A/N: I apologize in advance for how much Dumbledore talks in this chapter. I didn't want to include it, but it was important enough that I suffered through the copying and pasting and I hope you're alright with reading it (or at least skimming it). I promise Lucy is in this chapter too, once you get past all of the Dumbledore/Dursleys/Slughorn exposition. Next week, we are back to our regularly scheduled WWW summer shenanigans!

On a completely unrelated note, I wanted to take this chance to make sure everyone is kinda on the same page. As I'm sure you've noticed by now, this story is approaching the start of official romantic relationships for certain narrators. Yay! I do want to say, though, that I, the author, am a demiromantic asexual who has only ever been in one romantic relationship (of questionable quality, for almost three years, in high school, it started kind of by accident, but I digress, you get the idea). This is a very long-winded way of saying that there will be nothing explicit happening in this fic because quite frankly, I have no idea how that whole dynamic works. I'm going to leave it up to you to decide if/when certain characters "do the deed," so to speak. If I'm accidentally writing ✨tension✨ (because I don't know how to do it intentionally) and there's a scene break, I'll let you fill in the blanks. I feel decently confident on the romance front because I consume a lot of romantic media and whatnot even if my own personal experiences with it are limited, but being ace (in my case at least, I by no means speak for all asexuals) means that this fic will not be going into any R-rated territory. Sorry, I know that was awkward, but I didn't want everyone to be expecting me to write smut when I always skim it or skip it when I come across it in something I'm reading.

Anyway, enough of me talking! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Love yoooouuuu!

🩵💛❤️💜

HARRY:

I jerked awake. A quick glance at the clock informed me that it was exactly 11:00 PM.

Dumbledore was walking up the garden path, to the front door.

I was so relieved I almost laughed aloud. He actually came. He actually came to get me.

Then, I panicked. I had been so scared to trust that he would actually come that I hadn't even packed. Having to unpack if he didn't come after all would have been too disappointing. But he actually came. He actually came to get me.

I started shoving everything I could into my trunk, and I had a pair of trainers in one hand and a telescope in the other when the doorbell rang and Uncle Vernon squawked, "Who the blazes is calling at this time of night?"

Still torn between laughter and panic, I raced toward my bedroom door. I had forgotten to tell the Dursleys.

"Good evening," Dumbledore was saying, "you must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be coming for him?" I stopped halfway down the stairs — to stay out of reach of Uncle Vernon — and assessed the situation. Dumbledore was standing outside, looking very wizard-like, and Uncle Vernon glared at him silently. "Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that I was coming. However, let us assume that you have invited me warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times." With that, Dumbledore let himself in and closed the door behind him. "It has been a long time since my last visit. I must say, your agapanthus are flourishing." When Uncle Vernon didn't reply, Dumbledore looked up at me. "Ah, good evening Harry. Excellent, excellent."

Uncle Vernon seemed to snap out of his infuriated silent trance with these words. His voice was little more than an agitated growl. "I don't mean to be rude — "

"Yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often. Best to say nothing at all, my dear man," Dumbledore said. The kitchen door opened then, and we all turned toward the source of the sound. "Ah, and this must be Petunia. I'm Albus Dumbledore. We have corresponded, of course." The living room door creaked open, and Dumbledore turned that direction next. "And this must be your son, Dudley?"

An awkward silence stretched on. It seemed that no one knew what to say.

"Shall we assume that you have invited me into your sitting room?" Dumbledore asked, heading into the room without waiting for an answer.

I followed, telescope and trainers still in hand. "Aren't — aren't we leaving, sir?"

"Yes, indeed we are, but there are a few matters we need to discuss first, and I would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's hospitality only a little longer."

"You will, will you?" Uncle Vernon snarled from the doorway.

"Yes, I shall." With a flick of his wand, the sofa launched itself forward, knocked itself into the backs of the Dursleys' knees so they were forced down upon it, and returned to its starting position. Dumbledore smiled serenely. "We may as well be comfortable."

As he went to put his wand back in his pocket, I noticed that the skin of his hand was — wrong. Pitch black and almost charred-looking.

"Sir, what happened to your — "

"Later, Harry. Please sit down."

I complied, waiting for Dumbledore to discuss whatever business he needed to discuss before we could leave that awful house, but he was still having fun toying with the Dursleys.

"I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment, but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness." Dumbledore flicked his wand once again, and five glasses and a bottle appeared in midair. The bottle filled the glasses, then one glass drifted toward each of us. Since the Dursleys didn't accept theirs, the glasses merely pushed themselves against their faces. I hid my laughter by taking a sip as Dumbledore explained, "Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead."

After taking a sip himself, Dumbledore turned to me. "Well, Harry, a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you nearly everything he owned."

"Oh," I said, a familiar heavy feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. "Right."

"This is, in the main, fairly straightforward. You add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy — "

"His godfather's dead?" Uncle Vernon interrupted. "He's dead? His godfather?"

"Yes." Dumbledore's eyes remained fixed on me. "Our problem is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

Uncle Vernon's eyes lit with a greedy fire. "He's been left a house?"

I paid him no mind, turning back to Dumbledore. "You can keep using it as headquarters, I don't care. You can have it, I don't really want it."

"That is generous. We have, however, vacated the building temporarily."

"Why?"

"Well, Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."

I sighed, remembering the portrait of Walburga that always startled Lucy when it started screaming about blood purity. "I bet there has."

"Quite, and if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."

"No," I choked out as horror propelled me to my feet.

"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either. The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position."

"But how are you going to find out if I'm allowed to own it?"

"Fortunately, there is a simple test."

Before he could explain, though, Uncle Vernon burst out, "Will you get these ruddy things off us?"

I bit back a laugh as I glanced over. Each Dursley was being assaulted by a flying glass and covered in mead.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. It would have been better manners to drink it, you know," Dumbledore said as he vanished the glasses and turned once again to me. "You see, Harry, if you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited Kreacher."

With another flick of his wand and a loud crack, Kreacher appeared in the living room. Aunt Petunia screamed, Dudley recoiled, and Uncle Vernon shouted, "What the hell is that?"

Kreacher was, impossibly, even louder. "Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't! Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't — "

"As you can see, Harry, Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership," Dumbledore said as Kreacher continued to scream.

I shrugged, wrinkling my nose. "I don't care, I don't want him."

"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?" When I didn't answer, Dumbledore nodded. "Give him an order. If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."

"Kreacher, shut up!" I said desperately, since his screeches were starting to make my ears hurt.

He was silenced instantly. He clutched at his throat, trying to speak, but when he could not, he threw himself to the ground and started throwing a silent tantrum.

"Well, that simplifies matters! It seems that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."

"Do I have to keep him with me?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Not if you don't want to. If I might make a suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. In that way, the other house-elves could keep an eye on him."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that. Er — Kreacher — I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves."

With one final glare sent my direction, Kreacher disappeared with a crack.

"What about Buckbeak, sir?" I asked.

"Ah, you've come to the point about nearly everything," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile. "Sirius left Buckbeak to Lucy. I visited her this morning before the joke shop opened to inform her. Buckbeak will return to Hogwarts to live under Hagrid's care. You should know that we decided, in the interests of Buckbeak's safety, to rechristen him 'Witherwings' for the time being, though I doubt that the Ministry would ever guess he is the hippogriff they once sentenced to death. Now, Harry, is your trunk packed?"

I hesitated for a second too long.

"Doubtful that I would turn up?"

"I'll just go and — er — finish off," I said, scrambling up the stairs. I returned to the living room ten minutes later. "I'm ready now, Professor."

"Good. Just one last thing, then," he said as he turned to look at the Dursleys. "As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time — "

"No," Aunt Petunia interrupted.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly. "I'm sorry?"

"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."

"Ah, but in the wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen. Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own. You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."

They turned to look at Dudley, horrified.

"Us — mistreat Dudders?" Uncle Vernon spluttered. "What d'you — ?"

"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home,'" Dumbledore continued. "However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time." Dumbledore rose to his feet. "Well, Harry, time for us to be off." He turned to the Dursleys one last time. "Until we meet again."

"Bye," I said as I turned to follow him out of the room.

Dumbledore glanced at my trunk and at Hedwig's cage. "We do not want to be encumbered by these just now. I shall send them to the Burrow to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your invisibility cloak... just in case."

I yanked it out of my trunk, and Dumbledore sent my belongings away with a flick of his wand, opening the door in the same motion.

"And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."

We set off down Privet Drive together. I felt more uncomfortable than I had anticipated, remembering too well the way I'd shouted at him and torn up his office the last time we'd talked. Dumbledore, however, seemed unbothered.

"Keep your wand at the ready, Harry."

"But I thought I'm not allowed to use magic outside school, sir?"

"If there is an attack, I give you permission to use any counterjinx or curse that might occur to you. However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."

"Why not, sir?"

"You are with me." He stopped walking and held out an arm. "You have not, of course, passed your apparition test."

"No, I thought you had to be seventeen?"

"You do, so you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind — as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment." I did so, and he nodded. "Very good. Well, here we go."

I had never apparated before, but it felt rather like the worst parts of Portkey travel and Floo travel combined. I managed to land on my feet, though, when we arrived in the middle of what looked like a vacant village square.

"Are you alright? The sensation does take some getting used to," Dumbledore said.

I nodded. "I'm fine, but I think I might prefer brooms."

Dumbledore smiled knowingly before walking and gesturing for me to follow him. "This way. So tell me, Harry. Your scar... has it been hurting at all?"

"No, and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again," I replied.

"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise. Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you."

I wrinkled my nose. Enjoying? ENJOYING? I bit back the sarcastic comment on the tip of my tongue with some effort and nodded. "Well, I'm not complaining." I glanced around. "Professor? Er, where exactly are we?"

"This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton."

"And what are we doing here?"

"Ah yes, of course, I haven't told you. Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."

"How can I help with that, sir?"

"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you. We turn left here."

"Professor?" I asked as we started down yet another creepy deserted street. "Why couldn't we just apparate directly into your old colleague's house?"

"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door. Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted apparators. Like the Diggory estate, which is why Lucy was first lured outside. And at Hogwarts, for instance — "

" — you can't apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds, I know," I interrupted, not wanting to think about last summer at all, but especially not in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar place while Lucy was so far away. I shook my head and cleared my throat. "Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked."

"Correct. He has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who used to be Head of the Auror office."

"Is he — do you think he's good?"

"An interesting question. He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius."

"Yes, but I meant — "

"I know what you meant. Rufus is a man of action and, having fought Dark wizards for most of his working life, does not underestimate Lord Voldemort."

I waited to see if he'd go on, but when he didn't, I changed the subject again. "And... sir, I saw about Madam Bones."

"Yes. A terrible loss. She was a great witch. Just up here, I think — " He pointed with his right hand. "Ouch."

"Professor, what happened to your — ?"

"I have no time to explain now. It is a thrilling tale, I wish to do it justice," he said with a smile.

I changed the topic again, intending to take full advantage of this rare opportunity to talk to him one-on-one. "Sir — I got a Ministry of Magic leaflet by owl, about security measures we should all take against the Death Eaters."

"Yes, I received one myself. Did you find it useful?"

"Not really."

"No, I thought not. You have not asked me, for instance, what is my favorite flavor of jam, to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore and not an impostor."

I hesitated, not sure if he was actually criticizing me or not. "I didn't..."

"For future reference, Harry, it is raspberry. Although of course, if I were a Death Eater, I would have been sure to research my own jam preferences before impersonating myself."

"Er — right. Well, on that leaflet, it said something about Inferi. What exactly are they? The leaflet wasn't very clear."

"They are corpses. Dead bodies that have been bewitched to do a Dark wizard's bidding. Inferi have not been seen for a long time, however, not since Voldemort was last powerful. He killed enough people to make an army of them, of course. This is the place, Harry, just here. Oh, dear. Oh, dear, dear, dear."

I glanced up at the house and saw that the front door was quite damaged and hanging off its hinges.

"Wand out and follow me, Harry," he whispered. Once we stepped inside, he illuminated his wand with a whispered "Lumos."

The hallway was in ruins, as was the sitting room we discovered behind the first door on the left. The furniture had been shredded, and there was a mysterious red substance staining every wall.

Dumbledore sighed. "Not pretty, is it? Yes, something horrible has happened here."

"Maybe there was a fight and — and they dragged him off, Professor?" I wondered aloud.

"I don't think so," he replied as he inspected an armchair that had been knocked over.

"You mean he's — ?"

"Still here somewhere? Yes."

With that, Dumbledore plunged his wand into the chair. To my surprise, it yelped and turned into a man.

"Good evening, Horace," Dumbledore said politely, as if nothing strange at all had occurred.

"There was no need to stick the wand in that hard, it hurt," the man complained, rising to his feet. "What gave it away?"

"My dear Horace, if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house."

The other man — Horace — slapped his hand against his forehead. "The Dark Mark! Knew there was something... ah well. Wouldn't have had time anyway, I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room."

"Would you like my assistance clearing up?" Dumbledore asked.

"Please."

The two wizards made identical motions with their wands, and the room righted itself immediately.

"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" Dumbledore asked.

"On the walls? Dragon. My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable." He studied the glass bottle that had collected it all. "Hm. A bit dusty." Once he had set it down, he noticed me for the first time, his eyes immediately going from my eyes to my scar. "Oho! Oho!"

"This is Harry Potter," Dumbledore said. "Harry, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."

Slughorn turned to Dumbledore with narrowed eyes. "So that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Albus."

"I suppose we can have a drink, at least? For old time's sake?"

"Alright then, one drink," Slughorn said with a sigh, preparing three drinks as Dumbledore and I found seats.

Dumbledore smiled. "Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?"

"Not so well. Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."

"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice. You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?"

"Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still, the fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."

"You're not yet as old as I am, Horace."

"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself." Slughorn nodded at Dumbledore's hand. "Reactions not what they were, I see."

Dumbledore lifted his sleeve to show the injury better. "You're quite right. I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand..." He spread his arms wide, and I noticed for the first time an unusual ring on Dumbledore's uninjured hand. Slughorn seemed to notice it too, his eyes darkening. "So, all these precautions against intruders, Horace, are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or mine?"

"What would the Death Eaters want with a poor broken-down old buffer like me?"

"I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder. Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?"

Slughorn sighed. "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house — the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands — it's been very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave. It's quite easy once you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscopes and make sure the neighbors don't spot you bringing in the piano."

"Ingenious. But it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts — "

"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that's how you treat teachers these days — "

"Professor Umbridge ran afoul of our centaur herd. I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the forest and call a horde of angry centaurs 'filthy halfbreeds.'"

"That's what she did, did she? Idiotic woman. Never liked her."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing. Dumbledore and Slughorn both turned to look at me, so I stopped immediately. "Sorry. It's just — I didn't like her either."

Dumbledore rose to his feet.

"Are you leaving?" Slughorn asked.

"No," Dumbledore replied. "I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom."

"Oh. Second on the left down the hall."

Once Dumbledore left the two of us alone, an awkward silence fell. Slughorn rose to his feet and went to stand with his back to the fire.

"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you," he said. When I didn't reply, he appraised me again. "You look very like your father."

"Yeah, I've been told," I replied.

"Except for your eyes. You've got — "

I bit back a sigh. "My mother's eyes, yeah."

"Yes, well, you shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother, Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my house. Very cheeky answers I used to get back, too."

"Which was your house?"

"I was Head of Slytherin. Oh, now, don't go holding that against me! You'll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Sirius Black? You must have done — been in the papers for the last couple of years — died a few weeks ago — well, anyway, he was a big pal of your father's at school. The whole Black family had been in my house, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame — he was a talented boy. I got his brother, Regulus, when he came along, but I'd have liked the set." He sighed, then smiled. "Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good."

"One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year," I said rather forcefully. Two, really, I thought to myself, Lucy lingering in the back of my mind.

"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?"

Anger surged in me. "Not really," I snapped.

Slughorn blinked in surprise, then shook his head vehemently. "You mustn't think I'm prejudiced! No, no, no! Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too — now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course — another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!" He pointed at the arrangement of photographs on a nearby dresser. "All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes — a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkiss, who gave him his first job! And at the back — you'll see her if you just crane your neck — that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies. People are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"

"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" I inquired.

"Of course not, I have been out of touch with everybody for a year," he replied, looking distinctly disappointed. "Still, the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate — "

"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts. Most of the teachers aren't in it, and none of them has ever been killed — well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort." I was interrupted by an indignant squawk at the usage of You-Know-Who's name, but I continued, "I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?"

"Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore, and I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend... in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus. I cannot pretend that Amelia Bones's death did not shake me. If she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection..."

At that moment, Dumbledore returned, shaking Slughorn from his thoughts.

"Oh, there you are, Albus. You've been gone a very long time. Upset stomach?"

"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines. I do love knitting patterns. Well, Harry, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave."

I jumped to my feet perhaps a little too eagerly.

"You're leaving?" Slughorn asked, looking disappointed.

"Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one."

Slughorn seemed torn in two. "Lost?"

"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace. Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."

"Yes, well... very gracious..."

"Goodbye, then."

I lifted my hand briefly as we turned around. "Bye."

We had just reached the front door when we heard running footsteps and a shout.

"Alright, alright, I'll do it!"

We turned around.

"You will come out of retirement?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, yes. I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful! Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."

"Yes, I daresay you will."

With that, we finally left. Just before we reached the gate, Slughorn called out one last time.

"I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore chuckled, and we continued without turning back again.

"Well done, Harry," he said after a moment.

"I... didn't do anything."

"Oh yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"

I hesitated. He had been nice enough, but his surprise that Muggle-borns could possess magical talent didn't sit right with me, and his cushy lifestyle was irritating, all things considered. Sirius had lived in a cave eating rats, he had lived trapped in his childhood home, but Slughorn...

"Horace likes his comfort," Dumbledore said, to spare me from answering. "He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office. I tell you all this not to turn you against Horace — or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; 'the Boy Who Lived,' or, as they call you these days, 'the Chosen One.'"

A shiver crawled down my spine. Before I could reply, Dumbledore held out his arm again.

"This will do, Harry. If you will grasp my arm."

I did so, and we apparated again. When I opened my eyes, the Burrow was in sight.

I longed to rush through its front door, but Dumbledore was speaking again so I tore my eyes away.

"If you don't mind, Harry, I'd like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?"

He pointed at the small shack the Weasleys used to house their brooms, and I nodded.

Dumbledore smiled as he closed the door behind us. "I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Sirius would have been proud of you. It was cruel that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship."

I nodded, unable to speak and unable to look at Dumbledore.

"It's just hard to realize he won't write to me again," I said after a long moment.

"Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before. Naturally, the loss is devastating — "

"But while I was at the Dursleys', I realized I can't shut myself away or — or crack up. Sirius wouldn't have wanted that, would he?" And Lucy... I don't think she'd want that either. "And anyway, life's too short. Look at Madam Bones, look at Emmeline Vance. It could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is, I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it."

"Spoken both like your mother and father's son and Sirius's true godson! I take my hat off to you — or I would, if I were not afraid of showering you in spiders. And now, Harry, on a closely related subject, I gather that you have been taking the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Then you will have seen that there have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy?"

"Yes. And now everyone knows that I'm the one — "

"No, they do not. There are only three people in the whole world who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and two of them standing in this smelly, spidery broom shed. The third is Lucy, of course. It is true, however, that many have guessed, correctly, that Voldemort sent his Death Eaters to steal a prophecy, and that the prophecy concerned you. Now, I think I am correct in saying that you and Lucy have not told anybody else that you know what the prophecy said?"

"We agreed we wouldn't," I replied.

"A wise decision, on the whole, although I think you ought to relax it in favor of your friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."

"I didn't want — "

" — to worry or frighten them? Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Harry. As you so rightly said, Sirius would not have wanted you to shut yourself away." I didn't answer, so he continued. "On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."

I blinked. "Private — with you?"

"Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education."

"What will you be teaching me, sir?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that."

When he didn't elaborate, I asked another question. "If I'm having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occlumency lessons with Snape, will I?"

"Professor Snape, Harry — and no, you will not."

"Good, because they were a — "

I stopped myself just in time.

Dumbledore nodded. "I think the word 'fiasco' would be a good one here."

I laughed. "Well, that means I won't see much of Professor Snape from now on, because he won't let me carry on Potions unless I get 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L., which I know I haven't."

"Don't count your owls before they are delivered. Which, now I think of it, ought to be some time later today. Now, two more things, Harry, before we part. Firstly, I wish you to keep your invisibility cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me?"

I nodded.

"And lastly, while you stay here, the Burrow has been given the highest security the Ministry of Magic can provide. These measures have caused a certain amount of inconvenience to Arthur and Molly — all their post, for instance, is being searched at the Ministry before being sent on. They do not mind in the slightest, for their only concern is your safety. However, it would be poor repayment if you risked your neck while staying with them."

I nodded emphatically. "I understand."

Dumbledore pushed the door open. "Very well, then. I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you are."

We crossed the yard to the house, and I breathed in deeply. Lucy wasn't there, I knew, but Ron and Ginny and most likely Hermione would be. It wasn't home, not really, not without Lucy, but it was close.

Dumbledore knocked on the door three times.

Mrs. Weasley's voice came from the other side. "Who's there? Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry."

The door opened immediately, and we were ushered inside.

"Harry, dear! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky. Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Harry's doing, of course." We noticed at the same time that Mrs. Weasley was not alone in the kitchen. "Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"

"Hello, Professor. Wotcher, Harry."

"Hi, Tonks," I replied, noting with concern how, well, lifeless she looked. Her hair was brown instead of its usual bright pink, and she looked rather sad, almost ill.

Tonks got to her feet. "I'd better be off. Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Please don't leave on my account. I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour," Dumbledore said.

"No, no, I need to get going, good night — "

Mrs. Weasley's face contorted. "Dear, why not come to dinner again this weekend, Remus and Alastor are coming — ?"

"No, really, Molly, thanks anyway. Good night, everyone," she replied as she hurried toward the door and disapparated with a pop a short distance outside.

Dumbledore patted me on the shoulder and bowed to Mrs. Weasley. "Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry. Take care of yourself. Molly, your servant."

And with that, he followed in Tonks' footsteps, and Mrs. Weasley closed the door behind him.

Mrs. Weasley looked me up and down. "You're like Ron. Both of you look as though you've had Stretching Jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are you hungry, Harry?"

"Yeah, I am, actually," I replied. I hadn't even realized just how hungry I was until she asked.

"Sit down, dear, I'll knock something up."

As I did so, Crookshanks jumped into my lap.

"So Hermione's here?" I asked.

"Oh yes. Everyone's in bed, of course, we didn't expect you for hours. Fred and George and Lucy will be by tomorrow night — tonight at this point, I suppose — to see you." The mention of Lucy made my heart swell in my chest. "Something about a welcome party. Here you are — " A pot flew through the air and poured soup into a bowl in front of me. "Bread, dear?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," I said with a nod, not even waiting for the bread to slice itself before I spooned soup into my mouth.

"So you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she sat across from me.

I nodded, mouth too full to speak.

"He taught Arthur and me. He was at Hogwarts for ages, started around the same time as Dumbledore, I think. Did you like him?"

Mouth still too full, I shrugged.

"I know what you mean. Of course he can be charming when he wants to be, but Arthur's never liked him much. The Ministry's littered with Slughorn's old favorites, he was always good at giving leg ups, but he never had much time for Arthur — didn't seem to think he was enough of a highflier. Well, that just shows you, even Slughorn makes mistakes. I don't know whether Ron's told you in any of his letters — it's only just happened — but Arthur's been promoted!"

I swallowed hastily and smiled, even though I was sure I'd burned my throat in doing so. "That's great!"

"You are sweet. Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has set up several new offices in response to the present situation, and Arthur's heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It's a big job, he's got ten people reporting to him now!"

"What exactly — ?"

"Well, you see, in all the panic about You-Know-Who, odd things have been cropping up for sale everywhere, things that are supposed to guard against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. You can imagine the kind of thing — so-called protective potions that are really gravy with a bit of bubotuber pus added, or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually make your ears fall off. Well, in the main the perpetrators are just people like Mundungus Fletcher, who've never done an honest day's work in their lives and are taking advantage of how frightened everybody is, but every now and then something really nasty turns up. The other day Arthur confiscated a box of cursed Sneakoscopes that were almost certainly planted by a Death Eater. So you see, it's a very important job, and I tell him it's just silly to miss dealing with spark plugs and toasters and all the rest of that Muggle rubbish."

"Is Mr. Weasley still at work?" I asked to avoid having to agree with her about missing the so-called Muggle rubbish.

"Yes, he is. As a matter of fact, he's a tiny bit late. He said he'd be back around midnight..." We glanced together at the Weasley clock, all of the hands of which pointed at mortal peril. "It's been like that for a while now, ever since You-Know-Who came back into the open. I suppose everybody's in mortal danger now. I don't think it can be just our family, but I don't know anyone else who's got a clock like this, so I can't check. Oh!" Mr. Weasley's hand had moved to traveling. "He's coming!"

A moment later, there was a knock on the back door, and Mrs. Weasley jumped up to answer it.

"Arthur, is that you?"

"Yes, but I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"

"Oh, honestly..."

"Molly!"

"Alright, alright. What is your dearest ambition?"

"To find out how airplanes stay up."

Mrs. Weasley tried to open the door, but it didn't budge.

"Molly! I've got to ask you your question first!"

"Arthur, really, this is just silly — "

"What do you like me to call you when we're alone together?"

Mrs. Weasley reddened, so I busied myself with my soup as loudly as I could.

But I did still hear her whisper "Mollywobbles."

"Correct. Now you can let me in."

The door opened to reveal a very tired Mr. Weasley.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "I still don't see why we have to go through that every time you come home. I mean, a Death Eater might have forced the answer out of you before impersonating you!"

"I know, dear, but it's Ministry procedure, and I have to set an example. Something smells good — onion soup?" He spotted me for the first time as he turned toward the table, and he smiled. "Harry! We didn't expect you until morning!" We shook hands as he dropped into the chair across from me and Mrs. Weasley handed him a bowl of soup too. "Thanks, Molly. It's been a tough night. Some idiot's started selling Metamorph-Medals. Just sling them around your neck and you'll be able to change your appearance at will. A hundred thousand disguises, all for ten Galleons!"

"And what really happens when you put them on?"

"Mostly you just turn a fairly unpleasant orange color, but a couple of people have also sprouted tentacle-like warts all over their bodies. As if St. Mungo's didn't have enough to do already!"

"It sounds like the sort of thing Fred and George would find funny... are you sure — ?"

"Of course I am! The boys wouldn't do anything like that now, not when people are desperate for protection!"

"Especially with Lucy around," I added. "She says she's their common sense filter."

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Thank Merlin for that girl." I tried and failed to stifle a yawn, and Mrs. Weasley pointed up the stairs. "Bed. Fred and George insisted that you sleep in their room, so you can have it to yourself. They've assured me none of the supplies in there are dangerous, so you don't need to worry. Now go on, dear, your trunk's already up there."

I said good night to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Crookshanks before climbing up the stairs on tired legs. The room was in fact quite full of unlabeled boxes, but they'd been courteously shoved to the side as much as possible so I could get to the bed without tripping over anything. I opted to sleep in just tracksuit bottoms, too tired to even bother with a shirt, and collapsed on top of the bed without a second thought.

My head hit something hard wedged in the pillowcase, though. I plucked out a Puking Pastille, smiled, tossed it aside, then fell back asleep mere moments after my head hit the pillow again.

It felt like I had just closed my eyes when the door to the bedroom opened and someone walked inside.

"What the — Harry?"

I shot up to a sitting position and blinked at the blurry form of blue and orange and purple in front of me.

"Here, these fell," the voice said as a warm hand pressed my glasses into mine. "Sorry, I didn't mean to — the twins didn't tell me — those pricks — I didn't know you'd be in here."

I shoved my glasses onto my face to find Lucy standing in front of me. I paused for a long second to take in the sight of her. Her hair was braided again, the way it had been when we were younger, but the braids started near the top of her head instead of at the nape of her neck. She was a clearer conglomeration of colors with my glasses on, wearing an orange vest and a purple tie on top of a blue shirt the same color as her eyes. Her trousers were the same shade of blue, and she was wearing one orange shoe and one purple shoe.

"Sorry," she said again, "I didn't realize you'd be in here."

"No worries," I replied, smiling. "It's nice to see you."

"It's nice to see you too."

I realized at that moment that I was shirtless, and the realization made my face burn. I realized as well, that Lucy wasn't blushing, which was unusual considering the brilliant shade of red she had turned the last time she accidentally walked into the room when I was shirtless. I studied her face closer, trying to blink the tiredness from my eyes.

"Lu, what happened to your...?"

"Oh, my scars," she said, absently reaching up to touch her cheek. "They, er, make me too easy to spot. Death Eaters can identify me too easily if they're exposed."

"Oh." I couldn't find a more intelligent response for her than that in the moment. "I'm sorry."

Lucy snorted. "Why? I thought it was a great idea. No one wants to see those anyway."

"I'm sorry you have to hide," I said, with a passion that surprised even me. "You don't have to hide from me, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," she replied in a soft voice that definitely belonged to a Lucy Everlin Diggory that was blushing furiously, even though I couldn't see the pink beneath whatever she had used to cover her scars. Her eyes darted back and forth between my eyes and my exposed chest a couple of times before she tentatively hurried forward and started digging through boxes. "The twins sent me over to find more cat food."

"Did you three get a cat?" I asked, climbing out of bed to help her look.

Lucy shook her head. "The pygmy puffs eat it. They — well, they eat anything, but Fred woke up this morning with a pygmy puff's tongue up his nose so he asked if I'd mind getting cat food so they had options other than... you know."

I shuddered. "Nasty."

"Mhm, a bit," she replied lightly. "Aha, found a bag!" She glanced over to see what I was doing and yelped. "Careful!"

"I thought Mrs. Weasley said everything in here was safe?" I said as Lucy reached over and snatched my hand away from the box I had just opened.

"You managed to open the only questionable box, Harry James," she said, shaking her head as she got to her feet, bag of cat food in hand. "Well, I — I should get back." Lucy made rather intense eye contact with me as she backed toward the door. "Go back to sleep. I was never here. This was all just a dream. I'll see you tonight. Bye!"

And with that, Lucy was gone.

I smiled and shook my head. "If that was a dream, Lu, that was a good one."

🩵💛❤️💜

I wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed before I was jolted awake again.

I was brought up-to-date on all of the happenings of the past two weeks as I ate breakfast, which was delivered by Fleur Delacour of all people. There were quite a few new developments for the Weasley family beyond just Mr. Weasley's promotion.

Fleur and Bill would be getting married in the summer of 1997. Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley were all hoping Bill would go for Tonks instead. Tonks was struggling to change her appearance and Hermione believed it was because she blamed herself for what happened to Sirius. Percy had not reached out to his family even though the truth had finally been revealed that Voldemort was back.

I learned that my visit from Lucy had not, in fact, been a dream when Hermione reached into the box I had left open and grabbed something. I did not, in fact, mention anything about this visit from Lucy or say that I had been the one to open the box.

I told Ron and Hermione about the prophecy, the way Dumbledore had said I should. I mentioned that Lucy knew too, and the four of us were the only people who needed to know.

Hermione squeezed the small telescope-like contraption she had grabbed and was promptly punched in the eye.

Then I mentioned that O.W.L. results were supposed to arrive that day, and Hermione panicked and bolted downstairs, Ron following after with a small smile on his face. I followed (fully dressed) ten minutes later to find Mrs. Weasley peering at Hermione's face, wand in hand.

"This has always worked before, I just can't understand it," Mrs. Weasley murmured.

"It'll be Fred and George's idea of a funny joke," Ginny said, "making sure it can't come off."

Hermione groaned. "But it's got to come off! I can't go around looking like this forever!"

"Worst case scenario, one of the twins fixes it tonight, Mione," Ron assured her. He looked up at me, grinning widely, too widely. "Lucy and the twins are coming over tonight to celebrate your escape, did you hear?"

"I did," I said with a nod. "Yeah, Hermione, I'm sure Lucy could heal it up too."

"Right. Right, she could. Oh..." Hermione jumped to her feet and began pacing. "Mrs. Weasley, you're quite, quite sure no owls have arrived this morning?"

"Yes, dear, I'd have noticed, but it's not even nine, there's still plenty of time."

Hermione's worried rambling was interrupted by a voice from a nearby room.

"OI, LUCY LEFT HER BRAIN IN THE BURROW TODAY, HAS ANYONE SEEN IT?" The door to the kitchen burst open to reveal Fred Weasley — clad head to toe in orange, with a purple vest and blue tie — who immediately grinned. "Oh, dear Merlin, this is — hi, Harry, I'll just — hold on." He ducked out of the room again. "GEORGIE, GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE, YOU'VE GOT TO SEE THIS!"

After a loud whoosh, two sets of footsteps bounded toward the kitchen, and the door banged open again.

"Oh, hi Harry!" George said with a bright smile, waving. "Lovely to see you sooner than expected."

"I trust our room was alright?" Fred asked.

"No, it was not!" Hermione squawked, pointing to her eye. "What was that?"

The twins winced in unison.

George rushed forward to inspect the damage. "Sorry about that. You must have found a boxing telescope. I'll go get our bruise removal paste, we just put the finishing touches on it on Tuesday."

With that, George left the room, and Fred looked at me with a knowing smile. "Any other hazards in our room we should know about, Harry?"

"Nope, none," I replied immediately, shaking my head, "no hazards at all."

Hermione suddenly screamed. The owls with our O.W.L.s had arrived. Four, from the looks of it. Mrs. Weasley opened the window to let all of the owls in, and I untied the envelope reading LUCY DIGGORY and set it aside before untying my own and ripping the envelope open.

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

Pass Grades: Outstanding (O), Exceeds Expectations (E), Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades: Poor (P), Dreadful (D), Troll (T)

Harry James Potter has achieved:

Astronomy — A

Care of Magical Creatures — E

Charms — E

Defense Against the Dark Arts — O

Divination — P

Herbology — E

History of Magic — D

Potions — E

Transfiguration — E

I breathed a small sigh of relief. Not bad, not bad, not bad, that's great, not surprising, not bad, not surprising, oh no, not bad.

The only grade that was bothersome to me was Potions. Professor McGonagall told me I would need an O in Potions in order to proceed to the N.E.W.T. level, which I would need to become an Auror. It seemed silly to be upset about something like that, considering the state of the world, but I felt a twinge of disappointment regardless.

Ron was grinning. "Only failed Divination and History of Magic! And who cares about them? C'mon, swap."

Ron and I switched pieces of parchment, and I felt a little bit better as I skimmed his grades. He didn't have any Os, and I did.

"Knew you'd be top at Defense Against the Dark Arts! We've done all right, haven't we?" Ron said, passing me my grades back.

"Oi, what's this about needing bruise removal paste?" a third voice called from the other room.

"In here!" Fred called back.

Lucy entered the kitchen, a small container in her hand. "Who's hurt? And — Merlin, are those O.W.L. results?"

She tossed the container aside in her rush to grab her envelope, and Fred snatched it from midair just as George walked back into the kitchen.

"Hermione?" Fred asked, noting with concern the way she was standing by herself, hunched over her paper.

Ginny poked her in the arm. "How'd you do?"

"Not bad," Hermione replied.

Ron hurried over to her to look over her shoulder, and Fred approached her with the container of bruise removal paste, but I only had eyes for Lucy as she ripped her envelope open and studied the parchment, lips moving rapidly as her eyes flicked back and forth between the subject names and her marks.

After a long moment, Lucy exhaled heavily and lowered the parchment.

"And?" I prodded quietly, nodding at her.

Her blue eyes met mine, and she smiled ever so slightly. "I did alright. How about you?"

"I'm sure you did more than just alright — "

"Lucy!" Hermione squeaked, rushing over, part of her face smothered in yellow goo. "I didn't hear you come in! Switch!" The girls exchanged pieces of parchment, and after a second, Hermione gasped. "Lucy!"

"Nicely done, Mione," Lucy said with a smile as they traded parchment back.

"Not as nicely done as you! Merlin, Lucy!"

Lucy glanced around the room after Hermione's outburst. I didn't need to see her blush to know she was blushing. Her eyes landed on the twins, standing side-by-side, arms crossed, wearing identical grins.

"So how'd you do, Cub?" George asked. "All Os, I'm assuming?"

"I think we found your brain, by the way," Fred reported, grin widening as he glanced from me to her to me to her.

"You idiots left the shop unattended!" Lucy gasped. "It was nearly nine when we left — it's surely nine by now — we need to — I'm going now!"

She sprinted from the room, braids flying behind her, parchment still clutched in her hand, and we heard her Floo away with a whoosh.

George shook his head, still grinning. "She seems to have forgotten that it's our store, and we can open it whenever we damn well please. O.W.L. results are certainly worth opening up a couple minutes later."

"How'd she do, Hermione?" Fred asked.

"Wait... Hermione," Ron said, "if you got all Os except for one E in DADA, then that means..."

"George was right," Hermione replied. "Outstanding across the board."

George beamed. "We figured she would. C'mon, Freddie, let's go open the shop and continue to take the mickey out of her for the rest of the day."

"See you all tonight!" Fred called over his shoulder as they disappeared from the room.

The rest of the day crawled by at an agonizingly slow pace. I knew that the shop closed at 6:00 and they wouldn't arrive a moment sooner, but I had one eye glued to the clock all day. I couldn't wait to actually be with Lucy. Me, fully clothed. Her, not hiding her scars. Just us, business as usual.

Once the clock struck six, I parked myself by the Floo, beloved copy of Flying with the Cannons sitting on my lap. I wasn't reading it, not really, but I was determined to make it look like I was.

Twenty minutes later, the Floo roared to life, and Lucy landed on the rug in front of me. Her hair was cascading down her back in waves, and — was that glitter?

She turned around, presumably to shout something up the Floo, but her eyes met mine first. She blushed, noticeably, with her makeup gone, and I smiled.

"There you are."

There you are, Lucy.

There you are, after a long two weeks.

There you are, looking as beautiful as ever.

There you are, not hiding anymore.

There you are, right in front of me.

I got to my feet, tossing the book aside, and the two of us hugged tightly.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said as we let go, smiling at me. "One second." She looked around the room briefly, then dropped to her knees in front of the fireplace and cupped her hands around her mouth. "YEAH, THERE'S ROOM!"

"Room for what?" I asked.

The arrival of George Weasley with a turntable clutched to his chest answered my question.

I laughed. "Oh, so this is the famous turntable?"

"Table-turner, actually," George said.

Lucy rolled her eyes, smiling at me. "He's very insistent. Henry is the one who told him it was called a table-turner. I think Henry was just pranking him, but George always says — "

"Whatever Henry says goes!" he finished. "Run along, ickle firsties. Leave the set-up to us. COME ON DOWN, FRED!"

Lucy and I made our way to the kitchen, where Ginny was watching Ron and Hermione play chess.

Ginny's eyebrows shot up to her forehead. "You should have worn red to the Yule Ball, Lucy, that's working for you."

"Thanks," she replied, blushing again as she met my eyes for a second before looking away.

Once she looked away, I glanced at her. Ginny was right — the red shirt she was wearing was pretty. I was never one to really ever notice what someone was wearing, but she looked nice. Very nice.

"Who's winning?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from Lucy to look at the chess game.

"Who do you think?" Hermione mumbled.

Lucy snorted. "Good to know some things never change. Gin, I haven't flown in ages, I can feel my Quidditch skills wasting away, can we — "

"YES!" Ginny jumped to her feet and grabbed Lucy by the hand. "Let's go! We can use a Quaffle as a fake Bludger! Come on, Harry, you can be our target!"

"I happen to like my nose the way it is, thank you very much," I retorted.

"Aw, don't be a spoilsport, Lucy could heal it up!"

"I like your nose the way it is, too," Lucy said, "but you're welcome to watch from a safe distance if you'd rather not watch Hermione lose at chess — no offense, Hermione."

"None taken," she replied, and the girls exchanged a small smile.

Their friendship still appeared to be fragile, but it was healing.

I followed Lucy and Ginny out to the yard, where Lucy and I both borrowed brooms. They only hit the Quaffle around for a bit before getting tired of it, so it quickly devolved into a game of dodgeball — as in, "Whoever has the Quaffle lobs it as hard as they can at the nearest person, trying to knock said person off of their broom while said person either dodges it or catches it." Lucy was, obviously, the best, with all of her years of playing Chaser. Ginny and I managed just fine, though, and by the time dinner was ready, each of us had knocked the other two off at least once.

The meal itself passed in a blur. Lucy sat between the twins and directly across from me, and she was absolutely magnetic. I could barely look away from her — I didn't even notice that Fleur was sitting right next to me. Lucy was glowing, sparkling, glittering, shining, absolutely brilliant in every way. I hadn't seen her smile so much in far too long. And I couldn't help but notice that many of her smiles were directed right at me.

Once dinner was over and everything had been cleared away, I followed Lucy into the living room, where the turntable had been set up in the middle of the room and WWW sparklers of every color in the rainbow had been lit.

"You choose the music," she said, gesturing toward the stack of records on a side table. "We've been working to expand our collection."

"Meaning you've broken into more stores and left behind more gold pieces?" I asked.

Lucy grinned. "Precisely. Now come on, we're here to celebrate you coming back. What's it going to be? Queen? Billy Joel? ABBA?"

"I don't know," I said, holding my hands up in surrender. "I guess I'll just look at album covers until I find a cool one."

"Whatever floats your boat, Harry James," she replied as her smile widened. She practically jumped on me in another hug. "I'm just glad you're here." She let go almost immediately, her face bright red. "Come on. Music. Choose."

I ended up choosing an album whose cover had five men in the snow — I was going for irony. The first song that played, though, certainly got my attention, and the attention of the others as well.

Fred burst into the room as soon as the chorus started, screaming along, "I-I-I-I-I'm hooked on a feeling!"

Lucy rolled her eyes even as she laughed, and soon enough, George and Ron and Ginny and Hermione filed into the room as well. The second song on the album, called "Pinewood Rally," sounded like fun, but after a couple of seconds, we all decided that "Hooked on a Feeling" was better, so the twins worked together to charm the turntable to magically reset so it played over and over and over and over and over.

We all learned the words quickly, and the energy in the room continued to grow with each repeat. Lucy continued to shine like the stars she loved so much as she laughed and sang along and laughed again. Time and time again she tried to coax me out of the corner of the sofa I had decided to occupy, but each time, I smiled and shook my head.

The majority of my nightmares of the past weeks had been about Lucy. There were many about Sirius, of course there were many about Sirius, but he was gone, the same way Cedric was gone, the same way my parents were gone, the same way Lucy's parents were gone. He was gone, and as much as I hated everything about what had happened, I would never get another chance to make it right with him. He was gone.

But Lucy was alive. She had been with me through it all. Our experience in the Department of Mysteries had been nearly identical, all the way down to being possessed by Voldemort. I still saw her, broken on the floor, I still heard her, and her horrible sounds of pain. Day, night, or somewhere in between, all hours of the day, Lucy was on my mind. I loved her, I loved her so much I would never be so stupid as to ever let her follow me like that again, so I remained firmly on the sofa.

At the end of the day, I was still a marked man. I was still "the Boy Who Lived," I was still "the Chosen One." I was still a danger to everyone I loved.

Lucy was brilliant, Lucy was beautiful, Lucy was life and light and love personified.

I loved her, I loved her so much I was content just to bear witness to her her happiness from a safe distance away and cling to the smiles she sent my way made me feel whether they were deserved or not. She was intoxicating. Her joy was infectious. I had no idea if she knew if I was in love with her or not, I had no idea if she was in love with me or not, but the song was right. Just the thought that she might be, the residual radiance of the love in her eyes when she looked at me, was enough to make my head spin, enough to make me ache for more of her. I would always be hers, in whatever capacity she wanted me.

I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed something so wonderful sooner, but I knew that I would never be able to let her go since I finally, finally, finally, finally, finally had.