For those of you who, like myself, have been suffering from severe
Will withdrawl, everyone's favourite Old One returns in the next chapter.
Once again, thanks to all of my reviewers!

Standard disclaimers apply. Harry Potter, all related characters, and
various media incarnations are copyright of the very talented J. K.
Rowling, 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 Nine - Last Train Home

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All warfare is based on deception.

-- Sun-Tzu, "The Art of War"

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Within minutes of the attack, a swarm of officials from the Ministry of
Magic had arrived at King's Cross Station. The Department of Magical
Law Enforcement, the Department of Accidental Magic Reversal...even
the Department of Magical Transportation sent workers to the scene.
They all wore Muggle business clothing, and could have passed for a
large group of office workers were it not for the fact that they had all
appeared out of nowhere. Apparition in the presence of Muggles was
unthinkable--but then again, so was an incident of this calibre.

Immediately upon arrival, the officials separated to take care of the
most important matter--namely, erasing all knowledge of the attack
from Muggle memory. While that business was being taken care of,
two mediwitches and a mediwizard fanned out among the crowd,
examining the people for injuries. Still others pulled out quills and
parchment and began to pen detailed reports on the entire incident.

Once all of the Muggle bystanders had been sent blissfully on their
way, and a special crack squad of Obliviators delegated to round up
any who might have slipped past, the Ministry workers escorted the
shaken children onto the Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Quickly
and efficiently, they loaded them onto the Hogwarts Express and sent
them on their way. The train left only ten minutes behind schedule, and
the students were assured that they were not to worry. Everything
would be taken care of.

Even with the reassurance, it was a much different ride to school.
Instead of the usual excited chatter, there were only whispered,
terse conversations and the occasional sounds of scattered weeping.

The quick-thinking Ministry officials had segregated the students by
their houses, placing them in separate cars. The unsorted first years
rode in three special cars well toward the back. Gryffindors and
Slytherins were at opposite ends of the train, in case the tense
situation caused the well-known house rivalry to spill over. Students
were forbidden to travel between the cars, and even the sweet, friendly
witch who pushed the snack trolley had an unfriendly-looking wizard
with her, escorting her as she went around offering free Chocolate
Frogs to the shaken students.

Hermione was lying down across a row of seats in the makeshift
infirmary that had been set up in first car. She had regained
consciousness as she was being loaded onto the train, but the
mediwizard who had been hastily recruited to attend the injured
on the way to school feared that she had suffered a concussion.
Harry, Ron, and Ginny had been recruited to keep her awake
and talking, and to alert him if she showed signs of drifting off.

The Weasley siblings sat side by side, not talking, simply taking
comfort in the fact that the other was there. Harry sat opposite
them, dying to scratch an itch that had developed under the thick
bandage on his ankle. The mediwizard had said that it was only
strained, not sprained or broken, but he had wrapped it up so tightly
that Harry couldn't even slip a finger underneath the bandage. The
itching was driving him mad.

Two second-year Ravenclaws, a young-looking boy and a girl, had
also been hurt in the incident and were under the mediwizard's care.
For the moment, they were sleeping soundly. Colin Creevey was
under heavy sedation at the far end of the car, closest to the front,
but no one went up there unless they absolutely had to. Even the
mediwizard avoided looking in that direction, and if there was no
avoiding it he hurriedly averted his eyes.

"And you're sure you're all right?" Ginny asked for the fifth time,
holding Hermione's hand tightly.

"Just bruised, that's all." Hermione sat up a little and gingerly
rubbed the back of her head. "That's what I get for trying to be
heroic."

"Good thing your hair's so frizzy," said Ron. "It probably saved your
life, you know. Cushioned the blow." He tried to make it a joke, but
there was a husky note in his voice that took all the humour out of his
statement. He looked away, staring fixedly out of the window.

Hermione didn't bother to yell at him. She leaned back, closing her
eyes.

"Don't go to sleep!" Ginny shouted, grabbing her by the arm.

Hermione opened her eyes and gave the younger girl a withering look.
"I wasn't going to sleep, silly. I have to blink sometime."

Ginny's face twisted pitifully . "I was just worried. The mediwizard
said you could go into a comma if you fell asleep."

"That's 'coma', Ginny," Hermione corrected, more gently. "And I think
I'll be okay."

"If you say so." Ginny didn't sound convinced.

The elderly mediwizard walked over to them, swaying slightly with the
motion of the car. The cloying, heady smell of chocolate filled the air,
wafting toward them as he approached. He had dispensed so much
chocolate to the injured students that he smelled as though he'd been
bathing in it.

"How's the headache, young lady?" he asked.

"It could be worse," said Hermione, wrinkling her nose at the almost
overpowering aroma of chocolate.

"That's the spirit, missy," he said, his wrinkled old face creasing into
hundreds of tiny smile lines. "Now you just let me know if you don't
feel well. We wouldn't want you to go and have a funny turn on us,
now would we?"

"We certainly wouldn't," Ron replied, very seriously.

Ginny had to fake a coughing fit to keep from bursting out laughing,
and ended up giving herself the hiccoughs instead. Harry ducked his
head to hide his own smile.

When the mediwizard had left them, Hermione released her tightly-
held breath. "Phew...I like chocolate as much as the next person, but
really! And what's this about 'funny turns? Do I look that much of
an invalid?"

"You did have us worried for a moment there, you know," Harry said.
"You hit the wall awfully hard."

Hermione coughed dryly. "And this coming from the boy who's probably
spent more time as Madam Pomfrey's special guest than the rest of us
combined."

Harry opened his mouth to make an unflattering remark about a botched
dosage of Polyjuice Potion, but before he could say anything, there was
a fusilade of knocking on the door that connected the car to the rest
of the train.

The sudden noise woke the Ravenclaws. The little girl, who had two
long blonde plaits and had an elbow in a sling, began to bawl. Ginny
hurried over to comfort her. Harry and Ron drew closer to Hermione,
who tried to sit up but was pushed back down by Ron.

The mediwizard straightened his robes, and strode toward the rear
of the car with a confidence he almost certainly didn't possess. He
stopped five feet away from the door and began to shout, trying to
make his voice carry over the noise of the train:

"Excuse me! You can't come back here!"

The knocking started again.

The mediwizard blanched, but stood his ground. He tried a different
turn of phrase. "This car is off limits to anyone but authorised person--"

He hadn't finished his sentence before the door flew open, hitting the
facing wall with a crash.

The mediwizard leapt back, holding out his wand in a hand that wouldn't
stop shaking. Ginny tried to shush the frightened Ravenclaw girl, only
to have the little boy started howling as well.

Harry motioned for Ron and Hermione to keep down, and looked over
the top of the seat. He could see two figures, one tall and one short,
standing in the doorway. They wore black and scarlet robes of a cut
that Harry had never seen before.

The shorter one, a compact woman with dusty grey hair, stepped forward.
She held out a roll of parchment stamped with an official-looking seal.

"We are authorised personnel, Mr Evanston," she said in a gravelly
voice. "The Ministry of Magic wants a full and complete report, and
that means interviewing everyone on board. Everyone."

It was Mrs Figg.

Harry's first thought was that she looked quite different in wizarding
dress. He'd never seen her in anything but faded headscarves, old
housedresses, and laddered tights, and he couldn't get used to the
sight of her in formal robes.

His second thought was to wonder why he hadn't been more surprised
to see her.

Mr Evanston the mediwizard warily took the proffered document and
read it through several times. He looked up when he had finished, and
handed it back to her. She passed it to her partner, who rolled it up
and deftly slipped it into his robes.

The initial fear had left Mr Evanston's face, and had been replaced
with sulkiness. "I was only doing my job," he said sourly.

The second person, a tall blond man with very unruly eyebrows, spoke
for the first time. "Your job is tending to the wounded, and you've done
admirably so far," he said placatingly. "Now please, stand aside and let
us do ours."

The mediwizard gave them a glare that was as near to unfriendly as he
dared to go. Without another word, he turned around and headed back
to take care of the young Ravenclaws. They were still howling, but two
large pieces of chocolate soon quieted their sobs.

Ginny's brief childcare experience had left her rather frazzled, and
she looked only too glad to rejoin Harry, Hermione, and her brother.

Mrs Figg and the blond man strode down the corridor. Harry stood up,
overjoyed to speak with Mrs Figg again, but his good mood faded when
he saw that her face was a complete blank. She didn't act as though she
knew who he was, let alone that he had spent the entire summer living
with her.

They stopped once they had reached the row of seats where Hermione
lay.

"Good afternoon," Mrs Figg said briskly. "My name is Arabella Figg,
and this is Edward Linchley."

She indicated her partner, who nodded briefly to them and stepped
forward.

"We would like to ask you a few questions about the incident," he said,
pulling out a quill and a fresh piece of parchment. "But before we begin--"

"May I see your identification, please?" said Hermione, holding out her
hand.

"What?" Linchley blinked, looking very startled.

"Your identification," Hermione repeated slowly, spelling it out for him.
"It's only proper. Constant vigilence, and all that."

Mrs Figg smiled wryly, and prodded Linchley with a bony finger. "Go
on, man. She's got you there. Trust a Muggle-born to know proper
police procedure."

Linchley grudgingly handed the identification parchment to Hermione,
who unrolled it and held it up for Harry, Ron, and Ginny to see.

Harry peered at it. The writing on the scroll, though tiny, ornate, and
densely packed, was easy enough to decipher.

Hereby let it be known, [it said] that the bearer(s) of this
document have the full authorisation of the Ministry of
Magic and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
to act within reason and due process of law.

Arabella Figg, Auror
Edward Linchley, Auror

[signed]
Cornelius Fudge
Minister of Magic

Attached to the bottom of the document were two photographs, headshots
of Mrs Figg and Linchley that gazed placidly at the viewer. The pictures
didn't move as much as those in normal wizarding photographs, but Harry
assumed that was because they were deliberately sitting very still in order
to appear more 'official'.

Hermione let go of the bottom of the parchment. It rolled up with a
snap. She handed it back to Linchley, who took it from her and put it
away again. He picked up the parchment and quill, and fixed them all
with a very severe frown.

"Your names," he barked. "First and last. And your ages."

"Harry Potter, fifteen."

"Ronald Weasley, fifteen."

"Hermione Granger..." She trailed off, hesitating for a moment, then
continued. "Fourteen. But I'll be fifteen in a fortnight," she added
hastily, as if to remind them all that her age was of no consequence.

"Ginny Weasley, fourteen."

"Ginny?" Linchley repeated, disbelievingly.

"Yes, 'Ginny'." She sounded offended, very put out. "That is my name,
you know."

"Fine, then." Linchley finished copying her name down and looked up,
twiddling the quill in his hand. "Now, I would like to know your exact
locations at the time of the incident."

The four of them exchanged glances.

Ron was the first to speak up. "Harry and I were standing outside the
entrance to Platform Eight. Ginny was--"

"I can speak for myself, dear brother," Ginny interrupted, glaring at
him. She addressed Mrs Figg. "At the time, I was at a newspaper
kiosk, buying a copy of the Independent."

Linchley looked up sharply. "That's a Muggle paper, isn't it?"

Ginny returned his accusing stare. Her dislike of him, if it had not
been apparent before, was now blatantly obvious. "Yes, it is. My
father--Arthur Weasley, who works for the Misuse of Muggle
Artefacts Department--wanted one. He asked me to get it for him."
Her smile was syrupy sweet and not very nice. "Would you like to
see it?"

Linchley had to good grace to appear embarrassed. "Ah...that won't
be necessary, Miss Weasley." He turned to Hermione. "And you?"

"I was just entering the main terminus. My parents had dropped me
off outside, and I had a hard time trying to load my trunk onto one of
the trolleys. It was quarter to eleven. I was afraid that I would be late."

"'...would...be...late.'" He wrote the last word, crossing the 't' with
a flourish. "All right. Now that we have established your whereabouts,
I'd like you to describe what you saw. You first, Mr Potter." He
pointed to Harry.

"I...I didn't see anything," Harry said, stammering a little. "I just
felt this pain in my head, and I knew that something was wrong.
So I grabbed Ron and dove behind a row of trolleys."

"Why the violent reaction?"

Harry laughed softly, a laugh with absolutely no mirth in it. "When
something goes wrong around me, it usually goes very wrong, very
fast. Story of my life, really. I just didn't want to take the chance."

"Is this true, Mr Weasley?" Linchley asked, turning to Ron.

Ron shrugged. "I guess. I don't know. I just remember Harry shouting
something and knocking me down, and then the next thing I knew
Hermione was there and she wasn't moving and...and...."

He stopped short, unable to continue. Hermione reached over and
patted his hand gently.

Rather than wait for Ron to regain his composure, Harry decided to
change the subject. "After that, I looked over top of the trolleys and
saw them," he said.

"Whom did you see?"

"The group of Death Eaters."

"How do you know they were Death Eaters?"

Harry pushed the hair away from his forehead in a gesture that was
designed to 'accidentally' reveal his scar. "They're not something you
forget very easily," he said.

Linchley shifted uncomfortably at this, but Mrs Figg didn't seem to
notice. "And what were they doing?" she asked.

"Casting spells, it looked like. I don't think they were going after
anyone in--"

Mrs Figg cut him off sternly. "We're not interested in what you
think, Mr Potter. We're interested in what you saw."

Harry's temper flared. He was sore, itchy, and sick and tired of
dancing around the issue. He was also more than a little furious at
Mrs Figg for treating him like a complete stranger.

"You want to know what I saw?" he said coldly. "I saw a group
of people dressed in black throwing hexes left and right, in broad
daylight, in the middle of a crowded train station filled with Muggles.
I saw Hermione crash into the wall right next to me, looking like she
was dead. I saw...I saw Colin...."

His eyes flickered toward the front of the train, toward the curtained
off area where Colin lay. The burst of anger left him, and he couldn't
finish his statement.

Hermione reached over and took his hand, too, squeezing it. The
pressure of her slim fingers was a sweet gesture, but it didn't make
him feel any less choked up.

"Thank you, Mr Potter," Linchley said, realising that it would be
better not to press the subject. "Miss Weasley?"

Ginny's eyes grew vacant as she tried to remember. "I had just bought
the paper and was waiting for my change when I heard the explosion.
I didn't look to see what it was--I dove for the ground. I don't really
remember anything else until Harry said my name."

"You didn't try to find out what was going on?"

Now it was Ginny's turn to look uncomfortable. "I...I didn't think
about it. I just wanted to get away."

"Completely understandable," Linchley said with a sympathetic nod.
"Miss Granger?"

"Well, I heard the explosion, too, but I didn't see what was going on
at first. I ran over toward Platform Eight. I was hoping that Ron and
Harry would be there. I must have been hit with a spell or something,
because the next thing I knew I was flying through the air and then
everything went black."

"According to the report made at the scene, you had your wand out.
May I ask why?"

"I wanted to be prepared, that's all."

Linchley raised a bushy eyebrow. "So you pulled your wand out in the
middle of a crowded train station? With Muggles all around you?"

"Some people didn't seem to care about things like that," Hermione
said flatly.

"Yes...well, thank you, Miss Granger." He rolled up the parchment
and put his quill away.

Mrs Figg cleared her throat. "That will be all for now. I must ask
all of you to stay here for the time being. We will return if we have
any further questions for you."

Harry knew that he couldn't sit there and watch her walk away.

"Mrs Figg?" he said quickly, catching hold of the edge of her sleeve.

She hesitated, but quickly nodded to him. "I'll be there in a few
minutes, Linchley," she said over her shoulder. "See what you can
get from them." She jerked her head toward the two Ravenclaws.

Linchley grimaced, as though she'd asked him to wrestle a Common
Welsh Green, but he bowed slightly to his superior and walked over
to the little boy and girl.

Mrs Figg turned back to Harry. "What is it?" she asked, keeping her
voice low. "I can't talk long."

"Mrs Figg, I knew that this would happen."

Her eyes went wide. "How did you know?" she hissed.

Harry took a very deep breath, and proceeded to describe his vision,
including as much detail as he could remember. He knew that Mrs Figg
would probably want to flay him alive for not informing her of the close
call he had had on the train to Exeter, so he played down that aspect
of the story. He focused more on the 'change of plans' side--the actual
threat from Voldemort.

A tiny muscle had started to twitch in Mrs Figg's jaw. Her normally
twinkling eyes smouldered with an intense light. He couldn't tell
whether it was directed at him or at Voldemort...but he hoped to
blazes it was intended for Voldemort.

"No names?" she asked, the strain of speaking in quiet tones showing
through.

Harry thought very carefully, racking his memory. He wanted to be
certain. "No," he said finally. "But it was definitely two men and a
woman. And I didn't recognise their voices...it wasn't Wormtail or
Lucius Malfoy or anyone like that."

"And you said this was just last night? You didn't tell anyone else
about this?"

He could feel Ron's eyes boring into his back, and deliberately avoided
looking at his best friend. "By the time it was over, I couldn't do much
of anything about it. I was going to go tell Dumbledore when I got to
school, but now...."

"Was anyone else hurt?" Ginny asked Mrs Figg, interrupting him.

"Any Muggles?" Hermione added, very worried.

A little of the anger left Mrs Figg's face. "We have five confirmed
casualties. Two were Muggles. The others...the other three were
Hogwarts students." She looked tired, more like an old woman and
less like an Auror with the authority of the Ministry of Magic behind
her. "I shouldn't even be telling you this much...you'll find out more at
the Sorting Ceremony."

"But I won't--" Harry began, then snapped his mouth shut.

"Won't what?" The steel came back into her eyes.

"Never mind. It's nothing." He gave her a smile that he hoped would
be chipper enough to calm her fears. "Thank you, Mrs Figg."

She returned his smile thinly. Her eyes were still hard. "Chin up,
Harry. I'll be seeing you soon."

Before he could figure out whether that was a threat or a promise,
she had left.

Ron propped his chin on his hands, watching her head over toward
Linchley, who was having a good deal of trouble interrogating the
teary-eyed and sticky-faced Ravenclaws.

"Wow...THAT was Mrs Figg?" he said. "I know that the Dursleys were
pretty bad, but having to live with her for a summer...." He shook his
head in wonder. "You always do get the worst breaks, Harry."

Harry wasn't listening. He was too busy calculating exactly how much
time he had before the Sorting Ceremony--he had to put his trunk and
other belongings away, slip past all the teachers who would be keeping
an especially strict watch on them all, get through the corridors without
being seen by Mr Filch or Mrs Norris, and somehow find his way to
Dumbledore's office.

He'd have under a half-hour...if that much.

A finger poked him sharply in the ribs, snapping him out of his string
of troubled thoughts.

"Harry, are you listening? What's wrong?" asked Hermione, poking him
again.

"I'm not going to the Sorting Ceremony," he said slowly. "I'm going to
see Dumbledore as soon as we get to school."

"But won't he be at the Sorting Ceremony, too?" Ginny said, her brow
furrowing in concern.

"Not if I can corner him before it starts. This is too important to wait--
I waited too long, and look what happened. I...I don't want anything
else to go wrong."

"I'll come with you," Ron said firmly.

Hermione sat up carefully. "Me, too."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to be left behind!" piped Ginny.

"No. It'd be too conspicuous." He held up a hand to stop them before
they could protest. "What I need you to do is to make up some excuse
in case anyone asks where I am. And," he said, as an idea struck him,
"I need someone to take my things--I can get to Dumbledore faster if I
don't have to worry about my luggage."

Hermione scowled. "So while you go off traipsing through the school,
being all heroic and noble and secretive, we're stuck behind as your
alibi and your porters?"

Harry opened his mouth, then quickly shut it.

Hermione laughed at his funny expression. "All right, all right. I suppose
I could always fake an attack." She composed her face into a tragic
contortion of exaggerated suffering. "'Oh...oh, my...Professor McGonagall,
I think I'm having another funny turn. Could Harry please escort me to
the infirmary? I don't mean to be such a terrible bother, but....'" She
placed a hand against her forehead and moaned softly, fluttering her
eyelashes.

Harry grinned broadly, and Ginny giggled at Hermione's playacting.
Even Ron looked a little less dour, some his normal cheerfulness
returning.

The Hogwarts Express sped northward, carrying its precious cargo
to their home from home.

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Gramarye
gramarye@postmaster.co.uk
http://gramarye.freehosting.net/
February 28th, 2002