Standard disclaimers apply. Harry Potter, all related characters, and
various media incarnations are copyright of the very talented J. K.
Rowlings, Scholastic, and other international companies involved in its
creation and distribution. Will Stanton and "The Dark Is Rising" series
are both copyright of the wonderful Susan Cooper.

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light
A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion
By: Gramarye

Chapter Seven - Affairs of Little Import

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It is not only for what we do that we are held responsible, but also
for what we do not do.

-- Moliere

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After the fiasco at dinner, an uneasy truce among all parties concerned
reigned in the Weasley household. Perhaps the general realisation that
they'd had a flaming row in front of their guest had something to do
with it. Perhaps it was Fred and George's belated promise to buy a
new cooking pot for their mother at the first available opportunity.
Perhaps the fact that Mr. Weasley and Percy had arranged never to be
home at the same time also helped. For whatever reason, things had
improved, if only slightly.

Harry's biggest problem had been explaining to Ron exactly what had
happened on his after-dinner walk with Ginny. Or rather, what hadn't
happened. In explicit detail.

Apart from that, a week passed in relative comfort. Harry sent a short
letter to Mrs. Figg using Muggle post to let her know that he was all
right. He mentioned meeting Professor Stanton in passing, though he
neglected to say in what circumstances they had met. Mrs. Figg had
spent fourteen years of her life worrying about him--she didn't need
to worry about something that was over and done with, not to mention
beyond her control.

He also owled a longer message to Hermione, confirming their plans to
meet when they visited London to buy school supplies. Harry's letter
from Hogwarts, complete with the list of the new year's required
textbooks, had arrived at the Burrow with the letters for the members
of the Weasley family still in school. He had stopped questioning long
ago how the letters managed to find him--no matter where he was.

Ron was still grounded, so the two of them spent most of their time in
his room, talking about everything and nothing. Ron expressed his
hopes of being able to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team, even as a
reserve player. Harry talked about his battle with Indian food. They
both agreed that the O.W.L.S. were terrifying, that Snape's class was
probably still going to be a pain, and that Neville would melt no less
than four cauldrons before the Christmas holidays.

Harry was certain that Ron had forgotten the whole Ginny incident, but
the night before they were slated to leave for Diagon Alley his best
friend brought up the subject yet again, just before they fell asleep.

Harry had to explain himself, yet again. "I told you, we went for a
walk and talked for a while. Nothing else. That was it," he said
wearily, twisting the blankets in his hands.

Ron's haughty sniff declared that he didn't believe Harry for a minute.
"Why would she just up and ask you to do something like that?"

Harry had had enough, and sarcasm came easily to his tongue. "Maybe
because she was really embarrassed to see two-thirds of her family
at each other's throats, right in front of the famous Harry Potter?"

Ron sat straight up in bed. Even in the darkened room, Harry could
tell that his friend was shaking, and his face had gone white as a
sheet. He had a sinking feeling that he'd gone too far this time.
Ron's reaction confirmed his suspicion.

"I don't care who the hell you think you are, if you so much as lay a
finger on my sister...."

Before things could come to blows, Harry propped himself up on his
elbows. "You'll what, Ron? Challenge me to a wizard's duel? Or maybe
pistols at dawn?" he quipped, dredging up a memory from a television
programme he had watched at Mrs. Figg's over the summer.

The sudden outburst of dry humour punctured Ron's anger like a burst
balloon, and he found himself floundering for words. "I...I...just watch
yourself, okay?"

Harry pressed his advantage, seeing an chance to set things straight
for good. "Come on. Ginny's a nice kid, but dating her? It'd be like
dating my sister. If I had one, that is."

"You don't know what you mean to her," Ron said, shaking his head
slowly. "You joke about it, but I don't think she's joking."

"I know," Harry said with a grunt, sitting up as well and shoving a
stray piece of hair out of his face. "And that's exactly why I don't
want to do anything that would...you know...mean too much. Just in
case."

"Oh, so she's not good enough for you, is that it?" Confronted with
an unpleasant reality that was more than he wanted to handle, Ron fell
back on his tried-and-true argument. "Just because we're not rich or
famous or--"

"They tried to get me, Ron. On the train, coming here. And they
almost succeeded."

Harry's cold statement cut short Ron's descent into self-pity. "Who?
What?"

"Voldemort. You know, the evil wizard? The one who wants me dead?"

"Don't say the name...." Ron hissed, though there was more plea than
command in his voice.

Harry slammed his fist into the wall. "NO!"

A large chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling and hit the floor with a
thump.

Rubbing his bruised knuckles, he continued, more quietly. "I'm not
going to tiptoe around this anymore. If you mention him in front of
me, you'll damn well use his proper name. Voldemort. Vol-de-mort."
He stared his best friend directly in the eyes. "Say it."

"Stop it...." Ron squirmed under the full force of Harry's anger and
tried to look away, but the other boy wouldn't let him. He moaned
softly, frozen with wretched horror.

"Say it."

"V...Vol...Voldemort..." Ron finally choked out, his face contorting
horribly with each syllable. He flopped back onto the bed, all his
strength gone. "There, are you happy?"

"No," said Harry, feeling equally exhausted. "But it'll do, for now."

"How'd you escape, anyhow?" Ron asked once he had regained a
little of his energy.

"Professor Stanton. He was on the train, too."

"Professor Stanton?" Ron's voice rose to a squeak. "You mean he
saved you?"

Harry rubbed his forehead. "Something like that. I can't really
explain it. Everything just happened, and the next thing I knew I
in his car outside the train station. But I'm sure that if it wasn't
for him, they'd have gotten me."

"He gives me the creeps," Ron said suddenly, vehemently.

Harry blinked. "Professor Stanton? Why?"

Ron thought for a long moment, so long that Harry thought he had fallen
asleep. When he answered at last, his voice was hushed, bordering on
reverent.

"Harry, the man knew Merlin. MERLIN. I've read enough Muggle
books to know what they...and what you...think about him. King
Arthur and all that stuff. He's just an old man in a pointy hat to you."

"Give me a little more credit than that," Harry said witheringly,
rolling his eyes. "I collect Chocolate Frog cards, too, y'know."

Ron pounded the pillow in frustration. "I'm not explaining this right
at all." He stared up at the ceiling, studying the Chudley Cannons
poster over their heads. "Okay, think of Dumbledore. Think about
how powerful he is. Got that?"

"Yes, yes, of course."

"Right. Now multiply that power, oh, say, a thousand times. Maybe
even more. That's Merlin."

"I never thought of it like that," Harry said slowly.

"You see what I mean. That's what you're getting into."

"But even so--"

"You still don't get it." Ron shifted his weight, rolling over on his side
to look at Harry. "He's...he's...wizards and witches don't take his
name lightly. If you swear something on Merlin's name, something
really important, you don't dare go back on it. You don't dare to.
And if Professor Stanton is anything like him...." He fell silent.

Harry turned the words over in his mind. He had read the King Arthur
stories many times as a boy at the Dursleys; any child would fall into
fantasies to escape the life he had led. He had seen the animated film
of "The Sword in the Stone" when Dudley received the video cassette
for his sixth birthday. He currently had no less than seven Chocolate
Frog cards with the great wizard's portrait on them. Ron's description
of Merlin didn't fit in with any of the interpretations he knew--but from
what he had seen of Professor Stanton, he was certain that Ron's was
more accurate than any of the others.

Not that it was any more comforting. In fact, it was considerably less
so. The mental image of an absent-minded old man with a long white
beard, who not surprisingly looked a lot like Dumbledore, had given
way to...well, he wasn't sure what, but it wasn't pleasant to think about.

"What time are we leaving tomorrow?" he asked.

Ron coughed. The bedsprings creaked with the sudden movement.
"Around eight, Mum said. She wants to beat the crowds."

"I suppose we should go to sleep, then."

"Yeah."

Harry rolled over on his side, facing the opposite wall. "Well, good
night, then."

Ron did likewise. "'Night."

He closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep. There was much to
do tomorrow, and he needed all the sleep he could get. But as he lay
in bed, a wicked little idea popped into his mind. Just evil enough to
be deliciously mean, but not so cruel that he would regret it later.
Ron deserved it, anyway, for being so uptight.

A sly grin spread across his face, and as he turned to his friend he
was thankful that the darkness hid his evil glee. "D'you know, Ginny
has a really cute dimple on her...."

With a horrified roar, Ron threw a pillow at him, and any further
remarks he might have made were lost in a sea of smothered giggles
as a truly magnificent pillow fight ensued.

* * *

Morning came all too soon. Harry stumbled about in the early morning
light, pulling on various articles of clothing and bumping into an equally
sleepy Ron.

During his months with Mrs. Figg, he hadn't really been troubled by
nightmares, or even regular dreams. Most nights were a blissful oblivion,
nearly every morning he woke up and felt to some degree refreshed.
But ever since he had arrived at the Burrow, he had started to dream
again.

Not that the dreams were bad ones. Most of them made little sense, and
none featured screaming or pain or flashing green lights. Some could
even be called pleasant. Even so, he wished that he could just close
his eyes at night and know nothing until the next morning. He didn't
want the pleasant dreams if they eventually led to unpleasant ones.

He was very careful with the Floo Powder, and luckily was able to
arrive in the same location as the rest of the Weasleys. Pounding the
soot from his clothes, he stepped out into the bustling world that was
Diagon Alley.

Mrs. Weasley took charge. "Now, first we'll head for Gringotts, and
then get your things for the year." She hurried off through the packed
crowds, leaving her children and Harry to follow her as closely as they
could.

The imposing bastion of wizarding finance known as Gringotts Bank
always sent a thrill of delighted terror running up Harry's spine. The
ugly but well-dressed goblin clerks and tellers, the clink of money and
scratch of quills--the atmosphere of the place was nothing short of
intoxicating. Harry and Mrs. Weasley produced their keys, and a goblin
directed them down the long tracks to the rows of vaults.

Harry was careful to count how much of each coin he scooped into his
money pouch. In previous years, he had grabbed handfuls of money
haphazardly, but with the sour memory of taking taxi fare from the
Grangers still fresh in his mind, he was determined to be more careful
with his spending habits this year.

The Weasley vault was next, and Harry was relieved to see a little more
money inside it than he had seen in previous years. Mrs. Weasley
wasn't forced to go digging in the darkest corners in search of a few
scattered Knuts. He was glad that the Weasleys didn't have to scrape
together their last precious coins to buy school supplies this year.

Relief surged through him when they finally left the darkness of the
vaults and could once again step out into the bright sunshine.

"Now then," Mrs. Weasley said, shaking some Sickles and a couple
Galleons into her hand, "Ginny and I need to stop by the robe shop.
Would the four of you please get all your textbooks? Ron, I think you
know what Ginny needs."

"Sure, Mum," Ron said. He was eager to get back in her good graces
again...and hopefully salvage the rest of his summer.

Flourish and Blotts was packed with Hogwarts students, and the clerks
scurried about trying to find enough copies of the standard textbooks
to satisfy the high demand. Ron, Harry, and the twins joined the mad
scramble, and somehow were able to get all of their necessary books,
pay the frazzled manager, and get out without being crushed.

Once on the street outside, they surveyed the damage. Harry felt very
bruised and battered, but his books were intact.

Ron, however, was not so lucky. "Damn it all!" he swore, holding up
his copy of Intermediate Charms. "The cover's nearly off!" And
indeed it was--there was a large rip down the spine, as though he had
tried to wrest it out of someone else's hands and only just succeeded.

"We can use Spell-o-tape on it at home," Fred huffed, straightening his
twisted robes. "Just don't let Mum see it."

Ron blanched at the thought of his mother's reaction. "No fear," he
said.

"Well, we're off to Gambol and Japes," said George. Diagon Alley's
premiere wizarding joke shop was always a high priority for the twins.
"Either of you want to come?"

"Don't you think you should buy the cooking pot before you go off
spending money there?" Ron said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Fred snickered, and reached out and cuffed Ron over the head. "Nice
words coming from someone who's grounded until the end of summer. I'm
surprised Mum even let you come with us today. Take good care of our
precious Ickle Ronniekins, Harry--don't let him get into any trouble!"
Laughing, the twins strolled off, down the street.

Ron snarled and spun around to go after them, but he in mid-turn he
crashed into a person who had unexpectedly appeared behind them. They
both fell to the ground, landing on the uneven cobblestones.

"Watch where you're going!" Ron yelled, rubbing his aching bottom.

"Why don't you watch where you're going, Ron Weasley!"

Harry, who had been helping Ron to his feet, glanced up to see none
other than Hermione Granger helping the other unfortunate victim to
stand. The victim in question was a sore-looking Neville Longbottom.

"Hey, you two. When did you get here?" he said happily. Ron nodded a
curt hello, still massaging his behind.

"About a half-hour ago," replied Hermione as she dusted Neville off.
She had a cloth shoulder bag filled with books slung over one shoulder,
and her Hogwarts school uniform was immaculate. She looked every inch
the model student and prefect--which, of course, she was.

"I'm here with Gran. She's in Madam Malkin's...and if I'm lucky, she'll
stay in there for a while." Neville's clothing was in slight disarray, but
he looked none the worse for wear. Harry noticed that he had lost
some weight over the summer, and had grown a bit as well. He was
only shorter than Ron, who had always been the tallest of the four
of them.

"New cauldron?" Harry pointed to the gleaming copper kettle sitting
at Neville's feet. It was filled to the brim with textbooks and various
potion ingredients.

"Yeah. This one's supposed to have some spell on it that makes it
spill-proof, or something like that."

"I bet things are going to be different this year in Potions," Ron said
jokingly, running his hand around the cauldron's rim.

Neville looked him straight in the eyes. "Oh, you've no idea," he said
softly.

A curious note in his friend's voice made Harry pause. There was a
rather strange look in Neville's eyes, and an even stranger smile on
his face. Harry stared, trying to figure out what it was. The word
'confident' popped into his mind--Neville looked confident. To be
honest, he looked more than confident. He looked completely at ease
with himself, and everything else, for that matter.

It was frightening.

"NEVILLE!"

The crotchety voice of an elderly woman boomed over the chatter of the
crowd, causing more than a few people to stop and stare.

The odd light faded from his face, and before their eyes the strange
new Neville became the nervous, timid boy they had always known.

He gulped, and glanced anxiously around. "Gotta go," he said. "'Bye,
you guys!"

With that, he grabbed his cauldron and ran off, disappearing through
the door of Madam Malkin's shop.

"What in blazes was that?" Ron looked as though he had just heard a
house-elf demand workers' compensation and extensive pension plans.

"I think that was Neville Longbottom," Harry replied.

"Nah, couldn't be. He didn't trip over his own feet even once."

"Oh, stop being mean," Hermione said with a sigh, interrupting their
discussion. "Let's get going--it's quarter past now, and I have to
meet Mum and Dad at the Leaky Cauldron by five."

They wandered through the alley, admiring the window displays and
chatting about the upcoming school year. Ron and Harry stopped to
press their noses against the shop front of Quality Quidditch Supplies,
forcing Hermione to drag them away from the store window by the
backs of their shirts.

Something had been bothering Harry ever since they had left Flourish
and Blotts, and his uneasiness only grew as the day progressed. He
couldn't quite put his finger on it, but as they passed by Gambol and
Japes, it suddenly hit him.

"Say, do you know who we haven't seen?" he said.

"Hmm?" Hermione was only half paying attention. She was flipping
through one of her new books, and consequently bumping into people
as she walked.

"Malfoy."

Ron snorted. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Harry, who was starting to lose circulation in his fingers, shifted the
stack of books in his arms. "Come off it, Ron."

Ron stopped walking and gave Harry an incredulous stare. "Let me get
this straight...you're worrying about Draco Malfoy? Did I hit you too
hard with the pillow last night or something?"

"Ron, please." Hermione lowered her book, glaring at him.

Ron remained undaunted. "I can't believe this!" he spluttered. "This
is the Draco Malfoy we're talking about here, right? The same one
who all but admitted that he was a...a 'you-know-what' in training?"

"They're called Death-Eaters," Harry said automatically.

"I know that," snapped Ron.

"Then use the proper name," Harry snapped back.

"Stop it, both of you!"

Hermione's sharp command froze them in their tracks.

They looked over at her. She had thrown her heavy shoulder bag to
the ground, and her eyes flashed fire and steel.

"Yes, you heard me," she said. "I'm here to have a nice, enjoyable day
with my best friends, not to sit here and watch two little boys have a
brawl in the street. Now shake hands and make up."

Harry's anger wilted under Hermione's wrath. He shifted the books to
his left arm and grudgingly stuck out his hand. After a moment, Ron
slowly extended his own, and they shook hands, immediately yanking
away from the other's grip when the painful ritual was complete.

"Thank you," Hermione said, still sounding disgusted with them. "And
now, I'm going to Fortescue's for ices. Whether I'm going to have
company, or whether I'm going to get a chance to start the reading
for the school year, is entirely up to you."

She stormed off, leaving them standing by themselves in the middle of
the street.

Harry, watching her rapidly walk away, decided that he'd had enough of
arguments for one summer.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to snap at you," he said sincerely.

"Yeah," Ron muttered. "Same here. Just a stupid fight, 's all."

"You up for a sundae?"

The mention of food brought a smile to Ron's gloomy face. "Only if
you're paying," he said slyly.

Harry laughed. "I suppose it's the least I deserve." Since his burden
of books prevented him from simply reaching over and clapping a hand
on Ron's shoulder, he settled for kicking his friend lightly in the shin.
"Come on, or Hermione'll get her nose in the books she's bought and
we'll never get it out."

They ran down the street, not stopping until they had reached the door
of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. The little bell above the
door gave a silvery tingle as they entered. The queue was short,
though the shop itself was crammed full, and they soon reached the
counter.

"Butterscotch sundae, please. No nuts, extra whipped cream."

"I'll have a banana split with marshmallow topping."

The witch behind the counter dished out their orders and handed them
the chilled dessert cups brimming with ice cream. Harry made a face
as he paid the bill, more for Ron's benefit than in reaction to the
cost of their treat.

Hermione was sitting alone at a table in the corner, sipping a large
root-beer float and thumbing through her copy of The Standard Book of
Spells, Grade 5 by Miranda Goshawk. She looked up as Harry and Ron
approached, and gave them a cool, superior smile.

"Well, now that you're acting like human beings again, maybe we can
have a civilised conversation," she said smoothly. "How was your
summer, Harry?"

"Not too bad," he muttered, diving into the sticky butterscotch.

"Except for that little part about nearly getting killed on the train
to Exeter," Ron added casually through a mouthful of banana.

"Ron!" Harry hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

Hermione leapt out of her chair, almost upsetting the table. "WHAT?"
she shouted, eyes bugging out of her head.

Harry grabbed her arm and yanked her back into her chair. "Shh!
Keep it down!"

The customers in the shop had stopped their conversations and were
staring with great interest at their table. Harry ducked his head, not
wanting his scar to be seen, and Hermione and Ron quickly busied
themselves eating their desserts. Only when the general hum of
conversation had started up again did they continue with their own.

By this time, Hermione had calmed down, though her hands were shaking.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" she growled. "What happened?"

Harry explained the incident on the train, giving her a little more detail
than he had told to Ron. Her eyebrows went up when he mentioned
Professor Stanton's name, but she kept silent, waiting to hear the
rest of the story.

"So you didn't actually see anyone," she said when he had finished.
"How could you be sure? Maybe...maybe it was just someone trying
to get through to the next car."

"And what if it wasn't?" Harry said irritably, scraping the last of the
butterscotch from the bottom of his glass.

Hermione grimaced. "I'm just looking at other possibilities. You
don't have to be so defensive about it."

"I think I have a little right to be defensive, Hermione."

"All I'm saying is--"

"What're you gabbing about?"

Three heads snapped around to see Ginny sauntering toward them,
sipping delicately on a large fizzy lemon squash. Her hips swayed a
little as she walked, something that did not escape Harry's notice--
but a low grumble from Ron's direction made him quickly avert his
eyes.

"Nothing," said Hermione, at the same time that Ron and Harry answered,
"Quidditch."

Ginny snorted. "At least you're all in agreement." She turned to her
older brother. "Ron, Mum wanted me to tell you that we're leaving in
fifteen minutes, so you'd better have everything you need."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, using his spoon to mash the last bit of banana
into a sticky paste. He noticed the lemon squash his sister was
drinking, and his eyes widened. "Hey, where'd you get the money
for that?"

"Fred and George." Ginny took another long sip.

Ron stared at the drink in her hands as if it was poisoned. "You...you
took money...from them?! And it didn't turn your hands black or...or
explode or something?"

"Nope." She noisily slurped the last of her drink and set the empty
glass on their table. "Later, Hermione," she said nonchalantly, and
walked out without so much as a glance at Harry or her brother.

Ron's forehead hit the table with a loud thunk. "What is with everyone
today?" he moaned.

"I haven't the faintest idea," said Harry.

"She's your sister, Ron." Hermione handed Ginny's glass to a waitress
who was circulating with a tray.

"Tell me something I don't know." Ron stood up, his chair scraping
loudly against the floor. "Look, Harry, I'll meet you outside in a
minute, okay? I've got to have a slash."

Hermione choked on her float. "Ron!" she managed to gurgle, but he
had already vanished into the lavatory. "I swear, that boy...."

Harry toyed with his spoon, rattling it against the rim of the sundae
glass. He'd been dreading this moment all summer, but now was as good
a time as any, before he lost his nerve. "Um, Hermione...about...about
the money...."

She shook her head, knowing exactly what he was going to say. "Don't
worry about it."

"I'll pay you back, of course," he said quickly.

"You don't have to. I'm just glad things turned out all right."

He felt a lump swell in his throat, and had to swallow a few times
before he could reply. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She finished the last bit of her float, and grinned.
"Now, you should go before Mrs. Weasley sends out a search
party. She'd have every reason to, given your record recently."

Harry returned her grin, and he picked up his books and left the ice
cream shop. Once he was out in the street, though, his cheerfulness
faded. School would start in less than a week, and with it would
come a whole host of problems that he had been able to avoid for a
few blissful months.

For the first time since he had started at Hogwarts, he almost didn't
want to return. And his first real step back inside the wizarding
world hadn't been the reassurance he badly needed.

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Gramarye
gramarye@postmaster.co.uk
http://gramarye.freehosting.net/
February 13th, 2002