The Potter Conspiracy

A/N: Thanks to all who have read and reviewed.  Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Disclaimer: It’s not mine, folks.  If it were, books six and seven would have turned out a lot differently.

Chapter Fourteen – The Fuse Is Lit

October 11th, 1995 – Oxford, England

Nymphadora Tonks approached the door of a two-story Tudor home on the outskirts of Oxford.  The lawn was well kept, and the neighborhood seemed quiet and prosperous.  There were no sounds of dogs barking or children playing.  She took a moment to glance around, wary of being watched, and was a little unnerved by the undisturbed stillness of the morning.  Such tranquility seemed ominous to her, knowing that a violent conflict could erupt at any second.

The muggles aren’t going to know what hit them, she thought grimly.

She rang the doorbell and waited patiently for it to be answered.  Her form today was far more reserved than usual; her spiked pink hair was now long and black, and she was wearing a gray muggle pantsuit.  Madam Bones had insisted that she look like a professional, someone whom a muggle family would take seriously.  If they dismissed her as crazy, after all, it could very well cost them their lives.

Tonks was, truthfully, a little excited by the secret missions she was engaged in for Director Bones.  Professor Dumbledore had no idea that she was reporting on the Order’s activities, so she felt a bit like a double agent in one of the muggle spy novels her dad liked to read.  She still felt a little conflicted about ‘betraying’ the Order, but on the whole she felt that Director Bones was doing far more than the Headmaster to prepare for a real conflict.

She and two other trustworthy Aurors had been tasked with warning the families of muggleborn wizards and witches of the potential danger they were in.  They were to counsel the families to go on an extended holiday, or, if that wasn’t possible, to move or stay with friends in a new location.  It was too impractical to erect advanced protective wards around hundreds of muggle homes, so this was the best they could do under the circumstances.

She had already made four visits this morning, but this was the one she had been anticipating.  This was the home of Hermione Granger.

Tonks had specifically requested the Granger home, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else.  She knew of Hermione’s former closeness to Harry, and wanted to meet the family of the girl who had betrayed him.

The door was eventually answered by a thin, pinched-looking woman with long, bushy hair.  Her relationship to Hermione would be immediately obvious to any friend of Hermione’s, although Mrs. Granger was thinner and had a more forbidding air.

“May I help you?” the woman asked cordially but curtly.

“Hullo, ma’am.  Are you Miranda Granger, Hermione’s mother?”

A momentary look of alarm washed over Miranda Granger’s face.  “I am.  Is…is she alright?  We haven’t heard from her for awhile.”

“Relax, Mrs. Granger, as far as I know she’s fine.  My name is Nymphadora Tonks, and I work for the Dept. of Magical Law Enforcement.  May I have a few minutes of your time?  It’s important.”

Mrs. Granger’s face relaxed somewhat, and she stood aside to let Tonks enter her home.

“Please, come in.  You said you were with law enforcement; surely Hermione isn’t in any kind of trouble?  She’s always been an exemplary young lady.”

Tonks was led through a lavish foyer and into a sitting room.  The room looked cozy, but Tonks felt that it had a slightly artificial atmosphere.  She sat hesitantly on the edge of an armchair that didn’t look like it was made to be sat on.

“No, Mrs. Granger, Hermione isn’t in any kind of trouble.  But you may be in some danger.  Is your husband at home?  This will concern him too.”

Miranda Granger frowned at the word ‘danger.’  “No, I’m afraid he isn’t.  He’s at our practice today, and won’t return until later tonight.  What precisely is this about?” she asked impatiently.

Tonks let out a deep breath.  She had done this four times already today, and this clearly wasn’t going to be one of the easy ones.  Tonks couldn’t really imagine Miranda Granger as the type of person who would willingly put her hands in another person’s mouth.  She seemed far too fussy.

“Mrs. Granger, I’m here because there is trouble brewing in the wizarding world, and you need to be aware of it.  You see, a very Dark wizard has just returned…er, from hiding, and he represents a danger to muggleborns and their families…”

Miranda Granger sat patiently while Tonks explained the situation to her, her incredulity growing with each passing word.  When Tonks was finally finished, an uncomfortable silence reigned.

“That is…” Miranda began, but then hesitated, trying to find the words.

“Let me see if I understand this correctly,” she started again.  “There is a dark wizard running amok in your world, and he hates people like Hermione.  And you want us to abandon our lives, go into hiding, and wait until your, er, police catch him?”

“Well, Mrs. Granger,” Tonks answered, “I’m afraid it’s much more serious than that.  This is no ordinary criminal; he is very powerful, and has vicious followers.  They would happily torture you and your husband to death…or worse,” she added in an undertone.

Miranda stared at Tonks intently for a few seconds, then shook her head.  “Can you not do something that would prevent them from finding our home?  You are asking us to completely uproot ourselves,” she said indignantly.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Tonks replied, trying to soothe her.  “But there’s no way to truly keep you safe without uprooting you.  We can’t place really powerful wards in a muggle neighborhood like this, and wards can be brought down anyway.  We’re doing the best we can do, but I must implore you to take this warning seriously.  Your life may depend upon it.”

Miranda Granger stared down Tonks for another few seconds, finally sighing in exasperation.

“I will need to speak to my husband about this, but I don’t understand why Hermione has never mentioned this.  Or why she has stopped writing.  She hasn’t written us in almost two weeks, and that is most unlike her.  She knows that we expect her letters to be punctual.”

“I see,” Tonks replied, unsure whether she was being asked something.

“Miss…Tonks, did you say?  Could you please relay a message to Hermione for me?  I know that you can travel quickly, and I would deeply appreciate it if you asked her to contact us immediately.  If all this is true, we need to speak with her urgently.”

“I suppose I can do that, ma’am,” Tonks replied.  “She’ll know within the hour that she should get in touch with you.”

“Thank you very much,” Miranda replied, rising from her seat.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to call my husband.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Granger…I’ll see myself out.  Have, er, a pleasant day.”

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Hogwarts, Gryffindor Boys’ Dorm

“Well, ickle Ronniekins?  What’s going on?  Out with it.”

Ron was sitting uncomfortably on his four-poster while Fred and George stood on either side of him and Ginny stood at the foot of the bed.  Since Harry’s status as a missing person became public, the twins and Ginny had been pestering Ron for information.  So far he had refused to divulge a word.

Ginny had even written to her mother to discover whether she knew the real story behind Harry’s disappearance.  But Molly Weasley had returned a terse letter insisting that Ginny notify the Headmaster immediately if Harry were to contact her somehow.  Ginny thought it unlikely, despite the fact that she and Harry had grown closer this year, but she did want someone to explain to her why Harry had suddenly left Hogwarts.  She was worried that she may have done something to drive him off.

Ginny had visited Hermione’s dorm room earlier in the day, when the elder girl finally returned from the hospital wing, but Hermione had appeared very sickly and refused to talk about Harry.  She had wrapped herself in her bed covers and asked Ginny to leave her alone.  Something related to Harry’s disappearance was clearly bothering her.

Finally fed up with Ron’s evasions, Fred and George had placed a powerful sticking charm on his bed sheets, and presently Ron’s arse was stuck to them.

“Here’s what we know, Ronnie dear,” began George, casually tossing Ron’s wand up in the air and catching it.

“Harry hasn’t been seen in a week—,” Fred continued.

“And one week ago you and Hermione ended up in the hospital wing,” finished George.  “Apparently he’s missing, and not sick with some mysterious disease.  You know something.  Spill it, little brother, or we’ll do worse than a sticking charm.  Gin-Gin’s itching to practice her bat bogey hex, I’m sure.”

Ginny was silent, but she glared at Ron without blinking from the foot of the bed.

For the second time in a week Ron Weasley found himself being restrained and questioned, and he was growing heartily sick of the humiliation.

“I don’t know where Harry is, you bloody wankers,” Ron growled.  “And I can’t tell you what little I do know, because I swore an oath to the Headmaster.  I can’t say anything about why Harry left, so you better unstick me and give me my wand or you’ll bloody well regret it.”

“Ohhh,” said Fred, “he’s getting all shirty, George.  He knows the Headmaster, don’t ya know?”

“He is quite the mover and shaker, Fred—big time quidditch star and all that.  Perhaps a shrinking charm on his head is in order?”

Their threats were interrupted by the entry of Seamus and Dean into the dorm room.  They stopped and stared at the scene playing out before them.

“Oi, what’s going on in here?” Seamus asked curiously.

“Ron won’t tell us where Harry is,” Ginny volunteered meekly, still glaring at Ron.

“Blimey,” whispered Seamus, addressing himself to Ron.  “Do you know where he went, Ron?  Is it true he confessed to you?  You know, about offing Cedric and all.”

Since the Daily Prophet’s article had made Harry’s disappearance public, Hogwarts had been a gigantic rumor mill.  Dumbledore’s dismissal from the position of Chief Warlock had only increased the absurd speculations.  Everyone seemed to have a theory about what was happening, and the most popular one had just been expressed by Seamus.  Harry’s surly personality for the past month certainly hadn’t endeared him to the rest of the castle.

Only a tiny handful dared to wonder if Harry had been telling the truth about Voldemort’s return.  The rest gleefully debated the newest gossip in the hallways and during classes, earning the wrath of Umbridge and Snape.  The pair was more forbidding than ever, and had taken to assigning detention to people who giggled or whispered in the hallways, regardless of whether the topic was Harry’s disappearance.

“Shut it, Seamus,” Ron snapped.  “Like I said to these gits, I have nothing to say about it.  Take it up with the Headmaster,” he said with finality, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Fred,” said George seriously, “I think our dear little brother needs to learn a little humility; he’s really not getting on well with others these days.  I think perhaps we should just leave him like this, don’t you?”

“Oh, quite,” responded Fred, smirking.  “And I think his new quidditch broom needs a little, ah, retooling,” he said, pulling the broom from its mount on the wall.

He passed the broom to Ginny, who accepted it with a small, devious smile.

“Gin, would you mind terribly giving Ronnie’s broom the once-over?  I think it may have a few nasty curses on it.”

“My pleasure,” said Ginny, causing Ron’s face to grow a dangerous shade of red.

“If you do anything to my—,” Ron began angrily, before Fred hit him in the face with a silencing spell.

“Well, I think ickle Ronniekins needs some privacy to think things over.  Let us be off and grant him his space,” said George, pocketing Ron’s wand.

“Right you are,” replied Fred, and the three Weasleys casually left the room, leaving Seamus and Dean to stare at the furiously shouting but silent Ron.  Unluckily for Ron, they didn’t know how to reverse the twins’ sticking spell.

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Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office

While Ron was lamenting his lot in life, Albus Dumbledore was lamenting the necessity of the conversation he was about to have.  Amelia Bones and Algernon Croaker sat before him, having once again demanded an audience.

It was just as well, since he would have been forced to contact them soon anyway.  In an effort to appear in charge, he decided to pretend that he had called this meeting.  Despite his recent loss of position, he needed to be the one calling the shots, and it was vital that Bones and Croaker were convinced by his arguments.

“Amelia, Algernon,” he began, “thank you for coming.  This is a grave time for our world, so let us dispense with the pleasantries.  You are no doubt here expecting to hear the prophecy related to Harry Potter, and I will reveal it to you.  After you hear it, it is imperative that you let me explain my understanding of it, and why we must act with haste.  It is only a matter of time before the Dark Lord attacks.”

“Well,” said Bones, slightly taken aback at Dumbledore’s acquiescence, “we are in agreement on that much at least, Albus.  Show us your memory of the prophecy, and then we can make plans.”

Croaker eyed Dumbledore mistrustfully as he pulled out the great stone pensieve and placed it on his desk.  There was already a memory swirling in the bowl, and with a magnanimous sweep of his hand the Headmaster invited them to view it.

Fawkes watched the trio curiously as they placed their faces in the huge bowl.

When the three of them returned from viewing the memory five minutes later, Croaker having insisted on watching it several times, Bones sat down in a chair and closed her eyes while Croaker hurriedly wrote down the contents of the prophecy.

“You better explain yourself, Albus,” Croaker began threateningly, “or we may just see how good a fighter you truly are.  Why did you not report this prophecy to the Dept. of Mysteries when it was made?  And why the bloody hell are you trying to get Potter get killed?  We should be protecting him and training him, for Merlin’s sake!”

Dumbledore held up a placating hand.  “I shall explain, Algernon.  Remain patient.  First, I did not report the prophecy because I did not want it to become public knowledge.  You would have created a prophecy sphere and studied it, and eventually word of its existence would have leaked out.  That would have been a mistake,” he said cautiously.

“And why would that be, Albus?” asked Croaker evenly, his tone belied by the flashing of his eyes.

Dumbledore eyed the both of them for a moment, then sat down in his throne-like chair.

“Algernon, Amelia, try to remember what things were like when this prophecy was made.  We were in the midst of a terrible war, and the Ministry had been unable to stop the spread of Voldemort’s poison.  We were in a stalemate at best, and my attempts to end the war had not been successful.”

“Then…” Dumbledore continued, frowning, “then there was a prophecy which said that our potential savior from the Dark Lord hadn’t even been born yet.  That was…unacceptable.  We would have floundered in darkness for years, perhaps decades, waiting on a mere baby to grow powerful.  Consider the cost; consider the cost,” he almost whispered.

When his audience didn’t respond, he continued slowly and ponderously, as if he were placing in their confidence the secrets of the universe.

“The prophecy seemed to be preventing me from defeating Voldemort.  But neither did it guarantee a victory for us; it said only that either Harry or the Dark Lord must die at the other’s hands.  I thought it best that the prophecy be removed from the equation, so to speak.  Then we could take a free hand in finally eliminating the threat of Voldemort.”

Bones still had her eyes closed, but Croaker sensed she was trying to resist the urge to draw her wand on Dumbledore.  He was having a hard time restraining his own anger, and took a deep breath to calm himself.  This new revelation was more than merely troubling, and Dumbledore’s confession suddenly threw a horrifying new light on many events over the last 15 years.

“I agree that the prophecy is authentic, Dumbledore,” said Croaker, “despite it having come from that fruitcake.  But tell me this: when precisely was it made?”

An uncomfortable silence was the only response.

Bones finally looked up, her eyes watering but betraying outrage rather than sadness.  “Potter hadn’t even been born yet, Dumbledore.  That means…what have you done, Albus?” she whispered, her gaze boring into Dumbledore.

To his credit, Dumbledore held her gaze with his own.  “I have done what’s best for our world, Amelia,” he replied softly.  “I have done what I had to do, and it gave us over a decade’s rest from the Dark Lord and saved countless lives.  That is why you must heed me now.”

Bones clenched her jaw and flexed her wrist, and Croaker wondered if there was about to be a duel in the small office.  He and Bones vs. Dumbledore would make for an interesting fight.

But Fawkes squawked in warning from his perch, and Bones spoke rather than draw her wand.

“There will be a reckoning for this, Albus, I promise you that.  You will pay for what you’ve done to that boy and his family.  You may be powerful, but you are not a god, and you may have doomed us all, you bloody fool.  Have you not considered the whole prophecy?  That the child will have the power to defeat the Dark Lord, that he has a power the Dark Lord knows not?  What if we need that power?”

Dumbledore responded calmly despite the tension that threatened to erupt into violence.

“Amelia, the prophecy does not say that Harry is the only one who can vanquish him.  Do you honestly think that a mere teenager has a chance to defeat Voldemort?  The only thing that prophecy says is that the Dark Lord can’t be killed until he takes out Harry Potter—that the boy must die at his hands first.  Should we spend years investigating supposed secret powers, when the prophecy can be fulfilled right now?  I regret the necessity of it, but our only choice is to sacrifice Harry Potter.”

Croaker sat back in his chair and ran his hands through his short gray hair.

The situation was much more complicated than he had anticipated.  He was less outraged than Bones at Dumbledore’s willingness to sacrifice Potter—he did have somewhat plausible reasons for thinking it necessary—but he was infuriated that Dumbledore had made such an important decision in secret, especially considering that he was no expert in the subject of prophecies.

“You had no right to conceal this information, Albus, you damned fool,” he spoke venomously.  “Amelia is right—you may have doomed us all.  If you had shown me everything you knew fourteen years ago, I would have counseled you to slit the child’s throat immediately.  Now it is too late for that.”

“What?” said Bones weakly from his side, thinking she had surely misheard.

“You and your bloody horcruxes, Albus, I swear…I’m fairly certain that the Dark Lord survived that killing curse only because he was in the middle of that ritual and had a link to Potter’s magic.  If you had killed the child years ago, that link would have been destroyed and none of this mess would be upon us,” he said disgustedly.

Dumbledore paled at the implications, while Bones’ eyebrows rose to her hairline as she looked between the two aged men in horror.

“Surely you can’t be advocating murdering the boy, Algernon!” she cried, stunned at his words.

“No, Amelia, I’m not,” he replied calmly.  “It’s far too late for that.  The Dark Lord is back, and whatever link existed between him and Potter is gone.  The rotten bastard has to die the old-fashioned way now, thanks to our friend Albus here.”

“I’ve had about enough of your disrespect, Algernon,” Dumbledore growled at Croaker, his patience at an end.  “Regardless of your esteemed opinion about my past actions, the way forward is clear.  The prophecy is an obstacle that must be removed immediately.”

“Dumbledore,” Croaker returned, his voice rising, “what makes you so certain that you’ll be able to defeat Voldemort if Potter dies?  Are you truly that arrogant?  What if the boy is our only chance?  What if Voldemort will be invincible after Potter falls?”

“That is just…that’s absurd,” Dumbledore replied, nonplussed.  “How could the fate of an entire world hinge on the life of a single boy?”

“Damnation, Dumbledore!” Croaker roared, standing and slamming his fists down on the ornate desk.  “I don’t know—and you don’t know, and that’s the bloody point!  It’s a fucking prophecy, and it’s going to come true no matter what anybody does to stop it or aid it!  You can’t go about engineering things to make one come true—haven’t you read any Greek tragedy?  It’s a recipe for bloody disaster, you arrogant old man.”

Croaker stood back from the desk, his wand automatically finding its way to his hand from its holster.  Fawkes squawked loudly and hopped from his perch onto the center of the desk, placing himself between the two men.  Croaker glared at the bird but made no move to return his wand to its holster.

Dumbledore eyed Croaker’s wand warily for a few seconds, but did not draw his own.  When he spoke again, his tone was icy.

“What’s done is done,” he said, looking Croaker directly in the eye, “and it is not in your best interest to threaten me, Algernon.”

“Ahem” said Bones, clearing her throat loudly and getting to her feet.  “If you two are through determining who’s got the bigger wand, we have some important decisions to make.  And let me remind you, Albus, that’s it not in your best interest to threaten anyone at the moment.”

The two old men stared at each other for a few more seconds, before Croaker finally slid his wand back into its holster.  Fawkes, satisfied that his job was done, flew lazily back to his perch.

“Now,” said Bones, trying to be the voice of reason despite her rage, “Albus is right that the past is in the past.  We need to decide what to do next—the Ministry is incredibly vulnerable, and I refuse to believe our problems will be solved by sending a teenager to his death.  He is not some animal to be sacrificed to a pagan god.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily and looked at Bones in exasperation.

“Amelia, surely you must agree that a confrontation between Harry Potter and the Dark Lord is required by the prophecy.  Even if the fight is not handicapped, do you not see that it must happen immediately?”

“Albus, the only thing I see right now is the necessity of protecting Harry Potter from you, all of people,” she hissed.

“Amelia,” Dumbledore said evenly, “I know you have Mr. Potter, and every day you spend training him is a day wasted, a day when innocent people are going to die because we can’t destroy the Dark Lord.  If he has some sort of secret power, then so be it; perhaps Mr. Potter will perform some miracle and destroy the Dark Lord forever.  But it is a waste of time and lives to spend time trying to find out what that power is.  No doubt you think me a monster, but I am only trying to prevent a catastrophe.  Think on that.”

He was met with silence, until a fuming Croaker responded.  “We need time, Dumbledore.  I need to think about this, and to compare this prophecy to others.  ‘Neither can live while the other survives’ is ambiguous at best, and I refuse to act hastily with so much at stake.  I think you’re wrong about all this, but if it turns out you’re right, we’ll find a way for Potter to confront the Dark Lord without emasculating the boy’s magic first.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore said, after a brief pause.  “I shall have to accept that for the time being.”

“Who else knows about this, Dumbledore?” Bones asked testily.  “Do you have an army of people trying to get Potter killed?”

“I…object to your phrasing, Amelia,” Dumbledore stated, “but to answer your question, I am the only who knows the prophecy.  Several others know that Harry must be sacrificed, and the rest know only that Voldemort is back.”

Croaker snorted.  “Well, you better tell your little army to be ready, Albus, because things could get really ugly in a hurry.  Thanks to your bloody secrecy, we’ve had no time to plan and the Ministry will fall like a stack of cards if Fudge is as rotten as he seems.  We’re preparing for the worst, but there’s only so much we can do.”

Dumbledore sighed.  “I admit that my plans have not worked out as I anticipated.  But the sooner you return Harry Potter to me, the sooner we can rectify this situation.  Do not delay.”

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The moment that Bones and Croaker left his office, Dumbledore activated his floo.

“Severus,” he said authoritatively, “I don’t think it likely that they will release Mr. Potter to my custody.  We need to be ready with Plan B.”

Snape smiled maliciously.  “As you wish, Headmaster.”

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Bones Manor, Dueling Room

“I have had some training, Tonks.  You don’t have to teach me the bloody disarming spell,” Harry snapped in irritation.

Today was the first day of ‘real’ training he was to receive, and so far Tonks was treating him like a first year.  After being restrained for so long, his magic was singing in his veins, desperate to be put to use.  Learning ‘expelliarmus’ again did not satisfy it in the least.

“Alright, then, stud,” Tonks smirked.  “If you’re so sure of yourself, let’s just go straight to dueling.  Twenty-five paces, stunners, bludgeoners, and shields only.  No piercing, cutting, or blasting.  Got it?”

“Got it,” Harry smiled, looking forward to testing his skills against a full-fledged Auror.

They took their positions, wands raised, and Tonks winked at him.  “Do your worst, Harry Potter.”

Harry took that as his signal to begin, and promptly sent off a bludgeoning curse at Tonks’ midsection, followed by a stunner that she would step into if she dodged.

Tonks attempted to bat away the bludgeoner with a simple nonverbal protego, but suddenly found herself sitting on her arse, knocked backwards when her shield buckled.

The force of Harry’s spell momentarily shocked her, and she had to roll quickly to her left to avoid a pair of stunners that he sent her way.

“Not half bad, Harry,” she nodded at him, holding a more powerful shield in front of her, “but let’s see how you do when someone’s throwing spells back at you.”

Tonks tossed two quick stunners in Harry’s direction, then followed up with a bludgeoner and another stunner.  The barrage was seamless and precise, and Harry dove to the ground to avoid having to shield against multiple spells.

He cast a stunner from the floor, and then leapt up just in time to encounter another bludgeoner approaching his chest.  His hasty shield reflected it back toward Tonks, giving him a moment’s respite, or so he thought.

A nonverbal bludgeoner slammed into Harry’s right shoulder, spinning him around and forcing him to the ground to recover his balance and avoid the follow-up stunner.

Merlin, she’s fast, thought Harry.

And, indeed, that was Tonks’ primary advantage over Harry.  She was using a rapid-fire technique that chained spells together for overwhelming offensive firepower, something Harry had never encountered before.

Deciding he needed to keep her on the defensive, Harry sent one powerful bludgeoner after another at Tonks.  She dodged the first few, then was forced to cast a shield.  The third time it was hit, Harry noticed it waver.

He could see the perspiration forming on Tonks’ brow, and knew instinctively that he could overpower her shielding spells.

He sent a stunner at her knees to catch her attention, then put all his focus on a bludgeoner aimed directly for Tonks’ chest.  Just as he thought, her shield buckled and broke, the spell impacting her chest with a dull thud.

Tonks fell backwards to the floor, but rolled quickly and was on her knees facing Harry in less than a second.  She was breathing heavily from the hit.

“Satisfied yet, Tonks?”  Harry smiled, feeling very good about himself.

“Oi, you’re a bit too big for your britches, Potter,” Tonks said breathlessly, and promptly whispered an incantation and tapped herself on the head.

To Harry’s dismay, she disappeared from view.

Bugger, he thought.  Disillusionment.  What do I do now?

Momentarily panicked, Harry began throwing stunners left and right where he thought Tonks might be.  She didn’t use a shield, so he couldn’t locate her position.  He slowly backed up, keeping ‘protego’ on his lips in case Tonks launched a spell from nearby.

He discovered his error belatedly when he felt a wand pressed into the back of his neck.

“Shite,” he breathed.

“Indeed,” said Tonks’ voice from behind him.  “If this were a real fight, you would now be a candidate for the Headless Hunt at Hogwarts.”

Harry lowered his wand as Tonks removed her disillusionment and reappeared.

“I thought I bloody had you,” Harry griped.  

“You nearly did, Harry,” she smiled, still slightly out of breath, “but you caught me by surprise.  Those bludgeoners were really bloody powerful.”

“Yeah, well, wait till next time, Tonks.  I’ll figure out a way to hit an invisible target, and you’ll be toast.”

“Listen to me, Harry,” Tonks said, suddenly serious.  “You’ve obviously got a lot of power, but that doesn’t count for much versus experience, and you’ve got bugger-all of that.  The duel we just had was for fun, and because I needed to get a measure of you.  Don’t get overconfident, Harry—I would have wiped the floor with you in a real fight, and so would a Death Eater.”

“Alright, Tonks,” frowned Harry, still disappointed by his loss and by the fact that he had failed to impress Tonks.  Since her slight of his patronus skills this summer, he had felt the need to prove himself to her.  “I know I’ve got a lot to learn, but can we skip ‘expelliarmus’ please?”

“All in good time, Harry.  We’re going to start from the ground up.  First we’re going to work on your accuracy, then we’ll move on to expanding your offensive and defensive spells.  Don’t look at me like that—it doesn’t matter if your bludgeoner can crack marble if you can’t hit anything.”

Tonks moved toward the end of the room and placed three archery-style targets about thirty feet away from Harry.  “Now,” she grinned, “you’re going to work on hitting the bulls-eyes from various standing and moving positions, while I sit back and enjoy a butterbeer.”

“Right, boss,” snorted Harry, rolling his eyes as she conjured a chair and called for an elf.

“Oh, and Tonks?” Harry asked innocently.

“Yes, Cadet Potter?”  Tonks said lazily as she sat down.

“Expecto patronum!”

At Harry’s summons a huge corporeal stag burst from his wand and charged swiftly at Tonks.

As she instinctively backed away, Tonks’ chair fell over backwards with her in it.  Harry heard a muttered curse as he watched the great silver stag prance around Tonks’ position on the floor.  She leaned up and glared at Harry.

Harry laughed at her expression.  “I told you I could do that bloody spell two months ago, and you didn’t believe me.”

Tonks huffed at him and shot a stinging spell at his crotch, despite being laid out on her back.  It seemed to be her favorite form of retaliation against males.

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Bones Manor, Guest Rooms

Several hours later Harry was seated comfortably on his bed reading carefully through a book that Tonks had given him.  It appeared to be some sort of condensed Auror training manual, and the table of contents made Harry very excited.  There were chapters on advanced offensive spells, advanced shields, silent casting, spell chaining, combat transfiguration, disillusionment, combat apparition, teamwork, and many other interesting subjects.  Harry knew he could become a force to be reckoned with if he mastered everything in this book.

He felt he had handled himself pretty well against Tonks earlier that day, and the newfound power behind his spells gave him a feeling of exhilaration.  He was not tired at all, despite the frequency with which he had cast spells all day long.

Harry was startled momentarily as his communication mirror buzzed and vibrated on his nightstand.  Something must have happened at Hogwarts, he thought with sudden dread.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Harry,” Parvati smiled as her face appeared in the mirror.

“Hey, Parvati.  What’s going on?  Did something happen?” Harry asked curiously, not having expected to hear from her again so soon.

“Nothing big, but I thought you would want to know what people are saying about you.  You are quite the topic of conversation around here today,” she smirked.

“Merlin,” Harry groaned.  “I can only imagine.  Did I run away because I murdered Cedric or because I’m in training to be the next Dark Lord?”

“Both, actually,” laughed Parvati.  “Most people seem to think that Dumbledore is hiding you, and that’s why he got booted from the Wizengamot.  And that little blond girl from Ravenclaw is telling everybody that you fell victim to gum disease and rotting fangs or something.  Haven’t you been brushing your teeth, Harry?” she asked coyly.

Harry couldn’t repress a snort.  Luna Lovegood was a sweet girl, but she was hopelessly and gloriously insane.

“Every day, Parvati.  It will take more than gum disease to bring down The-Boy-Who-Lived.  Although maybe that’s why Dumbledore’s always offering me lemon drops…”

Parvati chuckled, but then became more serious.  “There’s, er, something else, Harry…Hermione came back to classes today.”

“And?”  Harry prompted.

“Well, she looks, um, pretty bad.  Even worse than she did at the beginning of the year.  She won’t talk to anyone, either.  Ginny Weasley came into the dorm this afternoon to talk to her, and Hermione told her she didn’t know anything and to just go away.”

“Hmph,” Harry muttered.  “Well, if she’s feeling guilty, she deserves it.  Just keep your ears open around her, okay?”

“I will Harry; no worries.”

A silence followed her words, and Harry struggled to find something to say.  If he wasn’t talking about quidditch with Ron, conversation didn’t come easily to him.

“Oh, I forgot,” said Parvati, rescuing Harry from further consternation.  “I think I should be thanking you for this, as you are sort of responsible for it.”

She beamed a beautiful smile at him and tilted the mirror lower, giving Harry a view of her breasts outlined behind a set of periwinkle robes.  His eyes widened for a second and his brain hiccupped, wondering what Parvati was doing.

“The pendant, Harry,” Parvati laughed, “look at the pendant.”

Only then did he realize that there was a small gold pendant lodged between the swell of Parvati’s breasts.

“Oh,” said Harry.  “It’s, er, nice.  What is it?”

“It’s a present from Uncle Dinesh.  It’s my namesake, the goddess Parvati, riding on her lion.”

Harry moved his face closer to the mirror, straining to get a closer look at the pendant.  It was made of gold, and, just as Parvati said, had a depiction of a bare-breasted woman riding on the back of a lion.  The woman had four arms, the palms of each hand extended upwards.  There was a small diamond in the middle of the woman’s forehead.  It was, Harry thought, a very striking ornament.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry said, still somewhat embarrassed over having been caught staring at Parvati’s breasts.  “So you’re named after a goddess, then?”

“You bet,” Parvati replied.  “Appropriate, don’t you think?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.  “She’s the wife of Shiva, the destroyer and creator god, and is said to have tamed him and become the true source of his power.”

“Wow,” Harry replied.  “No pressure for you, then, huh?”

Parvati rolled her eyes.  “Anyway, thank you, Harry.  Dinesh sent a pendant to Padma too—hers was a lotus flower—and thanked us for sending you his way.  He called the gifts a ‘finder’s fee,’ the bloody prat.”

“Well, you’re welcome then,” Harry said, smiling.  “Dinesh is quite, er, remarkable.  Just so long as you were able to get a present out of saving my life, I suppose it was worth it.”

Parvati stuck out her tongue at him.

There was a sudden knock on his bedroom door, causing Harry to jump slightly.

“I need to go, Parvati.  I’ll talk to you again soon.  Bye,” he said hastily, then slid the mirror under the covers of his bed.

“Come in,” he said loudly, sitting up and shifting his feet to the floor.

The door opened to admit Madam Bones, a small bag levitating behind her.

“Hello, Madam Bones.  Any new information from Dumbledore?” Harry asked eagerly.

“I’m afraid there is not much more I can tell you at the moment, Mr. Potter,” Bones replied cautiously.  “Professor Dumbledore is still being stubborn, so it may be some time before we learn the contents of the prophecy.”

Bones and Croaker, despite their anger at Dumbledore, had decided it was best to conceal its contents from Harry for the time being.  They knew he would demand to know it if they knew it, so they simply decided to lie for the time being.  Croaker wanted more time to think about the implications of the prophecy, on the slight chance that Dumbledore was right.  Bones had narrowed her eyes at him, but he had only asked for another day or two to think.

She had brought along Harry’s belongings as a way to placate him and distract him from the prophecy.

“On a lighter note, however, I have your belongings to return to you.  They are now tracking charm free, but I do ask you not to try to leave the house using your remarkable cloak.”

“No problem, ma’am, I wouldn’t do that,” Harry replied quickly, ecstatic at getting his stuff back.

Bones levitated the small bag to the bed, where Harry opened it to discover a much larger space than he had expected.  He pulled out his school trunk, his Firebolt, and his invisibility cloak.

“Oh, and your snowy owl is now residing in our Owlery.  She seemed quite agitated, so I do suggest that you pay her a visit in the near future,” Bones added.

Harry smiled at the thought of Hedwig; he hadn’t seen her in over a week, and he expected to get quite a pecking when he reunited with her.

“Thank you, Madam Bones.  For everything.  Seriously, I owe you my life, and I do appreciate it,” Harry said sincerely, and his gaze discomfited Bones, who was feeling slightly guilty about withholding the prophecy from him.

“You are quite welcome Mr. Potter, I assure you.  The other matter you asked me to look into, the Sirius Black case—well, there is not much I can tell you about your parents’ betrayer, Mr. Potter.  I was not Director of the DMLE at that time, but I was able to discover that Black was sent to Azkaban without a trial by Bartemius Crouch, Sr.”

Bones had also discovered that Crouch’s order was approved by Albus Dumbledore, but she didn’t want Harry to know this.  She suspected Dumbledore had done some sort of secret maneuvering again, but she didn’t have time to look into the illegal incarceration of a now-deceased man.  There was simply too much else to worry about right now.

Harry frowned at her response.  “Without a trial?  You mean no one even asked him why he betrayed my parents?  How can they do that?”

“Well,” Bones hedged, “it is certainly very…irregular, Mr. Potter.  And it was a very difficult time for everyone, including the Ministry.  I assure you that if I learn more I will tell you, but I simply don’t have the time to look further into the matter at the moment.”

“I understand, ma’am,” Harry replied.  “Thank you for looking into it.  I’m just trying to understand why he betrayed my parents.  The letter I got from him was so…I don’t know, nice, I guess.”

Bones nodded, groaning inwardly at the growing suspicion that Dumbledore had done something truly unforgivable to Sirius Black.  Surely he would not have framed the man to gain control of Potter?  And Black was certainly guilty of killing Peter Pettigrew and a dozen muggles.  Wasn’t he?  Bones shivered, and wondered just how deep the rabbit hole went when it came to Dumbledore’s manipulations.

“Well…don’t dwell on it unduly, Mr. Potter.  You too have other things to worry about.  Auror Tonks tells me that you performed admirably today.  Soon we will have a few other people help you out.”

She turned and left the room, leaving Harry to his thoughts.  He stood and moved to the window, looking out over the darkened grounds of Bones Manor.

Exhaling loudly, Harry allowed himself to truly relax for the first time in months.  Some of his problems still remained, but he was making progress in solving them.  His magic had been restored and felt wonderful, he was safe from Dumbledore, and he had his things back.  He had even enjoyed talking to Parvati for the past few days.

Harry moved away from the window and returned to his bed.  He had several more chapters to cover in his reading for the night.  Things were finally looking up, and he wanted to impress Tonks tomorrow.

Outside the wards of Bones Manor, less than a quarter mile from Harry’s window, a pair of sharp rodent eyes observed his every move.

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A/N: Don your plastic rain slicker and protective goggles, folks—next chapter is going to be bloody.