Content Harry Potter
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The Ravenclaw/Slytherin game, normally held in January, had been swapped with the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game which was normally played after Valentine’s Day, because too many Ravenclaw players were down with the flu in January.   So, on a crisp January day, the Gryffindor team was getting ready for their game with Hufflepuff when Professor McGonagall knocked on the boys’ locker room door.   "Mr. Potter?   A word, if I might?" she said when Harry answered the door.

"What’s up, Professor?" he asked.

"I need to tell you something.   You must use your best judgement when deciding if you tell your team mates, or at least Mr. Weasley, or not," she said hurriedly, knowing the team was due out on the pitch in a few minutes.

"OK," he said with a puzzled frown.

"There are scouts for professional Quidditch teams in the stands today," she said, watching his reaction carefully.

Harry’s face lit up with joy.   "Really?   Brilliant!   What teams are they from?"

"I don’t know.   Professor Dumbledore told me they are here to watch you and Mr. Weasley play.   That’s all he said.   I thought you should know."

"Cool!" Harry said, a happy grin on his face.   "Wait ’til I tell Ron!   He’ll have kittens!"

"About that, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said uneasily.   "Do consider carefully before you tell him.   If he knows, will it affect his performance in the game today?"

Harry looked at her seriously.   She had a point.   He thought for a long moment and then said, "Honestly?   He’s got it nailed now.   He’s really good at it.   And if such news threw him, then he wouldn’t do well on a professional team anyway.   I think he has a right to know."   She nodded, just as the door behind them opened.

"Who has a right to know what, mate?" Ron said, looking from one of them to the other with concern, having heard the tail end of the conversation.   "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong," Harry said.   "Professor McGonagall was just. . .erm. . .wishing us luck."

"Thanks, Professor," Ron said easily, "but we’ve got this one in the bag.   Our Chasers are working together quite well now."

"Good!" she said with a small smile.   "I enjoy having the Quidditch Cup on my desk.   See that it stays there!"

"We will," both boys said with a laugh.

"Mr. Potter?   I think it’s all right," she said, studying Ron’s carefree face.

"Me too," Harry agreed.

"What are you two talking about?" Ron said, knowing he was being left out of something.

"When I tell you, you have to stay calm, OK?   We need to concentrate on winning this game today," Harry said carefully.

"Yeah, sure, of course!   What?"

"There are scouts in the stands today," Harry said, trying not to grin too broadly.

"Scouts?" Ron gasped, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.   He couldn’t believe his ears.

"Professional Quidditch scouts," Harry assured him.

"Whoa!   Really?"   Ron controlled himself with a great effort.   "That’s great, Harry," he said loyally.   "What teams?"

"Dunno.   Doesn’t matter right now, does it?   At least we’re being looked at!" Harry said, letting a bit of his excitement show.

"W-w-we’re being looked at?   Both of us?" Ron said, stunned.   "I mean, I expected you to be scouted, but they’re here to look at me, TOO?"   Harry nodded, laughing at the rapidly changing expressions crossing Ron’s mobile face.   "WICKED!"   He gave Harry a high five, and offered one to McGonagall, who raised her hands and smacked both boys’ upraised palms with glee.  

"Good luck, boys!" she said, turning to go.   "Win this game for all of us!"

"We will!" the young men chorused.

"What d’you reckon?" Ron said in an excited whisper as he turned to face Harry.   "Real scouts?"

"Yeah!" Harry replied, equally excited.

"Wouldn’t it be cool for us to be on the same professional team?" Ron sighed blissfully.

"Absolutely the best!" Harry agreed.   "Let’s go kick some Hufflepuff arse!"

"Yeah!"

* * * * *

The team flew out onto the pitch, unaware of why Harry and Ron were in such good spirits.   Ginny cottoned on quickly when she saw several strange men sitting near Dumbledore who were watching both Harry and Ron closely and making notes as the play progressed.

"Scouts!" she told Colin as she passed him.   "There are scouts in the stands watching Harry and Ron!   We have to play our very best and win this game!"

"Scouts?   Cool!" Colin said, then zoomed over to his brother to share the news.   Ginny told the other Chasers as they passed the Quaffle on their way to their first goal against Hufflepuff.   Euan and Fiona were as excited as the others.   Harry and Ron had been so good to them, spending a great deal of time helping them with their flying and their Quidditch skills, and even helping with homework on occasion.   They’d do anything they could to help their captain and Keeper get on a professional Quidditch team!

Gryffindor played with absolute brilliance that day.   The passing was crisp and accurate, the Bludger work was done with style and good humour, and Ron was having one of his best games ever as Keeper.   Harry soared above the fray on the opposite side of the pitch from the other Seeker, both of them looking for a glint of gold.   The Hufflepuffs fought hard, doing their very best to get goals past Ron, their Beaters making every attempt to keep the Gryffindor Chasers from scoring, but with little success.

"The Hufflepuff Chasers are passing well on their way to the goal.   Watch out, Ron!   Whoa!     Ron Weasley makes an absolutely amazing save there, hanging off of his broom by one leg and hand and snagging the Quaffle with the tips of his fingers!   And there’s a chorus of ‘Weasley is our King’ as Weasley sends the Quaffle blazing back toward Euan Abercrombie."   Ron sat on his broom, a huge grin on his face as he pretended to be conducting the Gryffindors’ singing.

"And it’s Ginny Weasley with the Quaffle," Dean Thomas announced excitedly.   "Look at that girl fly!   Watch it, there’s a Bludger coming your way!   Nice Bludger work by the Hufflepuff Beaters, and very nicely blocked by Colin Creevey of Gryffindor!   And Weasley passes to Abercrombie, who SCORES!   And it’s Gryffindor 80, Hufflepuff nothing!   Hufflepuff in possession.   Whoa, nice interception by the Gryffindor Chasers!   What teamwork!   Fiona, well done!   I keep asking her out, but she keeps ignoring me!"

"Mr. Thomas," McGonagall warned.

"Sorry, Professor, it’s just the simple truth!" Dean said cheekily.   "And it’s Ginny Weasley with the Quaffle, racing toward the Hufflepuff goal — look out for that Bludger, Ginny!   Well done, Dennis!   An excellent block by Dennis Creevey — and she SCORES!"

Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor stands again. People were standing and waving their scarves and Gryffindor pennants. Luna Lovegood’s lion hat let out a roar as a chorus of "Weasley is our Queen" rang through the stands.

"And it’s Gryffindor in possession again.   Euan Abercrombie is racing down the pitch!   And look!   Potter must have seen the Snitch!   There he goes in one of his trademark dives!   He’s flying straight down!   I’ve never seen such a dive!   Can he pull out of it in time?   Careful, Harry!   Whew, Potter’s pulled out of the dive now. . . oh, Abercrombie scores again!   Look at Harry go!   He’s weaving between Chasers from both teams.   That Snitch is an elusive one today!   Hufflepuff Seeker Kevin Whitby is hot on his tail, but he’s just not as sharp on the turns as Potter, nor is his Comet as fast as that Firebolt!   Potter’s going into another dive, back through the Chasers — watch out for that Bludger, Harry!   OH!   He dodges it neatly and it’s batted back toward the Hufflepuff Seeker by Dennis Creevey.   Way to go, Dennis!   Ouch, that had to hurt.   Whitby caught the Bludger right in the stomach.   And Potter not only pulls out of that dive handily, but he also has the Snitch!   Gryffindor wins, 250 to twenty!"  

When he first saw the Snitch, Harry did a spectacular dive, aiming his Firebolt straight toward the ground, following the tiny golden ball as it plummeted to earth.   Just a few feet from the ground, he whipped his broom up to fly parallel to the ground, his toes skimming the surface of the grass, then raced off at a sharp angle, still following the elusive Snitch.   He lay flat along his broom, urging it to greater speed as he dodged between players in pursuit of the small golden ball. The Snitch headed for the ground again, and once more, he had to fly between players.   He ducked and felt a whoosh ruffling his hair as Dennis Creevey’s bat swung much too close to him, protecting him from a Bludger.   "Thanks, Dennis!" he called as he reached as far as he could, then caught the Snitch neatly.   Harry sat up on his broom, looking at the struggling ball held tightly in his fingers, and laughed out loud.   Now, THAT was a game! he thought as he rose slowly in the air, his Snitch-filled fist pumping triumphantly, a delighted grin on his face.  

One by one, his team-mates thumped into him until they were a massive, swirling, red-and-gold hug.   They spiralled slowly to the ground and dismounted from their brooms while being greeted by their wildly celebrating House mates.   Soon the entire team was lifted on Gryffindor shoulders and carried off the field in triumph, as many voices sang "Weasley is our King" in praise of Ron, who had played brilliantly and knew it.   His face glowed with joy.  

Harry punched Ron playfully in the shoulder.   "Well done, mate!"

"And you as well!" Ron said with a happy grin as he cuffed Harry in response.

"Mr. Potter!   Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall called as the team was being carried away to the party that would soon rock Gryffindor Tower.

"Hey, let us down, guys," Harry said to Neville, Dean and the others who were carrying him and Ron.   "McGonagall needs to see us."     Soon, he and Ron stood before their Head of House, their faces happy and expectant.   "Yes, Professor?" Harry said with a radiant smile.

"Come over here," she said, beaming as she led them to a quiet spot behind the stands.   "There are some people who want to meet you."

Three men stood by Professor Dumbledore.   They all grinned at the boys.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I’d like you to meet Mr. Terwilliger, Mr. Thornton, and Mr. Washburn," Dumbledore said.   "They are scouts for professional Quidditch teams.   They’d like to have a word with you."

A movement caught Harry’s eye, and he saw Remus and Tonks standing not far from Dumbledore, both of them smiling proudly.   Tonks waved.   Her hair was a long red mane like Ginny’s today.   Remus winked at him.   Ginny and Hermione ran up and joined Remus and Tonks, both of them waving and grinning broadly at the boys.   Harry smiled back at them, then turned to the men before him.

"Very nice to meet you," Ron was saying politely.

"Yes, nice to meet you," Harry added quickly.

"What a wonderful game!" Terwilliger enthused.   "Your team is very well trained.   Who’s your coach?"

"Harry’s captain," Ron said loyally.

"And Ron’s the strategist," Harry added.   "We work together to train the team."

"Excellent!" Terwilliger replied.   "Congratulations on the victory, and on the brilliant job you’ve done training your team."

"Thank you," both boys said, inordinately pleased.

"Now to business.   I know you have a victory party to get to!"   The boys nodded, huge grins on their faces.   "We represent several teams who may be looking for new players for next season.   If they decide to recruit you and you sign a contract with them, you’ll start practice in the summer.   The game season begins, as you probably know, in the fall.   Mr. Thornton, here, represents the Montrose Magpies, Puddlemere United and the Wimborne Wasps.   Mr. Washburn represents the Appleby Arrows, the Falmouth Falcons and the Pride of Portree.   I represent the Tutshill Tornadoes, the Chudley Cannons," at this, Ron moaned, "and a relatively new team, the London Lions.   Not all of these teams will need new players this season, but players sometimes get traded between teams, so it’s good for you to know up front who we represent."  

The boys nodded excitedly, giving each other a glance that glittered with joy, then turned back to the men before them.

"We were quite impressed with your skills today, lads," Mr. Thornton said.   "We’ll explain the scouting process to you, and then we can answer any questions you might have, all right?"   Both boys nodded again, too excited to speak.   "We will come and watch your next game and give our reports to the teams we represent.   After that, whichever teams are interested in you will send you offers to consider.   I would suggest that you not sign the first contract presented to you as soon as you receive it.   There may be a better offer from another team.   If there’s more than one offer, they normally arrive within a few days of each other, so you won’t have to wait long to see how many offers you get.   Each of us will let you know when we’ve sent you the final offers.   You will have a week to make your decision.   Once school is out, if you’ve signed with a team, you will report to their headquarters and get on the practice schedule.   You’ll need to find somewhere to live on your own.   None of the teams provide that except when they’re on the road.   They practice three to five times a week, depending on the team, with a game usually twice a month, always on the weekends.   On your days off, you’re on your own.   We expect you to be responsible enough to show up to practice on time, well-rested, ready to work and sober, without someone nagging you about any of it.   You’ll be treated as adults, and will be expected to act like adults.   Clear?"

"Yes, sir," Ron said seriously, knowing he’d never have a problem with the "sober" bit, since he was never going to touch hard liquor again.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, but a bit uneasily.   If I have to fight Voldemort, I’m going to be late for practice, or hospitalized, or miss games.   I can’t do this.   This sudden realization made his heart sink down through the bottoms of his shoes.

"What’s the matter, Mr. Potter?" Mr. Terwilliger said, noticing the change in the young man’s expression.   "Something wrong?"

"Erm. . .I . . .uh. . .I may have a bit of a problem."

"So you’re a drunk, eh?" Washburn teased.

Harry blushed.   "No, sir, it’s not that.   It’s just that. . .well. . . ."   His voice trailed off.   Here was his dream come true sitting right in front of his nose, and Voldemort’s ugly face was in the way, as usual.   "I have to fight Voldemort," he said dully.   "I can’t promise to meet your schedule.   I never know when he’ll attack, or . . . ."

Terwilliger put his hand on Harry’s shoulder.   "We know that about you, lad.   The teams that are interested in you are fully aware of the burden you bear and will do their best to work around it somehow."

"You’re kidding, right?" Harry said, not believing what he’d just heard.

"Harry — may I call you Harry?" Terwilliger said, smiling warmly.   Harry nodded.   "I, personally, have the greatest admiration for you.   The teams I represent feel the same way.   I spoke to the management of each of my teams before coming here.   We’d heard about your Quidditch skills and wanted to see if you were as good as we’ve heard — and you are, I might add.   Whichever team needs a Seeker and sends you a contract, of the teams I represent, anyway, will have a reserve player who can cover the Seeker position if you’re not available.   For your first year or two, both of you will probably be reserve players anyway.   When you get the contracts, discuss your concerns with the team management at that time.   I’m sure they can work something out if they want you badly enough."

"Do you think they’ll want me that badly?" Harry said uncertainly.

"After what I saw today, and what I’ve read about you in the past?   Yes," Terwilliger assured him.

"Really?"   Harry said in disbelief.   Suddenly, his face brightened.   "Wow.   Thank you!" he replied, his heart suddenly feeling much lighter.

The three men answered the boys’ questions and discussed details with them a bit longer, then said their goodbyes.   When the men were gone, Ron and Harry turned to each other, their faces shining with delight.

"We’re being scouted!" Ron said, pulling Harry into a back-pounding hug.

"I can’t believe it!" Harry said, laughing as he and Ron both jumped in the air, punching their fists skyward, whooping with joy.

"Well done, boys!" Remus said, clapping each of them on the back.   "I’m so proud of you!"

"Thanks!" Harry said, smiling at his godfather.   "I’m glad you were here to see this!"

"Whoa, I can’t wait to tell Dad and Charlie and the twins and Bill and. . ." Ron was saying dazedly just before a small, bushy-haired body threw herself on him with a happy squeal.   "Oh, and Hermione," he said fondly, swinging her around in his arms.

Ginny had jumped into Harry’s arms.   "Congratulations, Harry!" she cried, absolutely delighted for him.   She peered over his shoulder as he held her and called, "Congratulations, Ron!"

"Thanks," Harry said, kissing her soundly.   "I can’t believe this.   What a great day!"

* * * * *

A few weeks later, Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione were bundled against the cold as they walked down the main street of Hogsmeade, looking in shop windows and simply enjoying a day of freedom in the village.   The boys allowed the girls to drag them into Madam Puddifoot’s for some tea, Harry even more reluctantly than Ron, given the bad memories he had of this place.   His face was stoic as he walked through the door and gazed at the too-frilly decorations and the cherubs circling over the tables.  

"I’ve never been in here before," Ron said uneasily as he frowned at the cherub throwing heart-shaped confetti at him.

"I came in here once, just to see what it was like," Hermione said, smiling at Ron’s discomfort.   "The tea is good, it’s warm and cosy, and it is sort of cute, isn’t it?" she said encouragingly.

"If you say so," he replied, finally dragging his eyes away from the silly pink decorations and gazing into Hermione’s smiling eyes.   If it made her happy, he’d do his best to act as if he was enjoying himself.

Harry sighed.   The one and only time he’d been in here was on his disastrous date with Cho.   They’d sat at the next table.   He remembered being quite uncomfortable watching the other students snogging sloppily across the tiny tables, while he didn’t even have the nerve to hold Cho’s hand.

"Knut for your thoughts," Ginny said softly, reaching across the table and taking his hand.

"I was just thinking I wanted to hold your hand," he said, smiling warmly at her and lacing his fingers through hers.   What a difference it made, being here with Ginny, knowing how to talk to his girlfriend, being comfortable with her.   He found the place a bit amusing now, rather than terrifyingly feminine.  

He glanced up at the cherubs flitting above them.   "Not in the tea!" he snapped, covering his and Ginny’s cups with his hands as one of the cherubs prepared to toss a handful of confetti his way.   The cherub shrugged and dumped his entire load in Harry’s hair, making everyone laugh, even Harry.

"You’re cute with pink confetti in your hair," Ginny giggled.   "I’ll have to remember what a good look that is for you."

"Oh, really?" he said, grabbing a handful of confetti out of his hair and sprinkling it on top of her head.   "There!   Now we match!"   He and Ginny ended up in a laughing confetti war, finally tossing so much confetti at each other that their tea cups were soon filled with it.  

"Now we need more drinks!" Ginny teased.

"Let’s get them in the Three Broomsticks, OK?   Then we won’t have to dodge these silly cherubs!" Harry said, laughing again as she sprinkled confetti up and down his arms.   "Having fun?"

"Oh yes!   I just love decorating, you know that," she said with a laugh.

"Are you two finished playing over there?" Hermione said, giggling at how silly Harry and Ginny were being.   "I have some shopping to do — Ginny, do you want to come?   I need to leave Ron behind for a bit."

"Yeah, I’ll come," Ginny said as she pushed back her chair and stood up.

"When I wanted to leave, you wanted to stay.   Hermione says, ‘let’s go shopping’ and you’re ready to go?   I suppose that shows exactly where I stand in your list of priorities!" Harry pouted, giving Ginny a pained look.

"Silly, I need to get your Valentine’s present!   You boys behave yourselves, now!" Ginny said, pulling her cloak around her.

"We’ll behave ourselves elsewhere, how’s that?" Ron said, getting to his feet.   "We’ll meet you in the Three Broomsticks in, say, an hour?" he said, glancing at Harry, who nodded.

"That’s fine!   See you then," Hermione said as she and Ginny waved and went out of the door.

"What are you getting Ginny for Valentine’s Day?" Ron asked as the boys went out into the cold.

"Already got it," Harry said with a smile, patting his pocket.   "Bought it over Christmas break."

"Wow, you are organized!" Ron said, grinning.   "What did you get her?"

"A pendant," Harry said, smiling in anticipation of Ginny’s reaction to it.

"I don’t know what to get Hermione," Ron said in frustration.   "She’s a bit hard to shop for.   I can’t think of anything she’d like but books."

"Why don’t you buy her a sweater or scarf or something like that?" Harry suggested.

"You think?   I hadn’t thought of clothes," Ron said, mulling over Harry’s idea.

"Something different to everyday stuff," Harry said.   "I should have thought of that myself, actually."

"So get Ginny two presents," said Ron as he stopped in front of a shop that sold women’s clothing.   "She won’t mind."

"That’s a thought," Harry mused, "but the pendant’s the right thing for Valentine’s Day."

"You’re not going to make me go in there alone, are you?" Ron said uneasily, glancing at the store beside them.

Harry laughed.   "No, I won’t make you go in there alone," he agreed.   "I’ll even look around myself.   Will that make you happy?"

"Yeah!"

The boys browsed through the store, rather appalled at the huge variety of clothing available to women, and wondering how they’d decide on what size to get.   Finally, Ron found a pretty pink sweater knitted in a lacy pattern.  

"She likes pink," he said doubtfully as he held it up to show Harry.   "What d’you reckon?   Does it look small enough for her?"

"Yeah, I guess so.   I think she’ll like it," Harry said approvingly.   He held up a gold sweater with a dainty pattern of running horses woven into it in shades of russet and brown.   "What do you think of this one for Ginny?"

"She’ll love that.   You know how she likes horses," Ron said with a smile.   "And she likes that colour."

"Yeah," Harry said.  

Their shopping completed, the boys went to the Three Broomsticks to wait for the girls.   They waved at friends who came in, and chatted to those at nearby tables.   Finally, the girls arrived, a gust of air lifting their hair prettily as they came through the door.   Their cheeks were pink with cold, and both of them looked quite pleased with themselves.

"Good shopping, ladies?" Harry said as he pulled out Ginny’s chair for her.

"Excellent!" Ginny replied, smiling up at him as she settled into her place beside him.

"I’m hungry," Ron said as he pushed Hermione’s butterbeer toward her.   Harry passed Ginny hers, as well.

"What a surprise!" Harry teased.   "I’ll get us some crisps, OK?   Anything else?"

"Crisps would be great!" Hermione said.   "I’m a bit hungry as well."

Their snacks eaten, the two couples parted for a while.   Harry and Ginny walked toward the Shrieking Shack, turning off the path to the clearing they’d used as a snogging spot on other Hogsmeade weekends when they didn’t have a lot of spare time.   They knew if they went to the Shack, they would lose all track of time.  

Harry conjured a squashy armchair and sat in it, pulling Ginny into his lap.   She did a Warming Charm so they’d be more comfortable.

"This reminds me of last Valentine’s Day," Ginny said.   "Wasn’t that the first time we sat in here?   And we were even in a chair like this, weren’t we?"

"Yeah, I think that was Valentine’s Day," Harry agreed.   He nibbled on her ears.   She was wearing the heart-shaped ruby earrings he’d given her for Christmas.   "You’re so pretty.   You taste good, too," he chuckled, now moving his nibbles to her neck.

Ginny giggled.   "That tickles!   Oh!   No, wait, don’t stop!" she protested as he lifted his lips away from her neck.

"You said it tickled.   I’m trying to keep you happy, you know," he grumbled, then nibbled her neck on the other side, "just for balance," he said with a laugh.

"I love you, Harry," Ginny breathed, lacing her fingers in his hair and pulling his face up to hers.   "I don’t understand it.   I love you more every day.   Every single day, I think I love you as much as anyone could ever love someone else, but then the next day, I love you even more.   How is that possible?"

"I have no idea, but it’s true for me too," he said huskily as he bent his head to kiss her seriously.   He groaned as she opened her mouth and invited him in.   Several passionate minutes later, they came up for air.

"We’re going to melt the snow around here if we keep this up," Harry murmured, kissing her behind her ear, his hand cupping her head, his other hand trying patiently to find a way through her layers of warm clothes to her breast.

"Yeah," she breathed, arching her back as his hand finally found its way through some of her layers and moved languidly, tantalizingly on her breast.   She moaned and sat up a bit straighter.   "It’s too cold to do this here.   Let’s go somewhere warmer later, OK?"

"Yeah," he said, distracted by the pleasures he was experiencing, "warmer."

"Harry?   Warmer?" she said, trying to get his attention.

"Ummm," he said, nuzzling her neck again.

Ginny moaned with pleasure.   His hand had at long last discovered skin.   "Oh, yes!   No, wait!   Don’t!   It’s too cold!"   She shivered and sat up.

"I’m sorry, baby," he said, straightening her clothes.   "You drive me so crazy, I didn’t even notice the cold."

"It wasn’t your chest getting an icy blast up it, either," she said with a laugh.   "Warming Charms don’t work that well on gusts of wind!"   She slid her fingers into his thick, glossy hair again and rocked his head from side to side.   "One of these days, Potter," she said in a warning tone.

"What?" he said, baffled.

"One of these days, we’re going to have a decent place to do this!" she declared.

"Yeah!" he agreed.   "Well, now that we’ve been so rudely interrupted, I can give you your present."   He moved her a bit so he could get to his pocket.   "I think there’s something in here for you."

"Oh, you do, do you?" she said tartly.   "And what might it be?"   She’d noticed the shopping bag he’d carried and was surprised he wasn’t reaching for that.

"A little something," he said, pulling the package out and setting it gently in her hands.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny breathed when she recognized the jewellery store wrapping.   "You’re spoiling me!"

"And that’s a problem because. . .?" he said with a sly grin.

"It’s not a problem, not a problem at all!" she laughed, carefully unwrapping the small box and gasping when she opened it to see the beautiful heart-shaped ruby pendant that matched her earrings.   "It’s gorgeous!"

"It has all the protections the lion one does.   And there are two chains, so you can wear it by itself, or use the longer chain to wear it with the lion.   Mr. Joyero says that’s the fashion."

"It is.   I’ve seen other girls do that.   Oh, thank you, sweetheart!" she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.   She sat back and opened her cloak a bit so she could put on the new pendant.   The two necklaces complimented each other beautifully.   "I wish I had a mirror!"

"I have one," Harry said, pulling out the small mirror he used to communicate with Remus and holding it so she could admire her jewellery.

"Wow.   Thank you!" she said again, pulling him down into a warm kiss.

"I just love the way you thank me for things," he said when they broke the kiss, leaning his forehead on hers.   "You do have a way with words."

Ginny giggled.   "I have a present for you, as well," she said.   "I ordered it ages ago.   I hope you like it."   She pulled a box out of her pocket and handed it to Harry.

Harry smiled tenderly at her, then hefted the box in his hand.   "Hmm, not chocolate frogs, I’m guessing," he teased.   "Not Pepper Imps.   Not a quill.   Not a broom.   What could it be?"  

"Just open it, silly!"

"OK, if you insist!" he said, then gleefully ripped off the paper and opened the box.   "Oh, Gin," he breathed in amazement, "it’s wonderful!"

"It’s waterproof, too," she said.   Harry had purchased a cheap watch to replace the one he’d ruined during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and had ruined that one when he rescued Ginny from the lake during the battle in France the previous year.   His next watch had been blasted to pieces by Voldemort in their battle at the end of the previous school term.   He’d never replaced it.   Ginny’s gift was a beautiful watch with numerous dials and hands.  

"What does it do?   What are all these hands and things?" he asked, studying the watch in amazement.   It reminded him of Dumbledore’s watch with its twelve hands.

"This pair of hands tells the time, see?" she said, pointing to the two longest hands.   "This one counts off seconds.   This dial shows the date.   That one is a timer.   You use this button to set it to time things, or to set it as an alarm.   This other small dial, if you look closely, is like the clock we have at home.   It has me, Ron, Hermione, and Remus on it.   You can add people if you want to.   If you touch this button," she said, demonstrating, "it enlarges this dial so you can read it."

Harry studied the enlarged dial, noticing his friends’ faces on the hands, just as they were on the Weasley clock.   The dial said, "Home, School, Work, Travelling, Lost, Hospital, Prison, Mortal Peril."   Ginny’s, Ron’s and Hermione’s hands all said "Travelling" right now, and Remus’s said "School."

"It’s fantastic!" Harry said excitedly.  "Thanks!   And it’s waterproof on top of everything else?"

"Yes, and it’s also supposed to hold up to being hit with spells and so on."

"I didn’t know they made such things," Harry said, truly impressed with her gift.   "Thank you, sweetheart!"

"You really like it?" she said, thrilled by his reaction.   She’d been making payments on this watch for months, using nearly every penny of her spending money to purchase it.

"I love it!   It’s brilliant!" he said, still studying the watch.   He raised his eyes to hers.   "You’re brilliant!   And I love you — even more than this watch!"   He kissed her quite thoroughly.   "Happy Valentine’s Day, baby."

"And to you, as well," she said, smiling up at him.  

A while later, as they stood up and Harry Vanished the chair, they started to walk away when Ginny said, "Wait, Harry, you left your bag."

"I forgot about that!" he said, going back and lifting the bag from the snow.   He glanced inside it and looked off in the distance for a long moment.

"What’s wrong?" Ginny asked, confused.

"I’m trying to decide."

"Decide what?"

"If you need this now or later," he said, suddenly handing her the bag.   "Now works."

"What’s this?" she said, taking it and gazing at him with dancing eyes.   He always gave her wonderful presents, and he’d already given her that lovely necklace.   Now what was he up to?

"Something I found today that I thought you’d like.   Go ahead and open it," he urged her.

She reached into the bag and pulled out a soft package wrapped in brown paper.   "What. . .?"

"Open it."

When she got the package open and saw the sweater, her face lit up.   "Oh, Harry, it’s gorgeous!   It has horses on it!   And I love the colour!"   She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him happily.   As she stepped back from him she said, "But you didn’t have to — the necklace was more than enough!"

"I know I didn’t have to.   Ron didn’t want to go in the shop alone to look for something for Hermione, and I saw that and it seemed to be saying, ‘Ginny needs me, Ginny needs me’ — so I bought it for you," he said.

Harry’s impish, crooked grin made Ginny’s heart turn over.   What had she ever done to deserve such a boyfriend?   "You are so precious to me, did you know that?" she said sincerely.   "I love you."

"And I love you!" he said, lifting her in his arms and swinging her around.   "I hope that fits, by the way."

"It’s my size, I looked at the label," she replied.   "It’s perfect!   I can’t wait to wear it!"

"And I can’t wait to try to get it off you," he said with a teasing leer, wiggling his eyebrows and making her laugh as he set her back on the ground.

"Me, either," she said, tucking the sweater back into the bag and lacing her fingers through his as they started back toward town.

* * * * *

Some time later, the four friends were walking back to school.   Hermione loved her sweater, and was amused by the fact that she’d bought Ron a sweater as well.   Both of them were impressed with the watch Ginny had given Harry and with Ginny’s new pendant and sweater.

Partway back, Harry’s high spirits overwhelmed him.   He grabbed a fistful of snow and tossed it at Ron.   A snowball fight ensued, with much laughter.   Ron grabbed Harry and shoved a handful of snow down his back inside his clothes.   Harry pulled Ron down to the ground and scrubbed his face with snow.   The girls giggled madly and managed to evade the snowballs for a while, then began pelting the boys with snowballs from the shelter of the trees.   The boys soon tackled them and pulled them down into the soft, deep snow, rolling over and over together down a small hill, their laughter echoing around them.   They finally grew tired of rough-housing and relaxed, making snow angels before getting up and doing Drying Charms on their clothes so they wouldn’t freeze on the way home.

Harry was still feeling silly.   He changed into his flying squirrel Animagus form and bounded up a tree, soaring to the next one and racing through its branches, showering his friends with snow when he could.   His friends followed his progress as he led them toward school.   As the squirrel soared between trees twenty feet above them, it squealed suddenly and collapsed into a ball, falling from the sky, hitting several large branches as it fell.  

"Aresto Momentum!" Hermione cried, but her spell missed the rapidly falling animal, which landed on a rocky outcropping below the trees.

"HARRY!" Ginny and Hermione screamed as they ran toward him.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Ron cried, kneeling beside the small animal, which was twitching and squeaking as if it was in great pain.

"Don’t move him.   Something may be broken," Ginny warned.   She touched the squirrel with one gentle finger.   "Harry?   Can you change back?"   The squirrel shuddered and squealed again, its eyes rolling frantically, its tiny ears flat against its skull.

"Here, I’ll change him," Hermione said, then tapped him three times with her wand.   Instantly, Harry lay there before them, groaning and twisting in pain, his left arm obviously broken.   Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, glad she’d conquered the Human-to-Animal Transfiguration so they wouldn’t have to wait for Harry to change himself, as he’d had to do when injured as a thestral the previous year.

"Look, his scar’s bleeding!" Ginny said as she began examining him.   "He must hit his head."

"Or something’s going on with You-Know-Who," Ron said darkly.   The two girls looked at him in shock.

"That’s probably what it is, scar pain," Hermione said.   "But it must be awful.   I don’t remember it actually bleeding before."

Ginny did a quick Ferula Charm to support Harry’s broken arm.   Not finding any other injuries, Ginny took a handful of snow and held it to his scar, hoping it would comfort him.   The snow quickly turned bloody.   "We need to get him somewhere so he can be taken care of," she said anxiously.   "I don’t know if Merlin will come if we call him."

"I can make a Portkey for him," Hermione offered.  

"Where’d you learn that?" Ron said in surprise.   "The Ministry controls Portkeys.   Won’t you get in trouble?"

"I watched Dumbledore do it, then tried it myself once," she said.   "I spoke to Professor Dumbledore about it after I succeeded with it.   He told the Ministry that learning it was an extra credit project for me.   That should cover this.   Besides, it’s an emergency!"   She glanced at Ginny.   "OK with you?"     Seeing Ginny’s nod, Hermione pulled off a mitten and laid it on Harry’s chest, tapped it with her wand and said, "Portus."   She looked up at Ginny.   "It will take him to the hospital wing.   Why don’t you go with him?"   Ginny nodded.

"The hell with that," Ron growled. "We’ll all go."   He wrapped one arm tightly around Harry, then took Hermione’s hand and held both of their hands on the mitten next to Ginny’s just as the Portkey activated.   They all felt the tug behind their navels as the Portkey transported them.   They landed in a heap, with Ron doing his best to keep Harry from crashing to the floor.   Harry screamed in pain when his broken arm was bumped by his friends trying to keep their footing.   When Ron regained his balance, he lifted his friend in his arms and carefully laid him on a bed.

"What’s going on?" Madam Pomfrey said, hearing the commotion in her quiet hospital wing.

"Harry’s hurt," Ginny said.   She explained what had happened as the nurse examined her patient, who was writhing on the bed and clutching his scar while groaning wretchedly.

"All I can find is his broken arm," Madam Pomfrey said. "Nice job on the splint, Miss Weasley."   She shook her head, looking disgusted.   "He’s lucky that’s all that’s wrong, with such a fall.   Jumping tree to tree.   What was he thinking?"

"He was in his flying squirrel form," Hermione said, wondering if the nurse had missed that part of Ginny’s explanation.

"I know that," Pomfrey snapped.   "But still. . .he does such dangerous things."

"He was just having fun," Ginny murmured.

The nurse gave her a look that said in no uncertain terms what her opinion of "just having fun" was.   She finished her examination, healed the broken arm and said, "I believe the majority of his problem is scar pain, but I don’t understand why it’s continuing so long, nor why it’s bleeding.   That’s quite unusual, isn’t it?"

"Yes," Ginny replied anxiously.

"Get a flannel and cold water and hold the flannel on it for him, Miss Weasley," Madam Pomfrey directed.   "I’ll contact Professors Dumbledore and Lupin."  

A short time later, Dumbledore strode into the room.   "What’s wrong with him?"

"He seems to be having scar pain that hasn’t let up since it began," Madam Pomfrey said worriedly.   "I don’t remember it ever going on so long, nor do his friends."

Dumbledore moved to Harry’s bedside, his face furrowed in concern.   He’d never seen the boy have such a horrible reaction to scar pain.   "Harry?   Can you hear me?   Wake up, dear boy.   Come back to us.   You can do it."  

Harry writhed on the bed in agony, his groans heart-wrenching.   His movements were so violent, it was all Ginny could do to keep the cloth on his scar.   Ron and Hermione stood on either side of the bed, trying to keep him from falling out as he rolled around trying to find a way to shake off the pain in his head.

"What happened today?   Any problems?" Dumbledore asked Harry’s friends.

"No.   We had a wonderful day," Ginny said, a tear escaping her control.   "We were playing in the snow just before he decided to do his flying squirrel form and fly through the trees.   He was so happy, so playful today.   He was in a great mood, then he just. . .crashed," she ended, shaking her head in disbelief.  

Dumbledore sat on the side of the bed and put a hand on either side of Harry’s face, holding his head as still as he could.   "Harry?" No response.   "Harry, listen to me.   I know you’re in great pain. I want you to open your eyes.   Show me what’s wrong so I can help you."   Harry’s body shuddered and his head quivered in Dumbledore’s hands, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, but the headmaster held him firmly.   "I know you can do this.   Open your eyes.   Let me see what’s wrong."   Harry’s eyes opened a bit and Dumbledore leaned forward, doing Legilimency on him as quickly as he could.   Harry gasped and his eyes widened, his body shaking even harder, a cry of fear or pain escaping him.   Dumbledore tightened his grip, wrinkling the boy’s smooth face as the old wizard pressed his hands firmly against it to hold it still.   Dumbledore became quite grave as he stared into the young man’s eyes.   He sat back suddenly, his hands rubbing Harry’s cheeks soothingly before releasing his grip.

"What is it, Professor?" Hermione asked.   "What’s he seeing?"

"It’s too horrible to contemplate," Dumbledore said, his aged face ashen.   "And I couldn’t pull him out of it.   I tried, but he’s locked into that vision right now."

Harry’s body contracted in a spasm of pain, his hands flying to his scar again. He groaned horribly, thrashing about on the bed uncontrollably.   A broken cry burst out of him.   "NO!   No!   Stop, please!"  

"Stop what?" Ginny asked in concern.

"What he’s seeing.   We can’t stop it," Dumbledore said sadly.  

"Would some Dreamless Sleep Potion help him?" Madam Pomfrey said, looking quite worried.

"It might do him more harm than good right now, Poppy," Dumbledore said.   "He has to break free of this himself.   All we can do is wait."

"Could we get some ice for his scar?   A cool cloth usually helps, but it doesn’t seem to be making any difference this time," Ginny said, doing her best not to cry.

"That’s a good idea," Pomfrey said quickly.   "I’ll be back in a minute."   She soon returned with a bowl full of ice. She wrapped some in a cloth and handed it to Ginny.   "Try that."

Harry’s scar was bleeding freely, blood running down his face and into his eyes.   Hermione washed the blood off as Ginny tried to push his hands away to hold the ice on his scar.   Ron grabbed Harry’s hands and held them out of Ginny’s way, gasping when his best friend suddenly gripped his hands tightly.

"Ouch!   He’s about to break my hands," Ron cried in surprise. "He’s actually pulling me."  Ron grunted in pain as Harry clutched his hands in a bone-crunching grip.   "It’s as if he’s trying to pull himself out of a hole."

"In many ways, he is," Dumbledore said quietly.   "Can you hang on?   It may help him to feel that connection to someone outside the vision."

"Yeah.   I’ve got him," Ron said determinedly, tightening his grip on Harry’s hands as much as he could.   His hands were growing numb from being squeezed so hard.

Remus ran into the room. He’d been on his way home when he was contacted about his godson’s injuries.   "What’s going on?"

"Lord Voldemort is in the middle of doing something absolutely abominable," Dumbledore said sadly.   "Harry doesn’t seem to be able to break free of this vision."

Ginny pressed the ice more firmly against Harry’s scar.   He gasped and opened his eyes, the shudders in his body finally diminishing.   "Thanks," he whispered, his voice sounding crackly and old.

"Are you back now?" Dumbledore said with a smile.

"I . . .I hope so," Harry replied cautiously.

"Are you going to be sick, mate?" Ron said, noting Harry’s pallor.

Harry nodded and sat up quickly, vomiting spectacularly over the side of the bed.   His friends moved just in time.   Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, making the sick vanish.

"Can you tell us about it?" Dumbledore said gently.

"Albus, for Merlin’s sake, let the boy rest!" Madam Pomfrey said, incensed.

"Something important just happened.   We need to know what it was," Dumbledore said, his eyes grave.   "Harry?"

Harry’s face crumpled.   He looked as if he’d be ill again any moment.  

"Take your time," Remus encouraged sitting on the edge of the bed by his godson.   He patted the boy’s shoulder comfortingly.

"It doesn’t matter.   It’s too late," he moaned.

"Too late for what?" Remus said, his quiet voice filled with concern.

"Too late to save them.   They’re gone, they’re all gone."   Harry curled up on his side in a ball of misery, too horrified to cry, a dry sob escaping him now and then.

"Who, Harry?   Who’s gone?" Remus prompted gently.

"The kids.   All of them.   All gone," he said, his voice breaking with emotion.

"Poppy?   A dose of the Draught of Peace might be helpful now," Dumbledore murmured. She nodded and ran off to get the potion for Harry.  

"Are you feeling better?" Dumbledore said a few minutes after Madam Pomfrey gave Harry the potion.

"Yeah," he said, nodding wearily, his body finally beginning to relax.   "A bit."

"Can you tell us about it?"

Harry looked around at his friends, his godfather, his headmaster, the nurse, all of whom bore expressions of heartfelt concern.   "I’m sorry I scared you," he murmured.

"It’s all right, lad," Remus said, running a gentle hand over the boy’s hair.  

Harry looked at him gratefully, then sighed.   He tried to sit up, and was instantly assisted by everyone at once, which made him smile a bit.   "Thanks."   He swallowed hard, then began.  

"While I was flying, my scar just exploded with pain quite suddenly.   I tried to reach the next branch, but couldn’t.   I got caught up in the vision and wasn’t even aware of falling, although I did feel my arm snap."   He wiggled the fingers on his left hand and stretched the arm out, twisting it this way and that, glad it was all in one piece again.   "I’m just delaying telling you," he said uneasily.   "I should get on with it."

"In your own time," Dumbledore said, his voice warm and comforting.   "You’ve been through a lot this afternoon."

Harry nodded and swallowed.   "Well. . .Voldemort was very happy, deliriously happy.   That’s why my scar hurt to start with.   A plan had come together and was going forward.   He’d had Death Eaters out scouting the country for certain people, and they’d found them and were bringing them to him.   There were seventeen of them — because I’m seventeen years old.   That’s what he said.   They all had green eyes, because I have green eyes."   He grew more miserable the longer he spoke.   His body appeared to be caving in on itself as he tried to shrink away from the horrible things he was about to say.   "Seventeen green-eyed Muggle children."

"Children?" Hermione murmured in shock.

"Muggles?" Ron said, equally surprised.

"From about six years old to about fifteen, I think," Harry said. "He. . .he took their eyes."   His voice broke and he began crying. "He took their eyes because they were green like MINE!"   He sobbed brokenly, then fought on.   "He used their eyes in the Eye-Restoring Potion he’s been making with pureblood wizard eyes.   He thought making it half-blood by using Muggle eyes rather than the eyes of half-blood wizards might make it stronger somehow.   So that’s what he did.   Seventeen Muggle children lost their eyes.   He made the potion and it worked.   He can see now, better than I can without my glasses.   And he got tired of the kids’ crying, and found their appearance disgusting since he’d ripped out their eyes, so he killed them, all of them.   Seventeen green-eyed Muggle children."   He shuddered, the horror of it nearly more than he could bear.   "It’s my fault they’re dead."

"No, it isn’t!" Ron, Hermione and Remus insisted.   Ginny was in tears, sharing his misery.

"Yes, it is.   I scratched out his eyes.   It was my idea to take his eyes, not Fawkes’.   My idea.   My bloody brilliant brainstorm," he said, self-loathing in his voice.   "When Fawkes turned up during the battle last year, it gave me an idea.   I thought I could defeat him if I put out his eyes, just as it was easier for me to kill the basilisk when Fawkes pecked out its eyes.   But I didn’t count on him still shooting spells blindly and nearly killing Ginny.   And once I saved her, I couldn’t fight anymore.   It wasn’t such a brilliant plan after all.   This potion he’s making — it has something to do with his having some of my blood in him, but I didn’t understand that part when he was talking about it.   But it doesn’t matter.   It’s all my bloody FAULT!"   He buried his face in his hands and sat shuddering with horror and guilt.   Remus pulled him into a tight embrace.   Ginny wrapped her arms around his back and rested her cheek on his hair, trying not to sob.   Ron and Hermione stared at the scene with horror, Hermione crying as quietly as she could, Ron’s face white with shock, neither of them knowing what to do.

"I saw bits of that in your eyes, Harry," Dumbledore said sadly, "when I did Legilimency on you.   I tried my best, but I couldn’t pull you out of the vision.   I’m so sorry I couldn’t get through to you.   You shouldn’t have had to suffer so."

"I shouldn’t have had to suffer?   What about those children?   They were at school or at home or at a friend’s house, just living their lives, not bothering anyone, not doing anything wrong except for having green eyes!"   He pulled away from Remus.   "I’m going to be sick again," he said, then leaned over the bed and vomited.   He sat up, his face grey and ill-looking, his eyes startlingly green against the pallor of his skin.   "Sorry," he murmured as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.   As Hermione cleared away the sick, Ginny cleaned his face with her flannel, then took his hand in hers and gently washed it as well.   "Thanks," he said quietly.  

Ginny put her arms around his neck and pulled his head to her chest, cradling it in her arms, her cheek on his hair, tears streaming silently down her face.   She had no words of comfort for him.   She couldn’t imagine the horrors he’d just seen.   When she tried to picture it, her mind balked and shut down.   And for him to blame himself?   How could she ever help him through that?   She had to do something.   She put her lips by his ear.   "I love you, Harry.   We’ll get through this together," she murmured.  

He shivered and folded his long arms around her, holding her close.   How could she still love him when he’d caused so much harm?   Harry felt as if his brain was locked in a cold, dark place, with images re-running over and over and over that he simply didn’t want to see.   He couldn’t find a way to stop it.

"Harry?" Dumbledore said gently.   "You need to rest.   Once you’ve rested, you’ll feel a bit better and we can deal with the situation.   I truly hate to trouble you further, but can you tell me where this happened?"

He raised his head and looked at Dumbledore with eyes darkened by sadness, a simmering anger burning deep within them.   "I didn’t recognize it.   It was a big open room, stone walls, torches in wall sconces, not much furniture.   What furniture I saw was dark wood and leather, carvings of some kind on the wood, scary faces with tongues sticking out on the corners of the top rail.   I noticed it because he stood in front of a chair like that for a while.   He was telling one of the older children why they were there.   It was a boy, brown hair, freckles, maybe fifteen.   He made the boy sit in that chair and watch while he took the eyes of the others.   He yelled at the boy for flinching when the children screamed in pain, then explained to him about the potion, and about how ‘useful’ they were being, especially since they were Muggles, by ‘sharing’ their eyes with him.   Then he took that boy’s eyes as well.   Once he had all of the eyes in the potion, he simmered them for a while, still talking so calmly to this one boy — who was quiet after his initial screams — sometimes telling the others to shut up.   When the potion was ready, he took it and then the first thing he saw was that boy he’d been talking to.   That’s when I saw the boy and the carvings on the chair.   Voldemort leaned down and got face to face with him.   He said he wondered if those eyes had looked as good in the boy’s face as they did in his.   Then he looked in a mirror and I saw. . .I saw. . . ."   He stopped, his body shaking in revulsion.

"What, Harry?" Dumbledore prompted.

Harry lifted wretched eyes to his headmaster’s.   "His eyes look like mine now.   They’re not shaped like mine, but the colour is nearly the same.   He seemed to be very happy about that for some reason.   The last time my scar hurt, I had a vision of him with green eyes.   Is there some reason he’d want eyes like mine?   Because he has some of my blood or something?   Do green eyes make him more powerful, or help him fight me better?"   Harry sat back, startled.   "That’s it!   He thinks those eyes will help him defeat me, even more than the red ones."   He stared, aghast, at his headmaster.   "He didn’t gain any magical power by making eyes that look like mine, did he?"

"No, he didn’t," Dumbledore assured him.   "I suspect it’s the shock value of seeing your own eyes in his face that he’s counting on.   But now you’ve already seen them, so that advantage is lost to him.   Was he aware you were there with him?"

"No, I don’t think so.   He was obsessed with the children and the potion," Harry said in disgust.

"All right," Dumbledore said, patting Harry kindly on the shoulder.   "You lie back and rest.   I’ll deal with this situation.     You just get better, all right?"

"How can you deal with the situation?" Harry demanded.   "Seventeen kids are DEAD!   You can’t bring them back!"   The windows of the hospital wing rattled ominously in response to his fury.   Harry noticed, and did his best to calm down before someone got hurt.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly.   "I know, Harry, believe me, I know.   I wish there was something I could do about that.   But we do have ways of tracking people.   We need to find out where Voldemort is hiding now.   We’ll pick up the trail of those who kidnapped the children and see if it leads to his lair.   You rest, and I’ll take care of things as well as I can manage.   And just between you and me, I can manage things fairly well," he said, a smile in his voice as he tried to reassure the grieving boy.

* * * * *

Harry spent the night in the hospital wing and was released early the next morning.   Now he and Ginny were sitting across from Hermione and Ron at breakfast.   Harry had no appetite and was barely picking at his food, not speaking much even when spoken to.   His friends understood that he needed time to deal with the horrors he’d seen and tried not to bother him too much.

When the post owls arrived, Hermione took her copy of The Daily Prophet from the owl as quickly as she could, trying to hide the paper in case the story was on the front page, but she wasn’t quick enough. Harry reached across the table and grabbed the paper out of her hands, opening it so fast that he ripped it.   His eyes scanned the front page frantically.   A small headline in a box near the bottom of the page said Death Eaters Suspected in Kidnappings across the UK — Story on Page 32.   Harry opened the paper to page 32 and saw the story, headlined:   Seventeen Muggle Children Disappear in Incidents across the UK — Death Eaters Suspected.   The story went on to say these children had simply vanished without a trace from their school playgrounds or home gardens, and that, in each case, a man in a dark cloak had been seen just before the child disappeared. The descriptions of the man varied, and the abductions happened within such a limited time frame, there had to be more than one kidnapper involved.   Some witnesses said they thought the man wore a hood, which led the Prophet to its speculation about Death Eaters.   The article went on to propose many wild ideas about what "You-Know-Who" might be using these children for.   No one had noted the fact that all the children had green eyes.

Harry threw the paper across the table in a fury, his rage making the milk and juice jugs dance.   "Bloody hell," he growled, then stormed away from the table.   He spoke no more the rest of the day, no matter how anyone tried to entice him.

"Why’s the story inside the paper instead of on the front page?" Ron mused as he looked at the paper.

"Because they’re Muggle children," Hermione said darkly.   "If they were wizard children, it would have been a huge headline on page one."

* * * * *

Days later, Harry was very much like a ghost.   He never smiled.   His face was pale and drawn, with huge circles under his eyes.   He simply dragged himself from class to class without paying attention to what he was doing or where he was going.   The only time he showed any life at all was during Quidditch practice.   There, he played with a fierce determination that was nearly frightening in its intensity.   Ron had taken the team aside and explained that Harry wasn’t feeling well, and asked them all to be patient with him.   Dumbledore had done the same with the staff, while also telling them the reason why Harry didn’t feel well.   Even Ginny couldn’t cheer him up, which showed how very depressed he was.

In Transfiguration class just over a week after Harry’s vision, Professor McGonagall called on Harry to answer a question.   He didn’t respond.  

"Mr. Potter?" she prompted.   Still no answer.

Hermione trod on Harry’s toes, which only got her a wearily filthy look from him.

"Mr. Potter?" McGonagall said again, just as Ron reached behind Hermione and poked Harry in the ribs.

"Huh?   Sorry, Professor," he said dully.

"Are you feeling quite well?"

"I’m fine," he said, his voice flat, his face gaunt and pale.

"See me after class, please, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said crisply, then turned to Dean to get the answer to her question.

After class, Harry trudged slowly up to McGonagall’s desk.   Ron and Hermione waited anxiously at the back of the room.   Harry sighed heavily as he stood before her.   "Yes, Professor?"

"Sit down," she began.   He dropped into a chair with a thud.   "I’m quite concerned about you, Mr. Potter.   You’re not participating in class, you’re not doing your homework, you’re coming to class unprepared," she said, tilting her head and studying his face up close for the first time in days.   "You look ill.   You’ve lost weight and you have huge circles under your eyes."   She stopped uncertainly.   She didn’t want to put him through any more pain, but she had to find out if that vision was still causing Harry’s problems, or if it was something else.

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said listlessly.

McGonagall gazed at the boy sitting perfectly still before her, looking terribly sad and weary.   His cheeks were emaciated and hollow.   Even his hair, which usually seemed to have a life of its own, lay limp and nearly flat on his head.   His eyes, normally so brilliant and full of life and humour, were flat and cloudy-looking.   He usually looked better than this when he was quite ill.   And Harry was rarely entirely still, yet there he sat, his hands lying limp on the desk surface, his body slumped listlessly in his chair.  

She turned a chair around and sat in front of him, with only the desk top between them.   "I know about the vision you had," she said sympathetically.   "Is that what’s bothering you?"   He sat still, then finally gave a small nod.  

"Have you considered putting the memory in your Pensieve?" she asked quietly.   "That might help."

"After what happened to me when I used it after Casey died, I’m afraid to use it for horrible things like this," he said honestly.   "I don’t want to be ill like that again."

"I understand."   She sighed.   "I can’t imagine how ghastly this vision was for you.   But you simply must get past it.   You aren’t helping those children by letting the memory of what happened make you ill."

"There’s no way to help them now," he said bleakly.

McGonagall reached across the desk and put her hand on his, rubbing it gently as she spoke.   "I know.   I’m so sorry you had to see that.   I’m sorry it happened, and that so many families are grieving now.   It’s completely unfair and tragic in every way.   But you mustn’t let it break your health or your spirit."

He glanced up at her.   She rarely showed such personal concern for her students, usually doing her best to keep a professional distance.   Something in the way she was behaving was getting through to him, at least a little.

She took his hand in hers, turning it over and examining it.   "You have good hands, Harry.   Strong, capable, kind, gentle hands."   She sighed, wishing she knew the right words to help him through his pain.   "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she began.

"Voldemort," he corrected automatically.

She shook her head in frustration and sighed, then went on.   "He apparently wanted your eyes, or eyes like yours.   Who knows why?   But he’s recognized the great power you have, and it worries him.   What he’ll never have is your heart."   She took his hand in both of hers, running her fingers over the calluses created by hours of playing Quidditch, gently touching the long, elegant fingers, the strong joint of his thumb that evidenced his resilient character.   "You have such fine qualities, Harry — eyes that recognize the good in people, a clever mind, such purity of heart, talent in every pore of your body.   You’re a truly good person, no matter how many school rules you’ve flagrantly broken over the years," she said, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.   "You have done nothing wrong.   None of this is your fault.   No, don’t argue with me," she said as she saw his temper rising.  "It most assuredly is not your fault."  

She studied his face quietly as he sank back into his lethargy.   "You need to know something, I think."   She straightened her shoulders and swallowed, preparing herself to say something difficult.   "I’ve never said this to another student in all my years of teaching.   I want you to know that," she said, watching to be certain he was paying attention.   "Of all the students I’ve taught over the years, you are my favourite.   I so enjoy the way your mind works, your sense of fun, the tremendous loyalty you feel for your friends.   I have the utmost respect for you.   You’re not the cleverest— "

"That would be Hermione," he said quickly, the hint of a smile on his face.

"Yes, it would," she agreed, "followed closely by your father and Sirius Black.   You’re not the best-behaved.   You’re not the best student.   You don’t apply yourself as well as you should all the time.   But you are a joy to me in ways I can’t explain.   What I want you to understand is that you are loved and appreciated and admired, Harry, not just by fan girls or people who fawn over celebrities or those who want something from you.   You need to understand that.   Nothing you do can change that, either.   It’s important for you to understand that, as well.   Am I getting through to you?"

Harry was touched by the things McGonagall was saying.   He knew she was careful to keep her distance from students.   She never expressed affection, never played favourites, yet here she was, actually telling him she loved him!   Something in his heart clicked, and a tiny ray of light seemed to open up in his mind.   He swallowed hard, clasped his hand around hers and said, "Yes, you’re getting through.   Thank you."

She nodded.   "Good.   I know it will take you some time to get past this awful thing, but you’re strong.   You will get past it and get on with your life.   And if there’s any way I can help you with that, you just have to say the word.   For now, I’m excusing you from the homework assignment, and the rest of today’s classes.   Get some rest, Harry.   You look like you haven’t slept in days."

"I haven’t.   I keep having the same nightmare over and over — that vision," he said with a shudder of revulsion.

"Then I suggest you see the nurse about having some Dreamless Sleep Potion," she said, releasing his hand, sitting back and becoming her normal, brisk self.   "Take Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger with you to the hospital wing for the potion."   She raised her voice, looking at Ron and Hermione still sitting nervously in the back.   "I’ll write a pass for you two.   Take him back to Gryffindor Tower and put him to bed.   Make sure he takes the Dreamless Sleep Potion so he will rest."   They both nodded.   She moved behind her desk and wrote notes for each of them.   "Right then.   Off you go."

Harry took his note, grabbed his bag and stood up, looking uncertainly at McGonagall.   "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Take care of yourself, Harry," she said with a smile.  

He nodded and followed Ron and Hermione out of the room.

* * * * *

Late that afternoon, Harry awoke from his nap.   He stretched and glanced around, surprised to see Ron sitting by his bed.   Ron had put him to bed in the Head Boy suite so he’d have more privacy and the girls would be allowed to visit.

"Hi!" Ron said cheerfully.   "Feeling better?"

"Ginny can’t sit with me right now for some reason, so you’re my Weasley guard, right?" Harry said with a weary smile.

"Yeah," Ron said with a grin.   He thought Harry seemed to be in a somewhat better mood.

"Thanks," Harry said, sitting up and putting his glasses on.   "How long have I slept?"

"It’s just after dinner time," Ron said.   "Hermione brought up a tray for us.   I’ve eaten mine, but yours is right here.   It’s had a Warming Charm on it so it would stay hot.   Ready to eat?"

"I’m not hungry."

"You have to eat, mate, or you’ll blow away in the next stiff wind," Ron chided him.   "Come on now, eat at least part of it.   It’s some of your favourites, steak and kidney pie and treacle tart."   Ron set the tray on Harry’s bedside table, then loaded a fork and aimed it at Harry.   "Open up the tunnel, here comes the train," he said, playfully waving the fork around in front of Harry’s mouth.

"I’m not hungry, Ron," Harry insisted.

"You have to eat at least a little," Ron insisted right back.   "Open up or I’ll put you under the Imperius Curse and force you to eat!"

"If you think—" Harry began tartly, but as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, Ron jabbed the fork in there, neatly depositing the food.   He pulled the fork back and grinned at Harry triumphantly.  

"Chew!" he commanded.

Harry looked grumpy, but chewed anyway, forcing himself to swallow.   Ron sat poised with another forkful in front of Harry’s face when there was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," Ron called, shoving the fork into Harry’s mouth when he opened it to say something else.

Harry made grouchy sounds while he chewed, which made Ginny and Hermione laugh as they entered.

"He’s eating!   However did you manage that?" Ginny said.

"He’s force-feeding me!" Harry protested, putting his hand between the fork and his mouth as Ron tried to deliver another load.

"Oh, well done, Ron!" Hermione said gaily.   "You look better, Harry.   The nap did you some good, then."

"Yeah," Harry said, turning his face away from Ron’s probing fork.   "Lay off, Ron!"   His patience was nearly gone.

"Let me," Ginny said, taking the fork and plate from Ron and sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed.   "Come on, sweetheart, take a bite," she said, holding the loaded fork in front of his face.

"Stop it!" he snapped.   "I’m not hungry!   And if I was, I could feed myself!   I’m not an invalid!"   He shoved past Ginny and got to his feet.   "Leave me alone!"

Ginny sat back looking hurt.   Ron’s face fell.   Hermione gave him a reproachful look.  

"That’s not on, mate," Ron said reproachfully.   "We’re trying to help you."

Harry growled, trying hard to control his temper.   "I.   Am.   Not.   Hungry.   What part of that do you not understand?"

"You haven’t eaten more than a bite of toast for days," Hermione said carefully.   "You’ve lost a lot of weight.   You weren’t fat to start with, Harry.   You can’t afford to lose that much weight.   It’s not healthy."

"I don’t care.   I’m not hungry.   Bugger off!" he snarled, then stormed out of the room.

"Where’s he going?" Ginny asked quietly.

"Dunno.   The loo, maybe," Ron said, getting to his feet.   "I’ll go check on him."

Harry was in the bathroom, throwing up what little food he’d taken in.

"You look like a ghost," Ron said in concern when he entered the bathroom.   "You all right?"

"I’m fine," Harry snapped.

"Did you chuck?"

"Yeah."

"You have to eat something.   Maybe soup would be better.   D’you want Dobby to bring you some of his pumpkin soup?   You always like that."

"No.  Don’t bother Dobby.   He doesn’t need to come here," Harry growled.   He turned and rested his forehead against the cool stone wall.

"Harry, you need to calm down," Ron said reproachfully.   "You scared the girls, and hurt Ginny’s feelings."

Harry turned and looked at him, guilt hitting him suddenly.   "And yours, as well?"

"I’ll be all right," Ron said with a shrug, but Harry could see the hurt in his eyes.   "We’re just trying to help you."

"I know.   I’m sorry.   I’m having a hard time right now."

"We know that.   What can we do to help?"

Harry sighed.   "I don’t think anyone can help me."

"I’m going to get some soup from the kitchen, and you’re going to eat it without fighting me about it," Ron said stoutly.   "Understand?   Don’t make me thump you!"   He grinned, a teasing light in his eyes.

"You’d thump me while I’m in this condition?" Harry protested, trying to go along with Ron’s game.

"Absolutely.   Let’s get you back to bed, mate, and then I’ll get the soup while you talk to the girls.   No serious snogging, or you’ll set off the alarms."

"Yeah.   Nobody would want to snog me the way my breath smells right now anyway," Harry said, a bit rueful.

"That’s what Breath Fresh Potion is for," Ron said, pulling a flagon out of the cabinet.   "Here, swirl some around in your mouth and spit it out.   You’ll like yourself better afterwards, I expect.   Or at least your mouth will taste better."

"You sound like a commercial on the telly," Harry said, doing as he was told.

"Maybe I’ll have a career in Muggle telly, then," Ron said playfully.   "I’m handsome enough," he added, preening theatrically in front of the mirror.   He’d seen a television programme in a shop window when he and Harry had taken the girls to a Muggle film.  

"You’re cute, not handsome," the mirror corrected.

"Oh, shut up!" Ron said, not really upset.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, trying to play along.   "I can see you on the telly."  

They arrived back in their room and Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione, who was nearest to the door.   "I’m sorry."

"We’re just so worried about you, Harry," Hermione said as she returned his hug.

"Thanks."   He turned to Ginny.   "You know I’d never deliberately hurt your feelings, right?"   She nodded, unshed tears sparkling in her lashes.   He touched her lashes with a gentle finger, lifting the tears away.   "I’m so sorry.   I don’t know what it’s going to take for me to get past this, but I’m afraid I’m going to be bad company for a while longer."

"We’ve been through your ‘bad company’ phases before," Ginny said resolutely.   "We’ll manage this one as well."

"Thanks," he said, then climbed back into bed.   When Ron returned with soup, Harry ate it obediently and managed to keep it down, as well.

"That’s better," Ginny said approvingly.

"It’s a start," Harry said gloomily.

* * * * *

Harry’s "start" didn’t take very well.   With the help of the Dreamless Sleep Potion each night, he was sleeping now, but he ate little, spoke less, and was just barely paying attention in his classes.   All of his teachers and friends were increasingly concerned.  

A few mornings later, Dumbledore stopped by the Gryffindor table at breakfast.   "Harry, a word, if I may?"

Harry didn’t answer, just got up dully and followed his headmaster, his shoulders slumped and his feet dragging.   Dumbledore led him all the way up to his office and had him sit down by one of the spindly-legged tables that held his delicate silver instruments.

"Do you know why I brought you up here?" Dumbledore asked.   Harry shook his head, his eyes flat and expressionless.   "I brought you up here because you need help, Harry, help that you aren’t getting by going to class and hanging around with your friends.   I thought going back to a normal routine would help you heal after that horrible vision you had." At these words, Harry’s head snapped up and his body shuddered involuntarily.   "Yes, that vision.   You’re still haunted by it, aren’t you?   Are you sleeping well?"   Harry shook his head, dropping his eyes again and studying his shoe laces.   "Are you sleeping at all?" Dumbledore asked gently.  

"I’m fine," Harry said dully.

"No, you’re not.   Tell me the truth," Dumbledore insisted.

Harry finally lifted his eyes and looked directly at his headmaster. "With the Dreamless Sleep Potion, I sleep, but I’m exhausted when I wake up.   Without the potion, I sleep sometimes, but I have nightmares.   I’m not getting any rest.   I’m tired all the time."

"What are the nightmares about?"

"It’s that vision, over and over.   I can’t get the images out of my head.   I see them when I’m awake.   I see them when I’m asleep.   I see them when I’m trying to eat."

"I would suggest you use your Pensieve, but Professor McGonagall told me what you felt about that.   I wish you’d reconsider."   Harry shook his head adamantly.   "You have lost a good bit of weight.   Are you eating at all?"

"Not much, and what I do get down doesn’t stay down for long.   I’m only able to eat soup right now, and not much of that," Harry said with a shrug.

"We need to change that.   I think this situation calls for an unusual solution, Harry.   I’m pulling you out of classes."

"What?" Harry said, shocked out of his stupor.

"I’m going to teach you myself.   I still have a great deal to teach you, and we’re running out of time."

"What do you mean, we’re running out of time?" Harry said, confused and a bit frightened.   Dumbledore looked terribly serious.

"You will soon be through with Hogwarts, and then you’ll be out in the world chasing Voldemort.   I know you.   You won’t go quietly to Auror School.   You’ll try to take the battle to Voldemort as soon as you’re free."

"I want to do that now!" Harry snapped, fighting back his temper as he saw the silver instruments beginning to tremble in response to his rage.

"I know, but you still are not ready.   I want you to be as prepared as I can make you, and I can’t do that with you going to your usual classes.   I was exhausting you before this happened by teaching you for so many hours, and then letting you continue your normal routine.   It’s time that stopped.   It should make no difference to the Auror School, they have already accepted you without N.E.W.T. scores.   I will, of course, explain to Mr. O’Connell what I’m doing and why.   What I’ll be teaching you will help you in Auror School as well as in your hunt for Lord Voldemort.   "

"What about Quidditch?   And the D.A.?" Harry said, finally paying close attention to what his headmaster was saying.

"You may continue to play Quidditch and work with the D.A. if you wish.   It will do you good to spend some time with your friends.   But for the next several days, you’ll be staying here in my guest quarters, concentrating on getting past this depression and getting as much of my knowledge into your head as possible.   We’ll take meals here for the next few days, as well.   I have the feeling you want to find a hole to crawl into and hide for a while.  I’m providing that hole.   Does that sound all right to you?"

Harry thought a moment.   He honestly did want to find a cave somewhere and just stay there away from everyone for a long time.   Dumbledore was offering him a viable alternative, and an exceptional educational opportunity, as well.   "Yes, that sounds good to me," he replied.   "Thanks.   How are you going to explain this to the rest of the school?"

"I’ll simply tell them the truth," Dumbledore said sadly.   "You are preparing to fight Lord Voldemort.   I’m doing all I can to help you prepare.   It seems to be time for us to set aside mundane things like school rules and do what has to be done.   I can think of no better solution for both your depression and the amount of training I feel you still need."

Harry snorted with sudden derisive laughter as an idea hit him.   "Couldn’t you just open a vein in each of our arms and share your magic with me?   Wouldn’t that be faster than trying to get things through my thick head?"

"You are anything but thick, Harry," Dumbledore chided him gently.   "It would be nice if I could share my knowledge so easily.   If that were possible, I’d gladly give you every drop of blood in my body."

Harry was shocked.   Dumbledore was being quite serious.   "Oh, no, sir!   I wouldn’t want you to do that!"

"If it would help you, dear boy, I would do it, and gladly.   But since it simply doesn’t work that way, we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way:  teacher and pupil.   I’ll order up some breakfast and we can get started.   What would you like to eat?"

"Nothing," Harry said dismissively.

"You must eat if you wish to learn.   I’ll order you some porridge and toast.   You can eat one or the other or both, but you must eat something.   Now, while I’m contacting the kitchen, why don’t you look at the instruments on that table and see if you can guess what they’re for?"   He waited to see the boy’s nod of agreement, then left, giving Harry time to ponder his new situation.

While Dumbledore was gone, Harry stared listlessly at the various delicate instruments.   Some had parts that were spinning.   Others hummed.   One belched out tiny puffs of grey smoke every so often.   He waved his hand idly over the smoke and was amazed to see pictures forming in the smoke.   He didn’t understand what he was looking at, but he could see that the image was of people interacting somehow.   His curiosity was piqued now.   "Show me," he said instinctively, and the images enlarged rapidly until he could tell he was watching Mundungus Fletcher doing something he couldn’t make out with people he didn’t recognize.

"I see you’re having some success already, Harry," Dumbledore said, sounding pleased, as he came back to his comfortable chair by the small table.

"It’s Dung, but what’s he doing?   Who are these people?   Is this instrument keeping track of him?" Harry asked.

"Yes, because he’s on a mission for me at present," Dumbledore replied.   He leaned forward and studied the image Harry had conjured from the instrument.   "Ah, I see he’s doing a little business on the side," he said with an amused smile.   "See the bag at his feet?   I suspect he’s found a bargain of some sort that he thinks he can turn a profit on.   Do you recognize where he is?"

"It looks a bit like Knockturn Alley," Harry replied.   "I’ve only been there once, and that time by accident, so I don’t really know if I’d recognize it or not."

"Right in one!   Well done," his headmaster said.   "He’s doing some work for the Order.   I sent him down there to sit in the pubs and wander through the shops and just keep his ears open.   He’s our best operative for such work, since none of the rest of us ‘fit’ in such places as well as he does."

Harry smiled a bit, understanding exactly what Dumbledore meant.   "Is this the instrument you use to keep track of me?"

"It’s similar to this one.   Yours is over there on my desk, actually," Dumbledore said, gesturing absently behind him.   "I’ve been keeping an eye on you a lot recently. That’s why I came to speak to you today."  

"You’ve been watching me?" Harry said in horror, thinking of the time he’d spent with Ginny in the Shrieking Shack and elsewhere.

"I don’t pry into your privacy, Harry," Dumbledore said, correctly guessing the reason for his sudden pallor.   "I have an instrument that lets me know where you are, if you’re healthy, injured or ill, and who you’re with.   It isn’t a visual tracking method like the one I use for Mundungus, who we both know isn’t the most trustworthy person in the Order.   I only use a visual method of tracking you when I think you’re in trouble."  

"Oh," Harry said, glad Dumbledore thought enough of him to give him some privacy.   "And you can find me anywhere?"

"There are places that my instruments can’t read for various reasons.   The Shrieking Shack is one, because of certain wards I put on it for Remus’s protection years ago.   That’s why I couldn’t locate you when you went there Christmas Eve."   Dumbledore lifted his head as a knock came on the door.   "Ah, that should be our breakfast," he said with a smile.   As he opened the door, the house-elf carrying their breakfast was followed closely by Ron, Hermione and Ginny.  

"Why is Harry up here?   We asked Professor McGonagall and Remus what was going on and they just said you’d tell us when you were ready," Ron said, looking aggrieved.   "Mate, are you all right?"

"Yeah, I’m fine," he said, smiling at his friends for the first time in days.   It wasn’t a wholehearted, happy smile, but it was much better than the scowls and sad looks he’d been wearing lately.

"You look better!" Ginny said, coming into the headmaster’s office and sitting on the arm of Harry’s chair.   "You must feel better!   I’m so glad."

"A bit," Harry allowed as he slid his arm around her back, the first sign of real affection he’d made toward her since his vision.   Dumbledore had managed to distract him for a little while, and he could feel the tiniest bit of lightness, even hope, in his heart that hadn’t been there before — it was just a glimmer, but it was there, it was real, and he was happy about that.   Added to the bit of light he’d gotten from McGonagall a few days earlier, things were looking a good deal brighter to Harry.

"I was going to have your teachers explain things to you today, but since you’re here," Dumbledore said, motioning for them to sit down and offering them tea, which they all refused, "I’ll explain things to you now.   Harry will no longer be going to class.   He will be working here with me.   He will stay with me for meals and at night so we can work as many hours as the two of us can manage, at least for the next few days.   If this system works well, he may stay up here longer.   Time will tell.   I can cover what he needs from most of his classes here, and we have a great many other things to work on, as well. He’ll still be able to play Quidditch and work with the D.A., and if he wants to continue his Inter-Beings Languages, Care of Magical Creatures or Potions classes, that will certainly be fine with me, since I won’t be covering those subjects with him.   Seeing his friends every so often will be good for him."

The girls and Ron were stunned.   "Why?" Ginny asked.

"What’s he done that he’s being pulled out of class?" Ron said.

"What are you protecting him from?" Hermione asked sagely.

"He’s done nothing wrong.   I’m not protecting him from anything except his own grief, which seems to be consuming him at present.   I need to help him get past that first.   And, I’ve decided that he doesn’t have enough time left at Hogwarts for me to continue teaching him outside of class hours.   The Auror School will take him without N.E.W.T.s, so his exams don’t matter.   He has a challenge ahead of him — defeating Lord Voldemort.   I’m going to do my best to finish preparing him for that.   The way we’ve been working, with all the other things Harry has to deal with, we haven’t had enough time for me to teach him everything I think he needs to know to deal with Voldemort.   This is the best solution I could come up with."

"He won’t be in our dormitory anymore?" Ron said unhappily.

"Not for a while, no," Dumbledore said.   "I expect we’ll be working very late.   It will be easier if he stays in the guest rooms here.   And if Harry’s as much of a night owl as I am, we might even work during the night.   It depends on how things work out.   A few days to a couple of weeks of intensive work like this, and I think he’ll be able to move back to your dormitory and have a meals in the Great Hall.   He’ll miss his classes, but most of what we’re doing is well beyond what Hogwarts normally teaches anyway."   He saw the hungry gleam in Hermione’s eye.   "I’m sure Harry will share what knowledge he can with you, but please don’t push him.   He has a great deal to absorb in only a few more months here.   You do understand, don’t you?"   All three of Harry’s friends nodded, their faces unhappy as they looked from Dumbledore to Harry, who gazed uncomfortably back at them.

"We’ll miss you, Harry," Hermione said softly.   "We’ve always studied together, gone to class together, eaten together.   It will be so strange without you."

"Just pretend I’m in the hospital wing, and it will seem more normal," Harry joked, but his joke fell flat.   No one even smiled.

"May we come to see him, Professor?" Ginny asked, her eyes wide and sorrowful.

"You and Harry have communication rings, right?" Dumbledore said kindly.  She nodded. "You can contact him each evening and ask him if he is ready for company or not.   Mr. Weasley, you and Miss Granger can do the same with your Famous Wizard Cards.   You may send messages via the cards, or arrange a time to get together if he feels up to it.   Give him a few days to get accustomed to our new routine before you try to see him, though, all right?"   They all nodded.   "Right then.   I will leave you together for a short time, and then you lot need to go to class," he said, picking up a piece of toast and walking back toward his quarters.

"Whoa, Harry.   This is a strange setup, isn’t it?" Ron said nervously.   "Was it your idea?"

"No, it was his.   He’s seen how depressed I’ve been and wanted to help me through it, and then he decided he had too much to teach me for me to keep going to class," Harry said with a shrug.   "I guess I won’t need what you lot are learning anyway."

"Why not?" Hermione said anxiously.   "You need everything you can learn in Hogwarts!   How can you manage without finishing Seventh Year?"

"Fred and George seem to be managing rather well without having finished Seventh Year," Harry reminded her.  

"What about your future?" she insisted.

Harry stood up so quickly, his chair fell over.   Ginny had jumped up when he had, the only thing that kept her from falling when his chair fell.   Harry’s eyes were furious, flashing green fire.   The silver instruments tinkled, vibrating violently in the waves of fury emanating from him.  

"Hermione, my future involves fighting Voldemort until one of us is dead!   That’s as far into the future as I can see right now.   So what ‘future’ do I have to worry about?"   He cringed when he heard Ginny’s horrified gasp.   He did his best to control his temper as he turned to look at her.   "I plan to survive, Ginny.   I do want a future.   But I can’t think about it until Voldemort is gone.   Please understand."     He folded her into his arms, rubbing her back soothingly.   "I’m sorry I yelled.   I’m just about at the limit of what I can bear these days."

"We understand, mate.   It’s just a lot to deal with, you not taking classes anymore and all.   I’m not sure I can sleep without hearing your snores," Ron said, trying to lighten things up.

"Yeah, same here," Harry replied, giving his friend a half-hearted smile.   He rested his cheek on Ginny’s hair.   "Are you all right?"

"No!   When will I see you again?"

"At Quidditch practice and D.A.," Harry promised.   "And then more later, I suppose.   He’s only just told me about all this.   I’ll have to see how things work out."

Ginny nodded, then pulled back and looked up at him.   "Don’t forget me."

"How could I?   You and I will talk on our rings every night, all right?"   He looked up at Ron and Hermione.   "Same for you with the Famous Wizard Cards.   I’ll want you to come see me, as well.   We’ll work out a time, once I see how he wants to work."

Dumbledore came back into the room.   "You’re going to be late for class if you don’t leave now," he said gently.   "You’ll see him again soon."

Ron and Hermione nodded and turned toward the door.   Hermione stopped and looked back at Harry, then ran to him, hugging him tightly.   "Take care of yourself!   And—"

"And remember everything I learn so I can teach it to you," he said, smiling at her affectionately.   "Got it."

"Yeah," she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.   She looked at him sadly, then turned and hurried toward the door, glancing back as she and Ron walked through it, sobbing as they started down the spiral staircase.  

Ginny had moved aside when she saw Hermione coming to hug Harry.   Now she moved back into his arms and held on to him, resting her head on his chest.

"I’m not going anywhere," Harry said bracingly.   "I’ll be right here."

"But I won’t get to see you," she said tearfully.

"It won’t be for long, baby," he promised, hoping he was right.   He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face.   "Give me a kiss to remember," he murmured.  

Dumbledore thoughtfully left again, returning when he heard the door close behind the sniffling Ginny.

"I know this is hard for you," Dumbledore said, "but I think it’s best in the long run."

"Let’s get to it," Harry said determinedly, sitting down at the table once more.

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Author Notes:

Many thanks to my brilliant Brit-picker, Kelpie, and my betas, Starfox, Blakevich, Iris and Asad!