Delayed despite my efforts to the contrary? Yes. Reworked and
shortened for clarity and consistency's sake? Yes. But good?
Well, I would hope that this chapter doesn't disappoint.

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-Eight - Calling the Six

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

The camera is an instrument of detection. We photograph not only
what we know, but also what we don't know.

-- Lisette Model

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

The Hogwarts Express, with the addition of a few passengers, reached
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters only half an hour after its scheduled
arrival time.

Apart from Professor Lupin and Madam Pomfrey, the only other
Hogwarts faculty member to Apparate to the scene of the attack was
Professor McGonagall. The mass of dark-robed figures Harry had
seen clustered round the front of the train were Aurors, or people
who might have been Aurors, or people who simply looked official
and intimidating enough to be Aurors. And there were a lot of them:
over a dozen, by his count. He, Ron, and Remus were standing on
the uneven gravel of the rail bed near the rear of the train, away
from the bustle, but they could still watch the Ministry officials at
work.

The first thing the Aurors did--after ensuring that all the children
were well away from the train--was to go over every inch of the
Hogwarts Express. The hiss and crackle of detection spells finding
traces of Dark magic rose above the nervous babble of frightened
students. From basic detection spells, they moved to physically
examine the engine and the coupling mechanisms between the
cars, checking to see if anything had tampered with them. They
cast Disarming Spells, Hex-Dispelling Charms, any number of
countercurses, and a complicated-looking spell that created a
very loud boom but did little else. It seemed that they were
leaving nothing to chance.

Some of their faces were familiar. Harry recognised one or two
whom he had seen last September at King's Cross, after the attack
there. The only face he could connect with a name was that of
Edward Linchley, the Auror who had worked with Mrs Figg
and had later been in charge of the investigation into the attack
on St Mungo's. Linchley seemed to be in charge of the other
Aurors this time as well, supervising their work.

The last colours of daylight had left the sky long before the Aurors
were finished. Scattered stars glittered against the dull blackness,
and a chilly night wind raked the lonely moor. Harry and Ron
shivered in their school robes, wishing for the thick material of
their warm winter cloaks. Except for the wind and the noises
of the Aurors' investigation, it was eerily quiet.

By Harry's watch, a good forty-five minutes had passed by the time
the students were permitted to reboard the train. The Aurors boarded
the train as well, settling in among the jittery passengers. It looked
like they were trying to keep some pretence of normality...as if a
dozen senior Ministry of Magic officials always rode the Hogwarts
Express to London during the Easter holidays.

Harry would have loved to have seen more, maybe talked with
Linchley and asked after Mrs Figg, but as soon as the train started
moving Remus collared him and Ron and herded them like strayed
sheep into the last compartment of the last car. He left them there
and returned a minute or two later, Hermione in tow.

"Neville's with Madam Pomfrey," he informed them curtly as he
closed the compartment door. "We're to stay out of the way until
we get to London."

The next three hours were quite possibly the longest three hours of
Harry's life. It wasn't an exaggeration. It actually felt as if time had
slowed, dragging out minute after minute, stretching to unbearable
lengths. He and Ron sat on one side of the compartment, staring
down at their hands or their shoes or the floor or looking out the
window at the flashes of light that flew past...anywhere but at Remus.
Remus sat quietly across from them. He seemed to be trying to catch
Harry's eye, but Harry wanted no part of that. Hermione sat--or
rather huddled in the corner nearest the window--on the same side
as Remus. She rested her forehead against the windowpane, and
sat so still that she didn't appear to be breathing. Her eyes were
closed.

After the train had pulled into King's Cross, Linchley and the other
Aurors left. They had to present their reports to the Minister of
Magic and give him a proper assessment of the incident. But before
the they left Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Harry saw Linchley
round up the disembarking students. From his somewhat restricted
viewpoint through the window of the last car, he watched with dull
acceptance as the chief Auror proceeded to carefully Obliviate any
memories the passengers might have had of the attack.

Harry picked up bits and pieces of the story in the following weeks,
enough to form a general idea of what the Ministry wanted the students
to believe. Officially, the Hogwarts Express had been forced to make
a sudden stop in South Yorkshire, on the main line between Doncaster
and Retford. There had been serious mechanical problems farther
down the line, some difficulty with a faulty signal near Peterborough,
and the train had had to wait until it was repaired. The cuts and bruises
that the students had suffered were attributed to the suddenness of
the stop. Naturally, the Ministry of Magic was replete with apology:
terribly troubling, regrettable that it should coincide with the holiday
week, steps will soon be taken, etcetera, etcetera.

He, Ron, and Hermione were allowed to leave the train only after the
other passengers had departed through the barrier, back to the main
part of the station. The three of them shuffled onto the deserted
platform, more than a little disoriented by its emptiness. Remus
told them that they could walk about and stretch their legs, but the
grim look on his face told them that they would be wise to stay as
close to the train as possible.

"Where's Neville?" Harry murmured to Ron when he thought that
Remus wasn't looking.

"Dunno." Ron yanked at the collar of his robe up, tugging it higher
in a vain attempt to hide the livid marks that were beginning to show
on his neck. The bruises left by Wormtail's clutching fingers stood
out sharply on his skin. "Probably still with Pomfrey."

"His arm did look pretty bad," Harry admitted.

"Yeah." Ron winced as his knuckles brushed against one of the
darker bruises.

"I hope he's okay," Hermione whispered, more to herself than to
them.

"Mr Longbottom is fine."

The three Gryffindors whirled round to see Professor McGonagall
walking toward them.

"He will return soon," she said. "He volunteered to help Madam
Pomfrey convey Miss McDonald to the nearest wizarding hospital."

"St Mungo's?" Ron said hopefully.

McGonagall shook her head. "Unfortunately, their casualty ward is
still inoperational. The nearest wizarding hospital with a fully-staffed
casualty ward is in Islington."

"That's close," said Harry. Islington was a London neighbourhood just
north of King's Cross Station.

"A few streets away," their Headmistress replied. "As I said, they
should be back soon."

True enough, Neville and Madam Pomfrey returned just under an hour
later. Neville's arm was in a sling. The sling was tightly bandaged to his
chest, immobilising his entire arm. They looked weary, but they came
bearing good news.

"She'll live," Madam Pomfrey told McGonagall. "A messy business, to
be sure, but the real danger has passed."

"She...she'll be all right?" Hermione's voice was barely audible.

Madam Pomfrey hesitated for a fraction of a second too long.

"There were some...complications," she said softly.

Seeing horror and the darkness of self-loathing spread across
Hermione's face, she quickly added, "She has some of the finest
mediwitches and wizards in the country looking after her. They'll
do everything they can for her, you mark my words."

Hermione's face had gone very white, and her mouth was a thin,
pale line against her colourless skin.

Instinctively, Ron moved closer to her, but she just as quickly
moved away from him, shuffling back a step or two to put a
distance between herself and him. He didn't try to follow her.

"Were her parents notified?" Remus asked, shifting the subject off
of dangerous topics.

"They were sending someone to fetch them as we left. There are so
many Muggle-repellant charms round the place that they'd never be
able to get in on their own."

"I see," McGonagall said with a sigh. "I suppose I should write to
them. They deserve to know the truth, even if we're keeping it out
of the press."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Well, when you do, be sure you tell them
who kept their little girl alive until help came." She smiled at Neville.
"She owes a lot to his quick thinking. Didn't move her, kept her warm.
He did all the right things."

Neville accepted the compliment with quiet dignity, a secretive smile
playing at the corners of his mouth.

"We'll make a mediwizard of you yet, young man," the school nurse
said cheerfully. "Once that arm of yours is back to normal, that is."

"I think some sort of award is in order, Mr Longbottom," McGonagall
said. "For all of you...though it will have to wait until we figure out
exactly what happened."

The greater part of the train ride back to Hogwarts consisted of
exactly that.

Despite Remus's initial outburst, no one had bothered to ask Harry
and the others how they had ended up on the Hogwarts Express.
The Aurors were more interested in immediate questions of security
and threat. The teachers had to deal with the more pressing matter of
calming and controlling over two dozen scared children. But with the
Aurors gone and Neville and Madam Pomfrey back aboard the train,
the real interrogation could begin.

Since three adults had to question four children, the first round of
questioning saw Neville talking to Madam Pomfrey, Hermione talking
to Remus, and Harry and Ron speaking together to Professor
McGonagall. The idea was that they would switch, allowing each
story to be heard three different times to clear up any inconsistencies.
There was no time for Harry and the others to get together and come
up with a single story, so they chose their words carefully, testing to
see what should and should not be mentioned.

To keep things simple, they agreed that they had halted their informal
revising session when Harry had suddenly felt excruciating pain in his
scar. They had sent Ginny off to find help and stayed to look after
Harry. Somehow--and this part was made deliberately vague--they
had ended up on the Hogwarts Express just before it came to its
unexpected halt. They had then separated to deal with the crises that
followed: Neville to watch over Natalie, Hermione to gather the
passengers together in a forward car and keep up a defensive wall,
and Harry and Ron to take on the Dementors.

Keeping the stories straight wasn't easy. Some teachers knew more
than others and therefore could be told more than others. That was
the reason why McGonagall received all the information and Madam
Pomfrey received a rather expurgated version. They told her the truth,
of course...just not all of it.

Remus was trickier. In terms of actual knowledge he was somewhere
in between McGonagall and Pomfrey, but telling him too little was just
as dangerous as telling too much. He could be told about Wormtail
nearly strangling Ron, but not about what had caused the traitor to
flee. He had seen Will, but had no idea who the strange man was. It
made Harry's job a lot harder, picking and choosing what to say. As
a result, he was very, very careful to sit on his hands when speaking
with his father's friend. It wouldn't do for a nervous tic he hadn't
even known he had had to silently negate everything he was saying.

Once every possible drop of information had been squeezed out of
them, McGonagall turned them over to Madam Pomfrey. Fearing
that they might still be suffering the effects of the Dementors' Dark
magic, she plied them with innumerable pieces of rich chocolate and
ordered them to have a lie down and rest until the train arrived at
Hogsmeade.

They took an empty compartment in one of the forward cars and
made themselves as comfortable as they could. In deference to his
injured arm, they let Neville lie down on the cushioned seats. That
way, he could stretch out full length and not have to contort himself
to make room for someone else. He fell asleep immediately, snoring
softly.

Hermione, however, lay down on the seats on the other side, turned
her back on her friends, and didn't say another word for the rest of
the ride. She might have fallen asleep, but Harry very much doubted
it.

Harry and Ron, lying in a smushed, half-upright position on the floor,
talked for a time, whispering to each other in the warm darkness of the
compartment.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"You feeling all right?"

"Yeah." A low grunt. "Neck still hurts, though."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's not like you could have done anything. I had my wand in my
hand, and I couldn't do a thing."

"Yeah. But I'm still sorry."

"Look, it's all right. Honestly."

There was silence for a time before Harry spoke again.

"Ginny's going to kill us, you know."

"Yeah."

"What was it she said? Don't go doing anything brave?"

A quiet chuckle. "Something like that."

"She'll never believe us."

"I wouldn't believe us."

"True."

"Yeah."

"Hey, Ron?"

"What?"

"...what's your dad going to say?"

A long pause. "I've no idea."

"D'you think he'll be mad at you?"

"'Course not. Dad doesn't get mad at anyone."

One could almost hear Harry's eyebrow go up. "Really?"

"Well, except for Percy...sometimes. And Malfoy's dad, but he's
a bastard and deserves it anyway. And he used to get mad at Fred
and George if they messed with his stuff. But--"

"So he'll be mad."

Ron sighed. "Probably."

"Would he send you a Howler?"

"Dad? No."

"That's good."

"He'd get Percy to do it."

"Oh."

The Hogwarts Express sped on through the night, past towns and
cities, across open lands, and into the wilds of the north.

* * *

But Percy didn't send a Howler. And for that matter, neither did Mr
Weasley. Ron's Howler came later that evening--in the form of a very,
very angry Ginny Weasley.

It was three in the morning when the four Gryffindors returned to their
common room, but Ginny was still awake. She was pacing agitatedly,
occasionally tripping over her robes when she didn't watch where she
put her feet. When her exhausted brother and friends emerged from the
portrait hole, she let out a happy cry and rushed toward them.

The next moment she was eyeball to eyeball with Ron and screaming in
his face.

"I can't BELIEVE you!" she yelled. "I TOLD you not to go running off
like a bloody idiot and what happens? The moment I leave, the second
I'm out of the room, you go and end up on the train, doing exactly what
Will told you NOT to do, and you could have been killed and did you
even ONCE stop to think about me? Or anyone else? Even for a minute?
No, of course you didn't, because you're Ron Weasley, big strong bloody
STUPID Ron Weasley who goes charging in without thinking, like
ALWAYS. Well it would have served you right if you'd gotten yourself
killed, and I wouldn't feel a bit sorry for you, not one single little BIT!"

Tears ran down her face as she railed at him, and when Ron wordlessly
opened his arms she grabbed him and hugged him as if she never wanted
to let go.

Harry, embarrassed, turned away. He looked round to see where the
others had gone.

Hermione was no longer there. He hadn't seen her leave, hadn't even
heard her climb the stairs. She had slipped away without anyone
noticing.

Neville was standing stiffly to one side, every bit as uncomfortable
at the display of sibling emotion as Harry was. He grinned weakly,
but winced suddenly and scowled at his injured shoulder, hissing
through his teeth.

Harry started to turn away, but came to an abrupt halt as he felt
something cold and wet touch his hand. He looked down and found
himself caught in the dark, worried, and impossibly reproachful eyes
of Snuffles.

"Don't give me that," he grumbled. "It's bad enough dealing with
Remus--I don't need you laying guilt on me, too." He knelt down
and rubbed the dog's ears. "How'd you get in here, anyway?"

Though dogs are not exactly able to convey the impression of absolute
disgust through facial expressions, Snuffles made a remarkably
successful attempt.

Harry got the message. "Right. Dumb question." A yawn that threatened
to break his jaw told him that sleep was better than standing round
arguing with an Animagus.

He stumbled over to the staircase that led to the boys' dormitories.
Snuffles followed him closely, collar tags clacking against each other.
Harry was about to tell him to go back to Remus, but thought better of
it. He needed Sirius' solid presence tonight as much as Sirius needed
to reassure himself that Harry really was all right and safe.

"You'd better not snore," he said warningly.

Snuffles thumped his tail on the floor, eagerly whining agreement.

Together, they climbed the stairs to the fifth-year boys' room and crept
in as quietly as they could. It made little difference, as Dean and Seamus
were already fast asleep, but sneaking round the school had become
second nature to Harry and when he was very tired he tended to slip
into familiar habits.

He peeled off his grimy work robe and kicked off his dust-coated shoes,
but didn't bother to remove the rest of his clothes. He pulled back the
bedclothes and crawled between the sheets, inhaling the sweet scent
of fresh linen. Snuffles scrambled onto the bed, turning round three
times to curl up awkwardly at the foot.

Harry was asleep before his head could properly sink into the softness
of the pillow. He did not hear Neville and Ron sneak in five minutes
later.

The great black dog stayed awake, keeping watchful vigil until the
first hints of dawn began to glint on the horizon, but just before the
sun rose he too put his head down on his paws and drifted off to
sleep.

* * *

Harry spent almost all of Saturday asleep, waking only for dinner and
a long, hot shower, and then returned to bed until late Sunday morning.
By Easter, he was feeling remotely human again.

Snuffles had left sometime late Saturday night; he had probably gone
back to report on him to Remus. Harry didn't care. He enjoyed having
the bed all to himself once more.

Ron slept through Saturday entirely, an immobile lump under his
bedclothes. Harry had to prod him awake for Easter Sunday breakfast.

Neville, on the other hand, did not leave his bed. Madam Pomfrey
had ordered strict bed rest for him for an entire week to allow his
arm time to heal. Even so, he couldn't sleep much for the pain in his
shoulder, and had to spend his time propped up on pillows, catching
naps when he could. His meals were brought to him on trays by a
small army of house elves. The other boys were eagerly invited to
eat whatever food he couldn't finish. Bed rest may have been boring,
but he didn't seem to mind much.

To Harry's astonishment, Dean and Seamus did not ask what had
happened. Either McGonagall had gotten to them first and had spun
a believable tale, or they had become so accustomed to sharing a
room with The Boy Who Lived that one more strange and remarkable
occurrence made no difference to them. Whatever it was, Harry had
to envy them their self-possession, if not their uncomplicated lives.

'Uncomplicated' was the key word. For students at Hogwarts, the
Easter holidays were a decompression time, the last chance they
would have to truly relax before exams began. Doing absolutely
nothing was the norm. Anyone who attempted to revise in the
Gryffindor common room during the holidays ran the risk of being
kidnapped by Fred and George, smuggled outside the castle, and
dumped unceremoniously in the frigid lake. Even Hermione would
normally take a short break during the week--though only after
two successive Easters past had seen her storming back into the
common room, dripping rivulets of water from her sodden clothing.

Thus, Easter Monday marked the start of a whole week of freedom.

Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were enjoying a late breakfast that
day, demolishing a mountain of buttered toast, when Harry's snowy
owl swooped into the Hall, circled round the Gryffindor table three
times, and lighted next to him.

"Hi, Hedwig," Harry said, scratching his owl's feathers affectionately.

Hermione nibbled at a corner of her toast. She had been working on
the same piece of toast for some time now: she had barely eaten any
of it. "Harry, you've got something."

"Owl post?" Sure enough, Hedwig was clutching a large manila envelope,
addressed to him in a cramped handwriting.

"Who'f it fwom?" Ron asked, talking round a mouthful of bacon.

"Can't tell," he said. He took it from his owl's talons and turned it
over. "There's no return address."

Ron's eyes widened. "Thaf's odd." He swallowed his food.

"Could it be a trap?" Ginny asked fearfully.

Harry shook his head, but he made no move to open the envelope.
"Hedwig wouldn't take it if it was a trap...I think."

Ginny was already edging away from Harry and his suspicious post.
"M-maybe we should leave it there for now and let McGonagall look
at it, or something."

"Or give it to Snape," Hermione said, setting her toast aside. "He
could tell if there's poison or anything on it."

"Poison?" Ginny was practically under the table.

"Well, they might have put something in the sticky part of the seal
or on the edges of the paper. There are all sorts of poisons that can
enter your body through the skin if you're not careful."

"Reading ahead in our Potions text again?" Ron teased.

She glowered at him. "Someone has to."

"Wait a minute," Harry said suddenly. He had been studying the
envelope more closely. "This is Colin's handwriting."

"How do you know?" Ginny didn't sound convinced.

He pointed to the address. "Look at the way my last name's written.
Colin does this weird thing with double letters; he sort of squashes
them together. It's the same with the double 'e' in his name."

Ron squinted at the letter. "You're right. It's hard to see, but you're
right. That's his handwriting."

"But what's Colin doing sending you a letter?" Hermione asked.

"I think I'd have to open it to find out," Harry said sarcastically.
Ignoring the black look Hermione gave him, he picked up an
unused butter knife and slit the top of the envelope.

"Harry, be careful!" Ginny squealed.

He rolled his eyes and reached inside the envelope. He pulled
out another, smaller envelope, then hunted round some more
and produced several sheets of slightly wrinkled paper. He set
the smaller envelope aside and smoothed out the wrinkled sheets.

The sheets of paper were not typical letter parchment. Colin's letter
had been written on several sheets of flimsy blue-lined notepaper,
with uneven edges that made it look like it had been torn from an
old school notebook. The printing was jumpy and the paper itself
was splashed with ink blots, as if it had been dashed off and sent in
a great hurry. It was dated the day before, Easter Sunday.

Dear Harry [it said],

I honestly can't believe I'm writing to
you about this. You'll probably think
I've gone completely gaga. I wouldn't
blame you. But I have to tell someone,
and I know you're the only one who'll
understand. It sounds so stupid, writing
something like this. But here goes.

"What's it say?" Ginny asked, her fear over the letter's contents
forgotten for the moment.

"Ginny!" Hermione admonished. "What if it's something personal?"

Ron snorted. "Personal? From Colin Creevey? Not on your life."

"Just let me read it over first," Harry said, "and I'll let you look at
it when I'm done...if you can wait that long, Ginny."

Ginny scowled at him, and slapped more jam on her toast.

Grinning, he turned his attention back to Colin's letter.

So anyway [Colin continued], I got back home
on Friday. Mum wanted me to come home for
Easter--my grandparents and aunts and
uncles and some cousins were all set to
come to our house for a big family Easter
dinner. We had lamb and real mint jelly.
You should try my gran's mint jelly. She
makes it herself with mint she grows in
pots in her kitchen and it's really corking
stuff. But that's not what I wanted to tell
you.

I don't think I've ever told anyone, but
my dad was the one who taught me all
about photography. It's his hobby--he's
done some really great work. He even
turned our upstairs toilet into a darkroom
(Mum wasn't half upset about that), and
I've helped him develop his film ever since
I was tall enough to fill the basins. I'd
promised to show him how I develop
film with the special potions that make
the pictures move. He was so excited
when he saw some of the snaps I took
at Quidditch practices, and he wanted
to see how it was done.

I had a new roll of film that I hadn't
developed yet, the most recent one that
was still in my camera. I had a couple
exposures remaining when I left school,
so I took a few snaps on the train.
Nothing fancy or anything, just a shot
or two to finish the roll. So when I
got home, I developed them like I always
do. Two sets of prints: one done the
Muggle way with regular paper and one
done with a special kit I bought in
Diagon Alley last year. (It cost nearly
all my birthday money, but it was worth
it.) Wizarding ones always take longer
to develop--you have to alter the normal
developing process a bit--so I started
them first and let them soak in the
proper solutions. I don't want to bore
you with details, but I showed my dad
how it worked, and then we developed
the negatives the Muggle way while we
waited for the wizarding ones to be
ready.

(Oh, this was Saturday, by the way. I
would have written sooner, but Mum made
me stay with the company all this evening.
I hope this letter gets to you in time.)

So anyway, I was just taking the first
set of prints (Muggle prints from one
of the other rolls of film, not from the
last one) out of the stop bath when
Dad tapped me on the shoulder.

[Here, there were a lot of scribbling and crossouts, as if Colin had
tried several times to write something but didn't like any of his
attempts]

Sorry. [it continued after the crossouts]
I can't write a proper conversation so
I'll just say that he asked me if I'd done
something wrong with a couple of the
wizarding prints. I went and checked the
ones he was talking about, and sure enough
the last three prints I'd made were blank.
They weren't overexposed or processed
wrong or anything like that. It just looked
like there was nothing there. So I told him
I'd try doing them over again while the first
roll of Muggle prints were drying. Just
then Mum yelled at me to go to the shops
and pick up some carrots for dinner. (I
really hate the way my mum cooks carrots--
they're all nasty and mushy.) But I went
because I wanted to think about what I'd
done wrong with the prints. I hadn't
skipped a step or anything like that.
All the other photos came out fine...it
was only the last three that were blank.

So I got back with the carrots and redid
the wizarding ones, but the same thing
happened again. The last three prints
of the last roll of film were blank. By
that time I'd run out of the potions I
needed to make wizarding prints, so I
just decided to do them the Muggle way,
since I had all the equipment set out.

I've sent you what came out--it's in
the other envelope. They're the last
three prints of the last roll of film,
the ones I took on the train, done the
Muggle way. They're only proof prints,
and they're not very good. Dad could
do them tons better than I could, but
I didn't want him to see them. (I had
to tell him that I'd overexposed them
and that the potions wouldn't work
with the overexposed shots.) But now
I'm babbling, and I should send this
before my parents come and yell at me
for being up so late.

Harry, I hope you understand this. I
feel like I should know what's going
on, but I don't, and I know that you're
the only one who will. Hope you had a
good Easter. See you back in school on
Sunday.

Yours truly,
Colin Creevey

"Well?" Ginny piped up. "What is it? What'd he say?"

"Ron," Harry said briskly, "hand me that other envelope."

Startled by his friend's tone of voice, Ron passed him the smaller
envelope. Harry didn't bother to take care opening it. He slid his
finger under the flap and tore it open.

Three black-and-white photographs slid out, landing among the dirty
breakfast dishes and used cutlery.

Hermione and Ron gasped, drawing a sharp breath at the same time.

"Is that--?" Ginny began in a tremulous voice, but stopped short.

Hurriedly, Harry shoved the breakfast dishes and platters aside with
one hand and spread the photographs out on the table with his other
hand. He had to see them better. He had to be certain that they were
there, to prove he wasn't still asleep and in the middle of a rather
realistic dream.

The first print was not very clear. There was the grey of the open
moor land in the background, a large black blur in the foreground,
and an irregular blotch of light near the bottom right hand corner of
the picture, as if Colin had taken the snap through the compartment
window and in his haste had forgotten that the camera flash would
reflect on the glass. Though the subject was far too blurry to be
identifiable, it had to be one of the Dementors, riding past on its
midnight black horse.

The second was far more interesting--to put it mildly. Colin had
apparently remembered to open the compartment window and
remove the obstruction of the glass, for there was nothing to mar
the perfectly clear image of Wormtail, caught with his silver hand
wrapped round Ron's throat. If his feral snarl and maddened eyes
didn't give away his murderous intent, the frantic purple of Ron's
face certainly did.

The last print was not nearly as exciting, but nonetheless dramatic.
It was of Will in his dark robes, profiled against the dazzling white
of the wall of flames. Colin's skilful photographic eye had managed
to capture the Old One just as he straightened up from his bow, and
he had also captured the sense of complete mastery and authority
that surrounded Will like a second cloak.

* * *

Some days later, long after the original shock had passed, the four of
them sat down together and tried to figure out exactly who had first
figured out what to do with the photographs. Ginny swore up and
down that it had been Harry's idea, but Hermione pointed out that
she had been the one to suggest that they act upon said idea. But
regardless of whose idea it had been, all four of them had leapt up
from the table at once and sprinted out of the Great Hall, up the
stairs, and through the second-floor corridors to the Defence
Against the Dark Arts classroom and office.

Harry reached the door to Remus's office first. He knew that Remus
would be awake--it was nearly ten in the morning--but even if he
hadn't been sure he would have pounded on the door with the same
desperate urgency.

"Remus!" he shouted, rattling the door handle.

Hermione was a few steps behind him. She, too, started pounding on
the closed door. "Professor Lupin! Professor Lupin!"

Ron and Ginny soon brought up the rear, more slowly than normal.
Ginny seemed to be yelling at Ron about something. Harry was only
able to catch the tail end of her words "--and you didn't TELL ME?!"
before the door flew open, knocking him backward into the Weasley
siblings and sending them all crashing to the floor.

"What is it? What's going on?" Remus barely had time to get the words
out of his mouth before the four children had streamed past him, into
the main part of his office.

Snuffles was crouched in one of the room's rickety chairs with the
morning's Daily Prophet crumpled under his paws. He had likely
been reading it in his human form when the knock had come at the
door--his contorted position was a clear indication of a hasty
transformation. He leapt off the chair when he saw Harry dash
inside, but froze when the other Gryffindors followed his godson
into the room.

Harry turned to Ginny first. "Ginny, can I trust you not to scream?"
he said breathlessly.

"What?" she exclaimed.

"Can I trust you?"

She stiffened, affronted by his insult to her sense of self-control.
"Of course you can. I'm not stupid."

"Fine." With that, he looked over at Snuffles. "Sirius, there's
something you have to see."

The great black dog hesitated. His eyes darted from Harry to Ron
to Hermione to Ginny and finally back to Harry.

"Please, Sirius," Harry begged. Of all times for his godfather to
err on the side of caution...."It's about Wormtail."

The traitor's name acted like a key turning in a lock, because there
was a loud pop, and a heartbeat later Sirius Black--in threadbare
pyjamas, patched dressing gown, and bedroom slippers--stood
before them.

"What's happened, Harry?" he said huskily. Worry and fear creased
his worn face. He hadn't shaved yet, which only served to add to
the appearance of a prisoner on the run. "What's that rat done now?"

Ginny gasped, and a tiny squeal forced its way through her nose, but
true to her word she didn't scream. She inched closer to Ron and
Hermione.

"It's all right, Gin," Ron said soothingly. "It's okay."

"Don't start that," she snapped, but she didn't take her eyes off
Sirius.

"Harry, what is it?" Remus had moved forward to stand beside Sirius.
He placed a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder.

"We've got proof," Harry said, breathing hard. "Proof that he's not
dead." Before either of the older men could react, he thrust the
photograph of Wormtail and Ron into Sirius's open hands.

"This...this is...." Sirius stared at the photograph, his mouth hanging
open.

"Where did you get this?" Remus said sharply.

"Colin took it," Harry replied. "You know Colin Creevey, right?"

It took a moment for the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor to
connect the name with the student. "Fourth year, Gryffindor. The one
who always has the cam--"

"The camera," Sirius interrupted him. His hands were shaking so
violently that he could barely hold the photograph. His eyes were
dazed, unseeing. "The Muggle-born boy with the camera. My god,
Remus...do you know what this means?"

"But when did he take it?" Remus said, taking the photo from Sirius's
hands before he could damage it.

"On the train," Hermione said. "He was on the train, and he took the
picture--"

Ron took over from her. "But the Aurors put a Memory Charm on
everyone but us, so he didn't remember it--"

Ginny cut in, quickly, "And he sent it to Harry because he thought--"

"Because he thought I would know what it was, and what to do with it."
Harry was sweating: his palms were damp and clammy and were leaving
smudges on the other two photographs. "This is what you need, isn't
it, Sirius? This proves that you were innocent the whole time...that
you didn't kill Wormtail."

"'Cause for someone who's supposed to be dead, he sure felt alive to
me," Ron said, pulling down the collar of his robe and rubbing his
throat tenderly. The marks of grasping fingers were slowly fading,
green and yellow round the edges but deep purple in the centres.

Something snapped deep in Sirius's eyes. With a roar, he sprang
forward and grabbed Harry, crushing him in a hug so violent that
the younger boy let out a high squeak of shock.

"WE'VE GOT HIM!" Sirius crowed, spinning round and round in
dizzying circles, carrying Harry with him in his ecstatic fit. "Harry,
Harry, Harry, HARRY! This is it! This--is--IT! We've got that
bastard for good and all! Lock him up in Azkaban and throw away
the key! Ha HA!"

Harry barely had a chance to return the embrace before Sirius was
off, whirling about the room, capering nimbly on his toes, dancing a
jig in his ratty dressing gown and slippers, grabbing a very startled
Remus and attempting to do an Argentine tango with him--and
laughing merrily the whole time, happier than they had ever seen
him.

The happiness was contagious. Hermione and Ginny were laughing
with him, clapping their hands delightedly at his exuberant and ungainly
dances. In its tank, the Grindylow poked its head out of its weed-
covered habitat, alarmed by the uproar. Ron grinned broadly at
Harry as Sirius waltzed by, dragging a feebly protesting Remus with
him as he sang tunelessly at the top of his voice.

The celebrations had reached a fever pitch when all of a sudden
Hermione gasped, clapping her hand to her face.

"Wait, wait!" she cried out.

Sirius stopped abruptly in mid-polka, and Remus almost fell over
his own feet. Ron and Ginny's smiles faded like sunlight behind a
dark cloud. Five pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

"What is it?" Harry said, dreading what he would hear.

Hermione stared back at him, her face troubled. "Harry, Muggle
courts won't accept photographs as evidence anymore. It's...it's too
easy to tamper with them, if you know how to do it. So if wizarding
courts are anything like Muggle ones, they could say that you made
this photograph yourself."

"Made it?" Ginny echoed. "But how?"

"I don't know. That's just what I've read. 'Photographic evidence of
crimes may be inadmissible in a court of law'."

Harry shook his head. "Not if we've got the negatives and someone
who can develop them. Colin has them, and we have Colin."

"Or we will, once classes start again," Ron added.

"But they wouldn't accept it as proof," Hermione countered stubbornly.
"Not legally."

"Forget the courts!" Sirius said scornfully. "Forget legal! Who gives
a damn if they won't take it?" He pointed to the photograph still
clutched in Remus's hands, now rather worse for the wear. "Put
that picture on the front page of the Daily Prophet and THEN
see who cares about proof!"

"Sirius, please--" Remus began.

"Oh, shut up, Moony!" Sirius barked. "Go and do something useful--
get the fastest owl they've got in the Owlery." The dazed delight
returned to his face, and he crooned, "That lovely, BEAUTIFUL
snap's going to the Daily Prophet, special delivery! Stop the...what
do they say in the newspapers when there's a really big story?"

"'Stop the presses'?" Hermione offered timorously.

"YES!" he shouted, punching his fist in the air. "Stop the presses!
Hold the front page! Make way for the biggest scoop of the cen--!"

The triumphant shout died on his lips as he spun round and saw
Professor McGonagall standing in the now-open doorway.

The photograph slipped from Remus's hand and landed on the ground,
face down.

Hermione let out a little cry and stumbled backward, bumping into
Harry. Harry stumbled as well, but used the opportunity to bend
down and snatch the dropped photograph. As he straightened up,
he stuffed it and the other two pictures that Colin had taken into his
robes.

Professor McGonagall didn't notice his fast retrieval. She was rather
more preoccupied by the sight of a convicted, escaped murderer
standing in the middle of a Hogwarts professor's office, clad only in
pyjamas. Her eyes widened, and one hand flew to her throat, but she
quickly recovered.

"May I borrow Harry for a moment, Professor Lupin?" she asked,
quite calmly.

It took Remus two tries before he found his voice. "A...A...Of
course, Minerva."

Harry hurried forward as McGonagall held out a thin white envelope.

"This letter just arrived for you, Mr Potter" she said. "By express
Muggle post."

"Muggle...?" A letter by Muggle post could only be from Will. An
express letter...an express letter meant that it was urgent. He took
it from her and tore into it, pulling out the letter with hands made
clumsy by nervousness.

Dear Mr Potter [it read],

I am sitting in my office with a very
fidgety owl beside me, waiting for me
to hurry up and pen a reply to a most
pressing letter from Minister Dumbledore.
But before I reply to his query (which
you needn't worry about just yet), I
wanted to get this letter out to you
before the postman comes. I'll have
to keep this brief.

There will be no meetings this week,
either Monday or Thursday evening. Mr
Longbottom is in no fit condition to
be casting spells, though by Monday
week he should be well enough for us
to resume our sessions. However, we
(and yes, I do mean 'we') have been
asked by the Minister to attend a
meeting that same Monday at 7.30 PM,
in his office at Hogwarts. Don't
worry, it will be nothing like the
last one. There will be no trials
or testing--only questions.

By now, I'm guessing that you've
discovered the identity of your
last companion. You should have
no difficulty getting him to your
'study session' by 7.00. I will
be waiting for you--all six of
you--there.

I remain, in haste,
Will Stanton

Harry slowly folded the letter. His mind was racing.

"Is it about your aunt and uncle?" Sirius asked hoarsely, in hushed
tones.

"No," Harry said. "It's nothing."

Remus's eyes narrowed. "Harry...."

"It can wait until Monday week."

"Monday week?"

"Next Monday evening," he said meaningfully, returning Remus's level
gaze. "At seven-thirty. In Professor...in Minister Dumbledore's
office."

Sirius started. "How do you--"

Remus cut him off. "Monday it is," he said deliberately. "Will you
tell us what's going on then?"

"Yes," Harry replied, hoping with all his heart that that statement
would not turn out to be a lie.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "If you've no further business here,
children, I will escort you back to your common room."

"We're done, Professor," he said.

"Finished, you mean?" she corrected automatically.

"Yes."

With that, the four Gryffindors shuffled out of the office, not daring
to look at Professor McGonagall or each other. Remus and Sirius
were left standing next to each other, staring after them.

"Until Monday, Harry," Remus called out. His voice cracked slightly
on Harry's name.

The office door swung closed.

* * *

Harry thought that he'd never make it through the full Easter week. He
woke up early every morning and didn't fall asleep until late at night,
kept awake by the nervous buzzings and flutterings in his stomach. It
was an effort to maintain a show of normality, to pretend that nothing
was out of the ordinary. He played chess with Ron and lost every time,
played countless games of One-handed Exploding Snap with Neville
and lost almost every time. At least the losing was normal enough, but
he could have played better if his mind had been even remotely focused
on the games.

Ginny occasionally joined her brother and her friends for their daily
pastimes, but Hermione didn't seem to be interested. She spent quite
a lot of time sitting before the common room fire, holding Crookshanks
in her lap and stroking his fur absently. Harry or Ron or Ginny would
have to call her name several times before she heard them, and even
then her responses were vague, half-hearted. After this had happened
three nights running, they gave up on asking her anything and let her
alone. She didn't notice.

Their explanations for her odd behaviour varied. Ron proclaimed that
Hermione was going through what he expertly called 'a mood'. Ginny
said (with some superiority and a good deal more authority) that it
was a 'woman's thing', and that the boys should leave her be and quit
pestering her. Neville shrugged and accepted their explanations, and
after a while so did Harry. Hermione could take care of herself--he
was more concerned with how to approach Colin when he returned
from the holiday.

He had written to Colin the moment he got back to his room on Easter
Monday morning. The note he had sent was a short one:

Colin,

I got the pictures just this morning.
Don't feel bad about sending them--
you did the right thing. I can't
explain it all right now, not in a
letter, but we can talk about it
when you get back to Hogwarts.

Harry

P.S.: Could you make a few more copies
of those three pictures? Muggle-style
copies are fine. And could you bring
the negatives of the pictures with you
when you come back to school? It's
very important--please keep it secret,
and don't let your parents or anyone
else know.

He hoped that would be enough to keep Colin busy for the week.
He knew that if he specifically requested copies of the pictures, Colin
would slave over the prints to get them as perfect as possible. The
younger boy's hero-worship wasn't as obvious anymore, but there
was no denying that it was still there.

At the same time, he sent a few lines to Will as well, using a plain
barn owl instead of Hedwig and marking the letter for Muggle-style
postal delivery for greater security.

Dear Will,

I got your letter...I hope this reaches
you safely. Just in case it doesn't
(though you wouldn't be reading this
if it didn't, but you never know), I
won't say anything about you know
what, but I promise we'll be ready.

Sincerely,
Harry Potter

He very nearly added a postscript to that letter, saying something
along the lines of "You knew, didn't you? You knew that someone--
that Colin had taken those pictures on the train," but he decided
against it. Something like that would be too difficult to put into
words without giving too much away, and if the letter were to be
intercepted before Will could receive it...no, better to wait until
Monday.

If he could wait until Monday.

The stress he had laid on secrecy in his letter ensured that Colin
wouldn't run up to him, demanding to know everything about
everything, as soon as school started again. What he hadn't
guessed was that Colin would take his request for secrecy to
heart. The younger boy said nothing about photographs or
meetings or anything like that. The school day on Monday
passed without him saying so much as greeting Harry in the hall.

Trust Colin to go overboard, Harry thought wryly.

He quietly pulled Ron, Hermione, and Neville aside after lunch and
told them to be in the little room off the library by quarter to seven
at the very latest. Ron promised to let Ginny know, and the four of
them split up immediately, not wanting to be noticed whispering in
corridors.

Harry made the first move after dinner. Colin was sitting cross-legged
on the floor in the Gryffindor common room, scribbling furiously on a
piece of parchment. He looked up as Harry walked by, and a small,
shy light danced with excitement in his eyes.

"Hey, Colin," Harry said casually. "Are you busy this evening?"

"No, not really." Colin was equally nonchalant. "Why?"

"Well, Ron and Hermione and Neville and I were planning to do
some revising for the O.W.L.s tonight, and I heard that you just
finished covering localised Heating and Cooling Charms in class
today. How'd you like to practise them with us tonight?"

Colin's entire face lit up in a way that made Harry's heart ache.
On any other person it might have been for show, a deception to
fool anyone who might be watching them, but no one could fake
that degree of sheer delight.

"Wow!" he said. "That'd be smashing!"

"Come on, then," Harry said, already heading for the door. "We
want to start by seven."

Colin shoved his books aside and leapt to his feet. "Sure!"

They left the common room and hurried through the halls, heading in
the direction of the library. Colin kept up a steady stream of talk,
yammering on about this and that, not noticing or caring that Harry
was quiet, monosyllabic in his replies.

Soon enough, they reached the little room off the library.

"Is this where you go?" Colin asked, looking up at Harry. "I've never
been in this room before. Is it nice?"

"Not many people know about it," Harry replied. "It's nice enough."

He pointed his wand at the lock and muttered a special charm that only
he and the others knew. After Snape and McGonagall's unexpected visit,
they had charmed the door so that it would only open for the five of them.
He pushed on the door and let it swing open.

The fire was already lit, glowing in the grate with jewel-like colours
of reds and oranges and golds. Seven chairs had been drawn up to the
long table, and the others were seated round it; Ginny and Ron on one
side, Hermione and Neville on the other. The two chairs closest to the
fire, on either side, were empty, as was the one at the far end of the
table.

"Hi!" Colin said brightly.

No one responded to his greeting. Their faces were serious, their
manner no-nonsense and grave.

Colin's bright smile faltered slightly.

"Is everything ready?" Harry asked, ushering Colin into the room.

"Whenever you are," Ron said quietly. There was no mistaking his
tone--he was deferring to Harry, allowing him to take charge.

"What's ready?" For the first time, Colin seemed to grasp that this
wasn't an ordinary revising session, and that Harry wasn't planning
to talk about localised Heating and Cooling Charms. Uncertainty
and nervousness flickered across his face. "Harry?"

The four Gryffindors seated round the table stood up as one, rising
to their feet in a movement that looked expertly choreographed,
perfectly timed. Harry knew that it hadn't been planned, but even
so it was physically impressive. He heard a sudden, sharp intake
of breath; one could only guess the impression it had made on Colin.

He walked over to the mirror and stood in a position that would
shield Colin from the full force of the flare of light. Extending his hand,
he touched the intricately carved wood of the frame. He didn't look
back at the younger boy, but kept his eyes fixed on the mirror.

When the mist cleared he saw that Will was standing beside his desk,
holding his academical gown aloft and running a hand over it in an
attempt to manually smooth out the wrinkles in the black fabric.

"Right on time," he said. He draped the gown over the back of his
desk chair and approached the mirror with a smooth, measured tread.
"Good evening, Mr Potter."

Harry nodded a brief hello in return.

Will's gaze roamed across the assembled students for a moment before
coming to rest on the steadily widening eyes of Colin Creevey.

"And to you also, young man," he added, smiling genially.

"Will," Harry said, feeling that it was up to him to make the necessary
introductions, "this is Colin Creevey. He's Muggle-born, a fourth year
in Gryffindor." Feeling that that had gone well, he turned to Colin and
said, rather more grandly than he had intended it to sound, "Colin,
this is Professor Will Stanton of Cambridge University."

Colin stared. His eyes were as wide as Harry had ever seen them.

Will spoke lightly. "So you're the lad with a knack for photography."

There was a flash of blind panic in Colin's eyes.

"I really wish I could have you take my next driving licence photo."
Will's voice was gentle, self-mocking in an attempt to prevent that
flash of panic from flaring out of control. "Maybe then I wouldn't
come out looking like I'd sneezed in the middle of the snap, as it
were."

Colin bit down on his lip, hard.

Will glanced sideways at Harry. "What exactly did you tell him?"

"I...I didn't know where to start," Harry said lamely.

"You're slacking on me, Mr Potter." There was only a faint note of
reproof in that statement; the words were harsher than the tone.
"I'd have thought--"

There was another flash in Colin's eyes--this time, of recognition.
"You were at Dennis's...at my brother's funeral."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as his stomach turned in on itself.
Squirming against the tension that had tightened the air in the room,
he stared down at the floor, only looking up again when he heard
Will's soft reply:

"Yes, I was."

Colin stared at Will pensively, in the frank, disconcerting way that
very young children often have when they assess the trustworthiness
of an unknown adult.

"Mum didn't know who you were," he said bluntly. "You didn't look
like one of Dad's friends from work--my dad's a milkman, and you
don't look like a milkman--and most of our other relatives live far
away, out in Australia and places like that, and they couldn't come.
Dad actually thought you were the new vicar for a bit, at least 'til he
saw you didn't have a collar."

"Vicar, you say?" Will raised an thoughtful eyebrow. "That's a new
one. Though I'm not entirely sure I like it."

"You were there," Colin said, as if Will hadn't spoken. He was in
another place, much farther away than Australia or the lands where
long-forgotten relatives lived. "But I asked them about it a little
later, later that night, and they didn't remember it. They didn't
remember you at all."

He seemed to turn his words over in his head. "I thought I had
dreamt about you being there." A tremor shook his lower lip. "I
have a lot of dreams about it. About that day. Sometimes I don't
know what was a dream and what wasn't."

Harry heard someone behind him sniffle quietly--it sounded like Ginny.

Will looked sad, and very old. "I'm very sorry."

"You were in the picture, too." Colin changed the topic so quickly
that Harry coughed, startled. "The one I took even though I don't
remember taking it. How come it didn't work when I developed it
the wizarding way?"

"Certain types of magic are simply not compatible," said Will, slipping
into a lecturing tone for a moment before he paused, continuing in a
less severe manner. "My power may interfere with the magic used in
the developing process--but then again, I don't know enough about
wizarding photography myself to try and explain it properly. But as
for Muggle photographs...."

"...they wouldn't detect the magic," Colin finished, picking up the
idea. "They'd only detect the light."

Will's smile returned, more wistful this time. "That's quite poetic."

"Is it?"

"I think so."

"Colin," Harry said suddenly, "what he's trying to say is...is...." Lost,
he looked to Will for help, better phrasing, anything that would salvage
his position, but the Old One merely smiled down at him in his most
maddeningly placid way.

"Don't make me do your job for you, Mr Potter," he said, folding his
arms across his chest and looking down at Harry over the top of his
glasses.

"Right." Dejectedly, Harry started over. "We--me and Hermione and
Ron and Ginny and Neville, that is--we've been working together all
school year, trying to find the way to defeat Voldemort. And Will--
Professor Stanton, I mean--he's been helping us, because he knows
all about Dark magic."

"But he's not a wizard," Colin said.

Ginny went very white, and Ron gave a choked squawk. Neville
looked like he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in his
hands and die. Hermione seemed to be suppressing hysterical
laughter.

"No," Will admitted logically, "I'm not. It puts me at a terrible
disadvantage, I know, but we all have our shortcomings."

Harry couldn't tell whether or not that was supposed to be a joke,
but he didn't want to wait and hear Colin's reply. "He's immortal,
Colin. I don't have time to explain all of it now, but you'll have to
trust me on this."

"Trust you?" said Colin, looking from Harry to Will and back again.
"Trust you about what?"

"We need your help, Mr Creevey." Will had apparently decided to
rescue Harry from his predicament. "We need you to help us drive
the Dark Lord back once and for all. It is your choice; I cannot
force you in this matter. But we need your help."

"What do I have to do?" Colin asked with the swiftness of one who
had made his choice a long time ago.

Harry glanced back at his friends, and they quickly took their
positions on either side of the mirror. Hermione and Ginny guided
Colin to stand beside them on their side.

"Just watch us, and you'll see what to do," Harry said. He touched
the frame again, and declared: "Enter, Watchman of the Light."

They took up the chant as the tingling sensation of ancient power
stirred in their blood.

"Grant to us your inner sight."

"Enter, for the time draws near."

"Power will erase our fear."

"Enter, lest the darkness win."

Colin's voice was as resolute as the others. He stood tall beside
Hermione and Ginny, smiling with a fierce confidence and pride.
"We the Six now call you in."

The carved symbols that edged the wooden frame blazed even
more brilliantly than before, shining like starlight and sunlight and
the brightest moonlight all combined.

When they could see again, Will stood before them in the little room,
looking serious but pleased. His blue-grey eyes were serene, but just
beneath the calm surface was an intense glow that burned brighter than
any flame.

"And then there were six?" Ginny said softly, though it was hard
to tell whether she was asking Will, her friends, or herself.

"When the Dark comes Rising, six shall turn it back." Will spoke as
if in a dream. "And now that your Circle is complete, the last and
hardest part of this battle may begin."

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August 4th, 2002