his wand. "Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying; this'll disguise you better. Here you go —"

He rapped Harry hard on the top of the head and Harry felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down his body from the point the wand had struck.

"Nice one, Mad-Eye," said Tonks appreciatively, staring at Harry's midriff.

Harry looked down at his body, or rather, what had been his body, for it didn't look anything like his anymore. It was not invisible; it had simply taken on the exact colour and texture of the kitchen unit behind him. He seemed to have become a human chameleon.

"Come on," said Moody, unlocking the back door with his wand. They all stepped outside onto Uncle Vernon's beautifully kept lawn.

"Clear night," grunted Moody, his magical eye scanning the heavens. "Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you," he barked at Harry, "we're going to be flying in close formation. Black and Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on their tails. Lupin'll be covering you from below. I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed —"

"Is that likely?" Harry asked apprehensively, but Moody ignored him.

"— the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you."

"Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he'll think we're not taking this seriously," said Tonks, as she strapped Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage into a harness hanging from her broom.

"I'm just telling the boy the plan," growled Moody. "Our job's to deliver him safely to headquarters and if we die in the attempt —"

"No one's going to die," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.

"Yet at least," said Atlas, but when everyone just stared at him silently, he cleared his throat and muttered under his breath, "I'll just shut up now."

He mounted his broom and stood beside Tonks.

"Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!" said Remus sharply, pointing into the sky.

Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harry recognized them at once as wand sparks. He swung his right leg over his Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly, and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as he was to be up in the air once more.

"Second signal, let's go!" said Remus loudly, as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them.

Harry kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through his hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks, and every thought of the Ministry hearing was swept from his mind as though the rush of air had blown it out of his head.

"Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!" shouted Moody from behind him. Tonks and Atlas swerved and Harry followed them, watching his trunk swinging wildly beneath Tonks' broom. "We need more height.. . . Give it another quarter of a mile!"

Harry's eyes watered in the chill as they soared upward; he could see nothing below now but tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and street lamps. Two of those tiny lights might belong to Uncle Vernon's car. . . . The Dursleys would be heading back to their empty house right now, full of rage about the nonexistent lawn competition. . . and Harry laughed aloud at the thought, though his voice was drowned by the flapping of the others' robes, the creaking of the harness holding his trunk and the cage, the whoosh of the wind in their ears as they sped through the air. He had not felt this alive in a month, or this happy. . . .

"Bearing south!" shouted Mad-Eye. "Town ahead!"

They soared right so that they did not pass directly over the glittering spider web of lights below.

"Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!" called Moody.

"We're not going through clouds!" shouted Tonks angrily. "We'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!"

Harry was relieved to hear her say this; his hands were growing numb on the Firebolt's handle. He wished he had thought to put on a coat; he was starting to shiver. They altered their course every now and then according to Mad-Eye's instructions.

Harry's eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was starting to make his ears ache. He could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in his third year, which had taken place in a storm. The guard around him was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Harry lost track of time. He wondered how long they had been flying; it felt like an hour at least.

"Turning southwest!" yelled Moody. "We want to avoid the motorway!"

Harry was now so chilled that he thought longingly for a moment of the snug, dry interiors of the cars streaming along below, then, even more longingly, of travelling by Floo powder; it might be uncomfortable to spin around in fireplaces but it was at least warm in the flames.. . . Kingsley Shacklebolt swooped around him, bald pate and earring gleaming slightly in the moonlight. . . . Now Emmeline Vance was on his right, her wand out, her head turning left and right . . . then she too swooped over him, to be replaced by Sturgis Podmore. . . .

"We ought to double back for a bit, just to make sure we're not being followed!" Moody shouted.

"ARE YOU MAD, MAD-EYE?" Tonks screamed from the front.

"DO YOU REALLY HAVE TO ASK?" Atlas shouted, his dark puffy hair getting all over his face.

"We're all frozen to our brooms! If we keep going off course we're not going to get there until next week! We're nearly there now!"

"Time to start the descent!" came Remus' voice. "Follow Tonks and Atlas, Harry!"

Harry followed Tonks and Atlas into a dive. They were heading for the largest collection of lights he had yet seen, a huge, sprawling, crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patches of deepest black. Lower and lower they flew, until Harry could see individual headlights and street lamps, chimneys, and television aerials. He wanted to reach the ground very much, though he felt sure that someone would have to unfreeze him from his broom.

"Here we go!" called Tonks, and a few seconds later she and Atlas had landed. Harry touched down right behind them and dismounted on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. Atlas was already unbuckling Harry's trunk. Shivering, Harry looked around. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the street lamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, but Remus said quietly, "In a minute."

Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold.

"Got it," he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it.

The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again; the next lamp went out. He kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only light in the square came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.

"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," growled Moody, pocketing the Put-Outer. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now, come on, quick."

He took Harry by the arm and led him from the patch of grass, across the road, and onto the pavement. Remus and Atlas followed, carrying Harry's trunk between them, the rest of the guard, all with their wands out, flanking them.

The muffled pounding of a stereo was coming from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate.

"Here," Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment toward Harry's Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. "Read quickly and memorise."

Harry looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said:

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

"What's the Order of the — ?" Harry began.

"Not here, boy!" snarled Moody. "Wait till we're inside!"

He pulled the piece of parchment out of Harry's hand and set fire to it with his wand tip. As the message curled into flames and floated to the ground, Harry looked around at the houses again. They were standing outside number eleven; he looked to the left and saw number ten; to the right, however, was number thirteen.

"But where's — ?"

"Think about what you've just memorised," said Remus quietly.

Harry thought, and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a beaten door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, quickly followed by weakened walls and dirty windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. Harry gaped at it.

"Come on, hurry," growled Moody, prodding Harry in the back.

Harry walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialised door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver door knocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox.

Remus pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.

"Get in quick, Harry," Remus whispered. "But don't go far inside and don't touch anything."

Harry stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. He looked over his shoulder and saw the others filing in behind him, Remus and Atlas carrying his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Moody was standing on the top step and releasing the balls of light the Put-Outer had stolen from the street lamps; they flew back to their bulbs and the square beyond glowed momentarily with orange light before Moody limped inside and closed the front door, so that the darkness in the hall became complete.

"Here —"

He rapped Harry hard over the head with his wand; Harry felt as though something hot was trickling down his back this time and knew that the Disillusionment Charm must have lifted.

"Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light in here," Moody whispered.

The others' hushed voices were giving Harry an odd feeling of foreboding; it was as though they had just entered the house of a dying person. There was peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of along, gloomy hallway, and a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls.

There were hurried footsteps and Mrs. Weasley emerged from a door at the far end of the hall. She was beaming in welcome as she hurried toward them, though Harry noticed that she was rather thinner and paler than she had been last time he had seen her.

"Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!" she whispered, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. "You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid. . . ."

She turned to the gang of wizards behind him and whispered urgently, "He's just arrived, the meeting's started. . . ."

The wizards behind Harry all made noises of interest and excitement and began filing past Harry toward the door through which Mrs. Weasley had just come; Harry made to follow Remus, but Mrs. Weasley held him back.

"No, Harry, the meeting's only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meeting's over and then we'll have dinner. And keep your voice down in the hall," she added in an urgent whisper.

"Why?"

"I don't want to wake anything up."

"What d'you — ?"

"I'll explain later, I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be at the meeting — I'll just show you where the rest are."

Pressing her finger to her lips, she led him on tiptoes past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains, behind which Harry supposed there must be another door, and after skirting a large umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg, they started up the dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. A closer look showed Harry that the heads belonged to house-elves. All of them had the same rather snout-like nose.

Harry's bewilderment deepened with every step he took. What on earth were they doing in a house that looked as though it belonged to the Darkest of wizards?

"Mrs. Weasley, why — ?"

"Ron and Hermione will explain everything, dear, I've really got to dash," Mrs. Weasley whispered distractedly. "There" — they had reached the second landing — "They're in there. I'll call you when it's over."

And she hurried off downstairs again.

Harry crossed the dinghy landing, turned the bedroom doorknob, which was shaped like a serpent's head, and opened the door.

He caught a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged, twin-bedded room, then there was a loud twittering noise, followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision was completely obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair — Hermione had thrown herself onto him in a hug, while Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zoomed excitedly round and round their heads.

"HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you alright? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless — but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got to tell us — the dementors! When we heard — and that Ministry hearing — it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations —"

"Let him breathe, Hermione," said Ron, grinning, closing the door behind Harry. He seemed to have grown several more inches during their month apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever, though the long nose, bright red hair, and freckles were the same.

Hermione, still beaming, let go of Harry, but before she could say another word there was a soft whooshing sound and something white soared from the top of a dark wardrobe and landed gently on Harry's shoulder.

"Hedwig!"

The snowy owl clicked her beak and nibbled his ear affectionately as Harry stroked her feathers.

"She's been in a right state," said Ron. "Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, except Ara obviously, look at this —"

He showed Harry the index finger of his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly deep cut.

"Oh yeah," Harry said. "Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know. . . ."

"We wanted to give them to you, mate," said Ron. "Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us —"

"— swear not to tell me," said Harry. "Yeah, Hermione's already said."

The warm glow that had flared inside him at the sight of his two best friends was extinguished as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden — after yearning to see them for a solid month — he felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone.

There was a strained silence in which Harry stroked Hedwig automatically, not looking at either of the others.

"He seemed to think it was best," said Hermione rather breathlessly. "Dumbledore, I mean."

"Right," said Harry. He noticed that her hands too bore the marks of Hedwig's beak and found that he was not at all sorry.

"I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles —" Ron began.

"Yeah?" said Harry, raising his eyebrows. "Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?"

"Well, no — but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time —"

Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone knew he was being followed except him.

"Didn't work that well, though, did it?" said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. "Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?"

"He was so angry," said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. "Dumbledore. We saw him when he came back from the Ministry, he was scary. Ara was furious too, I've never seen her like that, Atlas had to hold her back from practically killing Mundungus."

"Well, I'm glad Mundungus left," Harry said coldly, deciding not to ask about Ara just yet. "If he hadn't, I wouldn't have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer."

"Aren't you . . . aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?" said Hermione quietly.

"No," Harry lied defiantly. He walked away from them, looking around, with Hedwig nestled contentedly on his shoulder, but this room was not likely to raise his spirits. It was dank and dark. A blank stretch of canvas in an ornate picture frame was all that relieved the bareness of the peeling walls and as Harry passed it he thought he heard someone lurking out of sight snigger.

"So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?" Harry asked, still trying hard to keep his voice casual. "Did you —er — bother to ask him at all?"

He glanced up just in time to see them exchanging a look that told him he was behaving just as they had feared he would. It did nothing to improve his temper.

"We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on," said Ron. "We did, mate. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted —"

"He could still've kept me informed if he'd wanted to," Harry said shortly. "You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls."

Hermione glanced at Ron and then said, "I thought that too. But he didn't want you to know anything."

"Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted," said Harry, watching their expressions.

"Don't be thick," said Ron, looking highly disconcerted.

"Or that I can't take care of myself —"

"Of course he doesn't think that!" said Hermione anxiously.

"So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys' while you two get to join in everything that's going on here?" said Harry, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. "How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on — ?"

"We're not!" Ron interrupted. "Mum won't let us near the meetings, except for Ara, she says we're too young —"

But before he knew it, Harry was shouting.

"SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED ALONG WITH ARA AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT — WHO SAVED THE SORCERER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?"

Every bitter and resentful thought that Harry had had in the past month was pouring out of him; his frustration at the lack of news, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it: All the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst their boundaries. Hedwig took fright at the noise and soared off on top of the wardrobe again; Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even faster around their heads.

"WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? ME! WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME AND ARA!"

Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, while Hermione looked on the verge of tears.

"BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?"

"Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did —" Hermione began.

"CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR —"

"Well, he did —"

"FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON —"

"We wanted to —"

"I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER —"

"No, honest —"

"Harry, we're really sorry!" said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. "You're absolutely right, Harry — I'd be furious if it was me!"

Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. Hedwig hooted glumly from the top of the wardrobe. There was a long pause, broken only by the mournful creak of the floorboards below Harry's feet.

"What is this place anyway?" he shot at Ron and Hermione.

"Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," said Ron at once.

"Is anyone going to bother telling me what the Order of the Phoenix — ?"

"It's a secret society," said Hermione quickly. "Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time."

"Who's in it?" said Harry, coming to a halt with his hands in his pockets.

"Quite a few people —"

"— we've met about twenty of them," said Ron, "but we think there are more. . . ."

Harry glared at them.

"Ara's in it as well," muttered Ron quietly.

"What?" said Harry.

"She's allowed to attend meetings, sometimes she sneaks us information,"

Harry clenched his jaw and finally asked the question he'd been meaning to ask all summer.

"Where is Ara?"

Ron and Hermione shared nervous glances.

"She's sleeping right now—" Hermione began.

"Ara? She never sleeps this early," said Harry, unconvinced.

"She's apparently been overworking herself," Ron explained, staring at Harry cautiously.

"What do you mean—"

"Being in the order is exhausting for her, we know how she's able to access You-Know-Who's mind, and doing it. . .it takes quite a lot of energy, we just never knew how tired she really felt, she'd been hiding it and yesterday her body couldn't take it anymore and her nose was starting to bleed quite a lot very suddenly, she basically threw up blood as well and she also. . .was unconscious for a bit," said Hermione, chewing her bottom lip nervously.

"She was what?"

"But she's handling it!" said Ron hastily, seeing the look on Harry's face, "she wasn't out for that long."

"No person that accesses Voldemort's mind is fine!" Harry spat, he was sick and tired of everyone treating Ara as if she was unbreakable, everybody had their limits, and he was sure she had already hit hers or was about to. "Why haven't you tried to stop her from—"

"We tried, Harry, really," said Hermione, ashamed, "but you know how she is, she's stubborn."

"Sirius agreed with this?" said Harry, outraged.

"No, he's argued a lot with Dumbledore, we can always hear him yelling at him, Mum and Dad as well, yesterday they all told him that Ara wouldn't attend meetings anymore, Mum was hysterical, and Bill had to get her out of the house," said Ron, choosing his words carefully, trying not to set him off. "Ria's sleeping it off right now,"

Harry ran his tongue against his cheek frustratedly, grinding his teeth together. How didn't anyone see? How could they let Ara overwork herself to the point that she was so exhausted that she fainted? He wanted to go back downstairs and let his anger out on all of them.

He stayed silent for a moment but decided to change the topic because it was just going to infuriate him more if he kept talking about it.

"Well?" he demanded, looking from one to the other.

"Er," said Ron. "Well what?"

"Voldemort!" said Harry furiously, and both Ron and Hermione winced. "What's happening? What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?"

"We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings," said Hermione nervously. "So we don't know the details — but we've got a general idea thanks to Ara and—" she added hastily, seeing the look on Harry's face.

"Fred and George, they have invented Extendable Ears, see," said Ron."They're really useful."

"Extendable — ?"

"Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide the mall to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realised what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know —"

"— some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order —" said Hermione.

"— and some of them are standing guard over something," said Ron. "They're always talking about guard duty."

"Couldn't have been me, could it?" said Harry sarcastically.

"Oh yeah," said Ron, with a look of dawning comprehension. Harry snorted. He walked around the room again, looking anywhere but at Ron and Hermione.

"So what have you two been doing, if you're not allowed in meetings?" he demanded. "You said you'd been busy."

"We have," said Hermione quickly. "We've been decontaminating this house, it's been empty for ages and stuff's been breeding in here. We've managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms, and I think we're doing the drawing room tomo — AARGH!"

With two loud cracks, Fred and George had materialised out of thin air in the middle of the room. Pigwidgeon twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off to join Hedwig on top of the wardrobe.

"Stop doing that!" Hermione said weakly to the twins.

"Hello, Harry," said George, beaming at him. "We thought we heard your dulcet tones, better tone it down, mate, our baby sis appreciates quiet when she sleeps."

Harry cursed himself for screaming so loud.

"You don't want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out, quietly though," said Fred, also beaming.

"You two passed your Apparation tests, then?" asked Harry grumpily.

"With distinction," said Fred, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-coloured string.

"It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs," said Ron.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," said Fred. "Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception. Extendable Ears," he added in response to

Harry's raised eyebrows, holding up the string, which Harry now saw was trailing out onto the landing. "We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs."

"You want to be careful," said Ron, staring at the ear. "If Mum sees one of them again . . ."

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having," said Fred.

The door opened and a long mane of red hair appeared.

"Oh hello, Harry!" said Ara and Ron's younger sister, Ginny, nodding at him. "I thought I heard your voice, better shut up, Ara doesn't sleep much these days," she added, giving them all a pointed look.

Turning to Fred and George she said, "It's no go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"How d'you know?" said George, looking crestfallen.

"Tonks and Ara told me how to find out," said Ginny. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."

Fred heaved a deep sigh. "Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."

"Snape?" said Harry quickly. "Is he here?"

"Yeah," said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred and Ginny followed. "Giving a report. Top Secret."

"Git," said Fred idly.

"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron snorted. "Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us. . . ."

"Bill doesn't like him either," said Ginny, as though that settled the matter.

Harry was not sure his anger had abated yet; but his thirst for information and the fact that Ara was sleeping were now overcoming his urge to keep shouting. He sank onto the bed opposite the others.

"Is Bill here?" he asked. "I thought he was working in Egypt."

"He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order," said Fred. "He says he misses the tombs, but," he smirked, "there are compensations. . . ."

"What d'you mean?"

"Remember old Fleur Delacour?" said George. "She's got a job at Gringotts to eemprove 'er Eeenglish —"

"— and Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons," sniggered Fred.

"Charlie's in the Order too," said George, "but he's still in Romania, Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off."

"Couldn't Percy do that?" Harry asked. The last he had heard, the third Weasley brother was working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the Ministry of Magic.

At these words all the Weasleys and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks.

"Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad," Ron told Harry in a tense voice.

"Why not?

"Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying," Fred said.

"It's been awful," said Ginny sadly.

"I think we're well shut of him," said George with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

"What's happened?" Harry said.

"Percy and Dad had a row," said Fred. "I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts. . . ."

"It was the second week back after term ended, after Ara and Atlas left," said Ron. "We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted."

"You're kidding?" said Harry.

Though he knew perfectly well that Percy was highly ambitious, Harry's impression was that Percy had not made a great success of his first job at the Ministry of Magic. Percy had committed the fairly large oversight of failing to notice that his boss was being controlled by Lord Voldemort (not that the Ministry had believed that — they all thought that Mr. Crouch had gone mad).

"Yeah, we were all surprised," said George, "because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realised Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain. . . ."

"So how come they promoted him?"

"That's exactly what we wondered," said Ron, who seemed very keen to keep normal conversation going now that Harry had stopped yelling. "He came home really pleased with himself — even more pleased than usual if you can imagine that — and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts — Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think."

"Only Dad wasn't," said Fred grimly.

"Why not?" said Harry.

"Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore," said George.

"Dumbledore's name's mud with the Ministry these days, see," said Fred. "They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Who's back."

"Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks," said George.

"Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession —"

"But what's this got to do with Percy?" asked Harry, confused."I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family — and Dumbledore."

Harry let out a low whistle.

"Bet Percy loved that."

Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way.

"He went completely berserk. He said — well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been — you know — not had a lot of money, I mean —"

"What?" said Harry in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.

"I know," said Ron in a low voice. "And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he — Percy — knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family anymore. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now."

Harry swore under his breath. He had always liked Percy least of Ron and Ara's brothers, but he had never imagined he would say such things to Mr. Weasley.

"Mum's been in a right state," said Ron. "You know — crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work —ignores him, I s'pose."

"But Percy must  know Voldemort's back," said Harry slowly. "He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof —"

"Yeah, well, yours and Ara's names got dragged into the row," said Ron, shooting Harry a furtive look. "Percy said the only evidence were your and Ara's words and . . . I dunno . . . he didn't think it was good enough apparently, the spineless wanker."

"Percy takes the Daily Prophet  seriously," said Hermione tartly, and the others all nodded.

"So seriously that he doesn't believe his own sister," said George.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, looking around at them all. They were all regarding him warily.

"Haven't — haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet?" Hermione asked nervously.

"Yeah, I have!" said Harry.

"Have you — er — been reading it thoroughly?" Hermione asked still more anxiously.

"Not cover to cover," said Harry defensively. "If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it!"

The others flinched at the sound of the name.

Hermione hurried on, "Well, you'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they — um — they mention you a couple of times a week."

"But I'd have seen —"

"Not if you've only been reading the front page, you wouldn't," said Hermione, shaking her head. "I'm not talking about big articles. They just slip you and Ara in, like you're both a standing joke."

"What d'you — ?"

"It's quite nasty, actually," said Hermione in a voice of forced calm."They're just building on Rita's stuff."

"But she's not writing for them anymore, is she?"

"Oh no, she's kept her promise — not that she's got any choice," Hermione added with satisfaction. "But she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now."

"Which is what?" said Harry impatiently.

"Okay, you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that?"

"Yeah," said Harry, who was not likely to forget Rita Skeeter's stories about him in a hurry.

"Well, they're writing about you as though you're this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero or something, they're also saying that Ara is desperate for attention and that's why she's supporting you," said Hermione, very fast, as though it would be less unpleasant for Harry to hear these facts quickly. "They keep slipping in snide comments about you and Ara. If some far-fetched story appears they say something like 'a tale worthy of Harry Potter and Ara Black' and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's 'let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next —' "

"I don't want anyone to worship —" Harry began hotly.

"I know you don't," said Hermione quickly, looking frightened. "I know, Harry. But you see what they're doing? They want to turn you and Ara into people nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you and Ara are just some stupid boy and girl who are a bit of a joke, you who tells ridiculous tall stories because you love being famous and want to keep it going, and because Ara is so desperate for fame and is so obsessed with you."

"I didn't ask — I didn't want — Voldemort killed my parents!" Harry spluttered. "I got famous because he murdered my family but couldn't kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don't they think I'd rather it'd never happened? And Ara isn't some desperate attention-seeking girl —"

"We know, Harry," said Ginny earnestly.

"And of course, they didn't report a word about the dementors attacking you," said Hermione. "Someone's told them to keep that quiet. That should've been a really big story, out-of-control dementors. They haven't even reported that you broke the International Statute of Secrecy — we thought they would, it would tie in so well with this image of you as some stupid show-off — we think they're biding their time until you're expelled, then they're really going to go to town — I mean, if you're expelled, obviously," she went on hastily, "you really shouldn't be, not if they abide by their own laws, there's no case against you."

They were back on the hearing and Harry did not want to think about it. He cast around for another change of subject, but was saved by the necessity of finding one by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Uh-oh."

Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug; there was another loud crack and he and George vanished. Seconds later, Mrs. Weasley and Atlas appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"The meeting's over, you can come down and have dinner now, everyone's dying to see you, Harry," said Atlas, giving a strained smile before going downstairs again. Harry briefly wondered what happened to make Atlas look so down.

"And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?" said Mrs. Weasley

"Crookshanks," said Ginny unblushingly. "He loves playing with them."

"Oh," said Mrs. Weasley, "I thought it might have been Kreacher, he keeps doing odd things like that. Now don't forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are filthy, what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please. . . ."

Ginny grimaced at the others and followed her mother out of the room, leaving Harry alone with Ron and Hermione again. Both of them were watching him apprehensively, as though they feared that he would start shouting again now that everyone else had gone. The sight of them looking so nervous made him feel slightly ashamed.

"Look . . ." he muttered, but Ron shook his head, and Hermione said quietly, "We knew you'd be angry, Harry, we really don't blame you, but you've got to understand, we did try and persuade Dumbledore, Ara tried multiple times to —"

"Yeah, I know," said Harry grudgingly, though the thought of Ara making an effort made his spirits lift lightly.

"Who's Kreacher?" he asked.

"The house-elf who lives here," said Ron. "Nutter. Never met one like him."

Hermione frowned at Ron.

"He's not a nutter, Ron —"

"His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque just like his mother," said Ron irritably. "Is that normal, Hermione?"

"Well — well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault —"

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry.

"Hermione still hasn't given up on spew —"

"It's not 'spew'!" said Hermione heatedly. "It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, and it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too —"

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. "C'mon, I'm starving."

He led the way out of the door and onto the landing, but before they could descend the stairs — "Hold it!" Ron breathed, flinging out an arm to stop Harry and Hermione walking any farther. "They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something —"

The three of them looked cautiously over the bannisters. The gloomy hallway below was packed with witches and wizards, including all of Harry's guard. They were whispering excitedly together. In the very centre of the group Harry saw the dark, greasy-haired head and prominent nose of his least favourite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape. Harry leaned farther over the bannisters. He was very interested in what Snape was doing for the Order of the Phoenix. . . .

A thin piece of flesh-coloured string descended in front of Harry's eyes. Looking up he saw Fred and George on the landing above, cautiously lowering the Extendable Ear toward the dark knot of people below. A moment later, however, they began to move toward the front door and out of sight.

"Dammit," Harry heard Fred whisper, as he hoisted the Extendable Ear back up again.

They heard the front door open and then close.

"Snape never eats here," Ron told Harry quietly. "Thank God, I think he doesn't fancy spending time with Ara, she always tries to drive him mad. C'mon."

"And don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall, Harry," Hermione whispered.

As they passed the row of house-elf heads on the wall they saw Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, and Tonks at the front door, magically sealing its many locks and bolts behind those who had just left.

"We're eating down in the kitchen," Mrs. Weasley whispered, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. "Harry, dear, if you'll just tiptoe across the hall, it's through this door here —"

CRASH.

"Tonks!" cried Mrs. Weasley exasperatedly, turning to look behind her.

"I'm sorry!" wailed Tonks, who was lying flat on the floor. "It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over —"

But the rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech.

The moth-eaten velvet curtains Harry had passed earlier had flown apart, but there was no door behind them. For a split second, Harry thought he was looking through a window, a window behind which an old woman in a black cap was screaming and screaming as though she was being tortured — then he realised it was simply a life-size portrait, but the most realistic, and the most unpleasant, he had ever seen in his life.

The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed, and all along the hall behind them, the other portraits awoke and began to yell too, so that Harry actually screwed up his eyes at the noise and clapped his hands over his ears.

Remus and Mrs. Weasley darted forward and tried to tug the curtains shut over the old woman, but they would not close and she screeched louder than ever, brandishing clawed hands as though trying to tear at their faces.

"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers —"

Tonks apologised over and over again, at the same time dragging the huge, heavy troll's leg back off the floor. Mrs. Weasley abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall,Stunning all the other portraits with her wand. Then a man with long black hair came charging out of a door facing Harry.

"Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!" he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs. Weasley had abandoned. The old woman's face blanched.

"Yoooou!" she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man."Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!"

"I said — shut — UP!" roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Remus managed to force the curtains closed again.

The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence fell. Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes,Harry's godfather, Sirius, turned to face him.

"Hello, Harry," he said with a smile despite the situation, "I see you've met my mother."

"Your — ?"

"My dear old mum, yeah," said Sirius. He pulled Harry for a warm hug, patting him in the back as he offered the best smile he could give, making Harry feel the tiniest bit better. "We've been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Let's get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again."

"But what's a portrait of your mother doing here?" Harry asked, bewildered, as they pulled apart and went through the door from the hall and led the way down a flight of narrow stone steps, the others just behind them.

"Hasn't anyone told you? This was my parents' house," said Sirius. "But I'm the last Black left, besides Ara and Atlas, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters — about the only useful thing I've been able to do."

Harry noted how hard and bitter Sirius's voice sounded. He followed his godfather to the bottom of the stairs and through a door leading into the basement kitchen.

It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of the room, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr.Weasley and his eldest son, Bill, were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding, red haired man, who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him and shaking his hand vigorously. "Good to see you!"

Over his shoulder Harry saw Bill, who still wore his long hair in a ponytail, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table.

"Journey all right, Harry?" Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?"

"He tried," said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately sending a candle toppling onto the last piece of parchment. "Oh no — sorry —"

"Here, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand: In the flash of light caused by Mrs. Weasley's charm, Harry caught a glimpse of what looked like the plan of a building.

Mrs. Weasley had seen him looking. She snatched the plan off the table and stuffed it into Bill's heavily laden arms.

"This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings," she snapped before sweeping off toward an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates.

Bill took out his wand, muttered "Evanesco!" and the scrolls vanished.

"Sit down, Harry," said Sirius. "You've met Mundungus, haven't you?"

The thing Harry had taken to be a pile of rags gave a prolonged, grunting snore and then jerked awake.

"Some'n say m' name?" Mundungus mumbled sleepily. "I 'gree with Sirius. . . ."

He raised a very grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused. Ginny giggled.

"Shut up, Dung, the meeting's over" said Atlas, entering the kitchen, as they all sat downaround Sirius at the table. "Harry's arrived."

"Eh?" said Mundungus, peering balefully at Harry through his matted ginger hair. "Blimey, so 'e 'as. Yeah . . . you all right, 'arry?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

Mundungus fumbled nervously in his pockets, still staring at Harry, and pulled out a grimy black pipe. He stuck it in his mouth, ignited the end of it with his wand, and took a deep pull on it. Great billowing clouds of greenish smoke obscured him in seconds.

"Owe you a 'pology," grunted a voice from the middle of the smelly cloud.

"For the last time, Mundungus," called Mrs. Weasley, "will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat!"

"Ah," said Mundungus. "Right. Sorry, Molly."

The cloud of smoke vanished as Mundungus stowed his pipe back in his pocket, but an acrid smell of burning socks lingered.

"And if you want dinner before midnight I'll need a hand," Mrs. Weasley said to the room at large. "No, you can stay where you are, Harry dear, you've had a long journey —"

"What can I do, Molly?" said Tonks enthusiastically, bounding forward.

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, looking apprehensive.

"Er — no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today —"

"No, no, I want to help!" said Tonks brightly, knocking over a chair as she hurried toward the dresser from which Ginny was collecting cutlery.

Soon a series of heavy knives were chopping meat and vegetables of their own accord, supervised by Mr. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley stirred a cauldron dangling over the fire and the others took out plates, more goblets, and food from the pantry. Harry was left at the table with Sirius, Atlas, and Mundungus, who was still blinking mournfully at him.

"Seen old Figgy since?" he asked.

"No," said Harry, "I haven't seen anyone."

"See, I wouldn't 'ave left," said Mundungus, leaning forward, a pleading note in his voice, "but I 'ad a business opportunity —"

Harry felt something brush against his knees and started, but it was only Crookshanks, Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, who wound himself once around Harry's legs, purring, then jumped onto Sirius's lap and curled up. Sirius scratched him absentmindedly behind the ears as he turned, still grim-faced, to Harry.

"Had a good summer so far?"

"No, it's been lousy," said Harry.

Something like a grin flitted across Sirius's face.

"Don't know what you're complaining about, myself."

"What?" said Harry incredulously.

"Ignore him, he's being dramatic," said Atlas, making Sirius nudge him.

"Personally, I'd have welcomed a dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights. . . . I've been stuck inside for a month, the only good thing is that I get to spend time with kids."

"How come?" asked Harry, frowning.

"Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, so my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix . . . or so Dumbledore feels."

There was something about the slightly flattened tone of voice in which Sirius uttered Dumbledore's name that told Harry that Sirius was not very happy with the headmaster either. Harry felt a sudden upsurge of affection for his godfather.

"At least you've known what's been going on," he said bracingly.

"Oh yeah," said Sirius sarcastically. "Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time . . .asking me how the cleaning's going —"

"What cleaning?" asked Harry.

"Trying to make this place fit for human habitation," said Sirius, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. "No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist, hasn't cleaned anything in ages —"

"Sirius?" said Mundungus, who did not appear to have paid any attention to this conversation, but had been minutely examining an empty goblet. "This solid silver, mate?"

"Yes," said Sirius, surveying it with distaste. "Finest fifteenth century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest."

"That'd come off, though," muttered Mundungus, polishing it with his cuff.

"Better leave it where it is, Dung, don't want my sister angry with you again, do you?" Atlas gave an innocent grin, making Mundungus turn pale.

"Er. . .no, no 'course not."

"Fred — George — NO, JUST CARRY THEM!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

Harry, Sirius, Atlas, and Mundungus looked around and, a split second later, dived away from the table. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air toward them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface, the flagon of butter beer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere, and the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius's right hand had been seconds before.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" screamed Mrs. Weasley. "THERE WAS NO NEED — I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS — JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!"

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" said Fred, hurrying forward and wrenching the bread knife out of the table. "Sorry Sirius, mate — didn't mean to —"

Harry, Atlas, and Sirius were all laughing. Mundungus, who had toppled backward off his chair, was swearing as he got to his feet. Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from whence his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness.

"Boys," Mr. Weasley said, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table, "your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age —"

"— none of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!" Mrs.Weasley raged at the twins, slamming a fresh flagon of butterbeer onto the table and spilling almost as much again. "Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't Charm everything he met! Percy —"

She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden.

"Let's eat," said Bill quickly.

"It looks wonderful, Molly," said Remus, ladling stew onto a plate for her and handing it across the table.

"Atlas, dear, is your sister awake? Maybe she wants something to eat?" said Mrs. Weasley, looking concerned.

This particular conversation grabbed Harry's interest, he listened carefully to what Atlas would say.

"She's still sleeping, I reckon we should let her be, she needs her rest especially after. . .recent events," Atlas said, offering a small smile.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and stared at the kitchen door that led towards the staircase, wanting nothing more than to get up to go look for the person he's been wanting to see for weeks. However, he forced himself to not think about it, he knew he would see her sooner rather than later.

For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Then Mrs. Weasley turned to Sirius and said, "I've been meaning to tell you, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out."

"Whatever you like," said Sirius indifferently.

"The curtains in there are full of doxies too," Mrs. Weasley went on. "I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," said Sirius. Harry heard the sarcasm in his voice, but he was not sure that anyone else did.

Opposite Harry, Tonks was entertaining Hermione and Ginny by transforming her nose between mouthfuls. Screwing up her eyes each time with the same pained expression she had worn back in Harry's bedroom, her nose swelled to a beaklike protuberance like Snape's, shrank to something resembling a button mushroom, and then sprouted a great deal of hair from each nostril. Apparently this was regular mealtime entertainment, because after a while Hermione and Ginny started requesting their favourite noses.

"Do that one like a pig snout, Tonks . . ."

Tonks obliged, and Harry, looking up, had the fleeting impression that a female Dudley was grinning at him from across the table.

Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Remus were having an intense discussion about goblins.

"They're not giving anything away yet," said Bill. "I still can't work out whether they believe he's back or not. 'Course, they might prefer not to take sides at all. Keep out of it."

"I'm sure they'd never go over to You-Know-Who," said Mr. Weasley, shaking his head. "They've suffered losses too. Remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?"

"I think it depends what they're offered," said Remus. "And I'm not talking about gold; if they're offered freedoms we've been denying them for centuries they're going to be tempted. Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?"

"He's feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment," said Bill. "He hasn't stopped raging about the Bagman business, he reckons theMinistry did a cover-up, those goblins never got their gold from him, you know —"

A gale of laughter from the middle of the table drowned the rest of Bill's words. Fred, George, Ron, and Mundungus were rolling around in their seats.

". . . and then," choked Mundungus, tears running down his face,"and then, if you'll believe it, 'e says to me, 'e says, ' 'ere, Dung, where did ja get all them toads from? 'Cos some son of a Bludger's gone and nicked all mine!' And I says, 'Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?' And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back orf me for twice what 'e paid in the first place —"

"I don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus," said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Ron slumped forward onto the table, howling with laughter.

"Beg pardon, Molly," said Mundungus at once, wiping his eyes and winking at Harry. "But, you know, Will nicked 'em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing nothing wrong —"

"I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons," said Mrs. Weasley coldly.

Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of butterbeer; George was hiccuping. For some reason, Mrs. Weasley threw a very nasty look at Sirius before getting to her feet and going to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for pudding. Harry looked round at his godfather and Atlas.

"Molly doesn't approve of Mundungus, neither does Ara," said Atlas in an undertone.

"How come he's in the Order?" Harry said very quietly.

"He's useful," Sirius muttered. "Knows all the crooks — well, he would, seeing as he's one himself. But he's also very loyal to Dumbledore, who helped him out of a tight spot once. It pays to have someone like Dung around, he hears things we don't. But Molly thinks inviting him to stay for dinner is going too far. She hasn't forgiven him for slipping off duty when he was supposed to be tailing you, and I don't know if they told you, but Ara was very angry as well, nasty temper she's got,"

Three helpings of rhubarb crumble and custard later and the waistband on Harry's jeans was feeling uncomfortably tight (which was saying something, as the jeans had once been Dudley's). He lay down his spoon in a lull in the general conversation. Mr. Weasley was leaning back in his chair, looking replete and relaxed, Tonks was yawning widely, her nose now back to normal, and Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks out from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling butterbeer corks for him to chase.

"Nearly time for bed, I think," said Mrs. Weasley on a yawn.

"Not just yet, Molly," said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

The atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidity Harry associated with the arrival of dementors. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. A frisson had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name. Remus, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary.

"I did!" said Harry indignantly. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so —"

"And they're quite right," said Mrs. Weasley. "You're too young."

She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched upon its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.

The thought of bringing up the fact that Ara was in the order and she was still underage crossed his mind but he decided not to say anything.

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen —"

"Hang on!" interrupted George loudly.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" said Fred angrily.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" said George.

" 'You're too young, you're not in the Order,' " said Fred, in a high pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. "Harry's not even of age, neither is Ara and she's in it!"

"Firstly, Ara is in it for many reasons and also it's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," said Sirius calmly. "That's your parents' decision. Harry, on the other hand —"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. Her normally kindly face looked dangerous. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, but with an air as though readying himself for a fight.

"This is getting good," said Atlas, leaning back in his chair.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know," said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.

Ron, Hermione, Atlas, Fred, and George's heads turned from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Remus' eyes were fixed on Sirius.

"I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly," said Sirius. "But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back along with my daughter," (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name), "he has more right than most to —"

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" said Mrs.Weasley. "He's only fifteen and —"

"— and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order, so has Ara," said Sirius, "and more than some —"

"No one's denying what he's done!" said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. "But he's still —"

"He's not a child!" said Sirius impatiently.

"He's not an adult either!" said Mrs. Weasley, the colour rising in her cheeks. "He's not James, Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly," said Sirius coldly.

"I'm not sure you are!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?" said Harry.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!" said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. "You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?" demanded Sirius, his voice rising.

"Meaning you've been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and —"

"We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!" said Sirius loudly.

"Arthur!" said Mrs. Weasley, rounding on her husband. "Arthur, back me up!"

Mr. Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he say, "Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in to a certain extent now that he is staying at headquarters —"

"Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!"

"Personally," said Remus quietly, looking away from Sirius at last, as Mrs. Weasley turned quickly to him, hopeful that finally she was about to get an ally, "I think it better that Harry gets the facts — not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture — from us, rather than a garbled version from . . . others."

His expression was mild, but Harry felt sure that Remus, at least, knew that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs. Weasley's purge.

"Well," said Mrs. Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, "well . . . I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has got Harry's best interests at heart —"

"He's not your son," said Sirius quietly.

"He's as good as," said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. "Who else has he got?"

"He's got me!"

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley, her lip curling. "The thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him and your children while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

Atlas' jaw clenched, as Sirius started to rise from his chair.

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry or Ara and Atlas," said Remus sharply. "Sirius, sit down."

Mrs. Weasley's lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white.

"I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this," Remus continued. "He's old enough to decide for himself."

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry said at once.

He did not look at Mrs. Weasley. He had been touched by what she had said about his being as good as a son, but he was also impatient at her mollycoddling. . . . Sirius was right, he was not a child.

"Very well," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice cracking. "Ginny —Ron — Hermione — Fred — George — I want you out of this kitchen, now."

There was instant uproar.

"We're of age!" Fred and George bellowed together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" shouted Ron.

"Mum, I want to!" wailed Ginny.

"NO!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, standing up, her eyes over bright. "I absolutely forbid —"

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George," said Mr. Weasley wearily. "They are of age —"

"They're still at school —"

"But they're legally adults now," said Mr. Weasley in the same tired voice.

Mrs. Weasley was now scarlet in the face.

"I — oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron —"

"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway, just like Ri—!" said Ron hotly, Hermione nudged him harshly making his sentence cut short. "Won't — won't you?" he added uncertainty, meeting Harry's eyes.

For a split second, Harry considered telling Ron that he wouldn't tell him a single word, that he could try a taste of being kept in the dark and see how he liked it. But the nasty impulse vanished as they looked at each other.

" 'Course I will," Harry said. Ron and Hermione beamed.

"Fine!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Fine! Ginny — BED!"

Ginny did not go quietly. They could hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs, and when she reached the hall Mrs. Black's earsplitting shrieks were added to the din. Remus hurried off to the portrait to restore calm, seeming irritated. It was only after he had returned, closing the kitchen door behind him and taking his seat at the table again, that Sirius spoke.

"Okay, Harry . . . what do you want to know?"

Harry took a deep breath and asked the question that had been obsessing him for a month.

"Where's Voldemort? What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle news," he said, ignoring the renewed shudders and wince sat the name, "and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything —"

"That's because there haven't been any suspicious deaths yet," said Sirius, "not as far as we know, anyway. . . . And we know quite a lot."

"More than he thinks we do anyway," said Remus.

"How come he's stopped killing people?" Harry asked. He knew that Voldemort had murdered more than once in the last year alone.

"Because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself at the moment," said Sirius. "It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up."

"Or rather, you and Ara messed it up for him," said Remus with a satisfied smile

"How?" Harry asked perplexedly.

"You both weren't supposed to survive!" said Sirius. "Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he'd come back. But you two survived to bear witness."

"And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore," said Remus. "And you two made sure Dumbledore knew at once."

"How has that helped?" Harry asked.

"Are you kidding?" said Bill incredulously. "Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!"

"Thanks to you and Ara, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned," said Sirius.

"So what's the Order been doing?" said Harry, looking around at them all.

"Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans," said Sirius.

"How d'you know what his plans are?" Harry asked quickly, though he was sure he already knew the answer.

Everybody fell silent and stared at each other nervously, Sirius and Atlas shared meaningful looks.

"We have our ways," Atlas cleared his throat, sending Harry a pointed look, almost as if he could read his mind, confirming what Harry was thinking. Ara was the reason they knew so much.

"And Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea," said Remus, "and Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate."

"So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?"

"Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again," said Sirius. "In the old days he had huge numbers at his command; witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. He'll be planning to recruit the giants; well, they'll be just one group he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters."

"So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?"

"We're doing our best," said Remus.

"How?"

"Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard," said Bill. "It's proving tricky, though."

"Why?"

"Because of the Ministry's attitude," said Tonks. "You saw Cornelius Fudge after You-Know-Who came back, Harry. Well, he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened."

"But why?" said Harry desperately. "Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore —"

"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," said Mr. Weasley with a wry smile. "Dumbledore."

"Fudge is frightened of him, you see," said Tonks sadly.

"Frightened of Dumbledore?" said Harry incredulously.

"Frightened of what he's up to," said Mr. Weasley. "You see, Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister of Magic."

"But Dumbledore doesn't want —"

"Of course he doesn't," said Mr. Weasley. "He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job."

"Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice," said Remus. "But it seems that he's become fond of power now, and much more confident. He loves being Minister of Magic, and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it."

"How can he think that?" said Harry angrily. "How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up — that me and Ara made it all up?"

"Because accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years," said Sirius bitterly. "Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilise him."

"You see the problem," said Remus. "While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort, it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumour mongering, so most of the Wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse."

"But you're telling people, aren't you?" said Harry, looking around at Mr. Weasley, Sirius, Atlas, Bill, Mundungus, Remus, and Tonks. "You're letting people know he's back?"

They all smiled humorlessly.

"Well, as everyone thinks I'm a mad mass murderer and the Ministry's put a ten-thousand-Galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?" said Sirius restlessly.

"Nobody would believe a seventeen year old, who got disowned for being a "disgrace" to a stupid family name," said Atlas bitterly.

"And I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community," said Remus. "It's an occupational hazard of being a werewolf."

"Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off," said Sirius, "and it's very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them."

"We've managed to convince a couple of people, though," said Mr.Weasley. "Tonks here, for one — she's too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage — Kingsley Shacklebolt's been a real asset too. He's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet."

"But if none of you's putting the news out that Voldemort's back —" Harry began.

"Who said none of us was putting the news out?" said Sirius. "Why d'you think Dumbledore's in such trouble?"

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

"They're trying to discredit him," said Remus. "Didn't you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true, he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot — that's the Wizard High Court — and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too."

"But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog cards," said Bill, grinning, causing Atlas to let out a small laugh.

"It's no laughing matter," said Mr. Weasley shortly. "If he carries on defying the Ministry like this, he could end up in Azkaban and the last thing we want is Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who-knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to, he's going to go cautiously for a while. If Dumbledore's out of the way — well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field."

"But if Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters, it's bound to get out that he's come back, isn't it?" asked Harry desperately.

"Voldemort doesn't march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors, Harry," said Sirius. "He tricks, jinxes, and blackmails them. He's well-practised at operating in secrecy. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in, he's got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he's concentrating on them at the moment."

"What's he after apart from followers?" Harry asked swiftly.

He thought he saw Sirius and Remus exchange the most fleeting of looks before Sirius said, "Stuff he can only get by stealth."

When Harry continued to look puzzled, Sirius said, "Like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time."

"When he was powerful before?"

"Yes."

"Like what kind of weapon?" said Harry. "Something worse than the Avada Kedavra — ?"

"That's enough."

Mrs. Weasley spoke from the shadows beside the door. Harry had not noticed her return from taking Ginny upstairs. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious.

"I want you in bed, now. All of you," she added, looking around at Fred, George, Ron, and Hermione.

"You can't boss us —" Fred began.

"Watch me," snarled Mrs. Weasley. She was trembling slightly as she looked at Sirius. "You've given Harry plenty of information. Anymore and you might just as well induct him into the Order straightaway."

"Why not?" said Harry quickly. "I'll join, I want to join, I want to fight —"

"No."

It was not Mrs. Weasley who spoke this time, but Remus.

"The Order is composed only of overage wizards, with few exceptions," he said. "Wizards who have left school," he added, as Fred and George opened their mouths. "There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you . . . I think Molly's right, Sirius. We've said enough."

Sirius half-shrugged but did not argue. Mrs. Weasley beckoned imperiously to her sons and Hermione. One by one they stood up and Harry, recognizing defeat, followed suit, glancing back he saw Atlas give him a subtle wink with a nod.

Mrs. Weasley followed them upstairs looking grim. "I want you all to go straight to bed, no talking," she said as they reached the first landing. "We've got a busy day tomorrow. I expect Ginny's asleep," she added to Hermione, "so try not to wake her up."

"Asleep, yeah, right," said Fred in an undertone, after Hermione bade them good night and they were climbing to the next floor.

"All right, Ron," said Mrs. Weasley on the second landing. "Off to bed with you."

"Er—Mrs. Weasley," Harry started off hesitantly. "Which one is my room?"

"Oh I almost forgot!" Mrs. Weasley rubbed her forehead tiredly. "Ron is sharing with Atlas, so you'll have to go to the other room that's down the hall, second door on the left, dear."

"Thanks," Harry nodded. "'Night," he said to Ron and the twins.

Ron gave a tired and halfhearted wave as he continued his way to his room.

"Sleep tight," said Fred, winking, for some reason he and George were looking extremely amused.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Harry started to walk towards the room as Mrs. Weasley took the twins to their respective room, he walked slowly and silently, his mind still spinning with unanswered questions, he fiddled with the band of his watch, making him feel a sense of familiarity. When he reached the door of the room he saw that his trunk was already placed beside it, he was ready to simply open the door and collapse on the bed, but before he even raised his hand, he stopped himself. He could've sworn he heard a voice coming from inside.

He listened intently, placing his ear against the wood.

"Venus, stop! I need those. . .fine, you can have this one. . ." said the voice weakly.

Harry would recognize that voice anywhere.

He raised his head and his heart skipped a beat as his eyes widened, staring at the door with a dumbfounded expression. It was Ara, she was right there. . .he could twist the doorknob and see her, which was precisely what he'd been hoping for for most of his summer and yet he found himself frozen on the spot.

What would he even say? He wasn't angry with her, at least he thought he wasn't, but what if when he laid eyes on her he suddenly felt as irritated as he was with Ron and Hermione? He didn't want to shout at her like how he'd shouted at them, he knew that she didn't need that, much less right now when she was. . .well, exhausted from what he'd heard.

He listened for a bit more and after not hearing anything, he shakily and hesitantly placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it, opening the door slowly.

The room seemed the most clean out of the other ones in the house, in the middle was a queen-sized bed, with the blankets and pillows sprawled all over it messily, Venus, Ara's cat, was lying on it, chewing what seemed to be a quill. A lot of papers were laid on the floor, with drawings that Harry did not recognize, there was a big bookshelf facing the bed and beside it was a door that most likely led to a bathroom, the last thing on the room was a desk with a single chair, and on that chair sat Ara, her hand hurriedly tracing a quill across a piece of paper, looking stressed as ever, her posture was tense as her hand gripped the quill tightly.

The stress she radiated just made Harry want to go back downstairs and shout at the remaining Order members. However, he just stood near the doorway, not looking away from the girl that he had wanted to see for so long.

"Ron, get out, no I didn't put green dye in your shampoo the other day, that was the twins," she spoke irritatedly, not turning around to see who really was at the door.

Harry noted that there wasn't her usual cheery tone in her voice, making him frown, he cleared his throat, trying to get her to turn around.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, what—"

Ara stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she finally saw who was in front of her. She slowly stood up from her place, putting her quill down and forgetting all about the drawing, her eyes trailed over him, stunned; He had grown taller, his hair was shorter, similar to how it was in their third year, and it stuck out in different directions, it was as messy as ever, just how she liked it, and she couldn't deny how pretty she thought he looked.

Harry was in a similar state, he had to stop his jaw from falling onto the floor as his eyes delicately and intently traced her features, wanting to imprint this image in his mind forever. Ara's hair was short, and some of the front pieces framed her face, making her look like the beautiful mess she always was, her eyes seemed more captivating than ever as they shone with the moonlight that peaked inside from the window, she had also grown a bit taller, she almost reached his height.

Harry was looking at her as if she had put the stars in the sky and he couldn't possibly look away.

Then Ara gave him such a radiant smile that Harry almost fainted on the spot.

In hurried strides, she crossed the room and in an instant she threw her arms around his neck to pull him into a hug, almost making him stubble onto the ground from the force, but Harry quickly snapped out of his daydream and hugged her back instinctively. His arms wrapped around her waist tightly and he sighed in relief, closing his eyes for a moment and enjoying the way her body provided him a comforting warmth. She fit so naturally in his arms like she belonged there, he buried one of his hands in her hair as the scent of daisies filled his senses.

This was all he'd needed, all summer, all he'd needed was Ara. The irritation he thought he'd feel was nowhere to be seen, instead, there was only an overwhelming sentiment of relief.

"Harry!" she whispered against his neck, still clinging onto him. "No one told me that you had arrived! Atlas said he would tell me, oh, I'm going to kill him—"

Harry let out a nervous laugh as he whispered, "so, you didn't hear me shouting then?"

Ara pulled away, still keeping her hands on his shoulders as she looked at him confusedly. Harry had to stop himself from smiling widely, all he had felt since he'd arrived was anger, but all of that seemed to mostly vanish as he looked at her.

"You were shouting? Why?" said Ara, as she closed the door and guided him towards the bed, where they both sat down.

"Er—" Harry scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, I-I just felt so angry when I saw Ron and Hermione here, I mean, I was stuck with the Dursleys for a month, and they were here getting information, even when they weren't the ones that fought him—"

"I get your anger, Harry, you're entitled to feel that way," Ara interrupted him softly, placing her hand on his. "And not that I'm defending them, but you really shouldn't be mad at them, you should be mad at Dumbledore, he was the one who prohibited all of us from writing letters to you."

Harry was silent for a moment, before he gathered himself to ask, "Why didn't you write? Ron and Hermione at least wrote something."

Ara sighed, turning her eyes away from him in shame as guilt overtook her. She couldn't bear to look at his hurt and slightly angered expression, "Truly I don't have a good excuse, I could've written to you, I wanted to, I really did but I knew that if I started writing to you I'd just spill my guts and tell you everything that was going on. I had to stop myself because if I gave you information through letters they could be compromised and everything would be chaos." Harry absently started to twirl her ring, his eyebrows furrowed. "But also, being in the Order takes up a lot of my time. . .and to be honest, writing anything nowadays is a little difficult for me." She lifted her hands so that he could look at them; they were trembling and shaking, he took hold of them and placed them on his lap, gently running his thumb over her knuckles.

"I only draw these pictures because the Order needs them," she tilted her head, motioning to all the drawings that were scattered across the floor and desk. "Doesn't really benefit my hands, but don't tell anyone, otherwise they'll tell me to stop—"

"You should stop, Nyx," Harry interrupted. "You think you passed out yesterday for nothing?"

"They told you that?" she asked quietly.

Harry sighed and nodded as he tilted his head to look into her tired eyes once more.

"Are you okay?"

"What?" said Ara, her eyebrows drawing together.

"I mean, how are you? Really."

"I'm fine—"

"You know that rubbish doesn't work with me," said Harry as Venus came and settled herself on his lap, rubbing her head against his side as he started to scratch her behind the ears.

Ara gave a fleeting smile as she watched them before it fell, they'd asked her that question many times in the past few weeks, everyone always wanted to know and make sure that she was doing okay and the Order wasn't taking as much of a toll on her. She'd always given the same answer, that she was alright and while sometimes they believed her, they didn't exactly push when they didn't. Harry wasn't everyone though, he would push, she knew that. Others were afraid of pushing her buttons too much but Harry seemed immune to her avoidance. Ara wasn't sure if she was grateful or annoyed by that.

"I think. . .I'm tired," said Ara, not looking him in the eye.

"How do you mean?" Harry knew that if he didn't ask specific questions he wouldn't get specific answers, so he would keep asking until she let that wall that she built in the past few weeks, down.

"I don't sleep much," whispered Ara, so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear her. "I keep seeing images of Voldemort's past, people getting killed, tortured. . .sometimes I feel as if I'm the one getting the end of the Cruciatus Curse. . .there are horrible memories in his mind, I can't close my eyes without hearing the painful screams of people I don't even know."

Ara was staring at the floor, not wanting to see the look on Harry's face, but then she felt a hand under her chin that lifted her head. Harry didn't look at her with pity, he looked at her with understanding, because he knew the feeling.

"I get what you mean," he said, unknowingly keeping his hand under her chin. "Every time I go to sleep I visit the graveyard again."

"I was hoping you wouldn't get nightmares as well," Ara mumbled, Harry's confession tugging at her heartstrings.

"I get them every night," he admitted, letting his hand drop.

"I haven't had the chance to ask how you're doing," Ara inspected him carefully, seeking those emerald eyes that always seemed to make her feel better. "It can't have been easy being with those Muggles, I swear if they did something—"

"Nothing they haven't done before," Harry shrugged and Venus started to climb up his torso until he had her nestled against his chest. "My scar's been hurting but I s'pose that'll be a regular thing now that he's back, the nightmares. . .honestly what frustrated me the most were the lack of news from anyone,"

"Harry, I'm so sorry," Ara shook her head, "you have every right to feel angry with me—"

"I'm not," he reassured.

"You should be, I was the one that didn't write—"

"It's done, Nyx," Harry said, "Honestly, don't worry about it, now that I'm here. . .I don't feel as angry anymore,"

"I think it's because that anger was poured onto Ron and Hermione," Ara pointed out.

Harry scrunched up his nose, "maybe. . ."

"I wish I could've gotten you out of that house sooner," Ara ran a hand through her short hair. "I tried telling Dumbledore but he wouldn't hear me out—"

"I know you would've done it if you could've, Ara," Harry gave her a small smile, letting Venus crawl back down as she curled up in between them.

Ara returned his grin before she questioned, "So. . .what brought you to my room?"

"Um, Mrs. Weasley said that I should sleep here. . ." said Harry with uncertainty.

Ara rose an eyebrow.

"There's only one bed," she pointed out.

"I-I can leave, or-or sleep on the floor, I don't have to stay here, I can just. . ." Harry rambled nervously, making Ara stifle a laugh, there was the awkward Harry she knew.

"Don't be silly," Ara said, as she stood up and waved her hand so the wind made all of the fallen papers stack themselves on the desk neatly. Harry gaped at her. "This bed is big enough for the both of us, we can both sleep in it."

If Ara hadn't been busy taking Venus off the bed, she would've caught the faint pink colour that decorated Harry's cheeks.

"There's a bathroom right there where you can change," Ara pointed towards a door that was beside the bookshelf. "Where's your trunk?"

"Oh, er, out-outside," said Harry, using his thumb to point towards the door, still in his flustered state.

"Are you going to get it then. . .? Or are you going to sleep in that?" said Ara, very much enjoying seeing him this awkward, it brought an unfamiliar feeling that she couldn't quite describe.

Wordlessly, Harry went to open the door and went to grab his trunk, dragging it inside and then shutting the door once again.

Ara went to her own trunk and pulled out a jumper and some sleeping pants, hearing the door of the bathroom close, indicating that Harry went to change. Ara quickly did the same, putting on her pyjamas, and taking off the hair ties on her wrist so that they wouldn't mark her skin as she slept. A few seconds later, Harry emerged from the bathroom, wearing simple black and red plaid pants with a black t-shirt.

He looked at Ara and squinted his eyes at the grey hoodie she was wearing.

"Is that mine?"

Ara looked down at the jumper, a smirk appearing on her face, "Well, technically it was, not anymore though."

Harry shook his head with a smile, not really bothering much, in truth he thought she looked better in it than him.

"So, which side do you want?" said Ara, motioning towards the bed.

"What?" asked Harry, dumbfounded.

"Like, which side do you normally sleep on? Left or right?"

"Oh, er, I don't mind, you decide," said Harry, his face turning scarlet once again.

"Okay then," said Ara, walking over to lay on the left side of the bed, "are you just going to stand there or. . .?"

Harry cleared his throat and went to the right side, tucking himself in just like how Ara had done.

"Good Night, Harry," said Ara, softly, her back facing him.

"Night, Nyx." he whispered back, staring at the back of her head, and fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her to pull him to his chest, to hug her close, to protect her from whatever thing haunted her sleep.

And so they fell asleep, feeling a sense of security knowing that they weren't alone, knowing that they were there to fight each other's nightmares.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

LONG AHH CHAPTER

This chapter is more than 20k words. . .yeah, I know a lot of it was boring bc there were lots of Ara-less scenes. Well, she technically was there bc Harry can't stop thinking about her lol. But still.

But besides that, I hope you liked it!!! I hope the reunion was satisfying!!!

qotd: favourite superhero? Mine's SPIDERMAN!!!

Remember to COMMENT and VOTE!!

See you soon with a new chapter loves!!