Chapter Text

"Warrington! No!"

Harry Potter shot out of his dream, out of his bed, and back into his slightly musty bedroom in his Godfather's house at Grimmauld Place, in London. By the time his feet hit the cold, creaky floor, his wand was in his hand. Ron Weasley—his best mate, sleeping in the next bed over—cracked an eye.

"Y'alright, Harry?" he asked sleepily.

Harry set his wand down and ran his clammy hands through his wild tangle of black hair, taking deep, slow breaths, drinking in the dark room: the peeling wallpaper, the mass of his tangled sheets. The peacefulness—the normality—of it all, was so different from the graveyard he'd been dreaming of just moments before.

"Yeah, Ron, everything's fine. I'm going to go downstairs; you go back to sleep."

Ron rolled over and was snoring instantly.

Harry padded down the hall, taking special care by the portrait of Mrs. Black, the previous owner of the house. She liked being woken in the early hours of the morning even less than she liked being woken up at other times of the day.

He found, as he reached the kitchen, that he wasn't the first person up for the day. Mrs. Molly Weasley was a kindly-faced woman with her son's red hair who was currently wrestling with the kitchen's rather temperamental stove. His other best friend, Hermione Granger, was currently curled up in a chair by the kitchen table, mug of tea on one knee and a newspaper on the other.

"Morning," Harry offered as he entered.

"Harry, dear!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, bustling over. "Good morning. It's early for you, isn't it?" She checked her watch. "Oh my, yes. Did you sleep alright? Are you feeling clammy? Sick?" She peered at his face, looking at his color, then tried to place her hand on his forehead.

Harry ducked the hand and sat in the chair next to Hermione. "I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley, thanks for asking. Just up early, that's all."

Mrs. Weasley hmmmmed, obviously unconvinced. "Well, if you're sure, dear. The cleaning schedule is pretty light today, so if you need to have a kip this afternoon, you certainly may. I was about to start making breakfast—would you like an egg and some toast? Tea? There's a pot already ready."

Knowing the quickest way to get Mrs. Weasley to stop fussing—Harry liked the attention but hated being fussed over—he agreed and sat down next to Hermione moments later with eggs, toast and a heavy mug of dark tea.

As Mrs. Weasley retreated back to the kitchen to continue her preparations for breakfast—with many loud clangs and bangs and rushing water to remind Harry and Hermione that she couldn't hear them, even though she probably could—Hermione leaned over and whispered "I know you're still having nightmares, Harry,"

Harry shrugged, filling his mouth with hot eggs to avoid having to answer. He didn't want to start the slide into another shouting match; his temper had been on a hair trigger all summer.

"Fine," Hermione hissed, taking in his non-response. "Don't talk about it. But I'm worried about you, Harry. Ron's worried about you! Mrs. Weasley and Sirius are worried about you too."

Harry froze. He had thought that he had kept his nighttime visits to the graveyard, if not a secret, at least quiet. His resolve to avoid a shouting match melted away as hot anger licked at his insides. There was only one person who could have given him away.

He rose from his chair. "Excuse me while I go kill my squealing best friend—" he growled rising from his chair.

"Harry!" Hermione reprimanded, placing a hand on his arm and pulling him back down. "For your information, I haven't heard a word about this from Ron. I sleep right down the hall! When you shout in your sleep, I can hear you! When you wake up in the middle of the night and pace around the house muttering to yourself, Sirius can hear you!" She was keeping her voice so low and fast that it was practically a hiss.

Harry glowered and settled back down into his chair.

"Harry, what you're going through is a normal part of grief. The anger, the nightmares, it's all normal. We just want you to talk to someone, anyone, about it."

Harry, still glowering at the remains of his eggs, said nothing.

After a long silence, Hermione offered "I never really knew W-, um, Cassius. Did he-? Was he. . . nice?"

Harry didn't speak for a long time. Was Warrington nice? Not really, in Harry's recollection, although they'd only spoken on a handful of occasions, and only at length for two.

They dwelt in silence for a long moment, the clatter and banging from the kitchen filling the quiet between them. Harry knew she wasn't going to let it go—couldn't let it go, probably—and so when it seemed she couldn't stand it any longer and was about to try again said "The very last thing he did was save my life."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione put her hand to her mouth "I'm so—" Harry did not want, did not need, could not possibly use, her sympathy at that moment. If he stopped he would never, ever be able to get the words out, and so continued over her "We got to the end of the maze at the same time, Fleur and Krum were already out. I was pretty banged up—I was picked up and then dropped by an Acromantula and my . . . I did something to my leg. I couldn't run." He shifted uncomfortably, remember the pain, the exhaustion. "Honestly, I could barely walk. We dueled for the cup and he won, but I still got my hand on it. It took us to . . . to that graveyard. And we sort of looked at each other, you know, 'were you expecting this?' and then there was a noise."

Harry swallowed, his throat dry; he took a swig from his mug of tea, just for something to do to delay the moment when he had to say it out loud. Finally, "Then he . . . grabbed me and said 'Stay behind me, Potter!'" Harry tried to adopt Warrington's gruff, brotherly tone. He bit his lip. He looked down, again, at his plate. "Then he died. Wormtail just . . . He, Voldemort, just said 'Kill the spare!' and . . ."

His voice died away.

Hermione said nothing, just moved her chair closer, so her armrest touched his, and they sat there in silence, shoulders touching. Harry let his head fall against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

"Remember when his name came out of the goblet?"

He wasn't looking at her any longer, but he could hear the rueful, sad smile in her voice.

"Yeah." He was smiling too, at the memory. "Fred, George and Ron all got detentions for swearing in the Great Hall."

"What did Ron call him?" Hermione asked.

"I think I called him 'A brutish, pube-headed, knarl-sniffing son of a flobberworm," said the man himself, walking in and yawning, his too-small pajamas showing two inches of ankle. "And that he had a lumber-pile for a mouth." He stopped dead. "Oh, um, good morning, mum."

"Ronald Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley huffed angrily as she hurried out of the kitchen, pots, pans, and serving dishes floating after her like loyal pets. She began flicking her wands and the dishes settled to the table more forcefully than usual. "If I ever-" thunk "hear you-" thunk "describe someone-" thunk "like that-" thunk "again." She rounded on him, hands on hips and with a fierce glint in her eyes "you will rue the day that you were born." She glared up at Ron for a moment. "Is that clear?"

Ron swallowed "Yes, mum."

Mrs. Weasley turned, surveying the empty chairs at the table. "Now, where are Sirius, Ginny and the boys? I sent Kreacher to round them up ten minutes ago . . ." She bustled off.

Ron slid into one of the chairs next to Harry and Hermione. Keeping his voice low "Blimey, you think she'd lay off a bit. He was just a slimy -"

"Ron!" Hermione cut in. "Harry was just telling me—" She broke off, looking at Harry. Harry nodded to her. Hermione continued, voice lowered "Harry was just telling me that Warrington saved his life in the maze." Ron looked from Hermione to Harry, mouth agape, at a loss for words.

So Harry told him the story, too.

Once Harry had finished, Ron asked "A Slytherin saved Harry's life . . . Do you know what that means?" in a breathless, disbelieving voice.

"Yes." Hermione shot back acerbically "If a Slytherin saved Harry's life, or put his life on the line for Harry, it means that not every Slytherin is born evil and you can't just hate them categorically."

Ron rolled his eyes. "This is serious, Hermione! Warrington was a brute! He put some of the Gryffindor quidditch players in the hospital wing!"

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. "And that's the mark of an evil person, is it? How many Slytherins have Fred and George put into the hospital wing?"

"Four hundred, at last count." Came a buoyant voice from the doorway followed by a second, identical voice "That's individual cases, obviously—if we sent Malfoy to the hospital wing covered in pimples, and then, after he gets out, we send him back with acute amnesia and no underpants, that counts twice."

Fred and George—stocky, red-headed twins, identical down to their mischievous grins and the acknowledged pranking kings of Hogwarts—sat down next to Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Only four hundred Slytherins?" scoffed a third voice. Two other people—Harry's godfather Sirius, who had spoken, and Ron's younger sister Ginny entered after the twins, with Mrs. Wesley chivvying them along. "Prongs and I got more than two thousand by the end of our time in Hogwarts. He dropped languidly next to the twins. "It's easiest if you can just get them all at the opening feast."

"That is a metric that could use improving," admitted one of the twins solemnly—probably Fred, in Harry's estimation.

Ginny laughed. "Learn from the masters, boys."

Sirius laughed as well. "No, no, my time is over. I want to hear about what you've been up to."

Harry—eager to keep this topic of conversation going—asked "Yeah, what have you been working on? There hasn't been an explosion from your room in weeks."

"You wound us, my boy," replied George jovially, hand on heart.

"Ickle Harry, holding our youthful exuberance against us," Fred agreed, shaking his head.

Ginny spluttered. "You blew up the burrow three weeks ago!"

Disregarding the near-destruction of his family home with an airy wave, George whipped a small cloth something out of his pocket and set it on the table."Sirius is right, that's all in the past and today, dearest sister, is about the future!" Everyone at the table peered at what appeared to be an ordinary, slightly faded, muggle baseball cap.

Mrs. Weasley bustled over and gave it a brief glance. "Well, it's nice that you've finally learned to sew, dears. Is everyone ready for breakfast?" Everyone began tucking in.

"Mum!" Protested Fred over the sounds of knives and forks. "This is the latest in fashion! In six months, every fashionable witch in Paris and Milan will have one. Here, let me show you."

He picked up the cap and tapped it several times with his wand. The hat shifted—first, to a cowboy hat, then a flowered bonnet, a lime-green bowler, a boater, until it transformed into a straw sun-hat with a purple ribbon. He handed it to his mother, who looked shocked at the kindly gesture.

"Think of it as a late Birthday Present, Mum. We always want to make sure that you're on the cutting edge of fashion." George chimed in.

"Well, it's lovely dears, thank you very much. Let's see how it looks, shall we?" and she placed the sun hat on her head, which promptly vanished.

Ginny screamed. Hermione jumped up. Harry was shocked. Fred, George and Sirius pealed with laughter. Mrs. Weasley—who obviously didn't notice anything out of the ordinary was turning this way and that waving her hands. "What? What is it? What did they do this time?"

It took a moment for everyone to calm down and communicate to Mrs. Weasley what had happened. "Headless hats!" George choked out, still laughing.

"That really is extraordinary magic," admitted Hermione in a slightly awed voice. "I didn't see any rippling-that's not a disillusionment charm, it's real invisibility, like—" she glanced at Harry significantly "like an invisibility cloak."

Fred nodded, obviously pleased that she was impressed. "It was a real trick getting the invisibility to extend farther than the hat itself. Usually you need demiguise hair for that, which would obviously have been prohibitive for something we want to sell for about 10 sickles. What we discovered was—"

Exactly what they discovered Harry never found out, for at that moment an enormous silver bird burst into the room and soared over their heads before perching on the back of an unoccupied chair and speaking with what was unmistakably the voice of Albus Dumbledore. "I will be arriving shortly with young Mr. Longbottom. Sirius, Molly, everything that we feared has come to pass and I believe they will need to leave immediately if we're going to have a chance of success. Please begin the necessary preparations." Then the bird dissolved into silver vapor, vanishing even more quickly than it had arrived.

Everything immediately descended into bedlam. Sirius stood so quickly that his chair toppled. Without pausing to right it, he sprinted farther into the house bellowing "Kreacher! Kreacher!"

Harry shot up too, hands clenched. "What's going on? What did he mean 'Everything that we have feared has come to pass?' Why is Neville coming?"

Mrs. Weasley wrung her hands anxiously. "Harry, dear, Professor Dumbledore will explain everything once he arrives, which looks to be in just a few minutes. But it sounds like . . . ooh, dear, Harry, I'm sorry, but it means that you aren't going to be returning to Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione. I have to go start packing . . . " She bustled off worriedly, muttering to herself and wringing her hands.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, George, Fred and Ginny stared at each other over the remains of the breakfast that they had so merrily been eating only moments before. What could possibly have happened that would force him to leave Hogwarts? His thoughts flitted to a past desire to live with Sirius—but no, Mrs. Weasley and Sirius had left to pack, so wherever he was going to be, it wasn't Grimmauld Place. Harry had mused on the fact that the safest place in the world was wherever Albus Dumbledore happened to be at the time. What had happened that was so dangerous that neither the ancient castle of Hogwarts, or the magically hidden Grimmauld Place, were safe enough?

Hermione was the first to break the silence, and Harry's slowly restarting train of thought. "But why is Dumbledore bringing Neville? There aren't any other 'Mr. Longbottoms', are there? Just Neville and his Grandmother."

Harry lifted his shoulders. "Neville's parents were in the Order in the war. Mad Eye was showing me a picture." The picture had been melancholy for Harry-on one hand, his parents, waving and smiling. On the other hand, half the people in that photograph had died within the year, including his parents.

"Yes but . . . Neville . . . " Hermione trailed off, looking delicate.

"Neville isn't exactly the brightest lumos in your year, is he?" George broke in.

"Couldn't transfigure a heel out of a loaf of bread," agreed Fred.

Suddenly, Ron shot up just like Sirius had done, knocking his chair over. "You're leaving! I-wait! Just-" he spluttered and ran to the fireplace "don't leave without me!" He dashed over to the fireplace, threw a pinch of floo powder into the flames and shouted "The Burrow!" before vanishing in a whirlwind of green flames.

Hermione turned, looking concerned. "What's gotten into—" she stopped, frowning, before turning back to Harry. "It sounds like Dumbledore's coming right now, Harry. You should probably go get dressed." Harry made a face as he glanced down at Dudley's threadbare pajamas and nodded.

Five minutes later, Harry descended back down to the main floor dressed and with his hair, if not lying flat, at least sticking up all over, rather than just on the side of his head he had slept on. Hermione and Ginny were sitting in the living room, arms crossed and looking sour. Ginny looked up when Harry entered.

"Mum banished us out here. She said we were underfoot." Ginny muttered, looking rather darkly at the door that leads into the rest of the house. "And the door's unperturbed, as well, so we can't listen."

Hermione looked anxiously at Harry as he sat. "Dumbledore hasn't arrived yet, but no one seems to know exactly when he'll be here. I did see Mrs. Weasley collecting your clothes from the wash, and Sirius told Kreacher to collect your school things, and then he wandered off to his study, looking for passports." Hermione rattled off, obviously trying to keep Harry as up to date as possible.

"That's when Mum kicked us out." Ginny growled.

"Passports? Whose passports?" Harry asked.

"Yours, it sounded like." Hermione replied.

"The Dursleys would never have gotten me a passport."

"It is good then, that we did not rely on them to acquire the document, as it's absence would have hindered our plans. Hagrid commissioned it on your behalf when you first went to Gringotts, almost exactly four years ago." Dumbledore, in robes that shifted from lavender to stormy grey as Harry watched, strode into the room, Neville nearly tripping over himself in his haste to follow.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore nodded in Harry's direction without meeting his eye, and any hopes that Harry might have had about the Headmaster's behavior being less distant were immediately dashed. His greetings and head nods to "Ms. Granger, Ms. Weasley," were every bit as formal, every bit as cool and polite. "I trust you will make Mr. Longbottom feel welcome. I need to speak with Molly and Sirius. Please excuse me." Dumbledore swept out of the room.

Neville was looking around nervously. "Um, Hi everyone. Are we really in . . . Grimmauld Place?" Neville's voice stuttered, even as he tried to speak casually.

"Um. yeah." Given the events of the morning, Harry wasn't expecting that particular question and was eager for any additional information about what Dumbledore was up to. "Sit down." Harry waved at an unoccupied chair. "What happened, Neville? Do you know what's going on?"

Hermione gave him a withering glance. "Be polite, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes, then turned inquiringly to Neville, now seated nervously in a chair. Neville shook his head. "I don't know anything useful, really. I was eating breakfast when I saw Professor Dumbledore come in. That's not really a big deal, I mean, he and Gran have been friends for years and years. She's in the Wizengamot and always votes with Dumbledore." There was an underlying tone of pride through this. "Then she came out and said that Dumbledore would be taking me to London and that I probably wouldn't be going back to Hogwarts for this term. We apparated outside, and Dumbledore told me "#12 Grimmauld Place is the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix" and we came in." He peered at them all. "What is the Order of the Phoenix?"

Harry flopped backwards in his chair, sighing loudly. "It's the anti-Voldemort group that Dumbledore ran in the last war. He's put it back together since Voldemort came back in June."

"And you all live here? All the time? Am I going to get to join too?" Harry lifted his head. Neville's face had a very un-Neville, almost rapacious gleam to it.

Ginny shook her head. "No, it's not like that." Her voice was sour. "We're under-age. Even Fred and George aren't allowed to join, and they are of age. We mostly just live here. All we've been doing is cleaning this . . . house." She gestured at the peeling wallpaper.

Neville deflated. "So then, what are we doing here if we're not going back to Hogwarts?"

There was a moment of confusion at this, until Hermione caught on. "Oh no, Neville. Ginny and I and the twins—and Ron, whenever he gets back from the Burrow—are all going back to Hogwarts. It's just you and Harry that Dumbleore singled out."

"Me and . . . Harry?" Neville blinked in confusion.

"I don't know either, mate." Harry glared at the door, as if doing so would make it open. To his surprise, it did, and Sirius stepped out from the doorway.

"Neville?" Sirius strode in with a grin, his hand extended. "I'm Sirius Black, good to meet you. I was friends with your parents."

Neville eyes were wide with terror. He fumbled at his pocket, drawing his wand to point at Sirius' chest.

Sirius just laughed, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I'm innocent, I swear! Just ask Harry. Or Dumbledore. He wants to see the pair of you in my Dad's office, just up the stairs." His eyes fell on Neville's wand. "Is that your dad's wand?"

Neville was in the middle of pocketing his wand when it fell out of his fingers. "Um, y-yeah, M-mister Black. How did you know?"

Sirius laughed again. "Well, I'm not that innocent. Your dad was Head Boy one year, a couple years ahead of me at school and caught me sneaking around after curfew. We had a bit of a duel over it, actually."

Harry was intrigued. "Who won?"

"Merlin's pants, Frank did. Wiped the floor with me, honestly. Your dad was a powerful bloke, Neville." He eyed the wand, which to Harry looked rather battered, and took in Neville's generally timid appearance. "The wand working well for you? It's rare for a son to be able to use his father's wand."

"It's . . . alright." Neville pocketed it, looking sheepish but wary.

"Glad to hear it." Sirius said heartily, before gesturing through the door he had just left. " Three floors up those stairs, first door on the left, you can't miss it."

Harry led the way up the creaky stairs to Sirius' dad's office. Harry was surprised to notice that even one step above Neville, they were the same height. Neville had grown quite a lot over the summer and lost some of his round-faced appearance.

"What's your guess as to what's going on?" Harry asked as they ascended.

"No idea." Neville shook his head. "Have we done anything wrong, do you think?"

Harry shook his head. "If it was something like that, McGonagall would handle it herself, wouldn't she? And it could wait for the start of term."

Neville chuckled nervously. "Not unless they snap your wand automatically for melting your hundredth cauldron."

Neville's self-deprecating humor caught Harry off guard, and he laughed as well. "Then you would have been expelled at the end of your first week rather than now," he teased.

"I didn't melt a hundred cauldrons my first week!" protested Neville. "It took me at least two!"

They laughed together before stopping suddenly; had reached the third floor and Harry halted before the closed door. They glanced nervously at each other one more time before reaching for the doorknob when Dumbledore's voice reached their ears. "Harry, Neville, please come in; time is very short."

The boys shared one more glance before entering the awaiting office.

Harry had never been in this room before. Sirius had informed them that it was too dangerous and, having met Sirius' mother's portrait, Harry wasn't inclined to argue. Somehow, even deep in the house, there was a dirty window looking out on the muggle park outside Grimmauld Place. Even with the window, the room was close and claustrophobic, filled almost to bursting with dark bookshelves and dusty, mysterious knickknacks. The walls above them were crowded with portraits in dingy frames, all empty and slightly ominous.

"Harry, Neville, please sit down, we have much to discuss," Albus Dumbledore's voice brought Harry's attention to the man himself. Harry had seen the Headmaster at close quarters on several other occasions and had never seen him looking quite so careworn. Up close, Dumbledore's robes looked rumpled as if he'd worn them through a long day, although it was still quite early in the morning. He gestured at two uncomfortable looking high-backed armchairs. Harry and Neville sat in the armchairs, looking expectant.

"As you will both no doubt be aware, after the events of June I have struggled to convince Cornelius and the Ministry that Lord Voldemort has returned and is growing in strength, gathering his followers," He paused for a moment to allow them to speak up, but both Harry and Neville simply nodded and remained silent.

"The Ministry is of the opinion that neither of you is safe at Hogwarts now that the "famed serial killer" Sirius Black has apparently been joined by some of his colleagues." Dumbledore's voice was very dry, and his amused glance fell on Harry with a little of his usual twinkle. "The ministry, or rather, I should say the minister, believes it is unwise at this point in time to leave the safety of two boys sought after by Death Eaters entrusted to a school. It is the minister's opinion that you would be safest in protective custody—"

Harry could contain his outrage no longer, and jumped out of his chair. "But sir! Everyone knows that Hogwarts is the safest place in the world! And you know as well as anyone that Sirius isn't a danger to me or to anyone! I understand that Voldemort or his followers might come after me, but I'm willing to take the risk—"

Dumbledore raised his hands placatingly and Harry fell silent. "Harry, Harry, I understand. More, I sympathize, but the time for these sorts of objections—which I have raised with the minister many times—is past. I do not have the power to thwart the minister when he has the full weight of the Wizengamot behind him, and in this matter they are united as I have never seen them before. And please," he gestured placatingly with his hand. "Think of it from their point of view. Two years ago, a convict with a knife attacked the guardian of the portrait hole, the student in the bed next to yours and even managed to kidnap three students off the front lawn while in full sight of my office windows. And after all that, I have been unable to provide a satisfactory answer as to how a fugitive with no wand managed to infiltrate the castle and grounds no fewer than three times. I cannot say for certain where Cornelius' motivations arise from in this matter, but many members of the Wizengamot are concerned, not for your safety, but for the safety of other students."

"Okay," Harry said slowly, understanding dawning. The ministry thought Sirius had gathered a bunch of Death Eaters to infiltrate Hogwarts and kill him and nothing Dumbledore told them made any difference. He sat. "So what does the minister want?"

Dumbledore's smile was brittle and sad. "A great many things, like most men. And also like most men, he will get fewer of them than he desires. In this instance, however, he would like you moved to ministry custody, I imagine in a safehouse outside Hogwarts until such time as the he feels it is safe."

"By which he means, sir, after the Dementors have caught up to Sirius Black and have him kissed."

"Quite. It will surprise neither of you, I am sure, to learn that that the minister and I disagree about a great many things, this not least of all. You may, of course, take Cornelius up on his offer of safety,"

"Until the Death Eaters infiltrate the ministry, like they did last time," muttered Neville darkly.

Dumbledore nodded. "Just so."

"So . . . if we can't stay at Hogwarts, and we can't go to the ministry, where should we go?" Harry asked. "We're not just going to stay in Grimmauld Place, are we?" The thought of being trapped in this house, even with Neville and Sirius for company, while everyone else got to go have fun back at Hogwarts without him, made him slightly sick.

"No, not Grimmauld Place," agreed Dumbledore. "I have taken the liberty to make some arrangements. As a premier institution of Magical Learning, students at Hogwarts who achieve exceptionally high marks in a particular field are often offered scholarships from other institutions specializing in that field." Dumbledore nodded at Harry. "Ms. Granger, of course, has been offered several of these scholarships, but has declined them all, and I believe, Neville, that you received such an offer yourself last term to research Magical plants in Brazil due to your excellent herbology scores."

Harry—head spinning that Hermione had received multiple offers to study internationally but had apparently turned them all down—glanced over at Neville to see him staring at his shoes, face flushed.

Dumbledore continued "Professor Lupin is and was a well regarded instructor with accreditation and connections across the continent. The pair of you," he gestured at Harry and Neville "are the only two students to achieve a score of "Outstanding" on his final exam at the end of last year. As such, you have both been offered positions at an elite academy in America specializing in personal defense, survival and dueling. The graduates at this academy generally move on to accept positions as elite bodyguards for important members of the American senate or liaisons to the American Muggle armed forces."

At this point, Neville raised his hand. "Sir . . . sir, can I ask a question?"

"Ask away, my boy," Dumbledore responded genially.

"I can see why Harry might want to go, sir, why he might need this . . . stuff, sir. He gets himself into a lot of weird scrapes—" he turned to Harry "No offense."

Harry shrugged. "None taken."

"But he's the Boy Who Lived. He fights basilisks and dementors and dark lords and stuff but I'm . . . I'm just a gardener. I like plants. The closest I've ever gotten to an adventure was when Hermione body-bound me and left me in the common room all night."

Harry winced, feeling guilty, but interjected "There was that time you tried to attack Crabbe and Goyle single-handedly. Or the time you went into the Forbidden Forest to track something murdering unicorns. Or the time you got into the 3rd floor corridor with Fluffy—"

Neville cut him off. "The point is, I'm not, well, bodyguard material, am I? I can barely do magic sometimes. McGonagall was criticizing me just last week about switching spells and that's a first year spell! My parents may have been aurors, but I'm . . ." Neville trailed off as he gestured dismissively at himself, seemingly disgusted with his sum total.

Dumbledore looked grave. "Neville, I believe you are in very nearly as much danger as Mr. Potter himself, and for similar reasons. Please allow me to explain my suspicions." Neville nodded, looking apprehensive.

Dumbledore waved his wand, gently summoning a broad stone basin with intricate carvings on the edges before allowing it to settle on his desk. The contents were silvery and faintly luminous as they slopped around the edges of the bowl but never quite spilling out.

"What I am about to discuss with you is a very grave secret; it goes against my better judgement to reveal this to you at all. You are not to discuss this with anyone other than yourselves. That includes close friends and family. Is that understood?"

The two boys nodded.

"Neville, I understand that you take Divination with Professor Trelawney. I have discussed this briefly with Harry, but it may surprise you to learn that Professor Trelawney has, to my knowledge, made two legitimate prophecies. It is her first prophecy which concerns us today." Neville looked apprehensive, but nodded.

"Allow me a moment, then, to set the stage." He waved his wand at the basin on his desk, and some of the silvery fluid rose up and collected into a figure. The figure's substantial shawls and oversized spectacles made it obvious to Harry that they were looking at Professor Trelawney. She waved her hands in a dramatic fashion but made no noise, revolving in place.

"The year before the two of you were born, I was interviewing Professor Trelawney for the recently vacated post of Professor of Divination. It was not, I must say, a post I particularly desired to fill. Sybil is, however, descended from a very famous and very gifted seer and I felt that politeness demanded I at least meet with her. I will not bore you with the details of the interview. As I rose to leave, however, she began to prophesy." Dumbledore's wand twitched and the spectral figure of Trelawney began to speak as if the real Trelawney were right there in the room. It was not the dreamy, ethereal voice that Harry and Neville were used to from their Divination classes either but the staccato, rapt voice that Harry had heard on only one occasion.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord Approaches . . . born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . "

Dumbledore's wand twitched and the figured stopped moving and speaking. "It was here the barman discovered that there was a Death Eater listening at the door of the room where I was conducting the interview." He paused a moment to let that sink in.

Neville spoke first, mouth dry. "So . . . He knows about the prophecy?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. Harry had no doubt which 'He' Neville was talking about.

"The Death Eater fled and reported immediately to his master; Lord Voldemort knew of the prophecy almost immediately. The silver lining of the situation was that Voldemort knew of the prophecy's existence and beginning, but did not know its full contents. If he had. he may not have acted so rashly."

Harry's mind was racing. "So when I asked you, first year, why Voldemort attacked my family . . . ?"

"I declined to tell you about the prophecy at that time, that is correct. I thought the time was not yet right." Dumbledore answered, looking pained. "Alas, I was unaware of the eavesdropper and would not find out until after the Sybil completed her prophecy."

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about a prophecy"—that apparently pertained to him"—being hidden from him all this time. He glanced at Neville, who was looking anxious.

Dumbledore gestured and the harsh, guttural (and very un-Trelawney-like) voice of Trelawney began again.

" . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not" here Dumbledore again paused her voice. He gazed at the pair of them levelly.

"That's the bit that makes you think the prophecy is about Harry, and not about me," said Neville in a monotone.

"Indeed." Agreed Dumbledore "Although it's important to note that at the time I did not know of whom the prophecy spoke—it could easily have been either of you. Even now I am not certain," he stressed the last word "that it does pertain to Harry." He affixed his gaze solely to Neville. "Your parents were equally as brave, you were born at the end of July and your own life has been marked by Lord Voldemort, just as Harry's has been, although," Harry could hear the small smile in Dumbledore's voice "Perhaps not quite so literally."

Neville's mouth was set in a thin line as he stared at Dumbledore. "Do you think I can get the prophecy from the hall?"

Now Harry was lost.

Dumbledore shrugged, spreading his hands wide. "I am both much cleverer and more well read on the subject than anyone else I know, and I can honestly say I am unsure." He gestured at Harry. "I believe"—for the reasons you immediately deduced"—that the prophecy refers to you, Harry. Mark him as his equal . . . the mere fact that he chose to go after Harry would likely be enough to confirm that. But the scar in addition leaves no doubt in my mind."

"So that's why we're both going," breathed Neville. "You think someone is going to use us to steal the prophecy from the hall. Where are we going? What's the name of the school? It's not Ilvermorny, is it?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "No. Ilvermorny is the largest school in North America, but it is by no means the only one. I suspect that many of your classmates will hail from there. No, the school I've been in communication with is run by an old friend of mine, Major Elinor Montgomery. It's called "Mesa Galgani". Have either of you heard of it?"

Harry and Neville shook their heads.

"I'm unsurprised. Mesa Galgani was established by a Wizard named Ephram Westerham, who was paranoid about his safety and the secrets of his school. The headmasters and headmistresses since have kept a very low profile, and the school is well defended and well hidden. I consider it unlikely that Lord Voldemort or any of his Death Eaters are even aware of its existence. Nevertheless, we have similarly registered the pair of you at over a dozen schools, all much more well known than Mesa Galgani."

"To further reduce suspicion, you will be enrolled under assumed names. Harry Reed Smith," he nodded at Harry "and Frank Neville Little, who prefers to go by his middle name. You are both half-bloods, homeschooled in Ipswitch. The other details," Dumbledore spread his hands "I leave to your imagination."

Harry nodded. Neville, out of the corner of his eye, looked worried and pensive.

Dumbledore checked his silver watch with twelve hands and no numbers. "We are very nearly out of time. There is one last element of grave importance." Dumbledore's smile belied his words. "Because of its greater emphasis on certain educational areas, Mesa Galgani does not have a curriculum for astronomy or divination, and its history curriculum is greatly different than that which is taught at Hogwarts, And while I have every faith in both of your ability to self-study the required OWL material, I would feel remiss if I didn't tell you that it will, in all likelihood, negatively impact your OWL scores in those areas. If either of you feel that this will negatively impact your future careers, let me know now so other accommodations can be made."

Harry and Neville shared glances and grins. History of Magic-easily the most boring class at Hogwarts because it was taught by an inattentive ghost-was not on anyone's list of favorite classes.

Harry heaved a huge, fake, sigh. "If that's the price for safety professor, I think it's one I'm willing to pay."

Neville chuckled. "Personally professor, I was really looking forward to studying Giant Wars, but I think I'll manage."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his eyes twinkling. "I'm glad that you both have proper esteem for your educations, but I understand about desperate times. It is time for you to be leaving, your portkey departs in just a few minutes."

Harry and Neville lead Dumbledore back down the creaky stairs and into the main sitting room, where everyone from breakfast-sans Ron-were waiting. Harry's trunk sat next to Neville's.

Mrs. Weasley was on him in an instant, hugging him, telling him about the peanut brittle and the fudge she'd packed in his trunk. Harry shook the twins' hands, and briefly hugged Ginny before being crushed by a rather weepy looking Hermione. "Ooh, Harry, look after yourself, won't you?"

"Yeah, well, keep your nose clean too, Hermione. I won't be there to talk you out of doing something dangerous."

She laughed and hiccupped before letting him go. "Where has Ron gotten himself to-?"

Sirius and Neville had their fingers on a rusty can and Harry turned to join them when they heard the great whoosh that indicated the floo had let someone in.

"Wait!" Called Ron, who sprinted around the corner, feet slapping the stone floor, still in his too-short pajamas. He staggered, nearly collapsing in front of Harry as he limply held his hand toward Harry. Puzzled, Harry reached out to take whatever-it-was and discovered it was his own firebolt, shrunk down to the size of a ball-point pen.

Harry stashed it in his pocket. He'd almost forgotten his broomstick at the Burrow! He and the Weasleys had spent an afternoon there after his acquittal and they had assumed they'd be back before the start of term, but if Ron hadn't remembered . . .

Harry pulled Ron up with a laugh. "Thanks, mate. I owe you one."

"Ha." Ron panted. "Had Dad shrink it for you. Didn't want you to go without it. Take care of yourself, alright?"

"I will!" Harry leaned forward and added with a whisper. "Look after her, will you?" At Ron's puzzled look, Harry flicked his eyes significantly at Hermione and then back to Ron's. Ron made an "Oh" of understanding, then nodded.

"Fifteen seconds, Harry," called Sirius.

Harry touched his finger to the rusty can, making a face.

The last thing he saw before the hook caught behind his navel and pulled him away was his friends waving and Ron's arm snaking around Hermione's shoulders to comfort her.