A/N:

4/17/19

welp.

Life happens, and life has dragged me away from prioritizing any creative pursuits for quite a while now. Things are starting to settle down, and I intend to try to dive back into this story. As it wasn't finished when I stopped posting, and I've lost all my notes, I'll have to do some reconstructing here, so bear with me. For those of you who were following this story before I dropped off the map two years ago, I will be pulling the chapters down and making slight revisions, fixing typos and such over the next few weeks. I intend to repost the edited version one chapter a week, which should give me time to get caught up and ahead, so I can post new chapters every two weeks or so. I look forward to chatting with any of you who might still be interested in my little ideas!

Also, while I love and appreciate feedback, I have had the general outline for this story in my mind for years. If you don't like a pairing or a plot I use, please don't ask me to change it. I know a ton of people are stickler's for canon pairings, but I am not. This is going to be very AU, and canon pairings will be the least of that. There will be some who were villains in canon who may be redeemed, and vice versa. Few are what they seem at first glance, and one of my favorite things about fanfiction is the ability to find creative backgrounds and purposes for some of the under-utilized characters. If you like my concept and writing enough to continue reading, great! If not, I appreciate you giving me a shot.

Original author's note from 2016 is below.

Cheers, everybody!

~*~Alibi (AVA)

A/N: Assuming I'm successful, this will be an epic-length story, AU after OotP. It encompasses the trio's 6th year and continues onward through the rest of the war. There will be character death, abuse, assault, and many other triggers. If these will cause you true discomfort, please stop reading here. One of my biggest goals in this story is to deal with true consequences and true reactions to abuse, trauma, and war.

The focus of this story will be on the characters and their journeys, so call it drama/adventure, I suppose. There will be pairings, but they won't be the point of the plot, and I will not reveal them in advance. Many will develop quite a while into the story. Please review with any thoughts/comments. This is beta'd only by myself, so any spelling or glaring grammatical errors that you notice, please go ahead and point out. (Eventually, I'll need a Brit-picker, I suppose, as I'm an American gal.)

And now, we begin.

The Paths We Tread

Prologue:

Small Steps Spiraling Down

Somewhere in England

July 10, 1996

"Exxxcellent," the sibilant voice echoed in the darkness. Pettigrew trembled, his knees sore and his throat dry, as his lord sat with his eyes closed, a gentle smile on his face. The giant snake slithered past, brushing against his back, and he grimaced as his stomach turned.

Images flashed through his mind, him turned into a rat and running in the darkness, snarling and hissing echoing behind him from different directions – hunted by his old friend from one direction, by his master's pet from another.

He shook his head as another voice brought him back to present, Lucius Malfoy's drawling tones echoing through the darkened room.

"I quite thought so, my Lord," the disgraced aristocrat murmured softly. He stood by the fire, his face half-turned away from the Dark Lord, his hair gleaming in the firelight. It had been perhaps two hours since he had been broken from Azkaban, the Dementors quickly eliminating all human guards. He had gone to Voldemort first, of course, then straight into the bath before speaking with anyone else. He stood regal and proud, a muscle in his jaw twitching every so often.

"With the allies of Potter eliminated," he continued, "the boy will blame himself and spiral into depression. Draco tells me the boy is prone to melancholy and self-loathing as it is, it shan't take much to push him over the edge. A handful of his friends dead, and with messages left for him, should do the trick just fine."

"And you see no place," Dolohov questioned sharply, "for any of his friends among our ranks? Children they are, certainly, but some are... talented." A sick smile twisted his darkened features, and his tongue darted out and wet his lips quickly. Pettigrew suppressed a shudder. The man had been obsessed with young Hermione Granger since that day in the Ministry, speaking often of how musical he thought her screams. He wanted, quite desperately, to have her in his grasp again.

Malfoy sneered. "Which would you take? Only the Weasley brats and Longbottom are of acceptable stock, and even then, their parents were the enemy. Besides, they are," he added in a tone of grudging respect, "loyal little things. Only the Imperius curse would sway them. And unwilling servants are vexing. "

Dolohov made a noise of dissent as Voldemort nodded thoughtfully. "Potter had a gift for inspiring loyalty," he said simply. "His father was much the same, would you not agree, Wormtail?" He smirked down at the cowering man, his red eyes flashing.

James, Wormtail thought brokenly, shaking his head. "No," Voldemort continued. "I suppose you wouldn't know much about loyalty, would you, my traitorous friend?"

Red eyes glared across the room to where Malfoy and Dolohov stood. "Capture the Mudblood and the Weasley girl alive," he instructed. "We shall use them to send Potter a more – poignant message. Exterminate the rest, every last family member of his Inner Circle. Be ready to move on Halloween."

Malfoy nodded sharply and Dolohov grinned. Both men swept from the room, Malfoy whipping Pettigrew with his cloak as he passed.

Hundreds of miles away, Harry Potter woke with a start.

Granger Household

London, England

July 10, 1996

Being home felt strange.

Hermione sat curled in her window seat, a book propped open on her knees. The only source of light was a small ornate lamp sitting on her bedside table, and the only sound, the steady rain that fell outside the window. Night would fall soon, and she hadn't seen the sun peek out once all day.

She shivered, pulling her light shawl closer around her shoulders, and leaned her forehead against the glass. Pain flared in her midsection again and she grimaced, taking slow, deep breaths as she fought the suddenly increasing heat in her veins.

Ironic, really, that when Dolohov had attacked her, he had gone for her blood. The Entrail-Expelling curse, while nasty and lethal if he'd been successful, was the less insidious thing he had done to her. Not for the first time, she questioned her decision to keep the boys (her boys, part of her mind cried) in the dark.

You should tell, her traitorous mind whispered. They have a right to know you're going to -

"Hermione?"

She turned her head slowly, the action jarring her neck and causing her to wince. Her mother stood in the doorway, that ever-present look of sadness and fear on her face. Emma Granger, Hermione reflected, had never been good at hiding her thoughts. Finally, her parents were beginning to understand what their daughter faced, what she had walked into when she joined the wizarding world all those years before.

A sneer curled across the face of the man standing at her mother's right shoulder, as he stared straight into her eyes as if he could hear her self-pitying diatribe. With a slight flinch, she forced down her pain and fear, and straightened her spine, her chin lifting and a slight – though forced – smile teasing at the corner of her lips. A flash of something almost like approval lit Snape's black eyes.

The potions master stepped around the two women still hovering in the doorway, crossing the room to sit at Hermione's desk. He reached into his crossbody bag and began pulling out flask after flask, and Hermione forced her face to remain blank as she watched him set each one carefully on the wooden surface. The rain began lashing harder at the windows as he retrieved the tenth vial, and her mother and Madam Pomfrey stepped fully into the room.

The two women shared a not-so-subtle glance of concern, and Emma sat gingerly on the corner of Hermione's bed as Madam Pomfrey knelt before the teen. The matron drew her wand and began murmuring incantations under her breath, numbers appearing and floating in the air around them. As she pressed her hand to Hermione's forehead, feeling for fever or chill, she and Snape frowned at the numbers shimmering around her form.

"The toxicity isn't decreasing," Pomfrey muttered as Snape rose from his chair, flicking his wand and making an IV setup appear in the room. Hermione grimaced, shrugging out of her shawl and rolling up her sleeve, as her mother gave her a watery smile.

"But it hasn't risen," Snape replied smoothly, giving Hermione, and then Emma, a pointed look. "Something we're doing is working, at least in part."

"The transfusions?" Emma Granger asked quietly, and Hermione scoffed under her breath. Her parents would both prefer to believe that it was the blood transfusions that were combating her condition, as it seemed much more 'normal' to them. They could understand it, unlike all the charms and potions. Idly, she wondered if they would still be comforted if they knew all that was added to the blood that was being given her.

As if on cue, Snape smirked slightly, picking up the small vial which held only slightly glittering, transparent liquid. With a steady hand, he poured three drops into the IV bag, followed by a ruby red, viscous liquid. Leaning forward, he attached one end of the IV to Hermione's arm, then tapped his wand to the bag. As was now a regular practice, Hermione conjured a mirror to float in front of her face, so she could watch the transfusion begin to do its work.

She was hideous, she thought blankly, as the tingling began in her arm. Her face was tinged with blue, her veins all standing out in stark relief against her skin. Glancing down at her arm, she watched the progression of the fluids through her veins, the slight golden light emanating from within her skin. Slowly, it coursed throughout her body, the blue tinge fading and her veins, while still visible, now less prominent under her slightly-warmed flesh.

All in all, the process took roughly twenty minutes. Hermione sat perfectly still, watching her face in the mirror. Slowly, her eyes turned back from the bloodshot red they had been, to her normal coffee-brown. She ignored the soft pings of magic as the numbers floating around her form began to drop, she ignored her mother's soft whispering with Pomfrey; all but her skin regaining warmth and color escaped her notice.

When the IV bag was empty, and the glow had faded, it was Snape who gently removed the IV tube from her arm, and Snape who vanished the contraption. Pomfrey bustled around her, taking reading after reading, before finally proclaiming the transfusion a success yet again. The matron handed the teen a small vial from Snape's collection, and she knocked the potion back with a cringe. Instantly, the slight lingering fuzziness in her head began to clear.

Her task complete, the mediwitch patted Hermione's hand gently, then turned and left the room, Emma hesitating only a moment before following. The moment they had gone, Snape pointed his wand at the door and closed it with a sharp thud.

Hermione was silent for several moments, but finally, she spoke. One hand toying with the edge of her shawl, now wrapped around her again, she said softly, "I'm not ready for this."

Snape resumed his seat at her desk, watching her with dark eyes, seemingly considering his response. Finally, he offered, "You could tell them. Fools though they are, much as they vex me, they would support you." He had an expression on his face as if he couldn't believe what he had just said, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh – somehow, he managed to make support sound like a dirty word.

"I don't want anyone's pity," she said staunchly. "Madam Pomfrey and my parents, Professor McGonagall, they're all bad enough. I can't bear - "

She trailed off despondently, and Snape said nothing. With a sigh, she rubbed at her eyes tiredly, and Snape let out an uncomfortable cough at the sign of weakness.

"To be truthful, news of your infirmity spreading would be disastrous," he murmured finally. "Yet the energy you will have to expend to maintain the glamours – "

"I can handle it," she replied stubbornly, and the corner of his mouth lifted in an almost-grin.

"Yes," he replied, "I daresay you can. I simply wish - "

"No!" she said sharply. "I've just told you, I want NO pity."

This time, he did smile. Somehow, even the well-meaning look appeared cruel on his face. "The dreaded potions master, feeling pity for a Gryffindor brat?" he murmured snidely, and Hermione chuckled again. "Very well, practice," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione took a deep breath, nodded, and raised her wand. With a flick of her wrist and several whispered incantations, the last visible traces of her veins vanished. Her eyes brightened and the bags disappeared from underneath them. Only her hair and nails still showed any signs of ill-health, her nails without shine and her hair limp and, as always, slightly frizzy. She jabbed her wand this time, and her hair took on a slight bounce and shine, and smoothed slightly, though still fraying at the ends. She brought back her mirror, eyeing herself critically.

"Well done," Snape said softly, a rare smile gracing his features. "See how long you can maintain it. Owl me when it drops. And have Tonks and Shacklebolt give you some suggestions for improving the Glamour when they arrive."

Hermione nodded absently, still staring in the mirror. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, and Snape clasped her shoulder lightly as he stood. His movement startled her and she raised her eyes, smiling sadly at the man who, these days like so many others, was responsible for saving her life. "Thank you," she whispered, and Snape scoffed.

Completing their now-typical back-and-forth, he replied only, "Thank me when we've found a cure." With one last, sharp glance, he turned on his heel and vanished.

Alone again, Hermione turned back on her windowseat, pulled her knees back up to her chest, and propped her book back open. Leaning her head against the window once more, she closed her eyes and listened to the rain.

The Burrow

Ottery St. Catchpole

July 10, 1996

Severus Snape appeared on a dusty stretch of dirt road, looking up at the most ramshackle house he'd ever had the displeasure of seeing. Shifting his cross-body bag, he stood and scowled a few moments before he began walking toward the front door. He hated these thrice-weekly visits, but fortunately, they were almost at an end.

Molly met him at the door, her usual smile looking rather forced of late. She saw him through to the sitting room and quickly disappeared – to start a pot of tea, or begin making the dinner she'd try to guilt him into joining, he was sure. The purpose of his visit sat silently, staring into the fire and twitching the fingers of his right hand every so often.

Snape said nothing, waiting for his presence to be noticed. The red-headed teen didn't move, his shaggy hair glinting in the firelight and his jaw clenched. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the tail-end of raised, scarred welts was visible on his arms. As he watched, the teen stiffened in his seat, lowering his head into his hands and muttering under his breath.

The weeks following the Department of Mysteries fiasco had been undoubtedly difficult, though none had it worse than Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, he thought solemnly. The poisoning of Granger's blood had caused her to die twice in her hospital bed before he and Pomfrey had realized what was happening – and truth be told, they had almost lost her for good more than once, before an inelegant and temporary solution had been found. The indubitable Mr. Weasley, however, was now subject to what, in Snape's opinion, was an arguably worse horror. He watched, seemingly dispassionately, as shudders wracked the lanky young man's frame, and finally, after several minutes passed, Ronald Weasley sat up and turned towards the professor.

"What was it?" Snape asked quietly, dreading the answer.

"McKinnon," the youngest Mr. Weasley said shortly. He swallowed convulsively, but managed – this time – to hold the contents of his stomach.

Snape grimaced in sympathy. He hadn't been present for the death of Marlene McKinnon, but he had heard much about it after the fact. Rosier always did love to boast. She had died broken, battered, and unable to scream, after being used in the worst ways possible. That Weasley had just had to watch that – had to see it through Rosier's eyes, as if he were the perpetrator –

The young man in question was watching him like a hawk as he cast several privacy charms around the sitting room. Leaning forward in the chair, Snape retrieved a small bottle of ointment from his bag.

Ron, with a grimace, rolled his sleeves up still further and placed both elbows on the end table between them. With a flick of his wand, ointment coated the scars on his arm, and seeped slowly into the skin. Weasley let out a quiet hiss – Scaradicate salve tended to burn.

"I think," Snape said quietly, "the further treatments will prove ineffective."

Weasley simply shrugged, a wry smile on his face. "Battle scars aren't going to upset me, sir," he said quietly. His voice, as it always was now, was tinged with a quiet solemnity. "Are we going to get to it?"

Snape nodded sharply, raising his wand and meeting his student's eyes. He didn't bother with any instructions; Weasley already knew what to do. "Legilimens," he intoned, and Weasley stiffened again in his chair.

It was three hours before they left the room, Weasley pale and shaking, Snape scowling and chilled. He handed his student a calming draught, nodded once at Molly, now sitting at the kitchen table, and swept from the house. As he readied to disapparate, he heard Molly's crooning voice as she tried to calm her son.

Foolish woman, he thought bitterly. You can't soothe away these nightmares.

Mad-Eye materialized in the walkway before him, the Weasley patriarch at his side. The pair nodded at the potions master and walked away, disappearing inside the house. Snape watched silently as the wards slammed down around the property, shimmering in the air around him and then vanishing.

He spun once on his heel...

And he was gone.

Longbottom Manor

Somewhere near Glasgow, Scotland

July 11, 1996

Neville flexed his fingers, letting out a slow, shaky breath as pain shot up his arms. Spots swam before his eyes and he shook his head roughly, trying to force them away.

"Easy!" McGonagall said sharply, frowning, and Neville scoffed slightly under his breath. With a muttered oath, he opened his eyes, focused on his target, and uncurled his fingers.

"Reparo," he said softly, and watched as the shards of his shattered clay pot fitted themselves together. His hand was trembling noticeably, the motions jarring his wand. He swallowed harshly, his brow furrowing as he glared at his hands and slowly, the trembling lessened until neither of them could see his wand move.

That would have been impressive, for me, he thought darkly, if I hadn't shattered the thing by missing my target to begin with. Shoving aside thoughts of inadequacy, he raised his wand again, sharp concentration keeping his hand somewhat steady, and shot the arrow spell through the tiny hoop across the greenhouse.

"Good," McGonagall said approvingly. "Well done, Mr. Longbottom."

He smiled softly. His professor had gone out of her way to compliment him since she had first heard the way his gran regularly cut him down. It was almost amusing, hearing the usually-stern Gryffindor head heap praises upon him.

Their physical therapy sessions were almost at an end. Over the course of several weeks, he had learned several stretches and exercises to help with the muscle cramps; he had rebuilt the strength in his legs, the dexterity in his hands, and the endurance of his lungs. Now, except for his hands, his physical condition was almost better than it had been before the Cruciatus exposure.

Except for his hands. Except for the constant, shooting pains through his body. He was almost better off.

Stockier now, instead of husky, he had shot up several inches over the summer and now stood an easy six foot. His hands, though unsteady, were broader, his shoulders were wide, and his jaw was hardened, his baby fat almost gone. The constant exercise had melted away his excess pounds, and his clumsiness, too. He was fairly certain, however, that he'd be the only male at Hogwarts to be practicing both yoga – for balance – and tai chi – for his calm.

McGonagall was watching him with pursed lips, and the expression on her face said that she had tried to get his attention more than once. He shook his head once more to clear it, focusing in on his teacher.

"Good," she said again simply, then pointed across the greenhouse. A new dummy appeared in the opposite corner, a bullseye on its center. As he watched, it sped from side to side, veering across, then forward, then back. She stood back, folded her arms across her chest, and glared at him over her glasses. "Hit the target," she said sharply. "No damage to the rest."

Neville nodded, took a deep breath, and raised his wand.

Somewhere in England

July 10, 1996

"Faster!" Lupin barked, and Ginny wheezed harshly as she raced through the obstacle course, spells flying around her. Lupin and Charlie circled the course, firing at her and her battle partner every so often as they dodged, rolled, and skidded along. A jet of fire shot out of the hedge to her right, and Ginny veered into Luna with a sharp cry, sending them both slamming into the ground. The dreamy blonde's hair was smoking at the ends and she gulped in air frantically, shoving her hair away from her eyes with a shaky hand. She glanced at Ginny and nodded; she was fine. The youngest Weasley grinned back impishly.

They struggled to their feet against the heavy packs on their backs, and raced again for the exit. As they ran, Ginny shot stunning spells towards their attackers while Luna wove a shield charm around them. The young part-fay's eyes glowed as the air around them sparkled, and Ginny fought to keep her head from spinning under the sedating influence of the magic in the air.

A sharp turn, hurtling around a corner, and the ground beneath them gave way. Luna yelped as they landed roughly in a pile of leaves and branches. They jumped up again and kept going, but the branches raised up and started to bind together, blocking their path. Growling under her breath, Ginny skidded to a halt, Luna slamming into her back and almost knocking them both down again.

The redhead watched with narrowed eyes as the branches curved in, knotting together and blocking their path. She raised her wand, drew a deep breath -

"Bombarda!" she cried, and the branches exploded. Grabbing Luna's hand, she dragged the blond through the gap even as it closed, branches tearing at their clothes. Around them, javelins started hurling themselves out of the earthen walls of their passage, and Ginny groaned in annoyance as Luna shoved her down to the ground.

Shell Cottage

Tinworth, Cornwall

July 11, 1996

He knelt on the floor, eyes closed and hands raised before him in concentration. Dumbledore sat silently at the desk, watching as his student traced shapes and patterns in the air. Across the room, Bill Weasley stood with his back pressed to the window, arms folded across his chest and his wand dangling from his left hand.

They had spent the better part of an hour going through the runes and movements he would need for the channeling spell, but Harry still didn't understand what he was trying to accomplish. Ron had always spoken of his eldest brother's brilliance, however, and Bill said the runeswork was important, so Harry simply gritted his teeth, shoved aside his impatience, and got on with it. Hadn't the eldest Weasley son earned Harry's consideration?

So Harry traced a dozen more designs in the air, moving slowly, carefully, lest he draw one wrong. A whispered breath echoed from his lips, and the runic shapes turned a shimmering gold, melting together and exploding outwards in a burst of song. In the spot where the runes had been, a dove appeared, flying away with a startled cry and a rush of wings. Harry opened his eyes, and smiled.

"That," Dumbledore said, smiling softly, "was beautiful."

Harry turned towards his headmaster and smiled back, then frowned just as suddenly, his brow furrowing. "How is this going to help me fight?" he asked sharply. "The shields, the transfigurations, the curse and hex training, all of that makes sense. How is summoning a bird going to help?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers before his face, looking at Harry over the edge of his half-moon glasses.

"Focus, Harry," the Headmaster returned, "what do you feel?"

Harry frowned thoughtfully. Biting back his instant reply, he leaned back on heels and turned his senses inward. He could feel a tingling throughout his body, a gentle, quiet hum and a steady warmth – his magic, he realized with a gasp. He could feel his magic, could sense it like he had never done before, except in Ollivander's shop.

He glanced sharply at Bill, who quirked one eyebrow silently, then turned again to Dumbledore, and the headmaster smiled. "Exactly," Dumbledore said softly. "Now that you know how to find your core, and better channel your magic – we can delve into true wandless abilities."

A feral smile grew on Harry's face.

Grimmauld Place

London, England

July 17, 1996

The Order of the Phoenix reconvened six weeks before the school year was to begin.

The members gathered silently in the dusty and solemn house, arrayed around the table in odd groups. The summer had already been long, drawn out, and eventful – not least of which, eventful in that the Order had swelled by six members, against the express wishes of Molly Weasley. With a strange look, half-grimace, half-smirk, Ron Weasley settled himself in his assigned seating with Mad-Eye on his left and his father to his right. He met his sister's dark gaze and grinned when she glared roughly at Mad-Eye. They had begun group combat training four weeks before, and Mad-Eye had chosen to attack her vanity and roughly chop off her hair with a cutting curse that, if it had connected with her, could have taken off her ear as well.

Ginny Weasley knew how to hold a grudge like nobody else, and Mad-Eye should be watching his back even more than usual, he thought idly.

As everyone settled down in their chairs, his eyes drifted around the table. Hermione sat adjacent from him, talking with Shacklebolt and Snape in low, earnest voices. Harry was, as he should had been, to the left of the head of the table, turning a small runic charm over in his hands again and again. Across from him was Bill, his eyes resting on the moody teen. Fleur squeezed his shoulder and leaned into him, whispering something in his ear, and he nodded but didn't look away.

Luna sat to Ginny's right, perched on the end of her chair with Charlie on her other side. The dreamy blonde Ravenclaw was tracing symbols into the table with her wand, smiling now and then as a puff of light flashed up from the table's surface. Brow furrowed, Lupin watched her from Ginny's left as she giggled under her breath, and Ginny rolled her eyes fondly.

Neville sat at the furthest end of the table, McGonagall at his right shoulder, his hands laying flat and still on the table-top. A book floated in front of the pair, now and then turning a page with a crisp noise, and both looked utterly engrossed and unaware of their surroundings.

Ron let his gaze travel over the others gathered at the table, from Tonks who nursed a cup of coffee in one hand and a set of maps in the other, to his mother, scowling at all the teens, to Vance, who was flipping idly through a Transfiguration magazine, to Dung, muttering sharply under his breath as he scribbled in a small notebook.

This was it. This was their whole inner circle.

He turned sharply as Dumbledore strode into the room, Hagrid and – holy Merlin, Viktor Krum at his heels. Hagrid and Krum split off, heading for the far end of the table with Neville and McGonagall, and as Ron watched, his father shifted in his chair and shot a strange look towards Krum. Ron turned towards his father with a questioning look, and the balding redhead shook his head, biting his lip sharply.

Ron sighed, rubbing his right arm absently. Across the table, Luna looked up from her carvings and watched his hands, a sad, lost look on her face. He pulled a face at her and she shrugged, going back to tracing the table.

Dumbledore cleared his throat once, and all side-conversations stopped. Luna ceased etching the table, and Neville dropped his book with a thud.

"We must discuss continuing the children's training at school," he said quietly. "For obvious reasons, it would be best that the rest of the student body not realize the – extent – of their lessons." At this, Snape frowned darkly, and the rest of the table nodded in agreement.

"Harry," he continued, "had a suggestion for a location where we could continue their training, that would not be easily accessible. That, in fact, only he, or those taught by him, could open."

Ginny stiffened in her chair, and Luna squeezed her hand as Lupin rubbed her shoulder. At the end of the table, Molly Weasley bristled, glaring at Lupin.

"Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said gently, his eyes solemn as he looked at the young redheaded girl, "do you feel you could brave the chamber once more?"

Ginny scowled, shoving her hands under the table, as Ron, Hermione, Neville and Harry all looked at her worriedly. Hermione worried her lower lip between her teeth and Neville stared solemnly as they all waited for her response. Luna just smiled vaguely.

A moment later, Ginny Weasley tossed her newly-regrown hair back from her shoulder and huffed. "A memory isn't going to control where I go and what I do," she said simply, and Fleur smiled at the young girl as every Weasley nodded approvingly. Ginny shot a look at Fleur and rolled her eyes.

"It is settled then?" Dumbledore asked, and Ginny nodded.

Shacklebolt cleared his throat, and Hermione and Tonks immediately turned to look at him. "It would be best if we did a sweep of the place first," he countered. "Yes, we're training the kids in combat, and most scenarios, they can handle well enough with just themselves at this point – but what if Riddle left something else nasty down there? Or, worse, what if there was another basilisk egg?"

Harry frowned. "I don't remember sensing another snake down there, and I think I would have been able to tell," he argued, but McGonagall grimaced.

"You were in terrible shape, Potter, when you and the Weasleys escaped the Chamber," she pointed out gently. "It would be best to be cautious."

"Agreed," Snape said immediately. "Potter, if you could reopen the chamber for us this weekend upcoming, myself, Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye, and Tonks can go in and scour the chamber. Perhaps you could assist, wolf," he added roughly, and Lupin merely nodded as Ginny and Luna scowled.

"Now," Dumbledore said, flicking his wand and lighting the hearth as a harsh wind swirled outside. "On to the real business of the evening. Harry?"

The Potter heir sighed, still passing the runic charm from hand to hand. "Some of you know this already," he said quietly, "but a few days back, I had one of my dreams."

Ron glanced at his dad worriedly, and his mum stood, walking over to her husband and standing behind him with her hands on his shoulders. Harry sent them an apologetic glance – still blaming himself, the git, Ron thought angrily – and continued.

"Voldemort was in a room with Pettigrew, Malfoy, and Dolohov – " Here, Remus, Ginny, and Hermione all stiffened, and Shacklebolt squeezed Hermione's hand as Ginny and Remus exchanged dark looks. "They were talking about an attack plan on Halloween. Basically," Harry paused, "they plan to eliminate us. Most of us."

"What," Neville asked, his voice hard but quiet, "do you mean by most?"

Harry flinched. "The orders are to take Hermione and Ginny alive, and bring them to Voldemort as a lesson. For me."

Hermione paled, and Ginny's eyes flashed.

"Poor Tommy-boy misses his pen pal, does he?" she asked viciously, and her mother sobbed. Down the table, Snape let out a surprised snort, and shot Ginny a look of grudging respect. Beside the redheaded young woman, Lupin growled under his breath.

"Let them try," the lycanthrope snarled.

"Any helpful information about this attack, Potter?" Snape asked with a snide tone, and Harry shook his head.

"Only that Dolohov is obsessed with you," Harry told Hermione, his eyes sad and haunted. "He seemed very keen to get you alone."

"He shan't get near you," Shacklebolt told the young brunette witch, and she shook her head in silence. Standing from her spot down the table, Tonks moved to Hermione's side, transfigured her straight-backed chair into an armchair – shoving Shacklebolt and Snape aside as she did so – and climbed in beside the young woman, pulling Hermione to her side in a firm hug.

"So with no idea as to their actual plan," Emmeline Vance spoke up, "what are our options?"

"We know one thing," Ron replied. "We know when they intend to do this."

"Unless," Charlie countered, "Voldemort wanted Harry to hear the date, so we'd be ready at the wrong time."

"It's all we've got," Ron argued back. "We can make sure that Gin and 'Mione are in a safe location on Halloween night, and be ready to fight, the rest of us."

At this, both girls glared at him, and Hermione's mouth opened to retort.

"Don't," echoed around the table, as Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna, and most of their mentors glared at the pair of stubborn teen girls. "This isn't up for discussion," Harry, their defacto leader, continued. "If we know the intention is to capture you, we cannot have you accessible during that time. Who knows what they'll make you do," he swallowed and let out a shaky breath, "or what they'll do to you."

Looking up, and staring straight in Hermione's eyes, he said quietly, "You're my sister in all but blood. Ginny is Ron's sister. Do you think it's any coincidence they chose the two of you to kidnap?" he asked miserably, and Hermione sniffled as Ginny continued to glare.

"I feel left out," Luna murmured, breaking the charged moment, and several people laughed. Harry glanced down the table, a fond smile on his face.

"Don't worry," he said quietly, in an unusual show of emotion, "I love you, too, Luna."

She grinned at him, for once looking completely aware. "I know."

"Touching," Snape sneered, "though all these declarations are, we have yet to find a solution to this issue."

"Have you heard anything about it?" Neville asked, meeting the glare of his once-Boggart without pause.

The dour man scowled. "No."

"Then there isn't much we can do, right now," Pomfrey said softly, and he huffed.

"All of you are combat-trained now, da?" Viktor asked suddenly, his gruff voice echoing through the room. Hermione's eyes trained on his face as he looked around the room, meeting each of their eyes. "All know how to use many weapons?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "Spell combat, yes, and we've done some hand-to-hand, but no real weapons training as yet."

"I can travel to the school or meet them somewhere on Friday nights," Krum offered, "teach staff and sword, knives." At this, Ginny's and Harry's eyes gleamed with excitement, and Neville and Hermione exchanged worried glances.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, stroking his extremely long beard. "I see no issue with such an idea. Certainly, the more aptitude they acquire, the better." He looked at Krum sharply, "You will demonstrate your skills to Lupin, Shacklebolt, and Alastor?" Viktor nodded silently. "Agreed."

"Anything else?" the headmaster asked, and Snape sighed softly.

"McClaggen. Pucey. Flint. Bulstrode."

"Marked?" McGonagall asked sharply, and Pomfrey drew in a breath.

Snape simply nodded.

"McClaggen is a Gryffindor," Neville said sadly.

"So was Wormtail," Ron muttered bitterly, and Lupin and Harry winced.

"Do we let them return to the school?" Molly asked as she rubbed Arthur's shoulders, still leaning slightly on her husband.

"We can't block them," Tonks pointed out, "not without revealing how we know."

"Unless," Moody said, "we start doing random checks." He uncorked his flask and took a long pull, then said, "Easy enough to justify, after what just happened."

"But would we wish to?" Hermione asked, her mouth twisting in a grimace. "If they are at the school, we can keep an eye on them – perhaps gain additional information. It's not a pleasant thought, but – "

"'Ermione 'as a point," Fleur said haughtily. "If zey are under zurveillance at ze school, zey should not be able to cause much damage. And you shall 'ave ze advantage of knowing what zey are doing at all times. Eet ees ze best option." Bill rubbed her shoulder lightly with a vague smile.

"I concur," McGonagall said with a frown.

Silence reigned the room for several moments, then Ron's mum straightened and declared, "Well! Dinner time, I think," and she disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, the food she had prepared earlier came floating into the room and settled in the middle of the dining table, and Ron quirked a smile. Slowly, everyone began to dig into the meal, and individual conversations started up again.

For once not rushing to the food, Ron sat silently and looked around the table. An image flashed across his mind – a young, black-haired woman, lying bloodied and unseeing on the ground. He swallowed, forcing the image away, and shook his head to clear it.

Harry, as if sensing his sudden shift in mood, gave him a sharp look, and Ron grinned at his friend and reached for the mash like nothing was wrong.

Grimmauld Place

London, England

July 17, 1996

As after every training session or meeting, Harry had been spirited back to Privet Drive by the guard of the hour. The teen had shot a sullen glance Dumbledore's way, and Ron watched as his mum, muttering under her breath all the while, bustled around the dim kitchen wrapping and shrinking care packages for Harry to take with him. His dad clapped Harry on the shoulder as his mum slipped the packages into his pockets with a sniff. After a moment, Vance cleared her throat, shooting an apologetic look at Bill, who was leaning nonchalant against the cabinets, arms folded across his front and face blank.

Ron stood in the corner and watched Harry turn his head and look at Bill questioningly, watched Bill quirk his lips slightly and shake his head... and watched as Harry's face fell.

As Ron bit back a swear, Bill stepped forward and put an arm around Harry's shoulder, talking to him in a quiet, hurried voice. Harry's back straightened and his eyes hardened slightly, and the scrawny teen bit his lip and nodded. Ron's eldest brother just smiled softly, patting Harry on the back before he walked out of the room. Without another word, Harry looked up and shot Ron a lopsided smile, moving to touch the umbrella Vance was holding out.

Ron turned his back on his parents, who stood together in the kitchen, still watching the place where Harry had stood, and turned to go after Bill -

But his brother had already vanished.

Swearing under his breath, he stalked up to the room he and Harry had shared the summer before, and found the rest of their group sprawled around the room. He stepped through the door and shut it sharply, and no one looked up.

"Did he seem - ?" Hermione asked from her perch on the desk, leaned halfway against the window. The curly-haired girl seemed to grimace as she trailed off. Scooting slightly on the desk, she turned to face more towards the room, and scrambled to catch the book that almost fell from her lap.

"He is calmer than he was last summer," Ron said heavily, throwing himself onto his bed with a sigh. The mattress bounced and Ginny glared at him as it jostled her and Luna. With a muttered oath, his sister resumed her task of braiding Luna's hair, the blonde girl halfway in Ginny's lap.

Ron eyed them curiously for a moment. Those two, he thought, were strange. If he didn't know how boy-crazy his sister was...

Then again, he thought to himself, plenty of people probably think Harry, Hermione, and I are strangely close.

He watched silently as Luna shifted on the bed a bit, sliding down so she was resting her head on Ginny's knee, then glanced over at Neville. The stocky Gryffindor was sitting on the other bed, tossing a rubber ball up against the wall and catching it over and over again. His hands shook now and then, but he just scowled and kept going.

"I don't know how," Ron continued, shaking his head, "but Bill is getting through to him. He was able to calm Harry out of a right funk, and Harry looked to him for guidance on how to act when Mum and Dad were pressing him. Maybe...?"

"Is he going to ask Dumbledore again?" Neville asked with a frown, and Ron scowled.

"He was gone as fast as Harry was," the red-headed boy replied. "Maybe that's where he went, but I dunno."

"Dumbledore will never let Bill take him," Ginny scoffed. "He doesn't care that Bill is starting to make Harry feel safe, he doesn't care that he could take care of him. He just wants us to follow his orders without question, even when they hurt us and help nothing."

"I don't think that's fair," said Luna quietly, looking up at Ginny with a frown, and the red-headed girl looked away.

"Whatever his faults, I do believe Dumbledore has all our best interests at heart," Hermione put in quietly. "Even he can be wrong. Maybe he truly doesn't believe it's that bad there. Maybe..."

"Maybe he'd rather let Harry die a little more each summer than risk it," Ginny shot back. "The Dursleys are as bad as Snape. And has he ever stepped in to stop him?" the redheaded girl demanded roughly, glaring at Hermione.

Ron looked back and forth between his sister and his best friend and sighed. Hermione bit her lip and looked down; he knew perfectly well she wasn't going to explain her strange new detente with their cruel Potions Master.

"Maybe it'll work this time," Neville said softly. "Maybe he'll listen."

The group just looked at each other, then looked away. In moments, the only sounds in the room were the rubber ball bouncing off the wall, the rustle of turning pages, and the steady thrum of the rain against the windows.

Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

July 17, 1996

"I didn't break it," Harry insisted quietly, his eyes flashing and his hands bunched into fists in his pockets.

"Like hell!" Vernon Dursley roared, stalking right up and screaming spittle in Harry's face. "That vase was on my porch when I got home, boy, and Petunia and Dudders aren't back from the shops yet! Who else, I ask you, who else could have done it?"

Neighbors, Harry thought to himself. A cat. A branch falling from the storm. He scowled as he stared back at the large man. Logic just wasn't Vernon Dursley's strong suit.

The Gryffindor boy took slow, deep breath, willing himself to remember what Bill had said about confrontation. 'Stay calm, stay firm, don't rise to their taunts, you'll be out of there soon,' the eldest Weasley son had told him when he left Grimmauld, and Harry stared as his uncle glared at him threateningly. It had been years since his uncle had been this forward, and he was honestly a little unsure what to do. If his uncle hit him, and he defended himself - well, wouldn't Dursley throw him out? And then what about the blood wards?

The man was still ranting, and it turned to white noise in Harry's ears as he reached up and fiddled with the dragon tooth necklace Bill had given him.

"Uncle Vernon," he started, in what he hoped was his most ingratiating voice, "I'm sorry the vase is broken, and I am happy to go fetch you a new one, but I didn't break it."

The man's face turned impossibly red, his eyes flashing with rage. "Oh, that's a laugh," his uncle jeered as he glared at Harry, and the teen took an involuntary step back. Like a predator smelling blood, his uncle moved forward again, pushing Harry back into the corner. "How do you mean to do that, I wonder? Planning to steal it, are you, boy, then come rushing back here and bringing the police down on my house?"

"No, I - " Harry cut himself off, swallowing.

"Where have you been, anyway? Off at another meeting with your little friends? Are they going to come threaten me again?"

The man took another step forward, and Harry felt his back hit the wall. Suddenly, he was four years old again, running from a cast iron skillet aimed at his head.

"I've had it," Dursley declared suddenly, and Harry's blood froze as the man looked him in the eye for the first time that night. "I have had it with you, and your freakishness, and your freeloading, and your lies. We tried to stamp it out of you, we tried to fix you, but I guess there's just nothing for it."

"Uncle Vernon, what-?" Harry's voice died in his throat. Without another word, Vernon Dursley reached around the corner into the kitchen, his hand coming up with a fireplace poker. Before Harry could react, his uncle was swinging and everything went black.

Headmaster's Office

Hogwarts

July 17, 1996

"That isn't right, and you know it," Bill Weasley said calmly, twirling his wand idly in his left hand as he spoke. The Headmaster smiled benignly as he looked at the cursebreaker, his eyes twinkling.

"William," he began.

"Bill," Bill corrected tersely; working for the goblins had taught him it was a mark of respect to call someone by their chosen means of address. Nine years out of Hogwarts, and the Headmaster's insistence on calling him "young William" still rankled.

"It is admirable that you wish to take such an active role in young Harry's life," Dumbledore continued as if Bill had never spoken.

Start with a compliment, and then - Bill thought.

"Especially as you had only met a handful of times before this summer." Behind the Headmaster, the phoenix shifted on its perch, large black eyes staring unblinking at Bill.

Almost to script, Bill thought wryly. "There's nothing admirable about it, Headmaster," he said calmly. "Harry needs an adult he can trust, one who can put him first. My parents care, but they have too many others to look after. He hasn't really connected with any other adults aside from Sirius, and..." Bill's voice trailed off there, and he shook his head and leaned forward in his chair, "I think I can help him, and I know I can keep him safe."

Dumbledore regarded him seriously, his gnarled hands steepled beneath his chin as he peered over half-moon glasses. "I realize you are a talented wardmaster and cursebreaker, William. No one can refute that. But I am not certain you fully understand what you are asking - "

A sudden burning pain seared Bill's chest and he swore violently, one hand coming up to pull the dragon tooth pendant out of his robes. The tooth was glowing a brilliant blood red, and Bill shot to his feet as Fawkes let out a shriek.

Harry.

Bill grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the mantle and threw it into the flames, as behind him, one of the Headmaster's trinkets let out a stream of smoke. "I'm not asking," he snarled over his shoulder. "The Three Broomsticks!"

Before he had even stepped fully into the tavern, he was apparating to Privet Drive.

A man of manners though he was - Molly Weasley would have it no other way - Bill wasted no time on niceties. Strolling up the drive, he simply blasted the door off its hinges, and indignant shouts sounded from inside the house. As he stepped over the threshold, he shot off three quick Patroni, then hardened his expression to his most menacing look. He found the family of three in the living room, the fat abuser sitting in an armchair with his scrawny wife hovering over him, their large son having scurried behind the armchair when they heard the door fall.

Bill didn't say a word, just leveled his wand on them as Dursley began to splutter. Behind Bill, he heard a loud pop outside, and then the quick footfalls of his father and the near-stomping of his brother. His dad and Charlie walked up behind him, wands already drawn, and Petunia Dursley paled as she looked at the grim group. The sudden sound of crunching glass echoed as Shacklebolt joined the group, but Bill never looked away from Vernon Dursley.

The rotund man had a huge gash on his forehead, running nearly to one eye. His right arm hung limply at his side and his face was badly scratched. Harry, Bill realized, had not gone docilely.

"Not so fun when they fight back, is it?" Bill asked quietly, and the boy behind the chair whimpered. Harry's aunt - his damned aunt, his blood, Bill thought angrily - froze at the quiet fury in his voice. Her gaze had been on Shacklebolt - he couldn't blame her, the man was certainly imposing - but her eyes snapped back to Bill the instant he spoke.

Bill looked away from the Dursley for a second as Shacklebolt stepped closer, meeting Petunia Dursley's eyes and smiling at her grimly. Yes, he thought to himself, you should be afraid of me.

"It wasn't us!" the walrus of a man suddenly shouted, and Bill turned back to the male Dursley yet again. "The boy just attacked us! Think he's gone round the bend."

"Is that so?" Bill's father asked genially, but the kindly man's eyes didn't match his tone. "I've known Harry quite a while, you see, and I've never known him to attack someone unprovoked. Why, most of the time, he won't even defend himself!"

Dursley's mouth shut with an audible click.

Charlie hadn't said a word, nor had Shacklebolt. Both of them moved off through the house, wands out as the checked room after room.

"I will only ask once," Arthur said in the same genial tone. "Where is Harry?"

"He ran," a shaky voice replied, and Bill and Arthur looked at the portly boy silently. Dudley Dursley hesitated for a moment, then shoved out from behind his father's arm chair, dodging the man's arm as Vernon Dursley tried to pull him back. A quelling glare from Arthur froze the large man in his seat, and Dudley cleared his throat.

"I don't know all of it - Mum and I came home and Harry was on the floor, and Dad was standing over him with a poker. Then there was this," the boy swallowed, his triple-chins quivering, and let out a shaky breath, "this flash of light, and Dad was thrown across the room. Harry scrambled up and then he ran out the door without a word. We went to check on Dad. He was bleeding."

Dudley let out another shaky breath, then looked up and met Bill's eyes. "I went to the door to look for him, but he was gone."

As Vernon Dursley began to splutter at his son, Charlie and Shacklebolt walked back into the room. "No sign of Harry," his brother reported. "And his things are all here, even his owl."

"Shut up, Dad," Dudley suddenly said shakily, and Bill turned to look at the family again. The large boy sighed and looked over at Bill, then looked away, biting his lip. "He saved me. Last summer. Those... those demented things -"

"Dementors," Petunia Dursley corrected quietly, a sour look on her face.

"Whatever," Dudley replied. "I thought he had set them on me, but he protected me. So... I guess I owe him."

Bill barely managed to hold back a scoff. He could care less if the little bully was starting to have an identity crisis. "Was Harry hurt?"

Petunia and Dudley Dursley colored as Vernon began to grumble again. "I didn't really see him, but... there was blood on the floor," Dudley replied.

Bill turned his back on the family. "Get all his things and bring them to my place," he ordered sharply, and Charlie nodded and moved off towards the stairs. "Shack, check Diagon and Hogsmeade, Dad, his friends' places and your house. If you find him, contact me."

Shacklebolt swept for the doors immediately, but his father hesitated a moment, glancing at the Dursleys before nodding and heading for the doors himself. Petunia Dursley shifted in place, then looked at Bill with a scowl.

Charlie came down the stairs a few moments later, nodded once, and walked out to the street. Bill waited until he heard his brother Disapparate before he spoke again.

The Dursleys stayed rooted to the spot as Bill twirled his wand, drawing golden characters in the air. He chanted under his breath before calling "Iustitia, exaudi me!"

The golden characters swirled in the center of the room like a tornado, then flew outwards and melted into the walls. The golden light faded after a moment, and the Dursleys stared in horror. Bill turned his head to look at Vernon Dursley and took a step forward -

Charlie's Patronus slammed into the room and Bill froze as he heard his normally calm brother's frantic voice. Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the house and disapparated, landing in the sands outside Shell Cottage. The shore was brutal, sheets of rain scoring his skin as he raced across the beach. His porch came into sight and he skidded to a halt.

Charlie stood just inside the porch, looking worriedly at the black-haired teen who sat on the steps. As Bill moved forward, Harry raised his eyes to meet Bill's gaze, but he didn't move.

Bill just walked over and sat down on the steps next to the teen.

Charlie shot him a look then murmured, "I'm gonna go find Dad and Shack. You might want to call Pomfrey."

One last worried look at Harry, and the dragon handler walked across the beach and disappeared.

Bill sat silently on the porch beside Harry, listening to the rain beat down around them, a chill sinking into his bones as the wind changed directions. One step back, and they would both be under the cover of the porch roof. Harry must be freezing, and Merlin knew he had injuries that needed tending, but Bill knew if he spoke first, if he moved first...

The silence stretched on, and finally, Harry spoke. "Can I - can I stay here a few days?"

Bill smiled. "You can stay as long as you like." Standing, he turned and offered a hand up to the younger wizard. And as Harry stared at his feet, he finally got a chance to take stock of the boy. He was soaking wet, as if he had been sitting out in the rain for hours. There was blood coming from his temple and neck, what looked like fingerprints on his throat, and his t-shirt was bloodied on the side.

And that was just what Bill could see from a glance. For Merlin's sake, Bill had been with him only an hour before! If Vernon Dursley had had more time...

I will kill him, he wanted to say.

Who could do this to a kid? he wanted to scream.

Instead, he said simply, "Come on. Let's get you into some dry clothes."

Harry finally cracked a wry grin and grabbed Bill's offered hand, and Bill pulled him to his feet and ushered him gently into the cottage.

Headmaster's Tower

Hogwarts

July 18, 1996

It was well past three in the morning when Albus finally returned to Hogwarts. Unravelling the mess the Weasley boy made had taken far longer than he had hoped. In his rush to get to Harry, William had shown no regard for the Statute of Secrecy, and neither had the others, really. Apparating and Disapparating in full view of the Muggle neighbors, letting Hedwig fly from outside, and even vengeance curses -

He should really talk to young William about his temper. And Kingsley - the others, he could understand, but an Auror, forgetting the Statute?

He turned the corner to his tower and sighed. All that aside... he had to figure out how to get young Harry back to that house, and back under the blood wards. But how to restrain the Dursleys? And how to convince the Order that it must be done, it must be borne, after they hear about the events at Privet Drive?

He stepped off the staircase and stopped short as he entered his office. From a chair by the fire, Arthur Weasley rose to his feet, an uncharacteristically grim look on his face.

"Hello Albus," the Weasley patriarch said quietly. "We need to talk."

A/N: Well, there's the prologue done. We have hit the ground running and we are off!

Next chapter, more consequences, more healing, and a behind the scenes look at the Order and the Ministry. And, of course, Harry and co are done waiting around...

Review if you have anything to say! They are appreciated, like cookies or cheesecake.

~*~ Alibi