This chapter is rather long, primarily because I could not split it up without
ruining the flow of the story. If you are one of those people who believe
that Hermione can do no wrong, then you're not going to like this chapter
very much.

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 Twenty-Four - The Place from Which You Came

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One may survive distress, but not disgrace.

-- old Scottish proverb

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"Today is my last day teaching here."

The announcement completely shocked the fifth-year Gryffindors. On
a rainy Friday morning toward the end of March, Professor Figg had
simply strolled into the classroom, plopped into her chair, and calmly
informed them that effective tomorrow she would no longer be their
Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor.

"As some of you may have heard," she continued briskly, raising her
voice to be heard over the confused buzz of talk, "Minister Dumbledore
has requested that all Aurors return to duty at once--and it seems that
that includes the knackered ones they'd hoped would stay comatose."

She grinned at her own self-deprecating humour. "Once my replacement
arrives, I will be leaving the school. But before I take my leave, I want to
say that it has been a true pleasure to work with some of the wizarding
world's most promising young minds." Her grin widened, and her eyes
twinkled mischievously. "And as for the rest of you, if you don't get an
O.W.L. in this subject I'll come back and make you wish you had."

Then she ploughed into the day's lesson without pause for questions,
picking their minds for the tiniest bits of information from last week's
reading. As always, Harry found himself struggling to answer questions
to her satisfaction. The class had just finished an in-depth look at some
of the nastier hexes, and Figg assured them that her successor would
continue with her lesson plans--"so don't think for one moment that
you'll be able to slack off...I know what goes on inside your lazy little
minds."

The lecture continued at the same fast clip, and before they knew it
the class had ended and Figg was shooing them out the door.

Ron and Hermione had left the room, caught up in a heated debate
over the proper uses of the Flesh-Rotting Hex they had covered in
class. Harry had stayed behind to wipe up a puddle of ink that had
leaked from his quill, and was about to hurry after them when he
heard Figg call out:

"Just a minute, Harry."

He turned back, wondering what she wanted.

She beckoned to him. As he approached her desk, she picked up her
wand and waved it at the door. It swung shut.

"Two things," she said once he had reached her desk. "First, my
replacement doesn't know about your little 'study sessions', and
wiser--or more paranoid--minds than mine want it to stay that way."
Her beetle-bright eyes bored into his. "Get it?"

"Got it."

"Good." She leaned back and opened one of the drawers in her desk.
"Second: take this, but don't open it yet." With a flick of her wrist,
she sent a large, bulky envelope sailing through the air.

Harry dove and caught it before it could land on his foot. The plain,
yellowing envelope was stuffed to bursting. The contents were far too
thick to be ordinary letters.

He flipped it over. Covering the bottom edge of the flap was a large
blob of red wax, and pressed into the centre of the wax was an imprint
of an 'A' and 'F', written in script and set in a small square.

"That's my personal seal," Figg said, answering the question he had been
about to ask, "and it's only official if it's not broken."

"What is it?" he asked.

She deliberately avoided his gaze.

"Everything's in there," she said. "All signed and sealed and terribly
important-looking."

Harry groaned. He knew this game. If he wanted an answer, he'd
have to draw the information out of her question by question.

"All right then," he began, "who do I give it t--"

Professor Figg's mouth turned down in a sudden scowl, and she sprang
to her feet.

"Odious boy!" she exclaimed.

Harry stumbled backward and bumped into the desk behind him. He
opened his mouth to ask what he had done wrong, but a closer look at
her face showed that the outburst had not been directed at him. She
was looking past him, over his shoulder.

"Ill-mannered whelp...don't you ever knock?" she snarled, scolding the
person behind him.

He heard a low chuckle, and the sound of footsteps started at the back
of the room and grew louder. Whoever it was was approaching.

Harry spun around, clutching the precious envelope and its mysterious
contents to his chest.

There, walking toward him, was Remus Lupin.

Harry's jaw dropped, and he let out a rather undignified squeak.

"Whatever possessed you to arrive early?" Professor Figg's querulous
voice barely penetrated the noise of the blood thumping in his ears.

Remus bowed grandly. "The chance to see your radiant smile, fair lady."

"Get off," she growled good-naturedly. "My chair's not even cold and
you're already here. Were you that bored? Or just anxious to get off
the dole?"

"Both and neither." Remus smiled at her. "I see you've got Harry
staying behind. What did he do this time?"

"What...here...but...you?" Harry's ability to form a coherent sentence
had decided to go on holiday.

Remus took pity on him. "One replacement Defence Against the Dark
Arts professor, at your service."

Harry's next attempt made little improvement. "But...you...."

"Are a fantastic, inspiring educator?" Remus prompted, grinning. "With
the bigwigs at the Ministry returning all Aurors--"

"--even the knackered ones--" Figg interjected.

"--all Aurors to active duty, I think that concerned parents might
find it reassuring to know that a bloodthirsty beast will be teaching
their children how to combat...well, other bloodthirsty beasts."

"Heh," said Figg. "Well put." She leaned over and prodded Harry
with the tip of her index finger. "The boy's got something for you,
Lupin. Go on, Harry, hand it over."

More than a little dazed, he did as he was told.

Remus took the envelope from him and was about to open it, but
stopped at the sight of the large blob of wax covering the flap.

"Your personal seal?" He gave Professor Figg a quizzical look.

Figg nodded once, brusquely. "It's all set up for you. You know the
routine."

Remus took the envelope in his left hand. Firmly, he pressed the thumb
of his right hand onto the misshapen blob of red. There was a loud
pop, like a bottle of champagne being uncorked, and the seal melted
beneath his thumb. A thin stream of crimson liquid dripped off the
edge of the envelope and onto the floor.

Remus carefully opened the crackling envelope and pulled out a thick
sheaf of papers. Some were normal wizarding parchments, but others
were the distinctive size and shape of official Muggle government
documents. As he leafed through the papers, his face turned an oddly
ashen colour. His curiosity piqued, Harry tried to crane his neck to get
a better look, but a loud cough from Professor Figg shamed him into
grudging patience.

Remus went through the documents once, then twice. After he had
finished a third reading, he glanced at Harry, then at Figg, then back
at Harry. The sinews of his hands twitched.

"Is this real?" he asked.

Professor Figg huffed. "Well, unless the Weasley boys have gotten hold
of it without my knowing, it's not going to turn into a rubber chicken
anytime soon."

"What is it?" Harry asked, once again straining to see.

Remus shook his head.

"Arabella," he said slowly, "you know I can't do this."

She dismissed his statement with a casual flutter of her hand. "Don't talk
damned nonsense."

"What is it?" Harry asked, a little louder.

"You wouldn't believe the rigmarole I had to go through in the Muggle
courts to get those processed." She folded her arms across her chest.
"And the wizarding ones were even worse, especially when they saw
the names involved."

Harry was getting exasperated. "What is it?"

Figg kept talking as if he wasn't there at all. "Between the four of us,
I don't know how Albus kept this out of the press."

"WHAT IS IT?" Harry all but shouted.

"Probably had a battalion of Obliviators assigned to deal with any
problems. And I'll bet there were plenty."

"I'll just come back some other time, then," Harry said desperately,
and started to head for the door.

"They're papers," Remus said in an awed voice.

Harry paused in mid-stride. Remus didn't sound sad or angry, but
the passion in those two words was enough to stop Harry in his tracks.

"Papers," Remus repeated, "that transfer joint legal guardianship of
Harry Potter from Mrs Arabella Figg to Mr Sirius Black and...." His
long fingers tightened on the documents, as if he fully expected them
to disappear. "And me."

Harry had to grab the closest desk to keep his footing. The floor was
spinning under him.

"B...but why?" he croaked.

"WHY?" Figg looked as if she wanted to give him a good shake and
dock ten points from Gryffindor. "Fourteen years with those blasted
Muggle relations of yours, that's why!" She stomped out from behind
her desk and over to him, looking as fierce and compact as an attack
hedgehog. "Do you want to dig a little deeper 'round the roots of your
family tree? As you've already lived with the worms, maybe you'll find
some nice grubs to settle down with. Once they're done gnawing on my
old bones, that is."

"Arabella, don't talk like that," Remus admonished, casting a uneasy
glance at the still shaken Harry.

Professor Figg reached over and tilted Harry's chin up, making him
look directly at her.

"Listen to me," she said earnestly. "It's not pleasant to think about,
but my line of work is very dangerous. I am...well, was your legal
guardian, and as such you're my responsibility. I have to be certain
you'll be taken care of if anything happens to me." She grimaced.
"And I'm not going to risk being distracted in the middle of laying into
some Death Eater filth because I'm fretting over who'll make you wash
behind your ears." Her voice was its normal crusty self, but the joke
fell flat.

Now that the original shock had processed through his system, Harry
was able to think clearly again. In his private opinion, he'd had quite
enough of being other people's 'responsibility', but he couldn't very
well say that to her face.

"I understand," he replied, as sincerely as he could.

Figg let go of his chin and turned her glare on Remus, who ducked his
head and shuffled his feet like a chastised child.

"You see?" she said triumphantly. Still scowling at him, she pointed a
bony finger at Harry. "He understands. And it's not like you've got
much choice in the matter."

Remus massaged his temples. "You know I would give anything for this
to work, but--"

"But what? Everything's official. All the real fuss is over with. I've got no
objections. It's plain to see that Albus has no objections. And I don't see
YOU making any objections." The last was directed at Harry.

"I'll have to let Sirius know," Remus said in a low voice.

"Well, call him in then!" Figg ordered, waving her arms in the air.
"Don't keep him waiting in the corridor."

Intoxicating joy blazed through Harry as her words sank in. He gave a
whoop of pure delight at the same time that Remus rapped out a warning
"Arabella!"

Figg shook a finger at Remus, teasingly scolding him. "You don't get
that many dog hairs on those rags you call robes by accident. Buy a
decent clothes-brush, for goodness sake. Even Muggles use them--
you could stand to learn a few lessons from them when it comes to
personal grooming."

Still shaking his head, Remus walked to the classroom door. He opened
it, and looked up and down the corridors to see if anyone was around.
Reassured that no one was nearby, he gave a long, low whistle.

Harry's stomach contracted as the sound of a thin jingling--the noise of
dog tags striking against each other--grew louder. It was all he could do
to keep from running over and pouncing on the great black dog that
poked its nose around the door, peering into the Defence Against the
Dark Arts classroom.

"Come on," Figg said, tapping her foot impatiently. "Hurry it up. I want
to see a soppy family reunion before I go."

The dog trotted into the room, collar tags jingling and tail waving so
frantically that it banged into to every single desk and chair between
the door and the teacher's desk at the front of the room. With a glad
whimper he went immediately to Harry, nosing his hand affectionately
and gazing up at him with deep, soulful eyes.

"It's all clear," Remus informed the dog.

Harry jumped back just in time as the Animagus shifted form, then found
himself wrapped in a fierce hug--which he eagerly returned.

"Good to see you again, Harry." Sirius's voice was thick with bliss.

"You're all right," he murmured, burying deep into his godfather's
warm embrace. "I was so afraid...."

Sirius looked down at him, smiling brightly. His sharp features had
softened with the passing of time, and the ragged, haunted look that
had marked him as a former Azkaban prisoner had all but vanished.
He had filled out, looking the picture of good health. His robes no
longer seemed like cast-off garments draped over an emaciated frame.
Friendship and freedom had done wonders for him--both physically
and psychologically.

"Afraid of what?" Tenderly, he ruffled Harry's hair. "It'd take a lot to
get rid of me."

The image of four mounted, severed heads, some with fresh blood still
dripping from the stumps, flashed across Harry's mind like a flare of
lightning. He pressed himself more tightly against Sirius, as though
the older man's presence could erase the memory of that dreadful
Christmas morning.

"Almost like old times, eh?" he heard Figg say.

Harry felt Sirius release him, though the older man kept a protective
hand on his shoulder.

"Now, what's this you wanted me for?" Sirius demanded warily. "Has
something come up?"

"Sirius," Remus said mildly, "Arabella has something for us." Without
ceremony, he held out the sheaf of papers.

Sirius accepted the papers and began to read through them carefully.
As the documents told their story, Harry felt Sirius's hand tighten
convulsively on his shoulder more than once.

"You old hag," Sirius said wonderingly, almost lovingly, when he had
finished reading. "If I knew you didn't have a sense of humour, I'd
think you were putting us on."

Figg's eyes sparkled angrily. "Don't make me regret my decision,
Black. You're not quite in my good graces yet."

"It's..." Harry fumbled for words, an expression, anything to properly
describe how he was feeling. "It's like the stories. You're like a good
fairy godmother...or something."

"Impossible," Sirius said decisively. "A fairy godmother would never
be that ugly." A wicked leer creased his features. "Why, she'd be
kicked out of the union."

"Blackballed, even," Remus added with a grin.

"Right, that's it." Figg stood up. "I'm not going to stand here and be
insulted." With a valiant toss of her grey head, she marched toward
the door.

"Good luck...'Mrs Figg'," Harry said playfully, getting into the spirit
of the moment.

"Insufferable brat," she retorted. "You three make a lovely little
bunch...near gives me the pip."

Just before she opened the door, she turned around to stare at the
three of them. Her eyes were suspiciously bright.

"You take proper care of him, now, do you hear me?" she said gruffly.

Sirius came to attention and mock-saluted her. "Yes, sir!" In a whirl
of black fur, he was a dog again.

"Yes, ma'am," Remus said, patting the shaggy head of his faithful pet.

Grumbling and sniffling alternately, Figg exited the room.

* * *

Lupin's return raised Harry's spirits considerably. Now that he knew
his parents' friends were safe at Hogwarts, he had one less thing to
lose sleep over. His buoyant mood continued through the remainder
of the day with surprising results. He earned twenty House points for
his good work in Charms, got a very high mark on the homework
McGonagall returned to them in Transfiguration, and made it through
History of Magic without falling asleep even once--the perfect way to
start a weekend.

But if Harry's week had ended on a wonderful note, Snape's forthcoming
week could not have been worse. To start, he had been tricked into
involuntary participation in a scheme that involved several of his most
disliked students and the 'living legend' Will Stanton. He had to take
time out of his lesson planning to accompany the Gryffindors to their
session, and then had to return at the end of the session to escort them
back.

To top everything off, he had once again lost his coveted post of
Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor to none other than Remus J.
Lupin, and consequently had to deal with the irksome presence of the
new teacher's 'pet'. As Remus told it, the poor stray had been found
"shivering outside The Three Broomsticks", sorely needing "a kind heart
and a good home". Students from all houses flocked to lavish attention
on the unfortunate dog, who accepted their sympathy and the occasional
food treat with an almost human smugness. And Snape could do nothing
about it.

In a word, Snape was miserable.

Naturally, he was hell-bent on making everyone around him--especially
Harry Potter--miserable as well.

That Monday, he gave Harry extended detention for asking for more
clarification on the ingredients of the day's potion. (Though he hadn't
dared to schedule the detention for that night: Harry rightly suspected
that his saving grace was the fact that it was Monday.) He had almost
given Draco detention--but settled for a reprimand--after skidding on
a patch of spilt rat's saliva that Draco and Goyle had neglected to mop
up. Try as he might, he could not get a rise out of Hermione. She didn't
react to any of his taunts, and that only made him all the more determined
to provoke a response. (He very nearly provoked Ron into a wizard's
duel, but mercifully class ended before things could escalate that far.)

When the five Gryffindors assembled outside Snape's dungeon office
at quarter to seven, he ignored them. They took turns knocking on his
door for a full ten minutes. It wasn't until Harry made a Very Loud
Suggestion to use a Battering Charm to break down the door that he
condescended to leave his office. And then, he unceremoniously pushed
and shoved them up stairs and down corridors, all but tossed them into
the little room off the library, and flounced away.

"Well," Ron joked once they had recovered, "at least he's not acting
any different than usual."

"It only took ten minutes this time," Ginny said as she pulled her
chair up to the table.

"Much better than Thursday," Harry acquiesced. "That time it took
nearly half an hour."

In the same high spirits, they made the room ready. A touch of the
mirror, and in no time at all the five students and their teacher had
settled down to continue the studies they had left off last Thursday.

Since their interrupted session a week and a half before, the main
focus of their work had involved tapping into the power of the Light
to augment their own spells. They had progressed from small defence
spells to the more complex ones. Neville managed to hold a Defendo
Lux spell on his own for a good five minutes, while the others pelted
him with every hex and curse and charm they could think of. 'Defendo
Lux' had become something of Neville's signature spell--possibly with
the memory of his testing against Professor Figg's Imperius Curse in
mind.

"Or perhaps," as Will later remarked, "it is simply the spell best suited
to him. It does happen, you know. Take Mr Potter's Patronus, for
example."

It was an appropriate example. On his last casting of the Patronus
Charm, Harry had been able to guide the glowing stag by pointing his
wand. The greater degree of control actually allowed him to change
the direction and intensity of its attack.

That'll be useful if I'm surrounded by Dementors, he thought, and
then immediately prayed that he would never need to use it for that
purpose.

Pleased with their progress, Will had called an early end to the
session, asking them to jot down their opinions on the most recent
improvement in spell casting and technique. For a time, there was
only the ticklish sound of quills scratching on paper.

All of a sudden, Ron raised his hand. "Will?"

Harry's head snapped up. He saw Ginny and Neville look up as well,
and next to him the sound of Hermione's writing had stopped. The
timid quaver that had crept into Ron's voice had surprised them all.

"Yes?"

"Um...would you...er, that is...can I ask you something?"

Will looked up from his own writing. His lips twisted in an amused
smile. "Without arguing the semantics of 'can' and 'may'...yes, you
have my permission, Mr. Weasley. What would you like to know?"

Ron squirmed in his chair. "It's...it's a bit personal."

"Oh," was the neutral reply. "Personal in what way?"

Ron seemed to have discovered something truly remarkable about
his shoes. Head bowed, he directed the question to the floor.

"What is...was...is Merlin like?"

The fire popped and crackled in the suddenly uncomfortable quiet.

Harry found himself staring intently at the row of books on the top
shelf directly opposite. He couldn't bring himself to look at Will or
Ron, and he couldn't look at the others without turning his head and
thus drawing unwanted attention.

"I was wondering how long it would be before one of you worked up
the courage to ask me that. Well, you asked a question, and you shall
have an answer."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron raise his head. The apple
of his throat bobbed up and down jerkily as he swallowed.

Will leaned back in his chair, propping his elbows on the armrests and
steepling his fingers in front of his face.

"He was a strict master--one who would never be satisfied with anything
but one's absolute best." He might have been describing a piece of
furniture, so disinterested was his tone. "There was never room for
failure as far as he was concerned. A brilliant man, to be sure, even
if his behaviour often bordered on the eccentric. And...and...."

He was silent for a long moment. His eyes slid out of focus, no longer
seeing anything in the room.

They waited. Tension sang in the air, vibrating like a plucked harp string.

"And lonely." His voice was barely above a whisper, with a curious
husky note that stung at their eyes. "So very lonely...though you would
never know unless you looked for it. And you'd never get him to admit
it."

The fire in the grate popped again, loud in the roaring silence.

The distant, searching look left Will's eyes, and the soft blue-grey
abruptly darkened to the turbulent colour of a stormy sea.

"But why do you care about this?" he demanded with cold, knife-like
sharpness. "All you would need to know, you could find on the back of
one of your Chocolate Frog cards. I highly doubt it would come up on
an exam."

Ron recoiled, shrinking back into his chair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No. Don't be." It wasn't a reassurance--it was a command. The hard
edge in Will's voice had dulled slightly, but only just. "It was a long time
ago when we last saw each other, and I am quite content to let fact and
fiction blur. Are the legends not enough?"

They didn't know if that question warranted an answer, or even if Will
was looking for one.

He closed his eyes. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

The words themselves may have sounded nonchalant, but finality in his
voice was absolute and unquestionable. The subject was closed, and
Harry knew with a chilling certainty that they would never speak of
it again, not even amongst themselves.

Will pulled a watch from some hidden recess in his robes and checked
the time.

"It's getting late," he proclaimed, a little too loudly. "Nearly your
curfew."

As if on cue, there was a insistent banging on the door. Snape had
returned to cart them back to Gryffindor Tower.

Silently, the five of them gathered their belongings. Murmuring muted
goodnights to Will, they filed from the room.

Harry, however, lagged behind, taking his time putting his things away.
When Ron passed by, he pulled his friend aside.

"Tell Snape to go on without me," he said quietly. "Tell him I'll catch up
in a moment."

Ron gave him a look that plainly said "You're barking mad," but he
nodded and hurried out into the corridor--just in time to receive the
full blast of Snape's temper.

"Hurry it up, Weasley," Harry heard Snape bark. "I have better ways
to occupy my time than shepherding you lot around the school. Where's
Potter?"

"He said to go ahead." Ron's voice was muffled by the door. "He wants
to talk to--"

Snape cut him off irritably. "Fine, fine. Now get moving, all of you!
Damned nuisance...."

The stream of muttered invectives died down as Snape escorted his
charges away. Harry waited until Snape's voice was no longer audible,
then looked back at Will.

The older man had left his chair and was standing beside the fire,
gazing down at it with a single-minded focus that Harry was reluctant
to interrupt.

As he waited for his presence to be noticed, a memory from his very
first meeting with Will floated to the surface of his mind. He had had
the feeling that he was looking at a man behind a glass wall. He had
never stopped to consider where that feeling had come from. But now
he wasn't certain whether it had been purely his first impression, or
whether he had fallen under the spell of a carefully projected image.

Either way, he didn't like it.

"Miss Granger's hearing is tomorrow, correct?"

Lost in thought, he almost missed the subdued question. "Yes, sir."

"I see. Do you intend to listen in?"

"I...we're not allowed," Harry replied woodenly, carefully. "Ron's
going to be with Hermione, not me. And she told me that she doesn't
want me using the cloak to sneak in and watch. So I can't."

Will's bleak, severe gaze flickered toward him for a disconcerting
second, then returned to the study of the flames.

"Whatever gave you the impression that you had to be in the room?"
he said, so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear him. "Good night,
Mr Potter."

"But I don't--"

"Good night, Mr Potter." Like it or not, his tone implied, this conversation
had ended.

Harry stifled a sigh. "Good night, sir."

* * *

The next day breezed by with frightening speed, and by the end of the
Tuesday classes it was obvious that Ron and Hermione were feeling the
pressure of the impending faculty hearing.

Ron was outwardly calm, but his inner turmoil manifested itself at
dinnertime as he devoured everything in sight, wolfing down his food
as if he'd never eat again. In contrast, Hermione only toyed with her
meal, preferring to read the enormous book she had brought with her.
She opened it to the middle and stared at the pages, but her eyes
didn't move. Ron finished her food for her, and would have started
on his sister's plate if Ginny hadn't fought him off with her fork.

After they had eaten, or pretended to eat, the three friends left the
Great Hall. Harry trailed Ron and Hermione to the Transfiguration
classroom where the hearing was slated to be held. He was a little
miffed that Hermione had chosen Ron over him, but he knew it was
for the best. This way, he and Hermione would know where Ron
was. Not that they believed that Ron needed constant supervision,
of course, but it gave them a far greater peace of mind, and it made
Ron very happy. A good solution for all concerned.

He didn't hang around the classroom after they had gone in. There
was no point.

He had several assignments due in the next few days, but the prospect
of sitting in the library and trying to concentrate on one specific task was
not at all appealing. He was about to go out and practise Snitch-catching
until he recalled that the Slytherin team had reserved the pitch that night in
preparation for the match against Gryffindor that Saturday. Quidditch was
out as well.

His feet led him back to the Fat Lady's portrait.

"What's the matter, dear?" she asked him. The wrinkles on her pudgy
face deepened in kindly concern.

"Nothing really," he replied. "Thanks for asking, though."

"If you're sure..." she said helpfully.

"Thanks all the same." He gave her what he hoped was a bright smile.
"Widdershins."

The common room was mostly empty; the majority of the students were
in the library finishing up homework. A bunch of sixth-year girls sat
near the fire, trading gossip. Lee Jordan was sitting at one of the room's
writing desks, scribbling something on a torn piece of paper. Two first-
year boys were absorbed in a game of wizard chess. Harry had to grin
at that--he might have been watching himself and Ron from four years
ago. One of the boys' knights had just smashed the other boy's queen
in an bold attack that Harry knew would lead to certain checkmate in
two moves. He'd lost to Ron often enough to know when defeat was
closing in.

He sat down in a chair well away from the others. Idly, he slipped a
hand into his pocket and took out the small white pebble that Will had
given him. Professor Trelawny had mentioned in a recent class that
some diviners in ancient cultures often rubbed small stones prior to
practising their craft as a way of working out minor distractions. Like
everything else in Divination, he had taken the statement with a large
grain of salt, but there was no denying that he had distractions that
could use working out. It was worth a try, at any rate. He had
nothing better to do.

Having been in the pocket of his robe, close to his skin, the stone
was warm to the touch. He turned it over in his hand, feeling the
rough and smooth edges and the little irregularities in the stone's
surface. The minutes trickled past.

As the worn pebble rolled through his fingers, he felt something tug
at the back of his mind. It was as if someone was standing beside
him and jabbing at him with a stick, telling him that he ought to be
doing something with the stone, to the stone. The feeling grew
stronger and more urgent the longer he held the stone in his hand.

Sensibly, he closed his eyes and listened to that feeling.

With the deftness of an artist making a rough sketch before beginning
to draw, the outlines of words started to form in his head. Not in
English, or in the forced formal Latin of spells and charms, but in a
far older language. The spell-speech that Will used at times, when
calling on the power of his birthright. The forgotten language that
belonged to the Light, to that particular magic that Harry was only
just learning to understand.

Under his breath, he recited the words that had formed on his tongue,
relishing their strangely familiar pattern. Then, responding to the
instructions that whispered through his body, he blocked everything
out of his mind. All outside thoughts faded away. The garbled chatter
of the common room, the soft background noises, everything died
down as if he had turned down the volume on an antique wireless.
There was only him, and the stone, and whatever the stone would
tell him.

The hidden artist had finished the rough sketch and had begun to work
in muted colours. Smooth, sure strokes painted a picture in his mind.

It was of the Transfiguration classroom, seen as he would see it from
one of the students' desks near the front. Torches on the walls. The
chalkboard at the front of the room. Professor McGonagall, sitting
behind her desk...and other people with her, and nearby.

The directness of the link between his stone and Ron and Hermione's
stones barely registered in his consciousness. Whatever it was, it
was a powerful magic. The stone would tell him everything. All he
had to do was concentrate.

The artist quickly filled in the blank spots on the canvas, adding
subjects and the beginnings of fine detail. Professor Sprout at one
end of the long desk. Professor Flitwick standing on a chair beside
her. Professor Snape on McGonagall's other side--the unseen artist
took great care to shade in the cold dark eyes and thin-lipped sneer.

Just as he had a clear idea of where he was and who he was seeing,
the picture blurred and changed, giving way to not one picture but
many, flashing past at a speed that made his head sing with dizziness.
There was Hermione, fearfully pale, with Ron standing resolutely
beside her. A flash of fingers intertwined--he was holding her hand.
A glimpse of mouse-coloured hair and a scared face told him that
Natalie was in the room as well, though she was dim and insubstantial,
not as visible as the others he saw.

More images passed, some lingering only long enough to register a
single detail. Flitwick's normally cheerful face drawn into a frown. A
glitter of the torchlight reflected in Snape's eyes.

The visions flew by at the same rapid pace, connected like a narrative.
With them came corresponding emotions, painted so that the feelings
actually became a part of the picture, as much as a person's skin or
clothing. Lingering fear from Natalie, accompanied by guilt so
overpowering that it made Harry's head ache. Ron's barely hidden
anger, coloured the same shock of fiery red as his hair. Hermione,
literally wrapped in a shadow of doubt and shame as she told her side
of the story. A mixture of bold, desperate impartiality from the four
Heads of House...with perhaps a hint of snide satisfaction emanating
from Snape and the occasional flicker of uncertainty from McGonagall.

He could see them holding the hearing. Not as clearly as if he was
actually in the room, but the idea was general enough. But at the
moment there was far too much indecision clouding the scene for
him to tell who was winning the argument, if Hermione would have
to--

"Harry! Harry!"

The artist's picture vanished like a burst soap bubble as a voice broke
into his thoughts. Disorientation fogged his mind for a breathless second
until he remembered where he was--and realised that he had lost
concentration.

Getting to his feet, he saw Colin Creevey running up to him. Heads
turned as the young boy sped past, but the Gryffindor students soon
returned whatever they had been doing without a second glance, as if
to say, "Oh, it's only Colin."

Harry was furious at losing concentration, but the flare of anger faded
when he saw the jubilant expression on Colin's face.

"What--" he began, but stopped short as Colin thrust a handful of a
charred, blackened substance directly under his nose. The acrid odour
of burnt paper filled his nostrils, making him cough and paw at his
glasses, trying to wipe his eyes.

"Harry, look at this!" Colin said.

Carefully, Harry took the black mass from Colin's hand.

The smell and texture was enough to tell him what it was. He may have
been teasing Hermione about the various uses for his old assignments,
but he actually had used a few pieces of parchment to relight the gas
cooker at Mrs Figg's house during the summer. And what he held in
his hand was part of a burnt piece of parchment.

A small section of the edge hadn't caught fire. The crackling paper
was dark and falling to bits, but he could make out some of the
writing. He hurried over to the fire to have a closer look. Colin
doggedly followed.

It was in Hermione's hand. He would recognise it anywhere--she and
Ron had scribbled enough notes in the side margins of his schoolbooks
to make identification a brainless task. And there were a few phrases he
could just make out if he squinted at it long enough:

"...of leech may be obtained through a careful scraping of...."

"...caution must be exercised when...."

"...common medicine...found...and dieffenbachia...."

It was Hermione's paper. He was sure of it.

"Where did you find this?" he asked, turning his attention back to
Colin.

"Well," Colin said breathlessly, "I was going to do revisions, and I went
to the library, but it was really cold where I was sitting so I thought I'd
go and stand by the fire, so I got up and was walking past the row of
shelves that's right next to the Restricted Section, and I know I don't
usually go back there but all the tables I usually sit at were full, and
since you weren't--"

"Colin."

The younger boy paused, and took a deep breath. "Sorry."

"That's okay. Where'd you find it?"

"In the fireplace in the library. Not the big one--the little one back by
the Restricted Section."

Harry blinked. "But that one's hardly ever lit."

"There were a lot of ashes." Colin held up his hands. They were
covered in ash well past the wrists; he had done some digging to
find what he was looking for. "Someone used it, and recently, too.
The house elves hadn't had the chance to clean it properly."

"Was there any more?"

"Nothing as big as this piece. I saw some other bits, but they're
really, really small."

"That's great!" Harry shouted, then remembered where he was and
lowered his voice. "That means we can...." He trailed off as a thought
struck him and crushed what little hope he had had. "No, we can't."

"Can't what?" Colin asked.

"All this proves is that someone tried to destroy Hermione's essay.
It doesn't mean that she didn't burn it herself--after giving it to
Natalie to copy."

"But I thought you said that Natalie said that she couldn't find it
when she looked?"

"Hermione could have found it later, and given it to her then. That's
what Snape would say," he added sourly.

"But couldn't they look for fingerprints? Something?"

"They'd find prints all right. Hermione's and Natalie's."

Colin's face fell. "So this doesn't help us at all, does it?"

"Not real...." He trailed off again. This time, the idea that had come
into his head had restored most of the hope--not all of it, but most.
"It might. It just might."

Colin scratched his head, very confused. His grimy fingers left dark
streaks of ash and dirt in his mussed hair.

Harry motioned with his hand, indicating that they should step aside.
Together, they walked over to the doorway that led to the Fat Lady's
portrait. Once they were well out of earshot, Harry leaned over and
whispered into Colin's ear.

"Find Neville and Ginny and meet me in the library. Five minutes.
I've got--"

"A plan?" Colin's eyes shone eagerly, alight with some of their old,
familiar hero worship.

Harry looked down at the flaking, burnt parchment.

"Something," he said. "It's a start."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Harry's 'something' had evolved into a plan.
A risky plan, one laced with the very real possibility of failure, but
a plan nonetheless.

He knew from the start that he had to keep Colin out of the main part
of the decision-making. They could not risk his participation--it held
too many complications. Searching for a believable explanation, he
was finally forced to appeal to the younger boy's flare for the dramatic.

"You're our very last resort," he said, filling his words with urgency.
"If this blows up in our faces, you have to go to McGonagall with the
evidence and act like you just found it."

"None of us can do it," Neville added. "It'd look like we made up a
story to get Hermione off."

And Ginny, used to soothing the wounded egos of her older brothers,
mollified him with the placating phrase: "You're the only one for the
job, Colin."

Colin pouted, but nodded agreement.

"All right," he said. "But you let me know what happens, okay?"

"Okay," Harry said. He was glad to see one obstacle out of the way.
And it wasn't even a lie--they might actually have need of Colin if the
whole thing did blow up in their faces.

Once Colin had left, Harry, Ginny, and Neville formed an impromptu
council of war at a secluded table in the library. They talked and
argued the idea around in circles, being careful to keep their voices
just above whispers. Once all the salient points had been argued to
exhaustion, and all objections had been made and countered, their
conversation immediately returned to the possible results of the
faculty hearing.

"What I want to know," Neville said, propping his chin on his hands,
"is why can't they just give both of them Veritaserum or something?
Then they'd know for sure telling the truth."

"They can't," Harry said quickly. He didn't want to dwell on the
subject of Veritaserum for too long--it brought up a number of bad
memories. "You need Ministry approval to use it. And besides, no
one's going to waste Veritaserum on something like this."

"So unless one of them owns up..." Ginny trailed off.

"They'll both get punished for it," Neville concluded.

"Expelled?" she whispered.

"Maybe," Harry said grimly. "If they're lucky, they'll end up on
probation or something for the rest of the year."

"But Hermione won't be prefect anymore," said Neville.

Ginny looked like she was going to cry. "I can't believe Snape
and McGonagall even think that Hermione would let someone
copy her homework."

"She wouldn't even let ME copy off her, and I was a lot worse off
in that class than Natalie ever was." Neville said the younger girl's
name as if he was referring to something particularly rotten.

"Tom Riddle was a straight-A student, once," Harry muttered, low
enough so Ginny wouldn't hear.

"But they can't do this," Ginny protested fitfully. "They can't. Not to
Hermione."

Harry prodded the lump of charred parchment with his finger. "That's
why this has to work."

The library closed at eight. The three of them took their time walking
back to the dormitory.

Entering, they saw Ron sprawled in a chair by the fire. His robes were
in more disarray than usual, and there was a black look on his face.

They hurried over, and Ginny pounced on her brother at once. "What
happened?"

"What did they say?" Harry's stomach was a bundle of nerves.

Ron rubbed his forehead wearily. "Nothing. Nothing yet. McGonagall
told us that they're going to talk it over later tonight, her and Snape
and Sprout and Flitwick. She wants to see us tomorrow after dinner.
That's when they'll announce their decision."

"Tomorrow?" Harry frowned. "That seems awfully quick."

"Snape seemed to think it was an open-and-shut case."

"He would," Neville grumbled. He looked around the room. "Where's
Hermione?"

"Upstairs, getting ready for bed," Ron said with a shrug. "It's been a
rough night."

"And you let her go alone?" Ginny yelped.

Ron turned baleful eyes on her. "Well, she didn't ask me to scrub her
back, did she?"

"I can't believe you," she snapped, fuming. "I'm going to see--"

Suddenly, Hermione burst into the common room. She looked like she
had only just finished a bath. A thick towel was wrapped around her
hair, and she held her dressing gown tightly closed at the throat. She
left a trail of wet footprints on the floor as she ran over to them. Her
face was flushed, either from exertion or from the heat of the bath
water.

"It came!" she cried, waving something white in the air. "It came!"

"What came?" Harry said, trying very hard not to notice the streams
of water still running down her bare legs and dripping onto the hearth.

"Last week I wrote to my parents, asking them to look for my paper.
If I've left it at home, they'd find it. And I just got an express post owl
from them." During her speech, Hermione had somehow managed to
tie off her dressing gown, adjust her hair towel to stop it from slipping,
and show them the letter, all the while maintaining a decent state of
semi-dress.

Ginny bounced on her toes. "What did they say?"

"I...don't know." Hermione flushed sheepishly. "I haven't opened it yet."

She turned the envelope over. Her hand hesitated over the flap.

Ginny bounced harder. "Well, open it, you goose!"

Hermione's hand trembled. Abruptly, she thrust the envelope at Ron.

"Y-you open it," she stammered.

"If you insist." He took it from her, slit the top, and held it out to her.

"What are you doing?"

Ron shrugged. "Hey, I opened for you, but there's no way I'm going
to read it."

Hermione glowered at him and snatched the envelope away. She pulled
out a folded piece of paper. Her brow furrowed, and she looked inside
the envelope, pawing through it as though she couldn't find something.
She held it upside down and shook it, but nothing came out.

"This is just a letter from Mum," she said sadly. "They must not have
found it."

"And are you going to tell us what it says?" Ron said pointedly.

Hermione scanned the letter. "It says, Ron, that they can't find it.
According to Mum, they've torn the house apart looking for it, and
it's not there."

"Could it have been stolen?" Harry asked.

She shook her head. "I know what you're thinking, and I know it's not
possible. Not even with magic. There's..." She paused to choose the
right word. "There's a special protection on our house that prevents
magical tampering."

"Like the one Mrs Figg used on my aunt and uncle's old house?"

"Something like that," she said slowly. "It's a bit different. But my mum
says right here that she remembers seeing it in my trunk when I was
packing." She pointed to the paper, indicating the line. "And she'd
swear to it."

"And Natalie said it wasn't there." Another question popped into
Harry's mind. "Could anyone else have gotten into your trunk at
school?"

"Impossible," Hermione snapped, though without her usual crispness.
"No one's been in that trunk except me."

"But how could you know?" Neville pressed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, I'd know. Everything has its place
in my trunk. If even so much as a quill was out of order, I'd know as
soon as I opened it. And everything was in place that very morning,
because I went to get more parchment from it before I went to the
library."

"I guess being anal has its good side," Ron quipped. Hermione's face
went bright red, and he hastily shouted, "Joke! It was a JOKE! Bloody
hell, Hermione, calm down!"

"So no one could have mucked about with it," Harry said thoughtfully.
"That day, after dinner--did you check to see if Natalie was right?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "I took everything out of my trunk when I was
looking. I know it wasn't in there."

Harry nodded. This was good. The letter from Hermione's mother had
eradicated most of the problems with his original plan. One last question,
and Hermione's innocence would be guaranteed. "Is Natalie in her room?"

"She should be," Hermione replied. "McGonagall will be coming around
to check on us in half an hour."

"Then we have half an hour." He looked at Neville and Ginny, and saw
comprehension beginning to dawn on their faces. "Let's get this over
with."

Ron's eyes widened. "Get what over with?"

"I'll explain on the way." Harry put an arm around Ron's shoulders, and
Ginny did the same to Hermione. With Neville bringing up the rear, the
five of them headed for the stairs that led to the girls' rooms.

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June 7th, 2002