The Potter Conspiracy

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

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.  JKR and her partners do.

Chapter Seventeen – If at First You Don’t Succeed

October 14, 1995 – Hogwarts, outside the Room of Requirement

Parvati Patil stood stock still as her eyes fell upon Hermione Granger leaning against the wall.  Hermione’s wand was out and pointing at her.  Her heart rate suddenly skyrocketed, and she wondered if her roommate was about to kill her.  So far Hermione had done nothing, but that could change at any moment.  In her panic Parvati thought about drawing her own wand, but she knew that Hermione would best her in a real fight.

There was an uncomfortable silence for the next five seconds.

“Well?” said Parvati, more confidently than she felt, trying to convince her heart to stop hammering.  “Is there a reason you’re about to attack me, Hermione?”

Hermione didn’t say anything at first, but slowly lowered her wand.  “I just wanted you to know that I could have, Parvati,” she said slowly.  “But that’s not what I want.  I just want to talk.”

Parvati eyed the spectrally thin girl in front of her with suspicion.  “About what?”

“About Harry,” Hermione replied matter-of-factly, “and don’t bother denying that you’re in contact with him.  It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Oh, Merlin, thought Parvati in sudden dread, her heart again threatening to beat out of her chest.  I’m dead.  I’m bloody dead.  They’re going to use me to get at Harry.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hermione.”

Hermione exhaled deeply.  “I’m not stupid, Parvati.  Harry had help escaping from Hogwarts, and I’m pretty sure it was you.  Only Harry knew about this room,” she said, pointing toward the Come-and-Go Room, “and he must have told you about it.”

Parvati pursed her lips and thought over her options.  None of them looked good.  Part of her wanted to just run out of the castle as fast as she could, but she didn’t think she could even make it off the grounds before Hermione summoned half of Hogwarts.

Hermione saw the conflict in Parvati’s eyes and decided to try to allay her fears.  She turned her wand around backwards and held it out toward Parvati.

“Here, Parvati,” she said softly, a note of desperation entering her voice for the first time.  “Take my wand.  I really just want to talk.  I’m worried about Harry, okay?  Please.”

Parvati raised an incredulous eyebrow at Hermione’s gesture, but slowly stepped forward and removed the wand from her grasp.  She looked around the hallway suspiciously, thinking that this was some sort of trap.  When nothing happened, she relaxed just a little.

“Inside the room, then?”

Hermione nodded silently and waited as Parvati paced back and forth in the hallway.  The two entered a room that looked exactly like their dorm room in Gryffindor Tower.  Parvati moved to sit on her bed, while Hermione did likewise with hers.

Parvati knew it was dangerous to speak to Hermione, but she was genuinely curious about what Hermione had to say.  She felt more comfortable now that she had her wand in her possession.

When Hermione stared at the floor and said nothing, Parvati snapped at her in irritation.

“Well?  What is it you want to say, Hermione?  Or did you just want to give me fair warning before you murdered me in my sleep?”

Hermione, torn out of her reverie, blinked at Parvati’s tone.  Her face reddened.

“I would never do such a thing, Parvati, and if Harry told you I would then he’s got it wrong,” she said indignantly.

Parvati gritted her teeth at Hermione’s self-righteousness.  The stress of the situation was grating on her, and she decided to just speak her mind.

“I’m not stupid either, Hermione.  If the Headmaster asked you to, you’d smother me with a bloody pillow.  Don’t even bother denying it…I overheard your conversation with Ron, and I know what a scheming, conniving, back-stabbing little bint you really are.  So stop pretending to be offended.  What is it you want if you don’t intend to kill me?”

Parvati finished speaking and glared at Hermione, surprising herself with the ferocity of her speech.  Morgana, where did that come from?  Parvati wondered.

Hermione’s mouth had dropped open at Parvati’s rant, unaccustomed to have such accusations leveled against her.  Her jaw clenched as she prepared a scathing retort, but she stopped short.  Her eyes began watering heavily, and she put her head in her hands.

Parvati had just given her brutal confirmation of her worst fear: Harry now thought of her as a liar and a betrayer, someone capable of murder.

“I…I never wanted anyone to die; you don’t understand,” Hermione sobbed, the tears starting in earnest as she spoke through the hands covering her face.  “I can’t…I can’t really talk about what happened.”

“I know, I know,” interrupted Parvati harshly, dismissing Hermione’s tears with a wave of her hand.  “You made a secret pact to murder your best friend and now you can’t talk about it.  Pardon me if I’m not sympathetic to your dilemma.”

“You don’t understand,” Hermione whimpered, now wringing her hands like a little girl.  “I never wanted Harry to die…I…I thought I was doing the right thing.  Professor Dumbledore said that…well, I thought I was doing the right thing,” she repeated miserably.

“Hmmph,” Parvati responded, crossing her arms.  “The right thing.  What does that mean?  You get access to the entire library in exchange for helping the Headmaster murder your best friend?  I can see why you were conflicted.”

“No! It’s not…it’s not like that!” Hermione responded angrily.  “I never got anything!  And I never asked for it, either!”

“So what?” Parvati shrugged, taking perverse pleasure in goading Hermione.  She had wanted to lay into the girl for several weeks now.  “Are you trying to convince me that you’re still a good person, Hermione?  Because I think you’re worthless.  Now what exactly is it you want?”

Hermione grimaced and stared at the floor of the room.  “I just want to know that Harry is alright.  I never wanted to see him get hurt.  I do care about him, Parvati, no matter what you may think of me,” she said thickly.

“You care about him?!” Parvati almost laughed.  “You are bloody insane, Hermione.  You’re conspiring to get him killed.”

“No!” Hermione nearly screamed.  “I’m just…I can’t…there are things I can’t talk about, important things…but it’s not what it seems, Parvati, I swear it.”

“Important things.  Let me guess.  Dumbledore told you that there’s a prophecy about Harry and You-Know-Who.  Harry has to die in order for You-Know-Who to finally die.  And you, being the noble person you are, agreed to help Harry into his early grave.  Have I got the right of it?”

Hermione made no response, but her eyes widened as Parvati spoke.

Parvati continued bitterly.  “Do you want to know the truth, Hermione?  The Headmaster lied to you.  Harry knows the prophecy, and it doesn’t say that he has to die.  But he had to run for his life from his supposed friends before he could figure out what was going on.”

Hermione stared at Parvati in horror.  “But…but why would the Headmaster lie about something like that?  It doesn’t make sense that he—.”

Parvati cut her off.  “It makes perfect bloody sense, Hermione, if you weren’t so blinkered.  He’s been setting Harry up as a sacrifice his entire life—his awful relatives, the constant fights with You-Know-Who, the block on his magic—and you did everything in your power to help him.”

“Nooo,” Hermione moaned piteously, laying back on the bed and curling up into a ball.  She lay there and wept bitterly for a few minutes, but Parvati had no consolation to give.  She was too disgusted by Hermione’s actions to consider her motives, however noble they may have seemed to the girl when she was 12.

“It can’t be,” Hermione whispered into the covers, but in her heart she knew that Parvati’s accusations were true.  She had ruined her first and only true friendship beyond repair.  She had been tricked, certainly, but it was still her fault.  She had been convinced by someone she trusted to do something utterly reprehensible.

“So are we done here?” Parvati finally asked.  “Is it safe for me to go to sleep at night, or am I going to wake up to Professor Dumbledore pointing his wand at me?”

“I won’t say a word, Parvati, I promise,” Hermione said earnestly, sitting up and wiping her eyes.  Parvati marveled at how different the girl looked from just six months ago.  “Just please, when you talk to Harry next, please tell him how sorry I am, and that I won’t help Dumbledore any more, and that I care about him.  Please.”

“Alright,” said Parvati, frowning.  “But don’t blame me if he wants nothing to do with you.  And Hermione—if you tell anyone about this, anyone at all, the Headmaster will likely have me kidnapped or killed.  He doesn’t play by the rules.  Think about that before you go running to Professor McGonagall to confess your sins.”

Parvati handed Hermione’s wand back to her.

Hermione nodded miserably and accepted the wand.  Parvati was a little worried when she immediately raised it to cast a spell.

“I, Hermione Jane Granger, swear on my life and my magic that I will tell no one that Parvati Patil is in contact with Harry Potter, not unless she gives me permission to do so.”

Parvati was shocked at Hermione’s oath, and a little chagrined that she had not thought to ask for one.  Whatever the case, she could not deny that Hermione appeared sincere in her regret.

I might be able to get to sleep tonight after all, she thought.  Tomorrow she would see what Harry thought of his erstwhile friend’s message.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

October 15th, 1995 – Bones Manor, Dueling Room

“You did what?!”

“I said I, er, practiced apparating around the grounds and dodging imaginary spells.”

“Harry…” said Tonks, shaking her head, “You seem to be fine, but that was a very stupid thing to do.  You’ve only been apparating for a few days, and you were totally alone yesterday.”

Harry rolled his eyes.  “It was fine, Tonks.  I know what I’m doing now, and besides, the elves were here.”

“Oh, and would the elves be able to reattach your todger if you happened to leave it behind on a trip?”

Harry blushed slightly and narrowed his eyes at Tonks.  She seemed to relish making him blush, and she was good at it.

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that my wand is still functioning properly,” he retorted, “and plus, I managed to cast everything non-verbally.”

Tonks quirked her eyebrow curiously.  “Harry, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but tossing one off doesn’t count as non-verbal magic.”

“Tonks!” Harry yelled, mortified at her total lack of tact.  “Bloody hell!”

He whipped out his wand and shot a non-verbal bludgeoner at a round target across the room, knocking it completely over.

“You see?” said Harry, still red-faced.  “Not all of us have our minds in the gutter.”

“Oh, Harry, you’re just too easy,” Tonks laughed.  “Alright then, boy wonder; show me what else you can do.”

For the next half-hour Harry moved methodically around the room, casting non-verbal blasters, cutters, and piercing curses at targets that Tonks specified.  She threw spells at him randomly, forcing him to dodge or shield intermittently.  By the end Harry felt like he was growing eyes in the back of his head.  When she was finally satisfied with his performance, they stopped.

“Well, Harry, I’m impressed.  That didn’t take you very long at all.  Your non-verbal spells aren’t quite as powerful as your verbal spells, but they’ll get there.  A lot of people can’t perform non-verbal magic at all.”

Harry smiled and bowed.  “Why, thank you, my dear Tonks.  I will be sure to tell everyone I owe it all to you after I take out the Dark Lord…oh, and Voldemort too,” he added.

“Cor, the kid has a sense of humor after all.  Just don’t get the order of your Dark Lords mixed up, Harry.  The one that looks like a bald vampire needs to go first.”

“Details, details,” Harry replied, dismissing her warning with an airy wave of his hand.  “Teach me something new, Tonks.”

“Alright, ickle Harry,” she replied, her tone growing more serious.  “You’re going to learn about disillusionment today.  Right useful little spell, it is.  You need to know how to cast it, how to detect it, and how to defend against it.”

“Right,” said Harry, newly serious as well.

“Now, you have to imagine very clearly the effect that you want, otherwise it won’t take.  It’s a bit like apparition that way.  The incantation is “dissimulo rem,” and you have to do a sweep of the wand around your head and shoulders and then tap yourself on the head.  It takes practice to do it quickly.  Got it?”

“I think so,” said Harry, closing his eyes in concentration.  He swept his wand around his head and spoke the incantation, after which he opened his eyes to see Tonks grinning at him.

Shite, he thought.  I must have botched it.

“Dear old Nick would be so jealous,” she laughed, conjuring a large mirror so Harry could get a look at himself.

“Damn,” Harry muttered, dismayed to see a perfect image of himself—minus his head.

He instinctively felt his head to make sure it was still there.

Tonks chuckled at the sight of his hands roaming over an invisible face.

“How do you change it back?” Harry asked anxiously.

“Just a ‘finite’ will do, Harry; don’t worry, you’re not stuck like that, although it is a bit of an improvement.”

“Finite,” Harry whispered, and turned to mock-glare at Tonks.  “Says the girl with pink hair and a fetish for pig snouts; I don’t think I’m going to trust your taste in looks, Tonks.”

“I suppose it would make it hard to talk to your little Indian sweetie, wouldn’t it?”

Harry sniffed at her.  “She’s providing me with valuable intelligence, thank you very much.”

“I’ll bet,” Tonks smirked.  “‘Oh, Harry, what do you think about my new robes?  Oops, they seem to have fallen off—silly me!’”

Harry reddened in embarrassment again and stuttered out an inaudible reply.

“What was that, Harry?  Was that you conceding defeat?”

“I didn’t even know I was in a fight.  Let’s just practice the bloody spell, Nymphadora.”

And so they did.  For the next hour Tonks supervised while Harry practiced disillusioning himself and sending surprise stingers in Tonks’ direction.  He desisted when she began returning blasters.

When the hour was up, Tonks showed him an all-purpose detection spell that would point out disillusioned wizards in a certain area.  She also showed him the preferred method for fighting an invisible opponent: spray him with paint or ink to create an outline, and, if that fails, blast the hell out of the area surrounding his likely location.  Harry preferred the latter method.

He was still feeling energetic when Tonks decided to call it a day.

“That’s enough for today, Harry.  I want you to practice your transfiguration for the next couple of hours; use it for everything you do, even if you just want a glass of water.  Have you finished that book I loaned you?”

“Yeah, I’ve read it twice now, Tonks, and I’m bloody well sick of transfiguration.  Let’s do some more—I’m not that tired.”

“Easy, Harry.  You can only do so much in one day.  If you over do it today, you’ll be exhausted tomorrow and we won’t accomplish anything.  Steady is the word.”

“Alright,” grumbled Harry.  He had yet to be able to talk Tonks into going through his little book of spells with him, and he wasn’t supposed to use the dueling room without supervision.

“One more thing, Harry,” said Tonks, as she toweled off her face and prepared to walk back upstairs.  “I talked to Croaker this morning, and he said things are looking grim at the Ministry.  There’s a rumor that Fudge has been negotiating with the Death Eaters, and so far the Wizengamot hasn’t done anything except talk.  Some of the bloody wankers won’t even leave their homes,” she said with disgust.

“Anyway, Croaker said he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, and he wants to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.  No leaving the grounds for any reason, even if you get a note saying your girlfriend is being held hostage.  Got it?”

“Got it,” replied Harry as they left.  “And she’s not my girlfriend,” he added in a mumble.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bones Manor, Harry’s Bedroom

Later that evening, Harry sat at the small desk in his bedroom, agonizing over the letter before him.  He wanted to pay his respects to the Weasley family, but he wasn’t sure what to say.  He suspected that only part of the family was involved in the conspiracy against him, but he couldn’t be certain.  The challenge was finding the right tone for the letter.  He wanted to rant and rave at them over their betrayal, but that didn’t belong in a letter of condolence.

Sighing as he erased a line and began again, he glanced over at his communication mirror when it vibrated.

“Thank Merlin,” he muttered, grateful to have a distraction from the laborious task of the letter.

“Parvati?”

“Hi, Harry,” smiled Parvati as her face appeared in his mirror.  “You look tired.  Is this a bad time to talk?”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry shrugged.  “I need to finish a letter to the Weasleys, but then I’ve got nothing to do until Madam Bones gets here.  The healers are letting her come home later tonight.”

“Oh; she’s going to be okay, then?”

“As far as I know.  But Tonks said it would take her awhile to recover.  She won’t ever get her arm back.”

“That’s awful.”

“I know.  I can’t imagine.”

After a moment of only slightly uncomfortable silence, Parvati spoke hesitantly into her mirror.

“Er, Harry…I…I’m sorry, but I think I may have screwed up.”

Alarmed, Harry spoke quickly.  “Why?  What happened?  Are you safe right now?”

“I think so.  I’m in the Come-and-Go Room.  But, well…”

“Yes?” Harry asked impatiently.  “What happened?”

“Hermione knows I’m talking to you,” Parvati breathed out quickly, unsure how Harry would respond.

Harry stood suddenly from the desk chair.  “Tell me exactly what happened, Parvati.  You may have to leave Hogwarts right away.”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Parvati smiled, inwardly pleased that he was so concerned over her safety.  “I don’t think she’s going to tell anyone.  She said…she said wanted me to tell you that she’s sorry, and that she, er, cares about you.  She promised not to help Dumbledore anymore.”

Harry snorted and sat back down at his desk.  “She said she’s sorry?  What the bloody hell?  How did she know we were talking?”

“Well,” replied Parvati, furrowing her brow.  “I’m not exactly sure.  I think she saw me coming out of the Come-and-Go Room one night and put two and two together.”

“What else did she say?”

“Not much,” sighed Parvati.  “I kind of, well, yelled at her for most of the time we talked.”

Harry had to bite back a laugh.  “And what did she do?”

“She just sat there and took it, believe it or not.  She even gave me her wand during the whole thing.  She…she pretty much cried the entire time, Harry.  For what it’s worth, I think she’s sincere.  She even swore an oath not to tell anyone that she knows we’re talking.”

“Hmph,” Harry muttered, not sure what to make of this new revelation.  “She was broken up the day I questioned her too.  Did she say anything else about why she did it?”

“No,” said Parvati, “I told her that Dumbledore had probably lied to her about the prophecy, and she just said she never wanted you to get hurt.”

Harry rubbed his forehead in aggravation.  “This is giving me a headache; I don’t have time to think about Hermione right now.  I’m already trying to restrain myself from telling the Weasleys to burn in hell.”

“Okay, Harry,” said Parvati.  “I just thought you should know.  You’re not mad at me?”

“No, Parvati, why would I be mad?” Harry frowned.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  But do you want to stay at Hogwarts?  It may not be safe for you there anymore.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Parvati in surprise, wondering if Harry had just implicitly invited her to stay with him.  It caught her off-guard.  “Er, I think it’s okay for now, Harry.  I was paranoid at first, but no one else has said anything and no one seems to be watching me.”

Harry nodded and tried to relax.  “Alright, but you should pack some things and be ready to leave in a hurry, just in case.  Have you got a broom?”

“No, I’ve never needed one,” she replied uncertainly.  “Padma doesn’t have one either.”

“Okay,” said Harry, pondering the problem for a moment.  “There are loads of brooms here, so I’ll have Dobby deliver a couple of them for you and Padma.  I don’t think Madam Bones will mind.  If you have to get away, just find a safe place and call for Dobby.  I’ll make sure he’ll answer you.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Parvati replied, giving him a beautiful smile.  “But let’s hope we won’t need them.”

Harry returned her smile and took a moment to simply admire her face in the mirror.

“What else is happening there?  Did Neville come back today?”

“Not that I know of.  And nothing is going on except for everyone throwing a wobbly about You-Know-Who.  My parents are even coming to talk to me and Padma this weekend.  Padma thinks they want to withdraw us from Hogwarts, but I think our mum just wants to see that we’re okay.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to be caught off-guard.  “Oh, you mean you may be leaving Hogwarts?  Where would you go?”

“Not sure, really.  I don’t know what they’re thinking.  But if things got really bad here I suppose we could go back to India for awhile.  We still have some family there.”

Harry nodded.  The thought of fleeing to another country was both tempting and cruelly unattainable for him.

“Right,” he replied.  “Maybe you should do that.  Go to India, I mean.  It would be a lot safer for you there.”

Parvati detected the note of resignation in his voice.

“And leave you here to fight the bad guys all by yourself, Harry?”

Harry grinned humorlessly at her.  “That’s the way it’s supposed to be, I think, Parvati.  You’ve got no reason to stay here and fight.  You should get somewhere safe before all hell breaks loose.”

“It’s my country too, Harry,” Parvati replied, sticking out her tongue at him.

“Point taken,” Harry smiled wryly.  “Just be careful.  Things are happening unbelievably fast, and there’s no telling what’ll happen next.  I just know I don’t want you to get hurt because of me; you’ve already been great.”

Parvati swore then and there to do something about the fatalism in Harry’s attitude.

“Well, thank you, Harry.  And I’ll do my best to keep this gorgeous face out of trouble,” she smiled, winking at him.

Harry gave her a small smile.  “Please do.”

“I guess I need to go so I can finish this letter,” he sighed.  “I want Dobby to deliver it before Madam Bones returns.”

“Alright, Harry; stay safe, and try not to worry so much.  Things will work out; I’ve already seen it in the stars, and Professor Trelawney says I have real talent,” she said haughtily.

Harry chuckled.  “I’m oddly reassured.  Talk to you tomorrow, Parvati.”

Turning off his mirror, Harry stared at the parchment on his desk in mild revulsion.  He felt strangely compelled to write the Weasleys, but it was all he could not to let his rage at their betrayal spill out on to the page.  The family had enough trouble at the moment without him adding to it.

Picking up his quill with a sigh, Harry spent the next half hour carefully constructing his thoughts.  When he was finally satisfied, he nodded to himself and sealed the letter.

“Dobby!”

“You is wanting Dobby, Harry Potter Sir?” said the little elf, popping right in front of Harry.  Harry noticed that he had a wet stain on the front of his pillow case.

“Er, are you alright, Dobby?” he asked, gesturing at Dobby’s midsection.

“Oh!” Dobby exclaimed, giving the house elf approximation of a blush.

“Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter Sir,” he said, staring at the ground.  “Dobby has been caring for Winky, and Winky is still drinking too much butter beer.”

“Oh,” said Harry dumbly, remembering for the first time in almost two weeks that he had told Dobby it was okay to bring another elf with him.  He had told him to keep her out of the way at Dinesh’s flat, and Dobby had followed those instructions perhaps a little too literally.

“Well, if you ever need my help, Dobby, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Dobby nodded shyly.  “Is Harry Potter wanting something from Dobby?”

“Right.  When you get a chance, Dobby, could you please deliver this to Bill Weasley at the Burrow?  It’s in a town called Ottery St. Catchpole.  They might have a response.”

“Dobby will do,” he replied determinedly, snatching the envelope from Harry’s grasp and popping away.

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly.  He hoped that Madam Bones would be in good spirits when she returned soon.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole

Molly Weasley stood at the sink in her kitchen, furiously scrubbing a baking pan by hand.  Her hair was pulled back in a disheveled bun and she looked as if she had worn the same clothes for several days.  Her children were gathered around the table behind her, staring dully in to space or watching their mother apprehensively.  The arrival of her youngest children had finally roused her from her bed, but she was behaving in an oddly possessed manner, pushing away her grief by going through her normal domestic routine at a manic pace.

Bill cleared his throat uncomfortably behind her.  “Mum,” he said softly, “we need to set the time, or people won’t know when to arrive.”

Molly stopped scrubbing and stared intently at the pan in her hands.  After a few seconds she resumed scrubbing.

Bill looked at Charlie uncertainly, then glanced at the twins, Ginny, and Ron.  Percy was too busy with his “obligations” at the Ministry to be there.  Only Charlie met his eyes, and he just shrugged at Bill’s questioning look.  He had arrived from Romania only hours before, and was still in a state of shock over his father’s death.

“Right,” said Bill, loudly.  “I’ll just tell people to come tomorrow at 4PM, then, mum.  We’ll arrange everything, so you won’t have to worry about the, er, guests.  Alright, mum?”

Molly gave the slightest of nods, but did not stop her furious scrubbing.

Bill rose to leave, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in a room that held his entire family, but was startled by a soft pop near the doorway.

He drew his wand in a fluid motion, but held his fire when he saw a small green house elf looking around the room curiously.  The elf’s big, round eyes settled on him, and it stepped hesitantly forward.

“Dobby is to be giving this letter from Harry Potter Sir to Mr. Bill Wheezy,” Dobby said importantly, holding a letter toward Bill.  Harry’s language lessons had improved his reading skills, but Dobby’s speech patterns were intractable.

Bill’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and he looked at his siblings.  Only Ron had a reaction, and it was to glower viciously at Dobby.  Molly turned around and stared in confusion at the elf, the pan still in her hands.

Bill reached out tentatively and took the letter from Dobby.  “Er, thank you, Dobby; is that all, then?”

Dobby shuffled on his feet nervously and looked at the floor.  “Dobby is to be waiting to see if there is a response.”

The twins, meanwhile, had risen from their seats and gathered on either side of Bill, attempting to pry the letter from his hands.  “Give it here, Bill, Harry has been missing for over two weeks!”

“You will not open that letter!” Molly Weasley suddenly barked, startling even Bill.  “Hand me that letter this instant, William.”

Bill had raised the letter above his head while he batted the twins away in irritation.  “Bugger off, you two!  Give me some space.”

“Mum,” he said quietly, “it was addressed to me.  I should be the one to read it.”

“Bill,” growled Fred, “read that letter aloud or you’ll have to check everything you eat in this house for the rest of your life.”

Everyone seemed to have a response to Fred’s demand, and Bill shook his head to gain some freedom from the various raised voices around him.

“Quiet!” he yelled, and spoke to the room at large.  “I’ll read the bloody thing out loud, so everyone just be quiet.”

As Bill opened the sealed letter, Molly glared at it as if it were about to burst into flames.  He cleared his throat and read aloud:

Dear Weasley family,

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write.  I can’t put into words the betrayal I felt when I discovered that some, or perhaps all, of your family was plotting against me.  You were the only family I had ever known.  You knew how much I admired you, and yet you poisoned me with love potions and tried to hand me over to Voldemort.

Some day I hope to hear your excuses from your own lips.  Others I have no desire to see ever again.  I told Ron the next time I saw him he would be staring down the end of my wand, and I mean it.

Right now I only wish to say how sorry I am that Mr. Weasley was killed.  He was maybe the nicest man I ever met, and he always made me feel like I was his seventh son.  I am truly sorry that he’s gone.  My thoughts and sympathies, on this matter at least, are with you.  May he rest in peace.

If you have any response, please send it with Dobby.

Sincerely,

Harry James Potter

There was a stunned silence following Bill’s words.  The twins were looking at each other in shock, while Ginny looked to be close to tears.  Ron was clenching and unclenching his fists, looking at his mother as if for permission to spontaneously combust.

Molly beat him to it.  “Here’s your response, you blasted creature!” she screamed at Dobby, throwing the pan at him with all her might.

Dobby’s huge eyes widened further in fright, and he popped away hurriedly, leaving the pan to strike the wall near the doorway.

“Mum!” said Ginny, shocked at her behavior.  “What did you do that for?!  What’s going on?”

“Give me that damn letter,” Ron growled, wrenching it out of Bill’s shocked hands.  He drew his wand and promptly set fire to it.

“Ron!” Ginny shrieked, now starting to bawl unashamedly.  “Somebody tell me what’s happening!”

Fred and George advanced on Ron and picked him up underneath both arms.  They carried him to the far wall and pushed him roughly against it.  “You heard your sister, ickle Ronniekins.  Just what the bloody hell is going on here?  Why does Harry accuse us of trying to hand him over to You-Know-Who?  And what does he mean by love potions?”

“Let go of me, you fucking wankers!”  Ron bellowed.  “I don’t anything about any bloody love potions.  Harry’s lying!”

“Love potions,” the red-faced Ginny repeated softly, wiping her tears away with her arms.  “Love potions,” she said louder, and turned to face her mother.

“LOVE POTIONS!” Ginny shrieked at the top of her lungs, startling the entire room into silence.  She sat down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs and stared at her mother with a look of utter betrayal.

“You gave Harry love potions so he would like me,” she said in a heartbroken voice, staring at Molly, who had the grace to look abashed.  “I can’t…I can’t believe it.  And you told me that Harry had a crush on me.  That’s how you knew…that’s how you knew,” she finished softly.

“Ginny, dear,” Molly began, but couldn’t find the strength even to lie.  The last few days had just been too much for her.  “I…it’s not what it seems, dear.  Just let me explain what’s happening,” she said softly, her wrath dispelled by the brokenhearted look on her only daughter’s face.

But Ginny stood from the table and rushed out of the room.

Everyone turned to stare at Molly, who stared after Ginny, then turned slowly and walked out the back door in the rear of the kitchen.

Bill looked in confusion between his remaining siblings, wondering how the tragedy of his father’s death had suddenly become so complicated.

“Charlie, you go see if Gin-Gin’s alright; I’m going to talk to mum,” he said with authority.  “Fred, George—don’t break any of his bones until we figure out what the hell is going on.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hertfordshire, Order of the Phoenix Safe House

Later that night, Severus Snape paced moodily through the living room of an Order safe house that had once belonged to Dorcas Meadowes.  He twirled his wand in his fingers, unable to contain his anticipation.

“Would you quit wearing a hole in the floor, Snape?  I swear you’re like a bloody woman,” said an irritated Alastor Moody, Snape’s only companion in the room.

Snape stopped pacing and glared at Moody.  “I’ll thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself, Moody.  Some of us have an appointment with the Dark Lord later tonight.”

Moody gave him a disconcerting smile.  “Well, not all of us have a pretty tattoo on our arms, Snape.  One of the perks of the job, I reckon.”

Snape clenched his jaw, but did not respond.  He returned to his corner of the room and leaned against the wall, trying to control his nerves with occlumency.

Tonight he would finally be able to present Harry Potter to the Dark Lord; tonight Potter would die; and tonight he would be one step closer to gaining his freedom from the two Masters that had dominated his entire adult life.

Gaining that freedom was Snape’s only remaining motivation.

So far as Snape knew, Dumbledore had been fooled utterly by his supposed desire to “redeem himself.”  Getting Snape into Dumbledore’s inner circle had been a plot of the Dark Lord’s all along.  Snape’s occlumency skills were such that he could convince even Dumbledore of his sincerity.  They were, in fact, more advanced than even the Dark Lord knew—the only reason that he was still breathing.

Snape had developed a way—unique to his knowledge—of camouflaging certain parts of his mind.  He could lock away undesirable memories behind a barrier that only he knew existed.  It gave an intruding legilimens the sense that he had access to the entirety of Snape’s mind, while in truth a small portion was practically invisible.  His method even worked, for the most part, under the influence of veritaserum.  Combined with his ability to craft convincing false memories, Snape’s abilities as an occlumens were second to none.

His role as a true double agent had only begun when he learned the first part of the prophecy from Dumbledore.  Initially he had waged a furious internal debate over how much he should tell his Lord.  Dumbledore clearly had a plan to take down the Dark Lord, and, as much he as loathed Dumbledore’s values, he was increasingly disgruntled by his treatment in the Dark Lord’s ranks.  He was not given the respect to which he thought he was entitled.  He was looked down upon by the other Death Eaters as much as he had been at Hogwarts, valued only as a useful potions maker.

And so Snape had decided to play both sides; to conceal whatever information he thought necessary and use it to his advantage.  If a prophesied encounter between the Dark Lord and an infant was necessary, he would simply let it play out and see who was left standing.  He told his Master of the prophecy, but not that Dumbledore was laying some sort of inscrutable trap for him.  Why else would Dumbledore want the Dark Lord to know of the prophecy’s existence?

After the Dark Lord’s defeat, his apparent loyalty to Dumbledore had kept him out of Azkaban, even if it had made him more dependent on the old man.

But the new incarnation of the Dark Lord had cemented his “loyalty” to Dumbledore’s side.  The Dark Lord was insane—unable to control his lust for bloodshed—and he was likely to destroy the wizarding world and everyone in it.  For once Snape’s beliefs were in line with the so-called Greater Good—Lord Voldemort was a monstrosity that needed to die.

If he could play his role properly, they would be one step closer to that goal by the end of the evening.  Now they just had to get their hands on Potter.

Snape glanced over at his partner for the operation just as Moody disillusioned himself.  Despite Moody’s disdain for him, Snape respected Moody’s cunning and fighting abilities.  If he had to engage in combat with someone, Snape knew he could do worse than having the grizzled old warhorse at his back.

With luck there would be no need for fighting anyway.  They would have the element of surprise against a mere teenager, and the house was warded to hell and back.  Kingsley Shacklebolt lay in wait outside the house, ready to run interference if they were somehow tracked to this location.

Their only weakness was the lack of Dumbledore himself.  The Headmaster had been unable to remove himself from an emergency meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards.  Despite losing his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore was still the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, and it was imperative that he attempt to rally international support for the coming fight against Voldemort.

“Could be any time now,” Moody grunted from his corner of the room.  “Get ready.”

Snape didn’t bother to disillusion himself, but he knelt in readiness on the other side of the room.

There was no way he would let Potter get out of this one.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bones Manor, Master Bedroom

Harry knocked hesitantly on the door to the master bedroom.  Madam Bones had returned to her home an hour ago, but Harry had yet to see her.  He had been unsure whether she would want privacy when she returned, so he just stayed in his room.  Tonks finally visited him and told him that he was free to visit her if he wanted.

“Enter,” came the soft reply from within.

Harry entered the room hesitantly and discovered Madam Bones seated on her bed with the covers pulled up nearly to her neck.  She looked extremely pale and haggard, and Harry did his best not to look at the empty blue sleeve that hung from the left side of her robes.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter,” said Bones, softly but clearly.

“Good evening, ma’am.  I’m glad that you’re alright.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say alright,” she smiled weakly, “but I’ll live.  I wish I could say the same for others.”

Harry nodded.  “That was a rough day for everyone.  I wish there was something I could have done.”

“Don’t get foolhardy on me, Mr. Potter.  You’re doing exactly as you should be doing—which is to stay here, train, and be safe.”

Harry nodded morosely.  “I know, ma’am.  It’s just hard knowing that so much depends on me, and I’m stuck here with no one to fight.”

Bones snorted softly.  “Yes, Algernon told me that he revealed the prophecy to you.  He was impressed with how you handled it, Mr. Potter.”

Harry colored a little at the praise.  “It wasn’t that much of a surprise, really, Madam Bones.  But I can’t say that I like knowing how much is at stake.”

Bones looked at him sympathetically.  “Harry, no one really knows where prophecies come from.  But I refuse to believe that magic, or fate, or god, or whatever it is, would put such a burden on your shoulders alone.  Rest assured, young man, you are not alone in this.  The Dark Lord and his followers are a problem for our whole society.  It will take all of us to defeat them.”

Harry felt emboldened by her words.  He was constantly amazed at how good it felt to know he had at least one person out there watching his back.

“I’ll do my part, ma’am, I promise,” he said earnestly, and Bones knew he meant it.  The morality of the situation aside, she knew she was making the right choice in protecting Harry Potter from Dumbledore’s plans.

“Auntie—,” said a voice from the open doorway, and both Harry and Madam Bones turned.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Susan Bones, standing in the doorway.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“Oh, you weren’t,” said Harry, standing and approaching Susan.  “I just wanted to see that Madam Bones was doing alright.  It’s nice to see you again, Susan…I’ll, er, I’ll just leave the two of you to your evening…”

“Oh, before you go, Harry, I have something for you,” replied Susan, and Harry didn’t notice the blank expression that washed over her features.  She reached into her robes and pulled out a sealed envelope.

“Neville Longbottom wanted me to give this to you.  He said it was something important, something about Ron and Hermione,” she said, handing over the envelope.

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion as he accepted the envelope.  “Neville?  But how would he even—,”

“Harry, wait,” Madam Bones said suddenly from the bed.

But it was too late.

Harry had broken the seal of the letter, and just as he did he felt a strong pulling sensation behind his navel.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Dun-dun-DUN.  That’s two cliffhangers in a row.  So sorry about that :).  I promise there won’t be one next chapter, where you will finally get to see the new Harry in action.  Thanks for reading!