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ray of soft ashes beneath the golden post where the full-grown Fawkes usually stood. 'Well, Harry,' said Dumbledore, finally turning away from the baby bird, 'you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events.' Harry tried to say, 'Good,' but no sound came out. It seemed to him that Dumbledore was reminding him of the amount of damage he had caused, and although Dumbledore was for once looking at him directly, and although his expression was kindly rather than accusatory, Harry could not bear to meet his eyes. 'Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up,' said Dumbledore 'Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St Mungos, but it seems she will make a full recovery.' Harry contented himself with nodding at the carpet, which was growing lighter as the sky outside grew paler. He was sure all the: portraits around the room were listening closely to every wore! Dumbledore spoke, wondering where Dumbledore and Harry had been, and why there had been injuries. 'I know how you're feeling, Harry,' said Dumbledore very quietly. 'No, you don't,' said Harry, and his voice was suddenly loud and strong; white-hot anger leapt inside him; Dumbledore knew nothing about his feelings. 'You see, Dumbledore?' said Phineas Nigellus slyly. 'Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own - ' That's enough, Phineas,' said Dumbledore. Harry turned his back on Dumbledore and stared determinedly out of the window. He could see the Quidditch stadium in the distance. Sirius had appeared there once, disguised as the shaggy black dog, so he could watch Harry play... he had probably come to see whether Harry was as good as James had been... Harry had never asked him... There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry,' said Dumbledore's voice. 'On the contrary... the fact

of soft ashes beneath the golden post where the full-grown Fawkes usually stood. 'Well, Harry,' said Dumbledore, finally turning away from the baby bird, 'you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events.' Harry tried to say, 'Good,' but no sound came out. It seemed to him that Dumbledore was reminding him of the amount of damage he had caused, and although Dumbledore was for once looking at him directly, and although his expression was kindly rather than accusatory, Harry could not bear to meet his eyes. 'Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up,' said Dumbledore 'Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St Mungos, but it seems she will make a full recovery.' Harry contented himself with nodding at the carpet, which was growing lighter as the sky outside grew paler. He was sure all the: portraits around the room were listening closely to every wore! Dumbledore spoke, wondering where Dumbledore and Harry had been, and why there had been injuries. 'I know how you're feeling, Harry,' said Dumbledore very quietly. 'No, you don't,' said Harry, and his voice was suddenly loud and strong; white-hot anger leapt inside him; Dumbledore knew nothing about his feelings. 'You see, Dumbledore?' said Phineas Nigellus slyly. 'Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own - ' That's enough, Phineas,' said Dumbledore. Harry turned his back on Dumbledore and stared determinedly out of the window. He could see the Quidditch stadium in the distance. Sirius had appeared there once, disguised as the shaggy black dog, so he could watch Harry play... he had probably come to see whether Harry was as good as James had been... Harry had never asked him... There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry,' said Dumbledore's voice. 'On the contrary... the fact

that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength.' Harry felt the white-hot anger lick his insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, filling him with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words. 'My greatest strength, is it?' said Harry, his voice shaking as he stared out at the Quidditch stadium, no longer seeing it. 'You haven't got a clue... you don't know..." 'What don't I know?' asked Dumbledore calmly. It was too much. Harry turned around, shaking with rage. 'I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?' 'Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human - ' 'THEN - I - DON'T - WANT - TO - BE - HUMAN!' Harry roared, and he seized the delicate silver instrument from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room; it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, 'Really!' 'I DON'T CARE!' Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. 'I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANY MORE - ' He seized the table on which the silver instrument had stood and threw that, too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions. 'You do care,' said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. 'You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.' 'I - DON'T!' Harry screamed, so loudly that he felt his throat might tear, and for a second he wanted to rush at Dumbledore and break him, too; shatter that calm old face, shake him, hurt him,

you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength.' Harry felt the white-hot anger lick his insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, filling him with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words. 'My greatest strength, is it?' said Harry, his voice shaking as he stared out at the Quidditch stadium, no longer seeing it. 'You haven't got a clue... you don't know..." 'What don't I know?' asked Dumbledore calmly. It was too much. Harry turned around, shaking with rage. 'I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?' 'Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human - ' 'THEN - I - DON'T - WANT - TO - BE - HUMAN!' Harry roared, and he seized the delicate silver instrument from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room; it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, 'Really!' 'I DON'T CARE!' Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. 'I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANY MORE - ' He seized the table on which the silver instrument had stood and threw that, too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions. 'You do care,' said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. 'You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.' 'I - DON'T!' Harry screamed, so loudly that he felt his throat might tear, and for a second he wanted to rush at Dumbledore and break him, too; shatter that calm old face, shake him, hurt him,

make him feel some tiny part of the horror inside himself. 'Oh, yes, you do,' said Dumbledore, still more calmly. 'You have now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of course you care.' 'YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!' Harry roared. 'YOU - STANDING THERE - YOU - ' But words were no longer enough, smashing things was no more help; he wanted to run, he wanted to keep running and never look back, he wanted to be somewhere he could not see the clear blue eyes staring at him, that hatefully calm old face. He turned on his heel and ran to the door, seized the doorknob again and wrenched at it. But the door would not open. Harry turned back to Dumbledore. 'Let me out,' he said. He was shaking from head to foot. 'No,' said Dumbledore simply. For a few seconds they stared at each other. 'Let me out,' Harry said again. 'No,' Dumbledore repeated. 'If you don't - if you keep me in here - if you don't let me - ' 'By all means continue destroying my possessions,' said Dumbledore serenely. 'I daresay I have too many.' He walked around his desk and sat down behind it, watching Harry. 'Let me out,' Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore's. 'Not until I have had my say,' said Dumbledore. 'Do you - do you think I want to - do you think I give a - I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!' Harry roared. 'I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!' 'You will,' said Dumbledore steadily. 'Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it.' 'What are you talking -?' 'It is my fault that Sirius died,' said Dumbledore clearly

him feel some tiny part of the horror inside himself. 'Oh, yes, you do,' said Dumbledore, still more calmly. 'You have now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of course you care.' 'YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!' Harry roared. 'YOU - STANDING THERE - YOU - ' But words were no longer enough, smashing things was no more help; he wanted to run, he wanted to keep running and never look back, he wanted to be somewhere he could not see the clear blue eyes staring at him, that hatefully calm old face. He turned on his heel and ran to the door, seized the doorknob again and wrenched at it. But the door would not open. Harry turned back to Dumbledore. 'Let me out,' he said. He was shaking from head to foot. 'No,' said Dumbledore simply. For a few seconds they stared at each other. 'Let me out,' Harry said again. 'No,' Dumbledore repeated. 'If you don't - if you keep me in here - if you don't let me - ' 'By all means continue destroying my possessions,' said Dumbledore serenely. 'I daresay I have too many.' He walked around his desk and sat down behind it, watching Harry. 'Let me out,' Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore's. 'Not until I have had my say,' said Dumbledore. 'Do you - do you think I want to - do you think I give a - I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!' Harry roared. 'I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!' 'You will,' said Dumbledore steadily. 'Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it.' 'What are you talking -?' 'It is my fault that Sirius died,' said Dumbledore clearly

. 'Or should I say, almost entirely my fault - I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole. Sirius was a brave, clever and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger. Nevertheless, you should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for you to go to the Department of Mysteries tonight. If I had been open with you, Harry, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that Voldemort might try and lure you to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. And Sirius would not have had to come after you. That blame lies with me, and with me alone.' Harry was still standing with his hand on the doorknob but was unaware of it. He was gazing at Dumbledore, hardly breathing, listening yet barely understanding what he was hearing. 'Please sit down,' said Dumbledore. It was not an order, it was a request. Harry hesitated, then walked slowly across the room now littered with silver cogs and fragments of wood, and took the seat facing Dumbledore's desk. 'Am I to understand,' said Phineas Nigellus slowly from Harry's left, 'that my great-great-grandson - the last of the Blacks - is dead?' 'Yes, Phineas,' said Dumbledore. 'I don't believe it,' said Phineas brusquely. Harry turned his head in time to see Phineas marching out of his portrait and knew that he had gone to visit his other painting in Grimmauld Place. He would walk, perhaps, from portrait to portrait, calling for Sirius through the house... 'Harry, I owe you an explanation,' said Dumbledore. 'An explanation of an old man's mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young... and I seem to have forgotten, lately...' The sun was

'Or should I say, almost entirely my fault - I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole. Sirius was a brave, clever and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger. Nevertheless, you should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for you to go to the Department of Mysteries tonight. If I had been open with you, Harry, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that Voldemort might try and lure you to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. And Sirius would not have had to come after you. That blame lies with me, and with me alone.' Harry was still standing with his hand on the doorknob but was unaware of it. He was gazing at Dumbledore, hardly breathing, listening yet barely understanding what he was hearing. 'Please sit down,' said Dumbledore. It was not an order, it was a request. Harry hesitated, then walked slowly across the room now littered with silver cogs and fragments of wood, and took the seat facing Dumbledore's desk. 'Am I to understand,' said Phineas Nigellus slowly from Harry's left, 'that my great-great-grandson - the last of the Blacks - is dead?' 'Yes, Phineas,' said Dumbledore. 'I don't believe it,' said Phineas brusquely. Harry turned his head in time to see Phineas marching out of his portrait and knew that he had gone to visit his other painting in Grimmauld Place. He would walk, perhaps, from portrait to portrait, calling for Sirius through the house... 'Harry, I owe you an explanation,' said Dumbledore. 'An explanation of an old man's mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young... and I seem to have forgotten, lately...' The sun was

rising properly now; there was a rim of dazzling orange visible over the mountains and the sky above it was colourless and bright. The light fell upon Dumbledore, upon the silver of his eyebrows and beard, upon the lines gouged deeply into his lace. 'I guessed, fifteen years ago,' said Dumbledore, 'when I saw the scar on your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort.' 'You've told me this before, Professor,' said Harry bluntly. He did not care about being rude. He did not care about anything very much any more. 'Yes,' said Dumbledore apologetically. 'Yes, but you see - it is necessary to start with your scar. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion.' 'I know,' said Harry wearily. 'And this ability of yours - to detect Voldemort's presence, even when he is disguised, and to know what he is feeling when his emotions are roused - has become more and more pronounced since Voldemort returned to his own body and his full powers.' Harry did not bother to nod. He knew all of this already. 'More recently,' said Dumbledore, 'I became concerned that Voldemort might realise that this connection between you exists. Sure enough, there came a time when you entered so far into his mind and thoughts that he sensed your presence. I am speaking, of course, of the night when you witnessed the attack on Mr Weasley' 'Yeah, Snape told me,' Harry muttered. 'Professor Snape, Harry' Dumbledore corrected him quietly. 'But did you not wonder why it was not I who explained this to you? Why I did not teach you Occlumency? Why I had not so much as looked at you for months?' Harry looked up. He could see now that Dumbledore looked sad and tired. 'Yeah,' Harry mumbled. 'Yeah, I wondered.' 'You see,' Dumbledore continued, '

properly now; there was a rim of dazzling orange visible over the mountains and the sky above it was colourless and bright. The light fell upon Dumbledore, upon the silver of his eyebrows and beard, upon the lines gouged deeply into his lace. 'I guessed, fifteen years ago,' said Dumbledore, 'when I saw the scar on your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort.' 'You've told me this before, Professor,' said Harry bluntly. He did not care about being rude. He did not care about anything very much any more. 'Yes,' said Dumbledore apologetically. 'Yes, but you see - it is necessary to start with your scar. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion.' 'I know,' said Harry wearily. 'And this ability of yours - to detect Voldemort's presence, even when he is disguised, and to know what he is feeling when his emotions are roused - has become more and more pronounced since Voldemort returned to his own body and his full powers.' Harry did not bother to nod. He knew all of this already. 'More recently,' said Dumbledore, 'I became concerned that Voldemort might realise that this connection between you exists. Sure enough, there came a time when you entered so far into his mind and thoughts that he sensed your presence. I am speaking, of course, of the night when you witnessed the attack on Mr Weasley' 'Yeah, Snape told me,' Harry muttered. 'Professor Snape, Harry' Dumbledore corrected him quietly. 'But did you not wonder why it was not I who explained this to you? Why I did not teach you Occlumency? Why I had not so much as looked at you for months?' Harry looked up. He could see now that Dumbledore looked sad and tired. 'Yeah,' Harry mumbled. 'Yeah, I wondered.' 'You see,' Dumbledore continued, '

I believed it could not be long before Voldemort attempted to force his way into your mind, to manipulate and misdirect your thoughts, and I was not eager to give him more incentives to do so. I was sure that if he realised that our relationship was - or had ever been - closer than that of headmaster and pupil, he would seize his chance to use you as a means to spy on me. I feared the uses to which he would put you, the possibility that he might try and possess you. Harry, I believe I was right to think that Voldemort would have made use of you in such a way. On those rare occasions when we had close contact, I thought I saw a shadow of him stir behind your eyes...' Harry remembered the feeling that a dormant snake had risen in him, ready to strike, in those moments when he and Dumbledore had made eye-contact. 'Voldemort's aim in possessing you, as he demonstrated tonight, would not have been my destruction. It would have been yours. He hoped, when he possessed you briefly a short while ago, that I would sacrifice you in the hope of killing him. So you see, I have been trying, in distancing myself from you, to protect you, Harry. An old man s mistake..." He sighed deeply. Harry was letting the words wash over him. He would have been so interested to know all this a few months ago, but now it was meaningless compared to the gaping chasm inside him that was the loss of Sirius; none of it mattered... 'Sirius told me you felt Voldemort awake inside you the very night that you had the vision of Arthur Weasley's attack. I knew at once that my worst fears were correct: Voldemort had realised he could use you. In an attempt to arm you against Voldemort s assaults on your mind, I arranged Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape.' He paused. Harry watched the sunlight, which was sliding slowly across the polished surface of Dumbledore's desk, illuminate a silver ink pot and a handsome scarlet quill. Harry could tell that the portraits all around them were awake and listening raptly to Dumbledore's explanation;

believed it could not be long before Voldemort attempted to force his way into your mind, to manipulate and misdirect your thoughts, and I was not eager to give him more incentives to do so. I was sure that if he realised that our relationship was - or had ever been - closer than that of headmaster and pupil, he would seize his chance to use you as a means to spy on me. I feared the uses to which he would put you, the possibility that he might try and possess you. Harry, I believe I was right to think that Voldemort would have made use of you in such a way. On those rare occasions when we had close contact, I thought I saw a shadow of him stir behind your eyes...' Harry remembered the feeling that a dormant snake had risen in him, ready to strike, in those moments when he and Dumbledore had made eye-contact. 'Voldemort's aim in possessing you, as he demonstrated tonight, would not have been my destruction. It would have been yours. He hoped, when he possessed you briefly a short while ago, that I would sacrifice you in the hope of killing him. So you see, I have been trying, in distancing myself from you, to protect you, Harry. An old man s mistake..." He sighed deeply. Harry was letting the words wash over him. He would have been so interested to know all this a few months ago, but now it was meaningless compared to the gaping chasm inside him that was the loss of Sirius; none of it mattered... 'Sirius told me you felt Voldemort awake inside you the very night that you had the vision of Arthur Weasley's attack. I knew at once that my worst fears were correct: Voldemort had realised he could use you. In an attempt to arm you against Voldemort s assaults on your mind, I arranged Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape.' He paused. Harry watched the sunlight, which was sliding slowly across the polished surface of Dumbledore's desk, illuminate a silver ink pot and a handsome scarlet quill. Harry could tell that the portraits all around them were awake and listening raptly to Dumbledore's explanation;

he could hear the occasional rustle of robes, the slight clearing of a throat. Phineas Nigellus had still not returned... 'Professor Snape discovered,' Dumbledore resumed, 'that you had been dreaming about the door to the Department of Mysteries for months. Voldemort, of course, had been obsessed with the possibility of hearing the prophecy ever since he regained his body; and as he dwelled on the door, so did you, though you did not <now what it meant. 'And then you saw Rookwood, who worked in the Department of Mysteries before his arrest, telling Voldemort what we had known all along - that the prophecies held in the Ministry of Magic are heavily protected. Only the people to whom they refer can lilt them from the shelves without suffering madness: in this case, either Voldemort himself would have to enter the Ministry of Magic, and risk revealing himself at last - or else you would have to take it for him. It became a matter of even greater urgency that you should master Occlumency.' 'But I didn't,' muttered Harry. He said it aloud to try and ease the dead weight of guilt inside him: a confession must surely relieve some of the terrible pressure squeezing his heart. 'You are not his master, he could lie to you without even needing to punish himself. Kreacher intended you to go to the Ministry of Magic.' 'He - he sent me on purpose?' 'Oh yes. Kreacher, I am afraid, has been serving more than one master for months.' 'How?' said Harry blankly. 'He hasn't been out of Grimmauld Place for years.' 'Kreacher seized his opportunity shortly before Christmas,' said Dumbledore, 'when Sirius, apparently, shouted at him to "get out". He took Sirius at his word, and interpreted this as an order to leave the house. He went to the only Black family member for whom he had any respect left... Black's cousin Narcissa, sister of Bellatrix and wife of Lucius Malfoy.' 'How do you know all this?' Harry said. His heart was beating very fast. He felt sick. He remembered

could hear the occasional rustle of robes, the slight clearing of a throat. Phineas Nigellus had still not returned... 'Professor Snape discovered,' Dumbledore resumed, 'that you had been dreaming about the door to the Department of Mysteries for months. Voldemort, of course, had been obsessed with the possibility of hearing the prophecy ever since he regained his body; and as he dwelled on the door, so did you, though you did not <now what it meant. 'And then you saw Rookwood, who worked in the Department of Mysteries before his arrest, telling Voldemort what we had known all along - that the prophecies held in the Ministry of Magic are heavily protected. Only the people to whom they refer can lilt them from the shelves without suffering madness: in this case, either Voldemort himself would have to enter the Ministry of Magic, and risk revealing himself at last - or else you would have to take it for him. It became a matter of even greater urgency that you should master Occlumency.' 'But I didn't,' muttered Harry. He said it aloud to try and ease the dead weight of guilt inside him: a confession must surely relieve some of the terrible pressure squeezing his heart. 'You are not his master, he could lie to you without even needing to punish himself. Kreacher intended you to go to the Ministry of Magic.' 'He - he sent me on purpose?' 'Oh yes. Kreacher, I am afraid, has been serving more than one master for months.' 'How?' said Harry blankly. 'He hasn't been out of Grimmauld Place for years.' 'Kreacher seized his opportunity shortly before Christmas,' said Dumbledore, 'when Sirius, apparently, shouted at him to "get out". He took Sirius at his word, and interpreted this as an order to leave the house. He went to the only Black family member for whom he had any respect left... Black's cousin Narcissa, sister of Bellatrix and wife of Lucius Malfoy.' 'How do you know all this?' Harry said. His heart was beating very fast. He felt sick. He remembered

worrying about Kreacher's odd absence over Christmas, remembered him turning up again in the attic... 'Kreacher told me last night,' said Dumbledore. 'You see, when you gave Professor Snape that cryptic warning, he realised that you had had a vision of Sirius trapped in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. He, like you, attempted to contact Sirius at once. I should explain that members of the Order of the Phoenix have more reliable methods of communicating than the fire in Dolores Umbridge's office. Professor Snape found that Sirius was alive and safe in Grimmauld Place. 'When, however, you did not return from your trip into the Forest with Dolores Umbridge, Professor Snape grew worried that you still believed Sirius to be a captive of Lord Voldemort's. He alerted certain Order members at once.' Dumbledore heaved a great sigh and continued, 'Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin were at Headquarters when he made contact. All agreed to go to your aid at once. Professor Snape requested that Sirius remain behind, as he needed somebody to remain at Headquarters to tell me what had happened, for I was due there at any moment. In the meantime he, Professor Snape, intended to search the Forest for you. 'But Sirius did not wish to remain behind while the others went to search for you. He delegated to Kreacher the task of telling me what had happened. And so it was that when I arrived in Grimmauld Place shortly after they had all left for the Ministry, it was the elf who told me - laughing fit to burst - where Sirius had gone.' 'He was laughing?' said Harry in a hollow voice. 'Oh, yes,' said Dumbledore. 'You see, Kreacher was not able to betray us totally. He is not Secret Keeper for the Order, he could not give the Malfoy's our whereabouts, or tell them any of the Order's confidential plans that he had been forbidden to reveal. He was bound by the enchantments of his kind, which is to say that he could

ing about Kreacher's odd absence over Christmas, remembered him turning up again in the attic... 'Kreacher told me last night,' said Dumbledore. 'You see, when you gave Professor Snape that cryptic warning, he realised that you had had a vision of Sirius trapped in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. He, like you, attempted to contact Sirius at once. I should explain that members of the Order of the Phoenix have more reliable methods of communicating than the fire in Dolores Umbridge's office. Professor Snape found that Sirius was alive and safe in Grimmauld Place. 'When, however, you did not return from your trip into the Forest with Dolores Umbridge, Professor Snape grew worried that you still believed Sirius to be a captive of Lord Voldemort's. He alerted certain Order members at once.' Dumbledore heaved a great sigh and continued, 'Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin were at Headquarters when he made contact. All agreed to go to your aid at once. Professor Snape requested that Sirius remain behind, as he needed somebody to remain at Headquarters to tell me what had happened, for I was due there at any moment. In the meantime he, Professor Snape, intended to search the Forest for you. 'But Sirius did not wish to remain behind while the others went to search for you. He delegated to Kreacher the task of telling me what had happened. And so it was that when I arrived in Grimmauld Place shortly after they had all left for the Ministry, it was the elf who told me - laughing fit to burst - where Sirius had gone.' 'He was laughing?' said Harry in a hollow voice. 'Oh, yes,' said Dumbledore. 'You see, Kreacher was not able to betray us totally. He is not Secret Keeper for the Order, he could not give the Malfoy's our whereabouts, or tell them any of the Order's confidential plans that he had been forbidden to reveal. He was bound by the enchantments of his kind, which is to say that he could

not disobey a direct order from his master, Sirius. But he gave Narcissa information of the sort that is very valuable lo Voldemort, yet must have seemed much too trivial for Sirius to think of banning him from repeating it.' 'Like what?' said Harry. 'Like the fact that the person Sirius cared most about in the world was you,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'Like the fact that you were coming to regard Sirius as a mixture of father and brother. Voldemort knew already, of course, that Sirius was in the Order, and that you knew where he was - but Kreacher's information made him realise that the one person for whom you would go to any lengths to rescue was Sirius Black.' Harry's lips were cold and numb. 'So... when I asked Kreacher if Sirius was there last night...' The Malfoy's - undoubtedly on Voldemort's instructions - had told him he must find a way of keeping Sirius out of the way once you had seen the vision of Sirius being tortured. Then, if you decided to check whether Sirius was at home or not, Kreacher would be able to pretend he was not. Kreacher injured Buckbeak the Hippogriff yesterday, and, at the moment when you made your appearance in the fire, Sirius was upstairs tending to him.' There seemed to be very little air in Harry's lungs; his breathing was quick and shallow. 'And Kreacher told you all this... and laughed?' he croaked. 'He did not wish to tell me,' said Dumbledore. 'I warned Sirius when we adopted twelve Grimmauld Place as our Headquarters that Kreacher must be treated with kindness and respect. I also told him that Kreacher could be dangerous to us. I do not think Sirius took me very seriously, or that he ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human's - ' 'Don't you blame - don't you - talk - about Sirius like -'Harry's breath was constricted, he could not get the words out properly; but the rage that had subs

disobey a direct order from his master, Sirius. But he gave Narcissa information of the sort that is very valuable lo Voldemort, yet must have seemed much too trivial for Sirius to think of banning him from repeating it.' 'Like what?' said Harry. 'Like the fact that the person Sirius cared most about in the world was you,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'Like the fact that you were coming to regard Sirius as a mixture of father and brother. Voldemort knew already, of course, that Sirius was in the Order, and that you knew where he was - but Kreacher's information made him realise that the one person for whom you would go to any lengths to rescue was Sirius Black.' Harry's lips were cold and numb. 'So... when I asked Kreacher if Sirius was there last night...' The Malfoy's - undoubtedly on Voldemort's instructions - had told him he must find a way of keeping Sirius out of the way once you had seen the vision of Sirius being tortured. Then, if you decided to check whether Sirius was at home or not, Kreacher would be able to pretend he was not. Kreacher injured Buckbeak the Hippogriff yesterday, and, at the moment when you made your appearance in the fire, Sirius was upstairs tending to him.' There seemed to be very little air in Harry's lungs; his breathing was quick and shallow. 'And Kreacher told you all this... and laughed?' he croaked. 'He did not wish to tell me,' said Dumbledore. 'I warned Sirius when we adopted twelve Grimmauld Place as our Headquarters that Kreacher must be treated with kindness and respect. I also told him that Kreacher could be dangerous to us. I do not think Sirius took me very seriously, or that he ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human's - ' 'Don't you blame - don't you - talk - about Sirius like -'Harry's breath was constricted, he could not get the words out properly; but the rage that had subs

ided briefly flared in him again: he would not let Dumbledore criticise Sirius. 'Kreacher's a lying - foul - he deserved - ' 'Kreacher is what he has been made by wizards, Harry,' said Dumbledore. 'Yes, he is to be pitied. His existence has been as miserable as your friend Dobby's. He was forced to do Sirius's bidding, because Sirius was the last of the family to which he was enslaved, but he felt no true loyalty to him. And whatever Kreacher's faults, it must be admitted that Sirius did nothing to make Kreacher's lot easier - ' 'DON'T TALK ABOUT SIRIUS LIKE THAT!' Harry yelled. He was on his feet again, furious, ready to fly at Dumbledore, who had plainly not understood Sirius at all, how brave he was, how much he had suffered... 'What about Snape?' Harry spat. 'You're not talking about him, are you? When I told him Voldemort had Sirius he just sneered at me as usual - ' 'Harry you know Professor Snape had no choice but to pretend not to take you seriously in front of Dolores Umbridge,' said Dumbledore steadily, 'but as I have explained, he informed the Order as soon as possible about what you had said. It was he who deduced where you had gone when you did not return from the Forest. It was he, too, who gave Professor Umbridge fake Veritaserum when she was attempting to force you to tell her Sirius's whereabouts.' Harry disregarded this; he felt a savage pleasure in blaming Snape, it seemed to be easing his own sense of dreadful guilt, and he wanted to hear Dumbledore agree with him. 'Snape - Snape g - goaded Sirius about staying in the house - 'he made out Sirius was a coward - ' 'Sirius was much too old and clever to have allowed such feeble taunts to hurt him,' said Dumbledore. 'Snape stopped giving me Occlumency less

briefly flared in him again: he would not let Dumbledore criticise Sirius. 'Kreacher's a lying - foul - he deserved - ' 'Kreacher is what he has been made by wizards, Harry,' said Dumbledore. 'Yes, he is to be pitied. His existence has been as miserable as your friend Dobby's. He was forced to do Sirius's bidding, because Sirius was the last of the family to which he was enslaved, but he felt no true loyalty to him. And whatever Kreacher's faults, it must be admitted that Sirius did nothing to make Kreacher's lot easier - ' 'DON'T TALK ABOUT SIRIUS LIKE THAT!' Harry yelled. He was on his feet again, furious, ready to fly at Dumbledore, who had plainly not understood Sirius at all, how brave he was, how much he had suffered... 'What about Snape?' Harry spat. 'You're not talking about him, are you? When I told him Voldemort had Sirius he just sneered at me as usual - ' 'Harry you know Professor Snape had no choice but to pretend not to take you seriously in front of Dolores Umbridge,' said Dumbledore steadily, 'but as I have explained, he informed the Order as soon as possible about what you had said. It was he who deduced where you had gone when you did not return from the Forest. It was he, too, who gave Professor Umbridge fake Veritaserum when she was attempting to force you to tell her Sirius's whereabouts.' Harry disregarded this; he felt a savage pleasure in blaming Snape, it seemed to be easing his own sense of dreadful guilt, and he wanted to hear Dumbledore agree with him. 'Snape - Snape g - goaded Sirius about staying in the house - 'he made out Sirius was a coward - ' 'Sirius was much too old and clever to have allowed such feeble taunts to hurt him,' said Dumbledore. 'Snape stopped giving me Occlumency less

ons!' Harry snarled. 'He threw me out of his office!' 'I am aware of it,' said Dumbledore heavily. 'But I forgot - another old man's mistake - that some wounds run too deep for the healing. I thought Professor Snape could overcome his feelings about your father - I was wrong.' 'But that's OK, is it?' yelled Harry, ignoring the scandalised faces and disapproving mutterings of the portraits on the walls. 'It's OK: for Snape to hate my dad, but it's not OK for Sirius to hate Kreacher?' 'Sirius did not hate Kreacher,' said Dumbledore. 'He regarded him as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike... the fountain we destroyed tonight told a lie. We wizards have mistreated and abused our fellows for too long, and we are now reaping our reward.' 'SO SIRIUS DESERVED WHAT HE GOT, DID HE?' Harry yelled. 'I did not say that, nor will you ever hear me say it,' Dumbledore: replied quietly. 'Sirius was not a cruel man, he was kind to house - 'elves in general. He had no love for Kreacher, because Kreacher was a living reminder of the home Sirius had hated.' 'Yeah, he did hate it!' said Harry, his voice cracking, turning his back on Dumbledore and walking away. The sun was bright inside the room now and the eyes of all the portraits followed him as he walked, without realising what he was doing, without seeing the office at all. 'You made him stay shut up in that house and he hated it, that's why he wanted to get out last night - ' 'I was trying to keep Sirius alive,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'People don't like being locked up!' Harry said furiously, rounding on him. 'You did it to me all last summer - ' Dumbledore closed his eyes and buried his face in his long-fingered hands. Harry watched him, but this uncharacteristic sign of exhaust

!' Harry snarled. 'He threw me out of his office!' 'I am aware of it,' said Dumbledore heavily. 'But I forgot - another old man's mistake - that some wounds run too deep for the healing. I thought Professor Snape could overcome his feelings about your father - I was wrong.' 'But that's OK, is it?' yelled Harry, ignoring the scandalised faces and disapproving mutterings of the portraits on the walls. 'It's OK: for Snape to hate my dad, but it's not OK for Sirius to hate Kreacher?' 'Sirius did not hate Kreacher,' said Dumbledore. 'He regarded him as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike... the fountain we destroyed tonight told a lie. We wizards have mistreated and abused our fellows for too long, and we are now reaping our reward.' 'SO SIRIUS DESERVED WHAT HE GOT, DID HE?' Harry yelled. 'I did not say that, nor will you ever hear me say it,' Dumbledore: replied quietly. 'Sirius was not a cruel man, he was kind to house - 'elves in general. He had no love for Kreacher, because Kreacher was a living reminder of the home Sirius had hated.' 'Yeah, he did hate it!' said Harry, his voice cracking, turning his back on Dumbledore and walking away. The sun was bright inside the room now and the eyes of all the portraits followed him as he walked, without realising what he was doing, without seeing the office at all. 'You made him stay shut up in that house and he hated it, that's why he wanted to get out last night - ' 'I was trying to keep Sirius alive,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'People don't like being locked up!' Harry said furiously, rounding on him. 'You did it to me all last summer - ' Dumbledore closed his eyes and buried his face in his long-fingered hands. Harry watched him, but this uncharacteristic sign of exhaust

ion, or sadness, or whatever it was from Dumbledore, did not soften him. On the contrary, he felt even angrier that Dumbledore was showing signs of weakness. He had no business being weak when Harry wanted to rage and storm at him. Dumbledore lowered his hands and surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses. 'It is time,' he said, 'for me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry. Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything. I ask only a little patience. You will have your chance to rage at me - to do whatever you like - when I have finished. I will not stop you.' Harry glared at him for a moment, then flung himself back into the chair opposite Dumbledore and waited. Dumbledore stared for a moment at the sunlit grounds outside the window, then looked back at Harry and said, 'Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well - not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years.' He paused. Harry said nothing. 'You might ask - and with good reason - why it had to be so. Why could some wizarding family not have taken you in? Many would have done so more than gladly, would have been honoured and delighted to raise you as a son. 'My answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. You were in more danger than perhaps anyone but I realised. Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters - and many of them are almost as terrible as he - were still at large, angry, desperate and violent. And I had to make my decision, too, with regard to the years ahead. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone for ever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure, too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed you. 'I knew that Voldemort's knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive. I knew

, or sadness, or whatever it was from Dumbledore, did not soften him. On the contrary, he felt even angrier that Dumbledore was showing signs of weakness. He had no business being weak when Harry wanted to rage and storm at him. Dumbledore lowered his hands and surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses. 'It is time,' he said, 'for me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry. Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything. I ask only a little patience. You will have your chance to rage at me - to do whatever you like - when I have finished. I will not stop you.' Harry glared at him for a moment, then flung himself back into the chair opposite Dumbledore and waited. Dumbledore stared for a moment at the sunlit grounds outside the window, then looked back at Harry and said, 'Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well - not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years.' He paused. Harry said nothing. 'You might ask - and with good reason - why it had to be so. Why could some wizarding family not have taken you in? Many would have done so more than gladly, would have been honoured and delighted to raise you as a son. 'My answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. You were in more danger than perhaps anyone but I realised. Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters - and many of them are almost as terrible as he - were still at large, angry, desperate and violent. And I had to make my decision, too, with regard to the years ahead. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone for ever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure, too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed you. 'I knew that Voldemort's knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive. I knew

that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power. 'But I knew, too, where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated - to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative.' 'She doesn't love me,' said Harry at once. 'She doesn't give a damn - ' 'But she took you,' Dumbledore cut across him. 'She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you.' 'I still don't - ' 'While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, whilst you are there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years.' 'Wait,' said Harry. 'Wait a moment.' He sat up straighter in his chair, staring at Dumbledore. 'You sent that Howler. You told her to remember - it was your voice - ' 'I thought,' said Dumbledore, inclining his head slightly, 'that she might need reminding of the pact she had sealed by taking you. I suspected the Dementor attack might have awoken her to the dangers of having you as a surrogate son.'

even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power. 'But I knew, too, where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated - to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative.' 'She doesn't love me,' said Harry at once. 'She doesn't give a damn - ' 'But she took you,' Dumbledore cut across him. 'She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you.' 'I still don't - ' 'While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, whilst you are there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years.' 'Wait,' said Harry. 'Wait a moment.' He sat up straighter in his chair, staring at Dumbledore. 'You sent that Howler. You told her to remember - it was your voice - ' 'I thought,' said Dumbledore, inclining his head slightly, 'that she might need reminding of the pact she had sealed by taking you. I suspected the Dementor attack might have awoken her to the dangers of having you as a surrogate son.'

'It did,' said Harry quietly. 'Well - my uncle more than her. He wanted to chuck me out, but after the Howler came she - she said I had to stay.' He stared at the floor for a moment, then said, 'But what's this got to do with - ' He could not say Sirius's name. 'Five years ago, then,' continued Dumbledore, as though he had not paused in his story, 'you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well. 'And then... well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you and sooner - much sooner - than I had anticipated, you found yourself face to face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight. I was... prouder of you than I can say. 'Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine,' said Dumbledore. 'An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undoing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the hospital wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort.' 'I don't understand what you're saying,' said Harry. 'Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?' Harry nodded. 'Ought I to have told you then?' Harry stared into the blue eyes and said nothing, but his heart was racing again. 'You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No... perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself,

It did,' said Harry quietly. 'Well - my uncle more than her. He wanted to chuck me out, but after the Howler came she - she said I had to stay.' He stared at the floor for a moment, then said, 'But what's this got to do with - ' He could not say Sirius's name. 'Five years ago, then,' continued Dumbledore, as though he had not paused in his story, 'you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well. 'And then... well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you and sooner - much sooner - than I had anticipated, you found yourself face to face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight. I was... prouder of you than I can say. 'Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine,' said Dumbledore. 'An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undoing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the hospital wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort.' 'I don't understand what you're saying,' said Harry. 'Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?' Harry nodded. 'Ought I to have told you then?' Harry stared into the blue eyes and said nothing, but his heart was racing again. 'You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No... perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself,

was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age. 'I should have recognised the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognised that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day... you were too young, much too young. 'And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced; once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again, however, why Voldemort had left that mark on you. We discussed your scar, oh yes... we came very, very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything; 'Well, it seemed to me that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven to receive such information. I allowed you to leave my presence, bloodstained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, to have told you then, it was swiftly silenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in myself to spoil that night of triumph... 'Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid.' 'I don't - ' 'I cared about you too much,' said Dumbledore simply. 'I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act. 'Is there a defence? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have - and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined - not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if

much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age. 'I should have recognised the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognised that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day... you were too young, much too young. 'And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced; once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again, however, why Voldemort had left that mark on you. We discussed your scar, oh yes... we came very, very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything; 'Well, it seemed to me that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven to receive such information. I allowed you to leave my presence, bloodstained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, to have told you then, it was swiftly silenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in myself to spoil that night of triumph... 'Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid.' 'I don't - ' 'I cared about you too much,' said Dumbledore simply. 'I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act. 'Is there a defence? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have - and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined - not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if

in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands. 'We entered your third year. I watched from afar as you struggled to repel Dementors, as you found Sirius, learned what he was and rescued him. Was I to tell you then, at the moment when you had triumphantly snatched your godfather from the jaws of the Ministry? But now, at the age of thirteen, my excuses were running out. Young you might be, but you had proved you were exceptional. My conscience was uneasy, Harry. I knew the time must come soon... 'But you came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself... and I did not tell you, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defence is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school and I could not bring myself to add another - the greatest one of all.' Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not speak. 'I still don't understand.' 'Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you.' The sun had risen fully now: Dumbledore's office was bathed in it. The glass case in which the sword of Godric Gryffindor resided

the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands. 'We entered your third year. I watched from afar as you struggled to repel Dementors, as you found Sirius, learned what he was and rescued him. Was I to tell you then, at the moment when you had triumphantly snatched your godfather from the jaws of the Ministry? But now, at the age of thirteen, my excuses were running out. Young you might be, but you had proved you were exceptional. My conscience was uneasy, Harry. I knew the time must come soon... 'But you came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself... and I did not tell you, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defence is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school and I could not bring myself to add another - the greatest one of all.' Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not speak. 'I still don't understand.' 'Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you.' The sun had risen fully now: Dumbledore's office was bathed in it. The glass case in which the sword of Godric Gryffindor resided

gleamed white and opaque, the fragments of the instruments Harry had thrown to the floor glistened like raindrops, and behind him, the baby Fawkes made soft chirruping noises in his nest of ashes. The prophecy's smashed,' Harry said blankly. 'I was pulling Neville up those benches in the - the room where the archway was, and I ripped his robes and it fell...' The thing that smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly.' 'Who heard it?' asked Harry, though he thought he knew the answer already. 'I did,' said Dumbledore. 'On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave.' Dumbledore got to his feet and walked past Harry to the black cabinet that stood beside Fawkes's perch. He bent down, slid back a catch and took from inside it the shallow stone basin, carved with runes around the edges, in which Harry had seen his father tormenting Snape. Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his own temple. From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand and deposited them into the basin. He sat back down behind his desk and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip. A figure rose

amed white and opaque, the fragments of the instruments Harry had thrown to the floor glistened like raindrops, and behind him, the baby Fawkes made soft chirruping noises in his nest of ashes. The prophecy's smashed,' Harry said blankly. 'I was pulling Neville up those benches in the - the room where the archway was, and I ripped his robes and it fell...' The thing that smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly.' 'Who heard it?' asked Harry, though he thought he knew the answer already. 'I did,' said Dumbledore. 'On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave.' Dumbledore got to his feet and walked past Harry to the black cabinet that stood beside Fawkes's perch. He bent down, slid back a catch and took from inside it the shallow stone basin, carved with runes around the edges, in which Harry had seen his father tormenting Snape. Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his own temple. From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand and deposited them into the basin. He sat back down behind his desk and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip. A figure rose

out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. But when Sybill Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard her use once before: 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...' The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished. The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry nor any of the portraits made a sound. Even Fawkes had fallen silent. 'Professor Dumbledore?' Harry said very quietly, for Dumbledore, still staring at the Pensieve, seemed completely lost in thought. 'It... did that mean... what did that mean?' 'It meant,' said Dumbledore, 'that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times.' Harry felt as though something was closing in on him. His breathing seemed difficult again. 'It means - me?' Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses. The odd thing, Harry,' he said softly, 'is that it may not have meant you at all. Sybill's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom.' 'But then... but then, why was it my name on

of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. But when Sybill Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard her use once before: 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...' The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished. The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry nor any of the portraits made a sound. Even Fawkes had fallen silent. 'Professor Dumbledore?' Harry said very quietly, for Dumbledore, still staring at the Pensieve, seemed completely lost in thought. 'It... did that mean... what did that mean?' 'It meant,' said Dumbledore, 'that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times.' Harry felt as though something was closing in on him. His breathing seemed difficult again. 'It means - me?' Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses. The odd thing, Harry,' he said softly, 'is that it may not have meant you at all. Sybill's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom.' 'But then... but then, why was it my name on

the prophecy and not Neville's?' The official record was re-labelled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child,' said Dumbledore. 'It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sybill was referring.' 'Then - it might not be me?' said Harry. 'I am afraid,' said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, 'that there is no doubt that it is you.' 'But you said - Neville was born at the end of July, too - and his mum and dad - ' 'You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort... Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal. And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse.' 'But he might have chosen wrong!' said Harry. 'He might have marked the wrong person!' 'He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him,' said Dumbledore. 'And notice this, Harry: he chose, not the pure-blood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing) but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far - something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved.' 'Why did he do it, then?' said Harry, who felt numb and cold. 'Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then - ' That might, indeed, have been the more practical course,' said Dumbledore, 'except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head inn, which Sybill chose for its cheapness,

prophecy and not Neville's?' The official record was re-labelled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child,' said Dumbledore. 'It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sybill was referring.' 'Then - it might not be me?' said Harry. 'I am afraid,' said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, 'that there is no doubt that it is you.' 'But you said - Neville was born at the end of July, too - and his mum and dad - ' 'You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort... Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal. And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse.' 'But he might have chosen wrong!' said Harry. 'He might have marked the wrong person!' 'He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him,' said Dumbledore. 'And notice this, Harry: he chose, not the pure-blood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing) but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far - something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved.' 'Why did he do it, then?' said Harry, who felt numb and cold. 'Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then - ' That might, indeed, have been the more practical course,' said Dumbledore, 'except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head inn, which Sybill chose for its cheapness,

has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele than the Three Broomsticks. As you and your friends found out to your cost, and I to mine that night, it is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sybill Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My - our - one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building.' 'So he only heard -?' 'He heard only the beginning, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you, and marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait, to learn more. He did not know that you would have power the Dark Lord knows not - ' 'But I don't!' said Harry, in a strangled voice. 'I haven't any powers he hasn't got, I couldn't fight the way he did tonight, I can't possess people or - or kill them - ' There is a room in the Department of Mysteries,' interrupted Dumbledore, 'that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you.' Harry closed his eyes. If he had not gone to save Sirius, Sirius would not have died... More to stave off the moment when he would have to think of Sirius again,

long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele than the Three Broomsticks. As you and your friends found out to your cost, and I to mine that night, it is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sybill Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My - our - one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building.' 'So he only heard -?' 'He heard only the beginning, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you, and marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait, to learn more. He did not know that you would have power the Dark Lord knows not - ' 'But I don't!' said Harry, in a strangled voice. 'I haven't any powers he hasn't got, I couldn't fight the way he did tonight, I can't possess people or - or kill them - ' There is a room in the Department of Mysteries,' interrupted Dumbledore, 'that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you.' Harry closed his eyes. If he had not gone to save Sirius, Sirius would not have died... More to stave off the moment when he would have to think of Sirius again,

Harry asked, without caring much about the answer, The end of the prophecy... it was something about... neither can live...' '... while the other survives,' said Dumbledore. 'So,' said Harry, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him,'so does that mean that... that one of us has got to kill the other one... in the end?' 'Yes,' said Dumbledore. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Somewhere far beyond the office walls, Harry could hear the sound of voices, students heading down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast, perhaps. It seemed impossible that there could be people in the world who still desired food, who laughed, who neither knew nor cared that Sirius Black was gone for ever. Sirius seemed a million miles away already; even now a part of Harry still believed that if he had only pulled back that veil, he would have found Sirius looking back at him, greeting him, perhaps, with his laugh like a bark... 'I feel I owe you another explanation, Harry,' said Dumbledore hesitantly. 'You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as a prefect? I must confess... that I rather thought... you had enough responsibility to be going on with.' Harry looked up at him and saw a tear trickling down Dumbledore's face into his long silver beard. - CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - The Second War Begins HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS 'In a brief statement on Friday night, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He Who Must Not Be Named has returned to this country and is once more active. '"It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord - well, you know who I mean - is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the Dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe the Dementors are currently taking direction from Lord

asked, without caring much about the answer, The end of the prophecy... it was something about... neither can live...' '... while the other survives,' said Dumbledore. 'So,' said Harry, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him,'so does that mean that... that one of us has got to kill the other one... in the end?' 'Yes,' said Dumbledore. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Somewhere far beyond the office walls, Harry could hear the sound of voices, students heading down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast, perhaps. It seemed impossible that there could be people in the world who still desired food, who laughed, who neither knew nor cared that Sirius Black was gone for ever. Sirius seemed a million miles away already; even now a part of Harry still believed that if he had only pulled back that veil, he would have found Sirius looking back at him, greeting him, perhaps, with his laugh like a bark... 'I feel I owe you another explanation, Harry,' said Dumbledore hesitantly. 'You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as a prefect? I must confess... that I rather thought... you had enough responsibility to be going on with.' Harry looked up at him and saw a tear trickling down Dumbledore's face into his long silver beard. - CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - The Second War Begins HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS 'In a brief statement on Friday night, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He Who Must Not Be Named has returned to this country and is once more active. '"It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord - well, you know who I mean - is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the Dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe the Dementors are currently taking direction from Lord

- Thingy. '"We urge the magician population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defence which will be delivered free to all wizarding homes within the coming month." 'The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was "no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumours that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more". 'Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, though it is believed that He Who Must Not Be Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening. 'Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has so far been unavailable for comment. He has insisted over the past year that You-Know-Who is not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but is recruiting followers once more for afresh attempt to seize power. They were in the hospital wing. 'Not such a deluded show-off any more, eh?' He helped himself to a handful of Chocolate Frogs from the immense pile on his bedside cabinet, threw a few to Harry, Ginny and Neville and ripped off the wrapper of his own with his teeth. There were still deep welts on his forearms where the brain's tentacles had wrapped around him. According to Madam Pomfrey, thoughts could leave deeper scarring than almost anything else, though since she had started applying copious amounts of Dr Ubbly's Oblivious Unction there seemed to have been some improvement.'"A lone voice of truth... perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story... forced to bear ridicule and slander..." Hmmm,' she said, frowning, 'I notice they don't mention the fact that it was them doing all the ridiculing and slandering in the Prophet

Thingy. '"We urge the magician population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defence which will be delivered free to all wizarding homes within the coming month." 'The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was "no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumours that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more". 'Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, though it is believed that He Who Must Not Be Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening. 'Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has so far been unavailable for comment. He has insisted over the past year that You-Know-Who is not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but is recruiting followers once more for afresh attempt to seize power. They were in the hospital wing. 'Not such a deluded show-off any more, eh?' He helped himself to a handful of Chocolate Frogs from the immense pile on his bedside cabinet, threw a few to Harry, Ginny and Neville and ripped off the wrapper of his own with his teeth. There were still deep welts on his forearms where the brain's tentacles had wrapped around him. According to Madam Pomfrey, thoughts could leave deeper scarring than almost anything else, though since she had started applying copious amounts of Dr Ubbly's Oblivious Unction there seemed to have been some improvement.'"A lone voice of truth... perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story... forced to bear ridicule and slander..." Hmmm,' she said, frowning, 'I notice they don't mention the fact that it was them doing all the ridiculing and slandering in the Prophet

...' She winced slightly and put a hand to her ribs. The curse Dolohov had used on her, though less effective than it would have been had he been able to say the incantation aloud, had nevertheless caused, in Madam Pomfrey's words, 'quite enough damage to be going on with'. 'You-Know- Who's Last Attempt to Take Over, pages two to Jour, What the Ministry Should Have Told Us, page five, Why Nobody Listened to Albus Dumbledore, pages six to eight, Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter, page nine... And that interview with Harry isn't exclusive, it's the one that was in The Quibbler months ago...' 'Daddy sold it to them,' said Luna vaguely, turning a page of The Quibbler. 'Oh, he just says it was a really good bit of magic,' said Ginny, shrugging. They sent me all these, you know,' he told Harry, pointing at the small mountain of Frogs beside him. 'Not at all,' said Ginny. 'He's really, really miserable, actually...' She lowered her voice to a whisper. 'He keeps saying Umbridge was the best thing that ever happened to Hogwarts...' All six of them looked around. Professor Umbridge was lying in a bed opposite them, gazing up at the ceiling. Dumbledore had strode alone into the Forest to rescue her from the centaurs; how he had done it - how he had emerged from the trees supporting Professor Umbridge without so much as a scratch on him - nobody knew, and Umbridge was certainly not telling. Since she had returned to the castle she had not, as far as any of them knew, uttered a single word. Nobody really knew what was wrong with her, either. Her usually neat mousy hair was very untidy and there were still bits of twigs and leaves in it, but otherwise she seemed to be quite unscathed. 'Sulking, more like,' said Ginny. Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking around wildly. 'Anything wrong, Professor?' called Madam Pomfrey, poking her head around

..' She winced slightly and put a hand to her ribs. The curse Dolohov had used on her, though less effective than it would have been had he been able to say the incantation aloud, had nevertheless caused, in Madam Pomfrey's words, 'quite enough damage to be going on with'. 'You-Know- Who's Last Attempt to Take Over, pages two to Jour, What the Ministry Should Have Told Us, page five, Why Nobody Listened to Albus Dumbledore, pages six to eight, Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter, page nine... And that interview with Harry isn't exclusive, it's the one that was in The Quibbler months ago...' 'Daddy sold it to them,' said Luna vaguely, turning a page of The Quibbler. 'Oh, he just says it was a really good bit of magic,' said Ginny, shrugging. They sent me all these, you know,' he told Harry, pointing at the small mountain of Frogs beside him. 'Not at all,' said Ginny. 'He's really, really miserable, actually...' She lowered her voice to a whisper. 'He keeps saying Umbridge was the best thing that ever happened to Hogwarts...' All six of them looked around. Professor Umbridge was lying in a bed opposite them, gazing up at the ceiling. Dumbledore had strode alone into the Forest to rescue her from the centaurs; how he had done it - how he had emerged from the trees supporting Professor Umbridge without so much as a scratch on him - nobody knew, and Umbridge was certainly not telling. Since she had returned to the castle she had not, as far as any of them knew, uttered a single word. Nobody really knew what was wrong with her, either. Her usually neat mousy hair was very untidy and there were still bits of twigs and leaves in it, but otherwise she seemed to be quite unscathed. 'Sulking, more like,' said Ginny. Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking around wildly. 'Anything wrong, Professor?' called Madam Pomfrey, poking her head around

her office door. 'No... no...' said Umbridge, sinking back into her pillows. 'No, I must have been dreaming.. Is Firenze staying?' 'He's got to,' said Harry, 'the other centaurs won't take him back, will they?' 'It looks like he and Trelawney are both going to teach,' said Ginny. 'Mind you, the whole subject's useless if you ask me, Firenze isn't a lot better.. 'After we've just found out that there are real prophecies?' Harry's heart began to race. Neville had told them it had smashed while Harry was pulling him up the steps in the Death Room and Harry had not yet corrected this impression. He was not ready to see their expressions when he told them that he must be either murderer or victim, there was no other way... 'Still, at least You-Know-Who never found out what was in it either - where are you going?' he added, looking both surprised and disappointed as Harry stood up. 'Er - Hagrid's,' said Harry. 'And ask him what's happening about... about his little friend!' Harry gave a wave of his hand to show he had heard and understood as he left the dormitory. The castle seemed very quiet even for a Sunday. Everybody was clearly out in the sunny grounds, enjoying the end of their exams and the prospect of a last few days of term unhampered by revision or homework. Harry walked slowly along the deserted corridor, peering out of windows as he went; he could see people messing around in the air over the Quidditch pitch and a couple of students swimming in the lake, accompanied by the giant squid. He was finding it hard to decide whether he wanted to be with people or not; whenever he was in company he wanted to get away and whenever he was alone he wanted company. He thought he might really go and visit Hagrid, though, as he had not talked to him properly since he'd returned... Harry had just descended the last marble step into the Entrance Hall when Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle emerged from a door on the right that Harry knew led down

office door. 'No... no...' said Umbridge, sinking back into her pillows. 'No, I must have been dreaming.. Is Firenze staying?' 'He's got to,' said Harry, 'the other centaurs won't take him back, will they?' 'It looks like he and Trelawney are both going to teach,' said Ginny. 'Mind you, the whole subject's useless if you ask me, Firenze isn't a lot better.. 'After we've just found out that there are real prophecies?' Harry's heart began to race. Neville had told them it had smashed while Harry was pulling him up the steps in the Death Room and Harry had not yet corrected this impression. He was not ready to see their expressions when he told them that he must be either murderer or victim, there was no other way... 'Still, at least You-Know-Who never found out what was in it either - where are you going?' he added, looking both surprised and disappointed as Harry stood up. 'Er - Hagrid's,' said Harry. 'And ask him what's happening about... about his little friend!' Harry gave a wave of his hand to show he had heard and understood as he left the dormitory. The castle seemed very quiet even for a Sunday. Everybody was clearly out in the sunny grounds, enjoying the end of their exams and the prospect of a last few days of term unhampered by revision or homework. Harry walked slowly along the deserted corridor, peering out of windows as he went; he could see people messing around in the air over the Quidditch pitch and a couple of students swimming in the lake, accompanied by the giant squid. He was finding it hard to decide whether he wanted to be with people or not; whenever he was in company he wanted to get away and whenever he was alone he wanted company. He thought he might really go and visit Hagrid, though, as he had not talked to him properly since he'd returned... Harry had just descended the last marble step into the Entrance Hall when Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle emerged from a door on the right that Harry knew led down

to the Slytherin common room. Harry stopped dead; so did Malfoy and the others. The only sounds were the shouts, laughter and splashes drifting into the Hall from the grounds through the open front doors. Malfoy glanced around - Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers - then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, 'You're dead, Potter.' Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Funny' he said, 'you'd think I'd have stopped walking around Malfoy looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him; he felt a kind of detached satisfaction at the sight of his pale, pointed face contorted with rage. 'You're going to pay,' said Malfoy, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. 'I'm going to make you pay for what you've done to my father...' 'Well, I'm terrified now,' said Harry sarcastically. 'I s'pose Lord Voldemort's just a warm-up act compared to you three - what's the matter?' he added, for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had all looked stricken at the sound of the name. 'He's a mate of your dad, isn't he? Not scared of him, are you?' 'You think you're such a big man, Potter,' said Malfoy, advancing now, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. 'You wait. I'll have you. You can't land my father in prison - ' 'I thought I just had,' said Harry. The Dementors have left Azkaban,' said Malfoy quietly. 'Dad and the others'll be out in no time...' 'Yeah, I expect they will,' said Harry. 'Still, at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now - ' Malfoy's hand flew towards his wand, but Harry was too quick for him; he had drawn his own wand before Malfoy's fingers had even entered the pocket of his robes. 'Potter!' The voice rang across the Entrance Hall. Snape had emerged from the stair

the Slytherin common room. Harry stopped dead; so did Malfoy and the others. The only sounds were the shouts, laughter and splashes drifting into the Hall from the grounds through the open front doors. Malfoy glanced around - Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers - then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, 'You're dead, Potter.' Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Funny' he said, 'you'd think I'd have stopped walking around Malfoy looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him; he felt a kind of detached satisfaction at the sight of his pale, pointed face contorted with rage. 'You're going to pay,' said Malfoy, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. 'I'm going to make you pay for what you've done to my father...' 'Well, I'm terrified now,' said Harry sarcastically. 'I s'pose Lord Voldemort's just a warm-up act compared to you three - what's the matter?' he added, for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had all looked stricken at the sound of the name. 'He's a mate of your dad, isn't he? Not scared of him, are you?' 'You think you're such a big man, Potter,' said Malfoy, advancing now, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. 'You wait. I'll have you. You can't land my father in prison - ' 'I thought I just had,' said Harry. The Dementors have left Azkaban,' said Malfoy quietly. 'Dad and the others'll be out in no time...' 'Yeah, I expect they will,' said Harry. 'Still, at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now - ' Malfoy's hand flew towards his wand, but Harry was too quick for him; he had drawn his own wand before Malfoy's fingers had even entered the pocket of his robes. 'Potter!' The voice rang across the Entrance Hall. Snape had emerged from the stair

case leading down to his office and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt towards Malfoy... whatever Dumbledore said, he would never forgive Snape.. . never... 'What are you doing, Potter?' said Snape, as coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them. 'I'm trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,' said Harry fiercely. Snape stared at him. 'Put that wand away at once,' he said curtly. Ten points from Gryff - ' Snape looked towards the giant hour-glasses on the walls and gave a sneering smile. 'Ah. I see there are no longer any points left in the Gryffindor hour-glass to take away. In that case, Potter, we will simply have to - ' 'Add some more?' Professor McGonagall had just stumped up the stone, steps into the castle; she was carrying a tartan carpetbag in one hand and leaning heavily on a walking stick with her other, but otherwise looked quite well. 'Professor McGonagall!' said Snape, striding forwards. 'Out of St Mungo's, I see!' 'Yes, Professor Snape,' said Professor McGonagall. shrugging off her travelling cloak, 'I'm quite as good as new. You two - Crabbe - Goyle - ' She beckoned them forwards imperiously and they came, shuffling their large feet and looking awkward. 'Here,' said Professor McGonagall, thrusting her carpetbag into Crabbe's chest and her cloak into Goyle's, 'take these up to my office for me.' They turned and stumped away up the marble staircase. 'Right then,' said Professor McGonagall, looking up at the hourglasses on the wall. 'Well, I think Potter and his friends ought to have fifty points apiece for alerting the world to the return of You-Know-Who! What say you, Professor Snape?' 'What?' snapped Sna

leading down to his office and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt towards Malfoy... whatever Dumbledore said, he would never forgive Snape.. . never... 'What are you doing, Potter?' said Snape, as coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them. 'I'm trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,' said Harry fiercely. Snape stared at him. 'Put that wand away at once,' he said curtly. Ten points from Gryff - ' Snape looked towards the giant hour-glasses on the walls and gave a sneering smile. 'Ah. I see there are no longer any points left in the Gryffindor hour-glass to take away. In that case, Potter, we will simply have to - ' 'Add some more?' Professor McGonagall had just stumped up the stone, steps into the castle; she was carrying a tartan carpetbag in one hand and leaning heavily on a walking stick with her other, but otherwise looked quite well. 'Professor McGonagall!' said Snape, striding forwards. 'Out of St Mungo's, I see!' 'Yes, Professor Snape,' said Professor McGonagall. shrugging off her travelling cloak, 'I'm quite as good as new. You two - Crabbe - Goyle - ' She beckoned them forwards imperiously and they came, shuffling their large feet and looking awkward. 'Here,' said Professor McGonagall, thrusting her carpetbag into Crabbe's chest and her cloak into Goyle's, 'take these up to my office for me.' They turned and stumped away up the marble staircase. 'Right then,' said Professor McGonagall, looking up at the hourglasses on the wall. 'Well, I think Potter and his friends ought to have fifty points apiece for alerting the world to the return of You-Know-Who! What say you, Professor Snape?' 'What?' snapped Sna

pe, though Harry knew he had heard perfectly well. 'Oh - well - I suppose...' 'So that's fifty each for Potter, the two Weasleys, Longbottom and Miss Granger,' said Professor McGonagall, and a shower of rubies fell down into the bottom bulb of Gryffindor s hour-glass as she spoke. 'Oh - and fifty for Miss Lovegood, I suppose,' she added, and a number of sapphires fell into Ravenclaw's glass. 'Now, you wanted to take ten from Mr Potter, I think, Professor Snape - so there we are...' A few rubies retreated into the upper bulb, leaving a respectable amount below nevertheless. 'Well, Potter, Malfoy, I think you ought to be outside on a glorious day like this,' Professor McGonagall continued briskly. Harry did not need telling twice; he thrust his wand back inside his robes and headed straight for the front doors without another glance at Snape and Malfoy. The hot sun hit him with a blast as he walked across the lawns towards Hagrid's cabin. Students lying around on the grass sunbathing, talking, reading the Sunday Prophet and eating sweets, looked up at him as he passed; some called out to him, or else waved, clearly eager to show that they, like the Prophet, had decided he was something of a hero. Harry said nothing to any of them. He had no idea how much they knew of what had happened three days ago, but he had so far avoided being questioned and preferred to keep it that way. He thought at first when he knocked on Hagrid's cabin door that he was out, but then Fang came charging around the corner and almost bowled him over with the enthusiasm of his welcome. Hagrid, it transpired, was picking runner beans in his back garden. 'All righ', Harry!' he said, beaming, when Harry approached the fence. 'Come in, come in, we'll have a cup o' dandelion juice... 'How's things?' Hagrid asked him, as they settled down at his wooden table with a

, though Harry knew he had heard perfectly well. 'Oh - well - I suppose...' 'So that's fifty each for Potter, the two Weasleys, Longbottom and Miss Granger,' said Professor McGonagall, and a shower of rubies fell down into the bottom bulb of Gryffindor s hour-glass as she spoke. 'Oh - and fifty for Miss Lovegood, I suppose,' she added, and a number of sapphires fell into Ravenclaw's glass. 'Now, you wanted to take ten from Mr Potter, I think, Professor Snape - so there we are...' A few rubies retreated into the upper bulb, leaving a respectable amount below nevertheless. 'Well, Potter, Malfoy, I think you ought to be outside on a glorious day like this,' Professor McGonagall continued briskly. Harry did not need telling twice; he thrust his wand back inside his robes and headed straight for the front doors without another glance at Snape and Malfoy. The hot sun hit him with a blast as he walked across the lawns towards Hagrid's cabin. Students lying around on the grass sunbathing, talking, reading the Sunday Prophet and eating sweets, looked up at him as he passed; some called out to him, or else waved, clearly eager to show that they, like the Prophet, had decided he was something of a hero. Harry said nothing to any of them. He had no idea how much they knew of what had happened three days ago, but he had so far avoided being questioned and preferred to keep it that way. He thought at first when he knocked on Hagrid's cabin door that he was out, but then Fang came charging around the corner and almost bowled him over with the enthusiasm of his welcome. Hagrid, it transpired, was picking runner beans in his back garden. 'All righ', Harry!' he said, beaming, when Harry approached the fence. 'Come in, come in, we'll have a cup o' dandelion juice... 'How's things?' Hagrid asked him, as they settled down at his wooden table with a

glass apiece of iced juice. 'Yeh - er - feelin' all righ', are yeh?' Harry knew from the look of concern on Hagrid's face that he was not referring to Harry's physical well-being. 'I'm fine,' Harry said quickly, because he could not bear to discuss the thing that he knew was in Hagrid's mind. 'So, where've you been?' 'Bin hidin' out in the mountains,' said Hagrid. 'Up in a cave, like Sirius did when he - ' Hagrid broke off, cleared his throat gruffly, looked at Harry, and took a long draught of juice. 'Anyway, back now,' he said feebly. 'You - you look better,' said Harry, who was determined to keep the conversation moving away from Sirius. 'Wha?' said Hagrid, raising a massive hand and feeling his face. 'Oh - oh yeah. Well, Grawpy's loads better behaved now, loads. Seemed right pleased ter see me when I got back, ter tell yeh the truth. He's a good lad, really... Ive bin thmkin abou tryin ter find him a lady friend, actually...' Harry would normally have tried to persuade Hagrid out of this idea at once; the prospect of a second giant taking up residence in the Forest, possibly even wilder and more brutal than Grawp, was positively alarming, but somehow Harry could not muster the energy necessary to argue the point. He was starting to wish he was alone again, and with the idea of hastening his departure he took several large gulps of his dandelion juice, half-emptying bis glass. 'Ev'ryone knows yeh've bin tellin' the truth now, Harry' said Hagrid softly and unexpectedly. He was watching Harry closely. Tha's gotta be better, hasn' it?' Harry shrugged. 'Look...' Hagrid leaned towards him across the table, 'I knew Sirius longer 'n yeh did... he died in battle, an tha's the way he'd've

apiece of iced juice. 'Yeh - er - feelin' all righ', are yeh?' Harry knew from the look of concern on Hagrid's face that he was not referring to Harry's physical well-being. 'I'm fine,' Harry said quickly, because he could not bear to discuss the thing that he knew was in Hagrid's mind. 'So, where've you been?' 'Bin hidin' out in the mountains,' said Hagrid. 'Up in a cave, like Sirius did when he - ' Hagrid broke off, cleared his throat gruffly, looked at Harry, and took a long draught of juice. 'Anyway, back now,' he said feebly. 'You - you look better,' said Harry, who was determined to keep the conversation moving away from Sirius. 'Wha?' said Hagrid, raising a massive hand and feeling his face. 'Oh - oh yeah. Well, Grawpy's loads better behaved now, loads. Seemed right pleased ter see me when I got back, ter tell yeh the truth. He's a good lad, really... Ive bin thmkin abou tryin ter find him a lady friend, actually...' Harry would normally have tried to persuade Hagrid out of this idea at once; the prospect of a second giant taking up residence in the Forest, possibly even wilder and more brutal than Grawp, was positively alarming, but somehow Harry could not muster the energy necessary to argue the point. He was starting to wish he was alone again, and with the idea of hastening his departure he took several large gulps of his dandelion juice, half-emptying bis glass. 'Ev'ryone knows yeh've bin tellin' the truth now, Harry' said Hagrid softly and unexpectedly. He was watching Harry closely. Tha's gotta be better, hasn' it?' Harry shrugged. 'Look...' Hagrid leaned towards him across the table, 'I knew Sirius longer 'n yeh did... he died in battle, an tha's the way he'd've

wanted ter go - ' 'He didn't want to go at all!' said Harry angrily. Hagrid bowed his great shaggy head. 'Nah, I don' reckon he did,' he said quietly. 'But still, Harry... he was never one ter sit aroun' at home an' let other people do the fightin'. He couldn've lived with himself if he hadn' gone ter help - ' Harry leapt up. 'Oh,' said Hagrid, looking rather upset. 'Oh... all righ' then, Harry... take care o' yerself then, an' drop back in if yeh've got a mo...' 'Yeah... right Harry crossed to the door as fast as he could and pulled it open; he was out in the sunshine again before Hagrid had finished saying goodbye, and walking away across the lawn. Once again, people called out to him as he passed. He closed his eyes for a few moments, wishing they would all vanish, that he could open his eyes and find himself alone in the grounds... A few days ago, before his exams had finished and he had seen the vision Voldemort had planted in his mind, he would have given almost anything for the wizarding world to know he had been telling the truth, for them to believe that Voldemort was back, and to know that he was neither a liar nor mad. Now, however... He walked a short way around the lake, sat down on its bank, sheltered from the gaze of passers-by behind a tangle of shrubs, and stared out over the gleaming water, thinking... Perhaps the reason he wanted to be alone was because he had felt isolated from everybody since his talk with Dumbledore. An invisible barrier separated him from the rest of the world. He was - he had always been - a marked man. It was just that he had never really understood what that meant... And yet sitting here on the edge of the lake, with the terrible weight of grief dragging at him, with the loss of Sirius so raw and fresh inside, he could not muster any great sense of fear. It was sunny, and the grounds around him were

ter go - ' 'He didn't want to go at all!' said Harry angrily. Hagrid bowed his great shaggy head. 'Nah, I don' reckon he did,' he said quietly. 'But still, Harry... he was never one ter sit aroun' at home an' let other people do the fightin'. He couldn've lived with himself if he hadn' gone ter help - ' Harry leapt up. 'Oh,' said Hagrid, looking rather upset. 'Oh... all righ' then, Harry... take care o' yerself then, an' drop back in if yeh've got a mo...' 'Yeah... right Harry crossed to the door as fast as he could and pulled it open; he was out in the sunshine again before Hagrid had finished saying goodbye, and walking away across the lawn. Once again, people called out to him as he passed. He closed his eyes for a few moments, wishing they would all vanish, that he could open his eyes and find himself alone in the grounds... A few days ago, before his exams had finished and he had seen the vision Voldemort had planted in his mind, he would have given almost anything for the wizarding world to know he had been telling the truth, for them to believe that Voldemort was back, and to know that he was neither a liar nor mad. Now, however... He walked a short way around the lake, sat down on its bank, sheltered from the gaze of passers-by behind a tangle of shrubs, and stared out over the gleaming water, thinking... Perhaps the reason he wanted to be alone was because he had felt isolated from everybody since his talk with Dumbledore. An invisible barrier separated him from the rest of the world. He was - he had always been - a marked man. It was just that he had never really understood what that meant... And yet sitting here on the edge of the lake, with the terrible weight of grief dragging at him, with the loss of Sirius so raw and fresh inside, he could not muster any great sense of fear. It was sunny, and the grounds around him were

full of laughing people, and even though he felt as distant from them as though he belonged to a different race, it was still very hard to believe as he sat here that his life must include, or end in, murder... He sat there for a long time, gazing out at the water, trying not to think about his godfather or to remember that it was directly across from here, on the opposite bank, that Sirius had once collapsed trying to fend off a hundred Dementors... The sun had set before he realised he was cold. He got up and returned to the castle, wiping his face on his sleeve as he went. Harry was still not sure whether or not he wanted to talk about his godfather yet; his wishes varied with his mood. He knew one thing, though: unhappy as he felt at the moment, he would greatly miss Hogwarts in a few days' time when he was back at number four, Privet Drive. Even though he now understood exactly why he had to return there every summer, he did not feel any better about it. Indeed, he had never dreaded his return more. Professor Umbridge left Hogwarts the day before the end of term. It seemed she had crept out of the hospital wing during dinnertime, evidently hoping to depart undetected, but unfortunately for her, she met Peeves on the way, who seized his last chance to do as Fred had instructed, and chased her gleefully from the premises whacking her alternately with a walking stick and a sock full of chalk. Many students ran out into the Entrance Hall to watch her running away down the path and the Heads of Houses tried only half-heartedly to restrain them. Indeed, Professor McGonagall sank back into her chair at the staff table after a few feeble remonstrances and was clearly heard to express a regret that she could not run cheering after Umbridge herself, because Peeves had borrowed her walking stick. Their last evening at school arrived; most people had finished packing and were already heading down to the end-of-term leaving feast, but Harry had not even started. 'Come on, I'm starving.' 'I won't be long... look, you go ahead.. The very last thing he wanted

of laughing people, and even though he felt as distant from them as though he belonged to a different race, it was still very hard to believe as he sat here that his life must include, or end in, murder... He sat there for a long time, gazing out at the water, trying not to think about his godfather or to remember that it was directly across from here, on the opposite bank, that Sirius had once collapsed trying to fend off a hundred Dementors... The sun had set before he realised he was cold. He got up and returned to the castle, wiping his face on his sleeve as he went. Harry was still not sure whether or not he wanted to talk about his godfather yet; his wishes varied with his mood. He knew one thing, though: unhappy as he felt at the moment, he would greatly miss Hogwarts in a few days' time when he was back at number four, Privet Drive. Even though he now understood exactly why he had to return there every summer, he did not feel any better about it. Indeed, he had never dreaded his return more. Professor Umbridge left Hogwarts the day before the end of term. It seemed she had crept out of the hospital wing during dinnertime, evidently hoping to depart undetected, but unfortunately for her, she met Peeves on the way, who seized his last chance to do as Fred had instructed, and chased her gleefully from the premises whacking her alternately with a walking stick and a sock full of chalk. Many students ran out into the Entrance Hall to watch her running away down the path and the Heads of Houses tried only half-heartedly to restrain them. Indeed, Professor McGonagall sank back into her chair at the staff table after a few feeble remonstrances and was clearly heard to express a regret that she could not run cheering after Umbridge herself, because Peeves had borrowed her walking stick. Their last evening at school arrived; most people had finished packing and were already heading down to the end-of-term leaving feast, but Harry had not even started. 'Come on, I'm starving.' 'I won't be long... look, you go ahead.. The very last thing he wanted

to do was to attend the Leaving Feast. He was worried that Dumbledore would make some reference to him in his speech. He was sure to mention Voldemort's return; he had talked to them about it last year, after all... Harry pulled some crumpled robes out of the very bottom of his trunk to make way for folded ones and, as he did so, noticed a badly wrapped package lying in a corner of it. He could not think what it was doing there. He bent down, pulled it out from underneath his trainers and examined it. He realised what it was within seconds. Sirius had given it to him just inside the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place. 'Use it if you need me, all right?' Harry sank down on to his bed and unwrapped the package. Out fell a small, square mirror. It looked old; it was certainly dirty. Harry held it up to his face and saw his own reflection looking back at him. He turned the mirror over. There on the reverse side was a scribbled note from Sirius. This is a two-way mirror, I've got the other one of the pair. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions. Harry's heart began to race. He remembered seeing his dead parents in the Mirror of Erised four years ago. He was going to be able to talk to Sirius again, right now, he knew it - ' He looked around to make sure there was nobody else there; the dormitory was quite empty. He looked back at the mirror, raised it in front of his face with trembling hands and said, loudly and clearly, 'Sirius.' His breath misted the surface of the glass. He held the mirror even closer, excitement flooding through him, but the eyes blinking back at him through the fog were definitely his own. He wiped the mirror clear again and said, so that every syllable rang clearly through the room: 'Sirius Black!' Nothing happened. The frustrated face looking back out of the mirror was still, definitely, his own.

do was to attend the Leaving Feast. He was worried that Dumbledore would make some reference to him in his speech. He was sure to mention Voldemort's return; he had talked to them about it last year, after all... Harry pulled some crumpled robes out of the very bottom of his trunk to make way for folded ones and, as he did so, noticed a badly wrapped package lying in a corner of it. He could not think what it was doing there. He bent down, pulled it out from underneath his trainers and examined it. He realised what it was within seconds. Sirius had given it to him just inside the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place. 'Use it if you need me, all right?' Harry sank down on to his bed and unwrapped the package. Out fell a small, square mirror. It looked old; it was certainly dirty. Harry held it up to his face and saw his own reflection looking back at him. He turned the mirror over. There on the reverse side was a scribbled note from Sirius. This is a two-way mirror, I've got the other one of the pair. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions. Harry's heart began to race. He remembered seeing his dead parents in the Mirror of Erised four years ago. He was going to be able to talk to Sirius again, right now, he knew it - ' He looked around to make sure there was nobody else there; the dormitory was quite empty. He looked back at the mirror, raised it in front of his face with trembling hands and said, loudly and clearly, 'Sirius.' His breath misted the surface of the glass. He held the mirror even closer, excitement flooding through him, but the eyes blinking back at him through the fog were definitely his own. He wiped the mirror clear again and said, so that every syllable rang clearly through the room: 'Sirius Black!' Nothing happened. The frustrated face looking back out of the mirror was still, definitely, his own.

.. Sirius didn't have his mirror on him when he went through the archway, said a small voice in Harry's head. That's why it's riot working... Harry remained quite still for a moment, then hurled the mirror back into the trunk where it shattered. He had been convinced, for a whole, shining minute, that he was going to see Sirius, talk to him again... Disappointment was burning in his throat; he got up and began throwing his things pell-mell into the trunk on top of the broken mirror - ' But then an idea struck him... a better idea than a mirror... a much bigger, more important idea... how had he never thought of it before - why had he never asked? He was sprinting out of the dormitory and down the spiral staircase, hitting the walls as he ran and barely noticing; he hurtled across the empty common room, through the portrait hole and off along the corridor, ignoring the Fat Lady, who called after him: The feast is about to start, you know, you're cutting it very fine!' But Harry had no intention of going to the feast... How could it be that the place was full of ghosts whenever you didn't need one, yet now... He ran down staircases and along corridors and met nobody either alive or dead. They were all, clearly, in the Great Hall. Outside his Charms classroom he came to a halt, panting and thinking disconsolately that he would have to wait until later, until after the end of the feast... But just as he had given up hope, he saw it - a translucent somebody drifting across the end of the corridor. 'Hey - hey, Nick! NICK!' The ghost stuck its head back out of the wall, revealing the extravagantly plumed hat and dangerously wobbling head of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. 'Good evening,' he said, withdrawing the rest of his body from the solid stone and smiling at Harry. 'I am not the only one who is late, then? Though,' he sighed,

. Sirius didn't have his mirror on him when he went through the archway, said a small voice in Harry's head. That's why it's riot working... Harry remained quite still for a moment, then hurled the mirror back into the trunk where it shattered. He had been convinced, for a whole, shining minute, that he was going to see Sirius, talk to him again... Disappointment was burning in his throat; he got up and began throwing his things pell-mell into the trunk on top of the broken mirror - ' But then an idea struck him... a better idea than a mirror... a much bigger, more important idea... how had he never thought of it before - why had he never asked? He was sprinting out of the dormitory and down the spiral staircase, hitting the walls as he ran and barely noticing; he hurtled across the empty common room, through the portrait hole and off along the corridor, ignoring the Fat Lady, who called after him: The feast is about to start, you know, you're cutting it very fine!' But Harry had no intention of going to the feast... How could it be that the place was full of ghosts whenever you didn't need one, yet now... He ran down staircases and along corridors and met nobody either alive or dead. They were all, clearly, in the Great Hall. Outside his Charms classroom he came to a halt, panting and thinking disconsolately that he would have to wait until later, until after the end of the feast... But just as he had given up hope, he saw it - a translucent somebody drifting across the end of the corridor. 'Hey - hey, Nick! NICK!' The ghost stuck its head back out of the wall, revealing the extravagantly plumed hat and dangerously wobbling head of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. 'Good evening,' he said, withdrawing the rest of his body from the solid stone and smiling at Harry. 'I am not the only one who is late, then? Though,' he sighed,

'in a rather different sense, of course...' 'Nick, can I ask you something?' A most peculiar expression stole over Nearly Headless Nick's face as he inserted a finger in the stiff ruff at his neck and tugged it a little straighter, apparently to give himself thinking time. He desisted only when his partially severed neck seemed about to give way completely. 'Er - now, Harry?' said Nick, looking discomfited. 'Can't it wait until after the feast?' 'No - Nick - please,' said Harry, 'I really need to talk to you. Can we go in here?' Harry opened the door of the nearest classroom and Nearly Headless Nick sighed. 'Oh, very well,' he said, looking resigned. 'I can't pretend I haven't been expecting it.' Harry was holding the door open for him, but he drifted through the wall instead. 'Expecting what?' Harry asked, as he closed the door. 'You to come and find me,' said Nick, now gliding over to the window and looking out at the darkening grounds. 'It happens, sometimes... when somebody has suffered a... loss.' 'Well,' said Harry, refusing to be deflected. 'You were right, I've - I've come to find you.' Nick said nothing. 'It's -'said Harry, who was finding this more awkward than he had anticipated, 'it's just - you're dead. But you're still here, aren't you?' Nick sighed and continued to gaze out at the grounds. That's right, isn't it?' Harry urged him. 'You died, but I'm talking to you... you can walk around Hogwarts and everything, can't you?' 'Yes,' said Nearly Headless Nick quietly, 'I walk and talk, yes.' 'So, you came back, didn't you?' said Harry urgently. 'People can come back, right? As ghosts. They don't have to disappear completely. Well?' he added impatiently, when Nick continued to say nothing. Nearly Headless Nick hesitated, then

in a rather different sense, of course...' 'Nick, can I ask you something?' A most peculiar expression stole over Nearly Headless Nick's face as he inserted a finger in the stiff ruff at his neck and tugged it a little straighter, apparently to give himself thinking time. He desisted only when his partially severed neck seemed about to give way completely. 'Er - now, Harry?' said Nick, looking discomfited. 'Can't it wait until after the feast?' 'No - Nick - please,' said Harry, 'I really need to talk to you. Can we go in here?' Harry opened the door of the nearest classroom and Nearly Headless Nick sighed. 'Oh, very well,' he said, looking resigned. 'I can't pretend I haven't been expecting it.' Harry was holding the door open for him, but he drifted through the wall instead. 'Expecting what?' Harry asked, as he closed the door. 'You to come and find me,' said Nick, now gliding over to the window and looking out at the darkening grounds. 'It happens, sometimes... when somebody has suffered a... loss.' 'Well,' said Harry, refusing to be deflected. 'You were right, I've - I've come to find you.' Nick said nothing. 'It's -'said Harry, who was finding this more awkward than he had anticipated, 'it's just - you're dead. But you're still here, aren't you?' Nick sighed and continued to gaze out at the grounds. That's right, isn't it?' Harry urged him. 'You died, but I'm talking to you... you can walk around Hogwarts and everything, can't you?' 'Yes,' said Nearly Headless Nick quietly, 'I walk and talk, yes.' 'So, you came back, didn't you?' said Harry urgently. 'People can come back, right? As ghosts. They don't have to disappear completely. Well?' he added impatiently, when Nick continued to say nothing. Nearly Headless Nick hesitated, then

said, 'Not everyone can come back as a ghost.' 'What d'you mean?' said Harry quickly. 'Only... only wizards.' 'Oh,' said Harry, and he almost laughed with relief. 'Well, that's OK then, the person I'm asking about is a wizard. So he can come back, right?' Nick turned away from the window and looked mournfully at Harry. 'He won't come back.' Who?' 'Sirius Black,' said Nick. 'But you did!' said Harry angrily. 'You came back - you're dead and you didn't disappear - ' 'Wizards can leave an imprint of themselves upon the earth, to walk palely where their living selves once trod,' said Nick miserably. 'But very few wizards choose that path.' 'Why not?' said Harry. 'Anyway - it doesn't matter - Sirius won't care if it's unusual, he'll come back, I know he will!' And so strong was his belief, Harry actually turned his head to check the door, sure, for a split second, that he was going to see Sirius, pearly-white and transparent but beaming, walking through it towards him. 'He will not come back,' repeated Nick. 'He will have... gone on.' 'What d'you mean, "gone on"?' said Harry quickly. 'Gone on where? Listen - what happens when you die, anyway? Where do you go? Why doesn't everyone come back? Why isn't this place full of ghosts? Why -?' 'I cannot answer,' said Nick. 'You're dead, aren't you?' said Harry exasperatedly. 'Who can answer better than you?' 'I was afraid of death,' said Nick softly. 'I chose to remain behind. I sometimes wonder whether I oughtn't to have... well, that is neither here nor there... in fact, I am neither here nor there...' He gave a small sad chuckle. 'I know nothing of the secrets of death, Harry, for I chose my feeble imitation of life instead. I believe learned w

, 'Not everyone can come back as a ghost.' 'What d'you mean?' said Harry quickly. 'Only... only wizards.' 'Oh,' said Harry, and he almost laughed with relief. 'Well, that's OK then, the person I'm asking about is a wizard. So he can come back, right?' Nick turned away from the window and looked mournfully at Harry. 'He won't come back.' Who?' 'Sirius Black,' said Nick. 'But you did!' said Harry angrily. 'You came back - you're dead and you didn't disappear - ' 'Wizards can leave an imprint of themselves upon the earth, to walk palely where their living selves once trod,' said Nick miserably. 'But very few wizards choose that path.' 'Why not?' said Harry. 'Anyway - it doesn't matter - Sirius won't care if it's unusual, he'll come back, I know he will!' And so strong was his belief, Harry actually turned his head to check the door, sure, for a split second, that he was going to see Sirius, pearly-white and transparent but beaming, walking through it towards him. 'He will not come back,' repeated Nick. 'He will have... gone on.' 'What d'you mean, "gone on"?' said Harry quickly. 'Gone on where? Listen - what happens when you die, anyway? Where do you go? Why doesn't everyone come back? Why isn't this place full of ghosts? Why -?' 'I cannot answer,' said Nick. 'You're dead, aren't you?' said Harry exasperatedly. 'Who can answer better than you?' 'I was afraid of death,' said Nick softly. 'I chose to remain behind. I sometimes wonder whether I oughtn't to have... well, that is neither here nor there... in fact, I am neither here nor there...' He gave a small sad chuckle. 'I know nothing of the secrets of death, Harry, for I chose my feeble imitation of life instead. I believe learned w

izards study the matter in the Department of Mysteries - ' 'Don't talk to me about that place!' said Harry fiercely. 'I am sorry not to have been more help,' said Nick gently. 'Well... well, do excuse me... the feast, you know...' And he left the room, leaving Harry there alone, gazing blankly at the wall through which Nick had disappeared. Harry felt almost as though he had lost his godfather all over again in losing the hope that he might be able to see or speak to him once more. He walked slowly and miserably back up through the empty castle, wondering whether he would ever feel cheerful again. He had turned the corner towards the Fat Lady's corridor when he saw somebody up ahead fastening a note to a board on the wall. A second glance showed him it was Luna. There were no good hiding places nearby, she was bound to have heard his footsteps, and in any case, Harry could hardly muster the energy to avoid anyone at the moment. 'Hello,' said Luna vaguely, glancing around at him as she stepped back from the notice. 'How come you're not at the feast?' Harry asked. 'Well, I've lost most of my possessions,' said Luna serenely. 'People take them and hide them, you know. But as it's the last night, I really do need them back, so I've been putting up signs.' She gestured towards the noticeboard, upon which, sure enough, she had pinned a list of all her missing books and clothes, with a plea for their return. An odd feeling rose in Harry; an emotion quite different from the anger and grief that had filled him since Sirius's death. It was a few moments before he realised that he was feeling sorry for Luna. 'How come people hide your stuff?' he asked her, frowning. 'Oh... well...' she shrugged. 'I think they think I'm a bit odd, you know. Some people call me "Loony" Lovegood, actually.' Harry looked at her and the new feeling of pity intensified rather painfully. That's no reason for them to take your things

ards study the matter in the Department of Mysteries - ' 'Don't talk to me about that place!' said Harry fiercely. 'I am sorry not to have been more help,' said Nick gently. 'Well... well, do excuse me... the feast, you know...' And he left the room, leaving Harry there alone, gazing blankly at the wall through which Nick had disappeared. Harry felt almost as though he had lost his godfather all over again in losing the hope that he might be able to see or speak to him once more. He walked slowly and miserably back up through the empty castle, wondering whether he would ever feel cheerful again. He had turned the corner towards the Fat Lady's corridor when he saw somebody up ahead fastening a note to a board on the wall. A second glance showed him it was Luna. There were no good hiding places nearby, she was bound to have heard his footsteps, and in any case, Harry could hardly muster the energy to avoid anyone at the moment. 'Hello,' said Luna vaguely, glancing around at him as she stepped back from the notice. 'How come you're not at the feast?' Harry asked. 'Well, I've lost most of my possessions,' said Luna serenely. 'People take them and hide them, you know. But as it's the last night, I really do need them back, so I've been putting up signs.' She gestured towards the noticeboard, upon which, sure enough, she had pinned a list of all her missing books and clothes, with a plea for their return. An odd feeling rose in Harry; an emotion quite different from the anger and grief that had filled him since Sirius's death. It was a few moments before he realised that he was feeling sorry for Luna. 'How come people hide your stuff?' he asked her, frowning. 'Oh... well...' she shrugged. 'I think they think I'm a bit odd, you know. Some people call me "Loony" Lovegood, actually.' Harry looked at her and the new feeling of pity intensified rather painfully. That's no reason for them to take your things

,' he said flatly. 'D'you want help finding them?' 'Oh, no,' she said, smiling at him. They'll come back, they always do in the end. It was just that I wanted to pack tonight. Anyway... why aren't you at the feast?' Harry shrugged. 'Just didn't feel like it.' 'No,' said Luna, observing him with those oddly misty, protuberant eyes. 'I don't suppose you do. That man the Death Eaters killed was your godfather, wasn't he? Ginny told me.' Harry nodded curtly, but found that for some reason he did not mind Luna talking about Sirius. He had just remembered that she, too, could see Thestrals. 'Have you...' he began. 'I mean, who... has anyone you known ever died?' 'Yes,' said Luna simply,'my mother. She was a quite extraordinary witch, you know, but she did like to experiment and one of her spells went rather badly wrong one day. I was nine.' 'I'm sorry,' Harry mumbled. 'Yes, it was rather horrible,' said Luna conversationally. 'I still feel very sad about it sometimes. But I've still got Dad. And anyway, it's not as though I'll never see Mum again, is it?' 'Er - isn't it?' said Harry uncertainly. She shook her head in disbelief. 'Oh, come on. You heard them, just behind the veil, didn't you?' 'You mean...' 'In that room with the archway. They were just lurking out of sight, that's all. You heard them.' They looked at each other. Luna was smiling slightly. Harry did not know what to say, or to think; Luna believed so many extraordinary things... yet he had been sure he had heard voices behind the veil, too. 'Are you sure you don't want me to help you look for your stuff?' he said. 'Oh, no,' said Luna. 'No, I think I'll just go down and have some pud

he said flatly. 'D'you want help finding them?' 'Oh, no,' she said, smiling at him. They'll come back, they always do in the end. It was just that I wanted to pack tonight. Anyway... why aren't you at the feast?' Harry shrugged. 'Just didn't feel like it.' 'No,' said Luna, observing him with those oddly misty, protuberant eyes. 'I don't suppose you do. That man the Death Eaters killed was your godfather, wasn't he? Ginny told me.' Harry nodded curtly, but found that for some reason he did not mind Luna talking about Sirius. He had just remembered that she, too, could see Thestrals. 'Have you...' he began. 'I mean, who... has anyone you known ever died?' 'Yes,' said Luna simply,'my mother. She was a quite extraordinary witch, you know, but she did like to experiment and one of her spells went rather badly wrong one day. I was nine.' 'I'm sorry,' Harry mumbled. 'Yes, it was rather horrible,' said Luna conversationally. 'I still feel very sad about it sometimes. But I've still got Dad. And anyway, it's not as though I'll never see Mum again, is it?' 'Er - isn't it?' said Harry uncertainly. She shook her head in disbelief. 'Oh, come on. You heard them, just behind the veil, didn't you?' 'You mean...' 'In that room with the archway. They were just lurking out of sight, that's all. You heard them.' They looked at each other. Luna was smiling slightly. Harry did not know what to say, or to think; Luna believed so many extraordinary things... yet he had been sure he had heard voices behind the veil, too. 'Are you sure you don't want me to help you look for your stuff?' he said. 'Oh, no,' said Luna. 'No, I think I'll just go down and have some pud

ding and wait for it all to turn up... it always does in the end... well, have a nice holiday, Harry.' 'Yeah... yeah, you too.' She walked away from him and, as he watched her go, he found that the terrible weight in his stomach seemed to have lessened slightly. * The journey home on the Hogwarts Express next day was eventful in several ways. Firstly, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who had clearly been waiting all week for the opportunity to strike without teacher witnesses, attempted to ambush Harry halfway down the train as he made his way back from the toilet. The attack might have succeeded had it not been for the fact that they unwittingly chose to stage the attack right outside a compartment full of DA members, who saw what was happening through the glass and rose as one to rush to Harry's aid. By the time Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot, had finished using a wide variety of the hexes and jinxes Harry had taught them, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle resembled nothing so much as three gigantic slugs squeezed into Hogwarts uniform as Harry, Ernie and Justin hoisted them into the luggage rack and left them there to ooze. 'I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing Malfoy's mothers face when he gets off the train,' said Ernie, with some satisfaction, as he watched Malfoy squirm above him. Ernie had never quite got over the indignity of Malfoy docking points from Hufflepuff during his brief spell as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. 'He's loads better-looking now... anyway, Harry, the food trolley's just stopped if you want anything.. It was now full of articles about how to repel Dementors, attempts by the Ministry to track down Death Eaters and hysterical letters claiming that the writer had seen Lord Voldemort walking past their house that very morning... Harry looked around. Cho was passing, accompanied by Marietta Edgecombe, who was wearing a balaclava. His

and wait for it all to turn up... it always does in the end... well, have a nice holiday, Harry.' 'Yeah... yeah, you too.' She walked away from him and, as he watched her go, he found that the terrible weight in his stomach seemed to have lessened slightly. * The journey home on the Hogwarts Express next day was eventful in several ways. Firstly, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who had clearly been waiting all week for the opportunity to strike without teacher witnesses, attempted to ambush Harry halfway down the train as he made his way back from the toilet. The attack might have succeeded had it not been for the fact that they unwittingly chose to stage the attack right outside a compartment full of DA members, who saw what was happening through the glass and rose as one to rush to Harry's aid. By the time Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot, had finished using a wide variety of the hexes and jinxes Harry had taught them, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle resembled nothing so much as three gigantic slugs squeezed into Hogwarts uniform as Harry, Ernie and Justin hoisted them into the luggage rack and left them there to ooze. 'I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing Malfoy's mothers face when he gets off the train,' said Ernie, with some satisfaction, as he watched Malfoy squirm above him. Ernie had never quite got over the indignity of Malfoy docking points from Hufflepuff during his brief spell as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. 'He's loads better-looking now... anyway, Harry, the food trolley's just stopped if you want anything.. It was now full of articles about how to repel Dementors, attempts by the Ministry to track down Death Eaters and hysterical letters claiming that the writer had seen Lord Voldemort walking past their house that very morning... Harry looked around. Cho was passing, accompanied by Marietta Edgecombe, who was wearing a balaclava. His

and Cho's eyes met for a moment. Cho blushed and kept walking. 'Nothing,' said Harry truthfully. Harry was surprised to find that this information did not hurt at all. Wanting to impress Cho seemed to belong to a past that was no longer quite connected with him; so much of what he had wanted before Sirius's death felt that way these days... the week that had elapsed since he had last seen Sirius seemed to have lasted much, much longer; it stretched across two universes, the one with Sirius in it, and the one without. 'I mean, she's quite good-looking and all that, but you want someone a bit more cheerful.' 'She's probably cheerful enough with someone else,' said Harry, shrugging. 'Michael Corner,' she said. 'But you were going out with him!' 'Not any more,' said Ginny resolutely. 'He didn't like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch, and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead.' She scratched her nose absently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside-down and began marking her answers. 'Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot,' he said, prodding his queen forwards towards Harry's quivering castle. 'Good for you. Just choose someone - better - next time. He cast Harry an oddly furtive look as he said it. 'Well, I've chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he's better?' asked Ginny vaguely. As the train slowed down in the approach to King's Cross, Harry thought he had never wanted to leave it less. He even wondered fleetingly what would happen if he simply refused to get off, but remained stubbornly sitting there until the first of September, when it would take him back to Hogwarts. When it finally puffed to a standstill, however, he lifted down Hedwig's cage and prepared to drag his trunk from the train as usual. There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done

Cho's eyes met for a moment. Cho blushed and kept walking. 'Nothing,' said Harry truthfully. Harry was surprised to find that this information did not hurt at all. Wanting to impress Cho seemed to belong to a past that was no longer quite connected with him; so much of what he had wanted before Sirius's death felt that way these days... the week that had elapsed since he had last seen Sirius seemed to have lasted much, much longer; it stretched across two universes, the one with Sirius in it, and the one without. 'I mean, she's quite good-looking and all that, but you want someone a bit more cheerful.' 'She's probably cheerful enough with someone else,' said Harry, shrugging. 'Michael Corner,' she said. 'But you were going out with him!' 'Not any more,' said Ginny resolutely. 'He didn't like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch, and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead.' She scratched her nose absently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside-down and began marking her answers. 'Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot,' he said, prodding his queen forwards towards Harry's quivering castle. 'Good for you. Just choose someone - better - next time. He cast Harry an oddly furtive look as he said it. 'Well, I've chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he's better?' asked Ginny vaguely. As the train slowed down in the approach to King's Cross, Harry thought he had never wanted to leave it less. He even wondered fleetingly what would happen if he simply refused to get off, but remained stubbornly sitting there until the first of September, when it would take him back to Hogwarts. When it finally puffed to a standstill, however, he lifted down Hedwig's cage and prepared to drag his trunk from the train as usual. There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done

without it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous travelling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass of the station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend The Weird Sisters. Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair greying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. At the front of the group stood Mr and Mrs Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material. 'Oh, and Harry dear - how are you?' 'Fine,' lied Harry, as she pulled him into a tight embrace. 'What are they supposed to be?' he asked, pointing at the jackets. 'Finest dragonskin, little bro',' said Fred, giving his zip a little tweak. 'Hi,' said Harry. 'I didn't expect... what are you all doing here?' 'Well,' said Lupin with a slight smile, 'we thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home.' 'I dunno if that's a good idea,' said Harry at once. 'Oh, I think it is,' growled Moody, who had limped a little closer. That'll be them, will it, Potter?' He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder; his magical eye was evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. Harry leaned an inch or so to the left to see where Mad-Eye was pointing and there, sure enough, were the three Dursleys, who looked positively appalled to see Harry's reception committee. 'Well - shall we do it, then?' 'Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur,' said Moody. He and Mr Weasley took the lead across the station towards the Dursleys, who were apparently rooted to the floor. 'Good afternoon,' said Mr Weasley pleasantly to Uncle Vernon

it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous travelling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass of the station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend The Weird Sisters. Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair greying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. At the front of the group stood Mr and Mrs Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material. 'Oh, and Harry dear - how are you?' 'Fine,' lied Harry, as she pulled him into a tight embrace. 'What are they supposed to be?' he asked, pointing at the jackets. 'Finest dragonskin, little bro',' said Fred, giving his zip a little tweak. 'Hi,' said Harry. 'I didn't expect... what are you all doing here?' 'Well,' said Lupin with a slight smile, 'we thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home.' 'I dunno if that's a good idea,' said Harry at once. 'Oh, I think it is,' growled Moody, who had limped a little closer. That'll be them, will it, Potter?' He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder; his magical eye was evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. Harry leaned an inch or so to the left to see where Mad-Eye was pointing and there, sure enough, were the three Dursleys, who looked positively appalled to see Harry's reception committee. 'Well - shall we do it, then?' 'Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur,' said Moody. He and Mr Weasley took the lead across the station towards the Dursleys, who were apparently rooted to the floor. 'Good afternoon,' said Mr Weasley pleasantly to Uncle Vernon

as he came to a halt right in front of him. 'You might remember me, my name's Arthur Weasley.' As Mr Weasley had single-handedly demolished most of the Dursleys' living room two years previously, Harry would have been very surprised if Uncle Vernon had forgotten him. Sure enough, Uncle Vernon turned a deeper shade of puce and glared at Mr Weasley, but chose not to say anything, partly, perhaps, because the Dursleys were outnumbered two to one. Aunt Petunia looked both frightened and embarrassed; she kept glancing around, &s though terrified somebody she knew would see her in such company. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he was failing extravagantly. 'We thought we'd just have a few words with you about Harry,' said Mr Weasley, still smiling. 'Yeah,' growled Moody. 'About how he's treated when he's at your place.' Uncle Vernon's moustache seemed to bristle with indignation. Possibly because the bowler hat gave him the entirely mistaken impression that he was dealing with a kindred spirit, he addressed himself to Moody. 'I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house - ' 'I expect what you're not aware of would fill several books, Dursley,' growled Moody. 'Anyway, that's not the point,' interjected Tonks, whose pink hair seemed to offend Aunt Petunia more than all the rest put together, for she closed her eyes rather than look at her. 'The point is, if we find out you've been horrible to Harry - ' - And make no mistake, we'll hear about it,' added Lupin pleasantly. - Yeah, if we get any hint that Potter's been mistreated in any way, you'll have us to answer to,' said Moody. Uncle Vernon swelled ominously. His sense of outrage seemed to outweigh even his fear of this bunch of oddballs. 'Are you threatening me, sir?' he said, so loudly that passers

he came to a halt right in front of him. 'You might remember me, my name's Arthur Weasley.' As Mr Weasley had single-handedly demolished most of the Dursleys' living room two years previously, Harry would have been very surprised if Uncle Vernon had forgotten him. Sure enough, Uncle Vernon turned a deeper shade of puce and glared at Mr Weasley, but chose not to say anything, partly, perhaps, because the Dursleys were outnumbered two to one. Aunt Petunia looked both frightened and embarrassed; she kept glancing around, &s though terrified somebody she knew would see her in such company. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he was failing extravagantly. 'We thought we'd just have a few words with you about Harry,' said Mr Weasley, still smiling. 'Yeah,' growled Moody. 'About how he's treated when he's at your place.' Uncle Vernon's moustache seemed to bristle with indignation. Possibly because the bowler hat gave him the entirely mistaken impression that he was dealing with a kindred spirit, he addressed himself to Moody. 'I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house - ' 'I expect what you're not aware of would fill several books, Dursley,' growled Moody. 'Anyway, that's not the point,' interjected Tonks, whose pink hair seemed to offend Aunt Petunia more than all the rest put together, for she closed her eyes rather than look at her. 'The point is, if we find out you've been horrible to Harry - ' - And make no mistake, we'll hear about it,' added Lupin pleasantly. - Yeah, if we get any hint that Potter's been mistreated in any way, you'll have us to answer to,' said Moody. Uncle Vernon swelled ominously. His sense of outrage seemed to outweigh even his fear of this bunch of oddballs. 'Are you threatening me, sir?' he said, so loudly that passers

-by actually turned to stare. 'Yes, I am,' said Mad-Eye, who seemed rather pleased that Uncle Vernon had grasped this fact so quickly. 'And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?' barked Uncle Vernon. 'Well...' said Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. Uncle Vernon leapt backwards in horror and collided painfully with a luggage trolley. 'Yes, I'd have to say you do, Dursley.' He turned away from Uncle Vernon to survey Harry. 'So, Potter... give us a shout if you need us. If we don't hear from you for three days in a row, we'll send someone along...' Aunt Petunia whimpered piteously. It could not have been plainer that she was thinking of what the neighbours would say if they caught sight of these people marching up the garden path. 'Bye, then, Potter,' said Moody, grasping Harry's shoulder for a moment with a gnarled hand. 'Take care, Harry,' said Lupin quietly. 'Keep in touch.' 'Harry, we'll have you away from there as soon as we can,' Mrs Weasley whispered, hugging him again. 'We promise. Harry nodded. He somehow could not find words to tell them what it meant to him, to see them all ranged there, on his side. Instead, he smiled, raised a hand in farewell, turned around and led the way out of the station towards the sunlit street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley hurrying along in his wake.

by actually turned to stare. 'Yes, I am,' said Mad-Eye, who seemed rather pleased that Uncle Vernon had grasped this fact so quickly. 'And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?' barked Uncle Vernon. 'Well...' said Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. Uncle Vernon leapt backwards in horror and collided painfully with a luggage trolley. 'Yes, I'd have to say you do, Dursley.' He turned away from Uncle Vernon to survey Harry. 'So, Potter... give us a shout if you need us. If we don't hear from you for three days in a row, we'll send someone along...' Aunt Petunia whimpered piteously. It could not have been plainer that she was thinking of what the neighbours would say if they caught sight of these people marching up the garden path. 'Bye, then, Potter,' said Moody, grasping Harry's shoulder for a moment with a gnarled hand. 'Take care, Harry,' said Lupin quietly. 'Keep in touch.' 'Harry, we'll have you away from there as soon as we can,' Mrs Weasley whispered, hugging him again. 'We promise. Harry nodded. He somehow could not find words to tell them what it meant to him, to see them all ranged there, on his side. Instead, he smiled, raised a hand in farewell, turned around and led the way out of the station towards the sunlit street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley hurrying along in his wake.