"You should have told me, Harry," Hermione sighed. "Do you know how awful it was to hear it all from Daphne Greengrass?"

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered.

Truth be told, he just hadn't known how to tell Hermione that all her endeavours to free the house-elves had resulted in a lot more work for Dobby while the rest of the elves had just refused to come anywhere near the Gryffindor common room. Hermione could sometimes be quite scary in her own right, and Harry really wasn't one to argue.

"I suppose I understand," Hermione said, as if she could hear his inner monologue. "It's just… we can't ignore the plight of an entire magical species—it's wrong. It only begins with the house-elves, and the next thing you know, Muggle-borns are attacked and hunted like animals. The attitude needs to change. People need to be more aware, more compassionate…"

The girl fell silent. Harry knew her motivations well enough, and they weren't bad.

"So what you are going to do?" the boy asked.

"There is only one thing that can be done," Hermione admitted. "Whether I like it or not, but the only way something can be changed is through the policies issued by the Ministry of Magic. Of course, it would mean I would have to work for the Ministry, which, frankly, is quite impossible under the current government."

"So there is nothing to be done?" Harry wondered.

"I—when you defeat Voldemort," Hermione started, but then she stopped immediately. She knew the dangers better than anyone, and even though Harry had gained an insight into how Voldemort had become so fearsome and powerful in the first place, he was nowhere near to being able to fight the man. He was no match.

"I have been down to the kitchens a lot these last days—ever since Daphne Greengrass insulted us," Hermione said instead. "That's another thing: I took the time to get acquainted with the elves, and I've discovered they're all just as different as the wizards are. We always generalize them as 'elves', but it's wrong; they, too, have different personalities, like we do. So I thought… perhaps campaigning could help. Do you think Luna's father would ever run a story about a house-elf? If we were to pick a different house-elf for each month and introduce him or her?"

"Why not?" Harry assured her. "The Lovegoods are very… err, I mean, if they run stories about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, why not about house-elves?"

Hermione laughed. "House-elves are real, Harry, unlike these Snorkacks of Luna's."

"So how is Winky doing?" Harry asked, recalling the Crouch's old elf, who was now working in the kitchens.

Hermione's amusement was extinguished in a matter of seconds.

"It's terrible, Harry," she as good as whispered. "I feel so bad about the whole thing. Ironically, if it wasn't for Greengrass, I wouldn't have gone down to the kitchens to check on her, and I wouldn't even know. She is dying, Harry. Elves can't drink, you see; they can't handle it. Poor Winky is doing very badly. She can no longer stand upright, let alone clean her own mess. I… I wipe the vomit whenever I can, and I try to talk to her, but she is unresponsive. What's worse, the house-elves are very proud. I didn't realise it before, but they take a tremendous pride in the fact that they can perform magic when wizards' spells fail and that they possess the power to rearrange everything while being completely invisible. I tend to think that the only reason wizards could enslave them is because they are inherently peaceful. They are not like goblins or the Veela, who are ready to slay humans if they feel threatened. What I'm saying is that Winky's shunned; no one aside from Dobby will help her, and even Dobby is shunned due to his choices."

"So what can we do?" Harry asked, feeling sorry for the elf.

"I've been thinking… Fay's mother is a pure-blood. Do you think she would take her if Fay asked?"

Harry blinked. Was Hermione talking about selling a house-elf?

His unuttered question must have shown on his face, for Hermione clarified.

"Winky feels useless, Harry; it is killing her. She has no motivation to live. That is exactly what Daphne Greengrass was talking about when she said I couldn't just set them all free like that. When a house-elf loses a master or a mistress, he or she suffers a great deal. House-elves get strongly attached. What if Winky got a new mistress? She is obviously unable to connect to Hogwarts, where there are many other house-elves. She doesn't feel needed or cared for, and she is wasting away day by day. But if she were to feel needed again… What do you think?"

Harry thought about it. He didn't know, to be completely honest.

"Well, she will drink herself to death if she stays here," he reasoned.

"I don't like this," Hermione admitted. "Really, I don't, but… Fay's family seems decent at the very least."

"Do you think it's even possible, though?" Harry asked as a thought occurred to him. "I mean, it would make sense to assume that the elves are somehow bound to their working place. What if Winky is now bound to Hogwarts or something?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't think so," she said slowly. "I don't think professor Dumbledore would do that. Although… it would make sense to presume wizards have come up with some complicated spellwork as far as the elves are concerned. I think we just need to talk to professor Dumbledore and Fay to see if her mother would take Winky under her care. We have to do something, Harry; we can't let Winky perish like that! As for the elves in general, the more I think about it, the more I think I need to get into the Ministry to know these things better."

They were silent for a moment; then, quite unexpectedly, Hermione changed the topic.

"Harry, what's up with Ron?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean—he's… how to put it… he still picks on me, but it's almost like before. And he hasn't asked me out or done anything at all, even though he's not dating Lavender anymore."

Harry bit his lip a little guiltily. It was true that Hermione didn't know. Ron had told him about Demelza, and Ginny had pieced the whole thing together too, but Hermione clearly hadn't. Come to think of it, it wasn't that apparent, seeing how Ron had always loved Quidditch.

Quickly, Harry glanced at his watch, making up his mind.

"There's something you need to see, Hermione," he said, giving her a hand as he stood up.

Hermione blinked, not sure where this was going, though she followed him regardless.

Not so surprisingly, he led her towards the stands of the Quidditch pitch, close enough to see and occasionally hear the ones practicing but without really disturbing them.

Hermione recognized Jimmy Peakes, a short but broad-chested third year if she wasn't mistaken; Ritchie Coote, another Beater for the Gryffindor team; Demelza—one of the three Chasers; and Ron.

As she opened her mouth to form a question, Harry just nodded towards the pitch. Not understanding anything, Hermione observed the players. They were practicing.

"Jimmy, for the last time, when I say hit, I don't mean my nose, you idiot!"

The speaker was Ritchie. Demelza openly laughed, though, and Ron was happy to join in.

"You're doing it wrong," Ron instructed. "Look, Jimmy, it's difficult to hold a club the way you are holding it. First, grasp the handle correctly: you place the head of the club on the ground in front of your lead foot, then you grab the handle with your non-wand hand—that will add a slight angle to your club, which helps generate extra whip when you swing, okay? The index finger of your non-wand hand should be around the club—like that, see? Then you separate your three bottom fingers and point your knuckle up towards the barrel of the club while gripping it with your wand hand like this, see? Most importantly, your grip has to be relaxed, don't—"

"His is too relaxed!" Ritchie protested. "I won't have a date in a month now!"

"Like anyone would date you anyway, Ritchie," Demelza laughed.

"Ha, ha, very funny…"

"Well, maybe someone would actually date him, but I know someone who wouldn't, by the way," Jimmy declared cockily. "The Captain's girl! She would date me, though."

"Keep dreaming, Jimmy," Ritchie countered. "She doesn't even know you exist."

Jimmy made a show of swinging his club at him, but he wasn't serious.

"By the way," the frizzy-haired boy specified, turning to face Jimmy as they abandoned their antics, "when you say the Captain's girl, which one do you mean? He has many."

"The pretty one—you know, the one whom McLaggen annoyed."

"Is she the Captain's girl?" Ritchie questioned. "You sure?"

"RON!" Jimmy bellowed. "Which one he's dating—come on, you must know!"

Luckily, Ron was saved by Demelza.

"It's not Ron's job to know, prat. Better get a grip on that club of yours first; only then on girls."

Jimmy and Ritchie ooh-d and aah-d, frankly mocking the two love birds they'd obviously interrupted.

Finally, Hermione understood. Demelza. Demelza Robins. She was the reason Ron had been practicing so much lately.

Harry observed Hermione, wondering if she was okay. She looked very sad. He felt bad for her; he should have told her earlier. Promptly, she addressed the issue.

"How long have you known, Harry?" she asked quietly.

"Ron told me," Harry confessed. "Look, Hermione—"

"Ron told you, and you didn't tell me," Hermione summarized soberly. "Are we friends, Harry?"

"Of course! Hermione, you're—"

"But I'm a girl, aren't I?" Hermione overrode him. "And Ron's your buddy, and it felt weird. I understand; really, I do. It's just… you still could have told me."

As Harry pondered on how to better explain it, they were noticed by the other four. Hermione quickly dried her moist eyes.

"Hey, Captain!" Ritchie bellowed, waving for Harry to come down to them. Harry looked quickly at Hermione, who nodded, though the sadness in her face could not be mistaken for anything else.

"Nice of you to drop by," Demelza panted, meeting them half-way on her broom. "Did you see the Duval turn I did a while ago? Could be our great move if the games are allowed."

"I'm sure you did great, Demelza," Harry assured her, a little apologetic at having missed it.

Ron, however, noticed Hermione, who was trying to act normally, though she wasn't quite succeeding.

"Hi," a boy's voice called, and Harry registered Jimmy Peakes, who'd left his club on the ground altogether to fly close to Hermione.

His sweaty face was illuminated with a goofy smile Harry couldn't quite place, though it looked familiar and made Jimmy look extra stupid. Demelza and Ritchie must have thought the same, for they just started laughing, appearing thoroughly amused but giving no explanation.

For a moment there, everything was awkward. Ron and Hermione were avoiding each other's eyes, Demelza and Ritchie were laughing as if they had been given a badly brewed Alihotsy Draught, Jimmy was smiling like an idiot, and Harry seemed to be completely out of place.

Demelza controlled herself quickly enough.

"Merlin, Jimmy, look at your face!"

Ron, too, started sniggering for some reason, finally taking his eyes off Hermione.

"Jimmy fancies you," Ritchie deadpanned, turning towards Hermione and making the latter blush.

"You guys suck!" Jimmy grimaced.

Harry cleared his throat, for Ritchie was making kissy-faces at Jimmy behind Hermione's back, and the girl looked like she didn't quite know how to react to all of this.

"Welcome to the madness that are the Gryffindor Beaters," Demelza said sympathetically to Hermione. "If it wasn't for Ron, these two probably wouldn't even manage to lift themselves off the ground."

Ron gave Demelza a thank you sort of look, and the girl smiled back.

It was the first time Harry actually witnessed Ron communicating so easily with a girl. Usually, Ron would be covered in a cold sweat, and his face would be so red as to be easily mistaken for a huge tomato—like that one time when he'd tried to ask Fleur out.

"So what have you learned?" Harry asked. "Aside from the Duval turn."

"I fly better than Gianni Fedele," Ritchie declared.

Demelza rolled her eyes playfully, but Ritchie went on, "For real, Ron would make a good captain."

"Hey!" Demelza protested, standing up in front of Harry mock-defensively, "we have a great captain."

"A celebrity captain," Ritchie teased. "Seriously, we feel like some orphaned children. How come you've never dropped by before, Captain?"

"Ritchie's just hoping you'll hex Jimmy for messing up his nosey," Ron explained with a grin, much to Harry's surprise.

"Err… you're having fun, I see," Harry commented awkwardly.

Hermione, too, seemed to be taken aback by how close Ron had grown to the team. It was like they got each other's jokes.

"We are actually very serious sometimes," Demelza assured them mock-solemnly. "Say, Captain, have you ever wondered why there isn't a special school for the werewolf children? Especially now that so many people get bitten."

"Oh," Harry muttered. In truth, he had never wondered such a thing.

"Well, we have," Demelza declared. "What if nobody's just thought of it? What if we could actually open one after our graduation?"

Jimmy sniggered, having seemingly recovered from the teasing.

"Like what would you even teach, Melza—how to use the cheat ink?"

"Like you've never done it," Demelza countered. "Seriously, though, someone could do it."

"I agree," Jimmy said, "Ritchie could be a teacher. For one, he's hairy like a werewolf; nobody would see the difference."

Demelza laughed, and again, Ron seemed to be smiling too.

"Come on," Demelza said, "I was trying to prove we can be serious."

"D'you wanna join us for the training, Harry?" Ron asked.

Harry looked sideways at Hermione, but Jimmy beat him to it.

"D'you fly, Hermione?" the boy asked. "Don't listen to these idiots—Ritch and Melza only have one brain cell each."

Hermione looked a little flustered and uncomfortable. Harry knew she didn't like flying.

"Oh, I…," she stammered, but Harry overrode her.

"What if you stayed down here and measured the time, Hermione?" he proposed. "We could see who can fly fastest if we took a few rounds from one post to another."

"I can give you my broom," Demelza agreed, "so we'd all have equal chances—what d'you think, boys? Ritchie? Ron? Jimmy?"

It all came down to Hermione not really being sure, but with a sigh, she nodded. For the next half an hour, they did just that. Using Demelza's broom, they flew from one post to another as Hermione measured their time. Harry was, unsurprisingly, the fastest of them; Ritchie and Demelza, narrowly beating each other's record, lagged behind Harry at the second place while Ron came third and Jimmy turned out to be the slowest—though perhaps he could have been distracted, for occasionally, he would keep smiling at Hermione with that really silly smile of his that made him look as if he were a little retarded.

Overall, it wasn't bad, and to Harry's surprise, Hermione handled it really well. Of course, perhaps it was because unlike with Lavender, Ron didn't rub anything under her nose, and the atmosphere between them was friendly despite the slight awkwardness that had followed Hermione and Harry walking in on the team.

Soon, they had to wrap up the training because it was time for Hermione's class.

When they entered the castle, having given the Aurors at the gate their names and feeling sweaty and tired after their unofficial session, the first thing they noticed was an intense commotion. Numerous students seemed to be excited about something.

The situation quickly became clear: someone else's parents had come to Hogwarts to take their kids away. Even so, as Harry understood a second later, the voices seemed to be somehow too excited. The reason for that was the presence of one of the most gorgeous witches Harry had ever laid his eyes upon, including Fleur.

From her long legs to her striking face, every part of her was nothing short of perfect. She had a slim yet curvy figure, which was accentuated by her dress: an elegant garment that nipped her waist but flared down to her knees in the shape of the letter A, the dark fabric sending red flashes every time she moved. Her large eyes were a clear, dark blue, and her scarlet lips were a perfect contrast to her very white, even teeth. Her black curls where pinned up in a loose updo. It was hard to believe this youthful-looking witch was mother to a teenager; if anything, Harry thought this woman could absolutely feature in one of the fashion magazines aunt Petunia liked to read.

The boys were literally crooning their necks to get a better look. The witch herself embraced only one of them, and very briefly at that—Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin in Harry's year, whom he had impersonated while breaking into the dungeons with Fay.

Judging from the movement of the witch's lips, Harry could tell she weren't speaking English to her son. Zabini himself, on the other hand, didn't look happy at the sight of his mother, though he appeared composed enough.

Ritchie let out a low whistle.

"Can you believe that?" he asked. "Just look at those legs…"

"Ew, Ritchie," Demelza wrinkled her nose, "don't be disgusting—she's Blaise Zabini's freaking mother!"

Ritchie, however, wasn't the only one. Every boy around them seemed to be mesmerized. That in itself explained Blaise's sour expression: he was clearly used to seeing everyone ogle his mother like that. As if reading his mind, Hermione spoke up.

"Poor Zabini; it must be uncomfortable for him."

She looked at Jimmy and Ron, both of whom had their eyes still locked on the witch. When her gaze met Harry's, Hermione raised an eyebrow as if to ask honestly?, but Harry had actually noticed someone else.

Snape, who was accompanying the student from his House with his mother, looked more than ever like a grotesque, overgrown lizard in a bat's hide. In fact, the effect was comical. Harry had the urge to suggest out loud that Zabini's mother should take the Potions Master with her more often—preferably on a leash or something—so that he could effectively scare everyone off.

He'd started laughing, having painted the whole picture in his mind, when a sober cough claimed his attention.

"Mr Potter," Minerva McGonagall said, making her presence known, "if you'd please come with me. The Minister for Magic wishes to see you, and he will not hear any excuses."

Harry wasn't surprised. While he hadn't given it any thought, he had known Scrimgeour was bound to try again. The feeling that something unusual had happened started to settle in when, instead of her office, professor McGonagall led him towards the Gargoyle Corridor, at the end of which Harry knew Dumbledore's office to be located.

Harry looked sideways at McGonagall and noticed she was unusually tense, a little trembling even, almost the way she had looked before Harry had gone off to face the Hungarian Horntail more than two years earlier.

"Are you all right, professor?" he asked quietly, wondering if it had something to do with the Ministry.

At the start of the year, Harry had angrily demanded to know why Katie's attack had been hushed up until Dumbledore had explained that if the school matters weren't kept within the school, it could be the end of Hogwarts. This was exactly what was happening now: parents were coming to take their children away before it was too late. And as hilarious as it was to see Snape in the role of a hideous slimy scarecrow when he walked next to Blaise Zabini's mother, the fact remained that Hogwarts was quietly dying, and the outside forces such as the Ministry were taking control.

Was that the reason professor McGonagall was so worried?

"If you need me, Mr Potter," the Transfiguration teacher started, "I'll be right here. Dilys will keep an eye on you while you're inside—give her a sign if you need help."

Harry nodded, not really understanding.

Then the door to Dumbledore's office opened, revealing Rufus Scrimgeour, the former head of the Auror office and the current Minister for Magic.

"Thank you, Minerva," the man said, deliberately opting for McGonagall's first name and thus omitting the usual respect and titles to show who was in charge. "You may go—Mr Potter and I have a lot to discuss."

McGonagall gave the wizard a cold stare but left the office all the same. Harry frowned. He didn't like the way Scrimgeour was acting—as if he were in control. This was still Dumbledore's office, and Dumbledore could come back any moment, ordering the man out.

So why wasn't Dumbledore coming? Why wasn't he present?

"Take a seat, Mr Potter," came the order. "The last time we spoke, you were unwilling to listen to my proposal, so I have come again."

"I have no desire to be the Ministry's poster boy," Harry declared.

"And yet you are most willing to be Albus Dumbledore's poster boy?" the Minister countered. "I do wonder where such loyalty comes from."

"I believe in professor Dumbledore," Harry said. "He is the only one Voldemort has ever feared."

"I see," Scrimgeour sighed before echoing Harry, "the only one the Dark Lord has ever feared… Is that what you believe, Mr Potter?"

Harry didn't answer. He looked back at the hardened former Auror turned politician. Tonks had warned him.

"Politics is like that, Harry," the now-bleak-pink-haired Auror had told him, wrinkling her nose. "There is no such thing as justice or conscience, just like there are no permanent friends or permanent enemies. In politics, just like in life, you have to adapt according to the circumstances and to collaborate with whomever necessary."

Behind Scrimgeour, Harry noticed the portraits of the former headmasters and headmistresses, Dilys among them, and more importantly, Phineas Nigellus Black. For a split of a second, Harry wondered why he had started observing Sirius's ancestor so closely lately, as if his opinion mattered to him. And then it hit him: he was looking at Phineas Nigellus because the latter was one of the last links he had to Sirius now that Sirius was gone. There was no one else to advise him on how to cope in such situations, how to talk to men like Scrimgeour.

As it was, Phineas Nigellus seemed, for once, vaguely interested in the present encounter, though the sneer that dominated his features was a little unsettling. It was as if Phineas Nigellus knew or could predict something Harry couldn't.

"Why are you here, Minister?" Harry asked. "I've already told you I am not interested in your offer."

"I think you might want to reconsider, Mr Potter," Scrimgeour warned softly. "But first things first: if, according to you, Albus Dumbledore was the only one the Dark Lord ever feared, why do you think the Headmaster never chose to fight that wizard himself? Why leave it all to you—a boy of sixteen, who—please forgive my honesty—is no match against a powerful wizard with decades of experience, connections, and formidable power?"

"Voldemort chose me," Harry pointed out. "There was nothing Dumbledore could do about it."

"Ah, yes, he chose you. And have you ever wondered why he chose you? Have you asked? I imagine Dumbledore would know."

Harry's fists clenched.

"If you think you can make me believe it was professor Dumbledore who tipped Voldemort off and sent him to kill my parents, you are wasting your time!" the teenager as good as bellowed. "I will not be a part of your political campaign—you just want to keep your position, like Fudge did."

Scrimgeour smiled bitterly.

"I see you have been conversing with adults, Mr Potter; there is no way your peers have had the fantasy to come up with such a supposed ploy. No, no—if anything, some of your adult friends have told you that in politics, there are no permanent allies, just like there are no permanent enemies, and that one will collaborate with whomever necessary to stay in power. But despite these small grains of wisdom, you are a sixteen-year-old boy. What actual knowledge do you have about politics, hmm? Think about it before you lash out at the Ministry of Magic."

When Harry didn't answer, Scrimgeour continued, "Sit down, Mr Potter, I was not hinting at Albus Dumbledore setting you up deliberately—for once, it would have been rather transparent, not to mention that Dumbledore did an excellent job on you."

"I trust professor Dumbledore!" Harry growled.

"Oh, I have no doubt about that," Scrimgeour admitted. "I was merely pointing out the fact that hadn't it been for Albus Dumbledore's strategy, you wouldn't have been so devoted to him in the first place. Here's an example: do you remember how you met the Weasleys?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Harry objected.

"I have investigated," Scrimgeour admitted. "Many of my friends have families and children your age or older. And you are known, Mr Potter—far better known than you should have been in the first place. But that aside, it has come to my knowledge that the first family you met on the platform 9 ¾ were the Weasleys—the very same Weasleys who made sure you'd notice them, and the very same Weasleys who just happened to be a family fiercely loyal to Albus Dumbledore and directly influenced by him. Don't you think it's a rather odd coincidence? Have many of your beliefs been influenced by the Weasleys ever since?"

Harry merely stared; he didn't want to hear any of this.

Scrimgeour just went on, "Now, I don't mean to say Albus Dumbledore was deliberately controlling you, shaping you into an obedient and devoted follower; he might have been simply making sure no one from the traditional Dark families befriended you while you were at your most impressionable age. But the fact remains, Mr Potter, that you are who you are today because the Headmaster of this school made sure you'd become such. Remember that, and listen to what I have to tell you with an open mind."

It was now that Harry actually started to listen, though it was not due to what Scrimgeour had said-he couldn't care less about it. It was the way the Minister had spoken that truly made Harry worry. The memory of professor McGonagall's anxiety stood out vividly in front of his eyes.

"Sir… why do you use past tense?"

"Albus Dumbledore is dead, Mr Potter," Scrimgeour said, not bothering to mock Harry's sudden use of the title 'Sir'—a clear sign of uncertainty often seen in children when they didn't know how to address an older person.

Silence followed his statement. Nothing moved. Even air seemed to stand still. Vaguely, Harry registered that Fawkes' perch was empty—the Phoenix was no longer there.

It suddenly made sense that professor McGonagall had brought him here. The magic of the school must have recognized her as the Deputy Headmistress. Somehow, all this made it real. And Harry wasn't ready to face the truth.

"NO!" he bellowed. "You're lying!"

It couldn't be possible. It just couldn't be. They were supposed to hunt and destroy the Horcruxes; Dumbledore was supposed to tell him how to destroy those things. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be.

It wasn't until several minutes later that Harry realized someone was as well as forcing him to drink. Rufus Scrimgeour himself.

The teenager's hands were shaking. He was in shock and denial. But the Minister had also spoken the truth, he knew it.

"H-how?" Harry croaked. "H-he… I… Madam Rosmerta's trial… I… we spoke about it…"

Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow. "He told you he had been summoned to Azkaban? Well, then, it will not surprise you this is exactly where his body was found."

"But how?" Harry demanded to know, realizing Scrimgeour must have given him a Calming Potion, for there was no other way he could be speaking this calmly right now.

As it was, Scrimgeour answered his plea for information immediately.

"There were no witnesses. Someone surprised him. And someone must have bribed quite a few officials for the murderer to sneak in and out of Azkaban unnoticed. Of course, Albus Dumbledore was a highly secretive wizard, and he played his games. He accumulated many enemies over the years, even though they all pretended to admire him. It is difficult to suspect anyone outright. Nevertheless, I will investigate, Mr Potter—this I can promise… if you promise to reconsider my offer. Albus Dumbledore is gone. He can't protect you anymore, but I still can."

Harry threw the glass Scrimgeour had conjured for him against the wall, making the portraits scream and scatter from their own frames into the neighbouring ones. He glared at the Minister so fiercely that it was surprising the man didn't just burn up like a torch. Words were stuck in his throat. How could anyone be so low?

To Scrimgeour, however, it must have been apparent what exactly Harry would have called him, had he been able to gather the words together.

"Sit down, Potter!" he growled, suddenly appearing as menacing as any Dark wizard would be. "Do you really think I couldn't have found ways to force you to collaborate if it was only about my keeping my post? I have dirt on you, Mr Potter, a lot of it—and from this year only. A fellow student was attacked with an unknown Dark curse, yet the Aurors in charge failed to process the matter according to the law, omitting the whole thing as if it had never happened. Do you think I can't see what happened here? Do you think I can't put two and two together—especially if the said student is a friend of yours and didn't press any charges? I have worked in the Auror Office, Mr Potter; I know how these games are played much better than you can even imagine!"

Harry took a heavy breath. The Minister's speech had made his anger recede while a new feeling was taking over: fear. Fear for Tonks and Williams, for they had been the Aurors in charge.

As if to emphasize his point, Scrimgeour spoke again.

"Oh, yes, I am not ignorant of the fact that you've made some friends among the Aurors this year—not to mention the special connection you shared with Nymphadora Tonks through Albus Dumbledore."

"Do you know who killed Dumbledore?" Harry asked, ignoring the last remark. His throat was now incredibly dry, either from the Calming Potion or from the feeling that the ground was slipping from beneath his feet.

"I am working on that, Mr Potter. I assure you— "

"Do you know what's funny, Minister?" Harry asked. "You seem to have a lot of time on your hands when it comes to harassing me, but you appear extremely busy when it comes to looking for real criminals—or is it just more convenient to throw the likes of Madam Rosmerta and Stan Shunpike to Azkaban for the crimes you know they didn't commit?"

"Oh?" Scrimgeour uttered. "You know Mr Shunpike?"

"He welcomed me to the Knight Bus—I read about his arrest in the papers."

"You can help him, Mr Potter," Scrimgeour said seriously. "We are not enemies—despite our differences, we are not. Join me, Mr Potter. I will protect you and heed your council. And you, in return, can learn a thing or two."

"Like what?" Harry as good as spat.

"Like how to see through the schemes orchestrated by wizards, for this is all it comes down to. The Dark Lord wouldn't be so powerful today if he hadn't secured connections to the old pure-blood families and gained the support of the werewolves, the Dementors, the giants and numerous other magical beings cast away by wizards. And the same goes for Dumbledore, for he, too, harnessed power all his life and made sure his name would always be mentioned with nothing short of pure admiration."

Harry blinked. Somehow, the notion made him think of Hermione with her S.P.E.W and Winky the house-elf. It was true that the only way to learn about how things worked in the magical society and in the Ministry was to join the Ministry. But Harry also knew that he would be dragged into something he could neither understand nor control if he accepted.

"You said you could protect me," he recalled. "How would you protect me? How would you even know who doesn't work for Voldemort?"

"I have my methods, Mr Potter," Scrimgeour assured him. "I used to be an Auror; I am capable of far more than merely discovering the shortcomings of the current Aurors in the office. And I hold a considerable power I am willing to share."

"I'll think about it," Harry conceded.

And maybe he would, though he knew perfectly well Scrimgeour was using the psychological method of planting an idea in his head and letting him to reach the conclusion on his own. Still, Scrimgeour was right: Voldemort had come to power by securing the elite and various magical beings. Harry had fame and nothing else. Moreover, during the previous year, the whole wizarding world had turned against him for telling the truth about Voldemort's return, and it had been a rude awakening on the way people's opinions changed readily and how, therefore, the likes of Scrimgeour and a few others worked tirelessly to make sure public opinion wouldn't be swayed.

"Think fast, Mr Potter," Scrimgeour told him. "We are almost out of time. Albus Dumbledore is gone, and the Dark Lord is getting stronger by the minute."

Harry looked down. Dumbledore was dead.

The boy had started to shake again. He didn't quite understand when Scrimgeour had walked out; all he knew was that it was professor McGonagall who as good as embraced him next. He hadn't given Dilys any sign. The teacher must have been waiting the entire time.

"Harry," she said gently, "it's true—the official announcement will be made later today. I didn't want to believe it, but he is gone. We have to be strong."

Harry said nothing.

"Harry, I have to ask," McGonagall spoke up again. "What were you doing with Albus all this time? Did he share any essential information regarding Lord Voldemort with you?"

"It is between me and professor Dumbledore," Harry said firmly.

"Potter," McGonagall started warningly, and Harry registered the use of his surname, "it might be important. You heard the Minister: now that Dumbledore is gone, so is any protection he provided you with. There are only a few of us—the members of the Order who I can vouch for—who are ready to lay down their lives to keep you safe, but you have to tell me what we are dealing with. No one can help anyone if we are all kept in the dark."

"There is nothing to tell," Harry insisted stubbornly.

He didn't want to get anyone involved. Dealing with Voldemort was his burden.

McGonagall heaved a heavy sigh, as if she were trying to reason with a little child who was throwing a tantrum.

"Oh, Mr Potter," she tried again, desperate. "I was young once too, you know—even if it doesn't seem like it. You believe it is your burden to carry, but it isn't true—we all face the threat of Lord Voldemort. You need friends, and most of all, adults, to help you. No one can achieve anything on their own."

Perhaps maddened by this whole situation or perhaps due to something else, Harry couldn't help but feel this was a bit rich of her. When had adults helped him at all? The only exceptions had been Sirius and now Tonks. Well, Auror Williams too—but he was Tonks's colleague, so it didn't count.

So when he responded, his statement was rather accusatory.

"I have been telling you everything for years, professor—we all have been. During our first year, you didn't believe us about the Stone, and later… can't you see what's going on in the school? How Malfoy and his gang would always get away with attacking Muggle-borns in every way they could? How Luna used to be constantly bullied—and Fay? And Neville?"

McGonagall pursed her lips.

"I do apologise about not having believed you when you told me about the Philosopher's Stone—I really should have. But I do try to put an end to every type of misconduct I see; I wish I could do more, but my hands are tied. There is only so much I can do if students don't come to me and complain. Trust me, I have been over this with Miss Dunbar's mother. Sadly, there are hardly any round tables where students could come together and discuss their problems; and school policies require that professors occupy themselves with the curriculum and avoid getting involved in the students' private matters whenever possible."

"You said you used to try harder, though. You should still try harder then," Harry said accusingly. "Because it's only getting worse."

"When I was a student here, I did try harder—much like you imagine I should. But open conflicts create far more problems than they can solve," McGonagall admitted. "I grew up and learned to be subtle. However, do not try to steer the conversation away, Mr Potter. You heard the Minister, and you know he will want to hear your answer soon. What are you going to do?"

At that, Harry actually looked past McGonagall at Phineas Nigellus. To say McGonagall was surprised would have been an understatement.

When Phineas Nigellus didn't speak, however, it was the Transfiguration professor herself who addressed him.

"Mr Potter asked you a question, Phineas," she said. "As a sworn protector of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you must obey the commands of the Headmaster or the Deputy Headmaster in charge. So please, would you be so kind?"

Phineas Nigellus took the time to roll his eyes, the sneer never really leaving his face.

"That's funny, Deputy Headmistress," he drawled, "I never actually heard any question. I presume Potter wants my advice on the Minister's proposal, although, frankly, I don't see how it would help at all, seeing that the boy has the intelligence of a thick brick wall—"

"Phineas!" McGonagall barked.

"What should I do?" Harry intervened quickly. "He won't leave me alone…"

"Well, his offer isn't bad," the portrait reasoned. "I suppose it would make sense for you to ally yourself to someone in power and someone on the side of Light. Now that Dumbledore's gone, it is, in fact, even expected of you to take up his mantle and give people hope as the Chosen One..."

"But he will use me!" Harry argued hotly.

"Aaah," Phineas Nigellus sing-sang, "there it is. At least you can see through that much. I suppose it is a little miracle in itself, as far as your naiveté goes, Potter."

"I don't want it," Harry protested. "He can find himself another poster boy."

"Ever the noble Gryffindors—you really believe yourself to be above that, don't you, Potter? No wonder my useless great-great-grandson was so fond of you, both of you being remarkably dim when it comes to adapting for the sake of survival. Do you really think that by rejecting his offer, you gain something?"

"Enough, Phineas," McGonagall ordered. "I know your ways rather well; had you had a chance, you would have gladly dug your claws in the poor child too—"

"Oh, do you suppose it will be better if the Dark Lord hunts down your precious saviour and kills him, Minerva? Forgive my pragmatism, but it is simply much harder to kill a public figure with strong political alliances—someone who has personally persuaded witches and wizards to fight for him—than a little run-away boy obsessed with his own fame. But I suppose Potter is too old and clueless to get involved in all of this anyway. Now, if Arcturus had still been alive, we would have found a way to use the situation to our advantage, but as it is… involving Potter in politics at this stage is about as useful as giving a wand to a Muggle."

Harry was no longer listening. Somehow, his feet had carried him out of Dumbledore's—now Minerva's—office while the Deputy Headmistress was trying to silence the portrait.

He felt hollow, empty. Dumbledore was dead, having died alone and abandoned with Harry never having had a chance to say goodbye.

He came across one of the few people who mattered in the Great Hall. Fay was sweaty and dishevelled, but not alone: Dean was with her, and they were laughing.

"The whole point is to run towards the ball, not away from it!" Dean laughed.

"It's scary when you kick it towards me like that!" Fay protested, but she, too, appeared to be in a good mood.

Neither of them noticed Harry until they as good as bumped into him.

"Hey, Harry!" Dean greeted. "Everything all right?"

Harry didn't answer, staring at them with a stony expression, his demeanour particularly hostile when it came to Dean. The taller boy sensed something was wrong indeed, but wisely, he didn't press the matter. Unlike many others, Dean seemed to know when he should give other people space.

"We were just heading upstairs," Dean commented uncertainly. "I'll see you there then."

Wordlessly, Fay handed him the ball—a regular one—before he left. Dean had obviously been showing her what Muggle football was like, as—she'd told Harry—he'd promised.

After Dean retreated, the silence between them felt awkward. Fay saw immediately that Harry was looking at her as if she'd betrayed him, and it made her feel highly uncomfortable.

"You know what he was like to Ginny!" Harry spat. "Do you want to be next?!"

Fay blinked. Something was off with Harry.

"Dean has got a stepfather," she said finally. "His father disappeared ages ago and left his Muggle mother all alone, so she remarried. He… he knows what it's like to have a stepfather… and half-siblings."

Harry looked down, feeling ashamed immediately.

He'd been so consumed with Dumbledore's mission and with what lay ahead that he had effectively forgotten about Fay's plight in between. It struck him he was selfish, for didn't he treat Ron and Hermione the same way, relying on them and taking them for granted, thinking they would always be there for him? The honest answer was that he did. And when Ron had started getting closer to their Gryffindor Quidditch team, effectively taking over the actual role of captain in his stead, he'd hardly noticed. If anything, he was perhaps being a little more considerate with Hermione, understanding where she came from. Yet even so, had he ever asked her how her parents were doing?

No, he was far too selfish. He saw it now.

And he'd been treating Dumbledore the same way: always relying on him to do as he wanted, to give him the best of advice and feeling offended when the Headmaster had not taken his suspicions about Malfoy seriously.

Well, with Fay's help, they'd busted Malfoy, even though it was Hermione who had figured out about the Cabinet.

Except… what had it changed, in the end? Everything had just got worse. The reputation of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was tarnished. Parents were taking their kids home while they could, and the Ministry was taking over heavily once again. Hogwarts had lost its independence.

Dumbledore was gone, and he never had the chance to say goodbye or even just to talk to the Headmaster about anything other than himself.

"Dumbledore's dead," Harry declared.

Fay blanched. She knew Harry was serious. There was nothing to be said. Wordlessly, she took him by the hand, leading him, thankfully, outside and not towards the common room.

He wanted to have some space, but he didn't want to be alone either. Being alone scared him right now. Dumbledore's death… it left him somehow vulnerable. The previous year, he'd been angry and hurting—he'd tarnished Dumbledore's office, blaming the old wizard for everything. But now, he just didn't know. Fay's presence helped in a different way than Hermione and Ron's would have done. He knew his best friends and could positively picture the dialogue they would have been having right now. Instead, being with Fay in a silence like this was comforting and not intruding.

"I'm sorry, Fay," he said, "about this whole thing with your mother…"

"It is all right," she said. "Dean says it was all right for him. I just don't want it. Maybe it's selfish, but I don't. I want everything to be just like before… Well, better actually."

Harry understood. That was what he wanted as well. He recalled what finding out that he was a wizard had felt like, what having friends for the first time had felt like. How Hogwarts itself had been magical. But now… now, it was as if magic was gone, even though all they did was perform spells.

He wanted that back, he realised. Or rather, he wanted it better. Maybe like Jimmy, Ritchie, and Demelza with Ron, for they just had fun. They were living. Harry wasn't. And lately, Fay hadn't been either. Maybe it was his fault; everyone seemed happier when he wasn't around.

"I'm sorry I've dragged you into all of this," he said to Fay, and predictably, she started to protest. "You're better off with Dean…"

"No," Fay said simply. "You didn't drag me into anything. I could have declared I no longer wanted to take part in our mission at any time. I didn't."

"You didn't because it would have been difficult—because I was constantly urging you—"

"No," Fay protested again. "You didn't—listen to me. At the start of the year, I didn't even realise how rapidly everything was evolving. I knew there was a split between the very students of Hogwarts—I'd been observing it from the very start—but I never knew it was that bad. I mean… in a way, I grew up with all of them: Daphne, Theo, Pansy, Draco, Parvati, Padma, Lavender—even Blaise and Ernie. And I never imagined it would come to choosing sides, just like that. But as soon as we got closer, I saw it: Draco explicitly told me I had to choose. It wasn't easy, but it is the new reality, and it is only thanks to you that I actually saw it and made my decision."

"No," Harry argued, echoing her. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be escaping like Blaise Zabini right now—you wouldn't think twice, no matter… you know…"

"My mum's affair," Fay finished for him bitterly.

It was true. Harry was right, and this time, she didn't argue. She looked at him, however, taking in his features: his face, his jet-black hair, his most unique green eyes… his expression.

He was one of the most extraordinary people she'd ever known, and for the first time, she realised she liked him. She felt privileged, happy even, to be his friend, and she wanted him to succeed... despite everything. Despite the dangers associated with being his friend. She wanted him to be happy. She realised she wanted to help in every way she could.

But at the same time, it made her feel insecure. Was she his friend? Did he consider her as such? Or was she a pity-friend, someone who had come into the picture far too late, unnecessarily disturbing the connections to Ron and Hermione he'd established years ago?

Unknowingly to her, Harry was observing her as well, though in his case, it was the guilt that wouldn't leave him alone. Was Fay now one of those he'd doomed to the 'Wanted' list that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were undoubtedly working on? He didn't want any of this for her—she didn't deserve to be dragged into his mess—yet, selfishly, he wanted her near.

He wasn't aware that they'd shifted closer to each other, and when his arms embraced the girl, she never resisted.

Their embrace felt so natural and so right that they didn't break apart for a moment, never noticing that they were standing near the greenhouses, towards which two sets of fifth years were heading for Herbology. Luna was among them, but it was Ginny they heard first. Just as their arms unwound from around each other, they were startled to see her right beside them, her hands on her hips and her face set in a positively icy expression.

"Excuse me, am I interrupting?" she shot out sarcastically.

Behind her, students were pointing and muttering in their direction, and Luna's wide eyes observed them without a trace of surprise.

Harry let go of Fay, as did she, though not immediately. It was as if they were in a dream. It would have been natural to apologise at the very least, to explain… but Harry just felt numb.

Ginny saw it.

"Well, no wonder you never asked me to be your girlfriend," she commented, starting to shake. "And I was wondering… silly me. You know, I would have never expected it from you, Harry."

"Oh, no," Fay said quickly, "it is not like that at all, Ginevra—"

She wished she'd been better with people so that she could explain.

"Oh, but of course—you are just happy to take my leftovers. What's the matter, wasn't Dean satisfying enough?"

"Ginny, stop!" Harry said, sensing she was about to cross the line. "Fay didn't do anything—it was I who embraced her."

Ginny gave a laugh that was borderline hysterical.

"Don't you say," she commented acidly.

"Daddy tells me only insecure people doubt their friends," Luna intervened, effectively redirecting everyone's attention to herself.

This was too much for Ginny; for a moment, she looked like she wanted to murder Luna on the spot before becoming aware of the fact that all her classmates were staring at her. She stormed away in the direction of the castle, not saying anything to anyone, and for the first time, it all caught up with Harry.

He felt terrible. Fay clearly felt the same. And yet, just as he watched Ginny go, there was a bizarre hint of relief somewhere in his chest. It wasn't that he no longer fancied her, but he wasn't sure anymore. Something had changed since the beginning of the year. Perhaps it was for the best.

"I'm sorry," Fay said while the fifth year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws dispersed, now chattering in a seemingly much more excited manner than before, as if they had heard a great spectacle.

Harry gave Luna a small smile as she hurried away towards the greenhouses to avoid being late for the class. If it hadn't been for her, it would have been a lot uglier.

It had been ugly as it was. He had never wanted to hurt Ginny. A surge of affection towards Luna brought back his sadness tenfold. What had he done to deserve all these people caring about him and endangering themselves because of him? He wasn't worthy of any of it, not really.

"Harry, I'm sorry," Fay repeated, clearly feeling very guilty. "I will explain it to Ginevra—she doesn't know yet."

"No," Harry protested. "It's for the best—the Weasleys will be targeted because of me."

Fay bit her lip, but she didn't pursue the matter. It wasn't the right time. She knew Harry was stubborn.

"Who told you?" she asked instead. "About the Headmaster. Minerva?"

"Scrimgeour," Harry confessed. "I don't know if I've told you, but he cornered me during the Christmas break; he wanted me to be his poster boy so that the Ministry could be shown to be doing something."

Fay waited. She wasn't surprised.

"What do you think?" Harry asked, curious about her opinion. "Do you think it was stupid of me to refuse?"

"It was not… stupid, Harry," Fay said slowly. "That aside, it was very cruel of him to demand that you work for him after he told you about the Headmaster. You were close, weren't you? Closer than any other student and headmaster."

Harry nodded.

"I never knew anything about him," he confessed. "All we did was talk about me."

"Don't blame yourself," Fay said almost as sternly as Hermione would have done.

"Wouldn't you?" Harry questioned as they moved along. "What if something happened to your mum because of you?"

Fay looked down sadly. She understood. Harry didn't want to reason with her just right now. He was hurting, and consoling him too much would only make it worse.

"There isn't anything I can say to make you better, is there?" Fay asked, sounding on the verge of tears. "I hate it all so much—it's just not fair! Any of it!"

"Just… let's just have a walk," Harry sighed.

Fay nodded. Harry needed some peace; the official announcement about professor Dumbledore's death would be given soon, and she didn't want Harry to suffer through it.

For a while, they walked in silence.

"You are not stupid, Harry," she assured him. "If anything, it is wise not to get involved in dubious schemes."

"Phineas Nigellus didn't seem to think so," Harry told her bitterly. "He thinks I'm an idiot."

"He is a nasty portrait, and I am your friend—which of us is more trustworthy?" Fay smiled feebly.

"Thank you, Fay," Harry said. "I'll miss you."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

The following day brought nothing but monotone misery. The news of Dumbledore's death had finally spread across the school, and wherever Harry went, he was met with shocked and frightened faces. During breakfast, professor McGonagall had announced she was taking over the Headmaster's duties until such a time as a new head of school was formally appointed by the Ministry. This announcement had been greeted with silence. It was plain many students still could not believe what had happened and how quickly everything had gone downhill.

To make matters worse, it was the day of Fay's departure. Her mother was coming to pick her in the afternoon so that they could leave for Italy. A dead weight settled in Harry's stomach every time this thought returned to him. Fay had spent the morning in her dorm, presumably packing, for which he was almost grateful, for he could not stand the doleful tension between them. Would they ever meet again?

And as if this were not bad enough, Ginny had told Ron all about Harry and Fay's hug, which had resulted in yet another confrontation. The moment Harry had entered the common room the previous evening, he had received a punch straight in the face, which had very nearly broken his nose. If it had not been for Hermione's intervention, he was not sure how it would have evolved, for Ron had been livid.

"You have no right to do that to my sister!" he had shouted, his shrieks mixing with Hermione's "Stop it, Ron!"

Even now, Harry's nose hurt, though it was just a phantom of a feeling, for Hermione had healed him afterwards, using the same incantation as Tonks had done at the start of the year when Malfoy had broken his nose. The very notion was now associated with Fay too, though. And it had stung a lot. Yet Hermione had proven herself a lot more understanding when it came to Harry's confused feelings. She'd silenced Ron on the spot, acutely reminding him of the way he had behaved towards Lavender. That in itself was another piece of news. Apparently, Hermione and Lavender had had a talk and made peace.

"They're not very bad," Hermione had confessed to Harry to distract him. "It's just, when we disagree, they won't back off even if they're wrong—especially Parvati. The rest… just happens. Last year, I nearly throttled Parvati when she didn't believe you about Voldemort; and this year, Parvati attacked me because of Ron."

Harry honestly appreciated her effort. Even trivial things like this were nice to hear, for they distracted him a little.

"Lavender has no understanding of concentration in terms of volume—I was shocked to find it out, but honestly—all these years, she just copied down professor Snape's instructions without thinking. She doesn't understand that it makes a difference if you use only one spoonful of something or if you use two. How she expects to run a beauty business one day is beyond me."

Harry had just shrugged, but the distraction had helped. Even talking about Fay wasn't that bad with Hermione.

"You like her, Harry, don't you?" Hermione presently asked.

Harry wasn't sure. He did, but it was difficult. Fay was leaving.

"You'd rather she stayed with us, wouldn't you?"

Sighing, Harry nodded. "I don't want this, you know. Any of this."

"I know," she assured him. "I don't blame you. I think you two are good together like this, working together—almost like real detectives and not some dinky version of dress-up Aurors… I didn't like her at first because… well, I still think she doesn't quite understand how things really work. But you like her, and you are my friend. I want what's best for you. And don't worry about Ron; he'll come around."

"I didn't want to hurt Ginny," Harry added.

"I know," Hermione sighed. "But Harry, it was unpleasant for her. That's why she came crying to Ron. I think you should give it some time. Everybody needs to calm down."

"What about you, Hermione?" Harry asked. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione looked at him as if trying to decide what exactly he was feeling guilty about, for feeling guilty he was; there was no doubt about it.

"If you're talking about McLaggen or Jimmy," she said, "then McLaggen has—thankfully—left me alone, though he must be keeping me on the list of his 'potential girlfriends' regardless as he sometimes still sends those… looks my way. And as for Jimmy… isn't he a third year? Honestly, Harry…"

Harry actually smiled feebly for the first time in what felt like in ages.

"Come on, Hermione, don't be mean; he really likes you."

Hermione smiled back a little.

"Dobby likes you too, you know. Same thing: hardly appropriate."

"That was mean," Harry declared, mock-wincing.

Hermione sighed again.

"Did Scrimgeour tell you who did it?" she then asked quietly.

"No," Harry admitted. "He said Dumbledore played his games and that these games got him killed, but I think it was Malfoy."

"Harry, he's… he's like us. Do you really think he would—"

"Oh, yes," Harry assured her darkly. "On his mummy's insistence, of course he would. Scrimgeour said it had to be someone Dumbledore trusted, for he wasn't ready for an attack, and he also said someone had heavily bribed the Azkaban guards. Let's see whom we know who fits these criteria: Snape and Malfoy. Snape must have been the one who lured Dumbledore in there in the first place, and Malfoy did the deed after his mummy paid off the guards."

Hermione shook her head slightly. It was hard to believe. She didn't downright argue, though, nor did she pursue the subject.

"We'll get through it, Harry," she assured him. "Dumbledore told you some important information, and we are going to use that information. It is not the end, Harry; don't give up—we are with you."

"Is Ron?" Harry asked. "Is Fay? And you know what—it's even better this way. I don't want anyone dying for me."

"But, Harry, this is not only about you. These people would have attacked us regardless—together, we can fight them, so please don't push us away. Ron will comes round—I talked to him last night. It affected him a great deal to see Ginny crying like that; even though they bicker, she is his little sister, and he is the only big brother she has left at Hogwarts. But he himself behaved ten times worse in the past. You never promised anything to Ginny—you hadn't even asked her to be your girlfriend yet—and in time, she will see it. As will Ron, I promise."

Harry briefly closed his eyes. The very fact that Hermione repeated these words so calmly and confidently somehow helped. This was what he loved about her: at times, her teacher-like authority was all one needed to not succumb to sadness.

"Also, let's at least say goodbye to Fay," Hermione urged him. "She should be downstairs now; it's almost noon."

"Noon?" Harry echoed. "Is that when she leaves?"

He figured Hermione and Fay must have talked, so Hermione would know. It was just that time seemed to have sped up when his life had started falling completely apart.

Hermione had been right. When they walked into the Great Hall, they spotted Mrs Dunbar talking quietly to professor McGonagall while Fay stood a few steps away, looking every ounce as miserable as Harry felt. Her appearance took him by surprise. No longer clad in the black school robes, which were all he had seen her wear, she was dressed in a simple but formal girls' suit consisting of a skirt and an elegant blouse that brought out her grey eyes. She looked prettier than ever, but also distant in a way he had never experienced before. It was as if, for the first time, he had realised she truly belonged to the same class of pure-bloods as Slytherins.

Fay noticed him soon enough, as if having been expecting him to come sooner.

She looked at her mother to make sure the latter was still engaged in her conversation with professor McGonagall, and then she approached.

"Harry," she said, sounding almost broken, "you came!"

Harry struggled to meet her eye, but he did.

"I'm not good with words, not really. Um… I left some books with Neville. Neville's staying; he's with Hannah now. I don't know if I should be saying this, actually… Neville likes plants—well, you know that—and Hannah's interested in brewing, so they're making some mint-flavoured beer. Anyway, I left the books with him. One in particular, Auror Aubrey and the Punch Potion—read it, it's… it's my favourite and… read it, all right? On the page thirty-three, there is a pun I like very much. I want to know what you think of it—I'll write and ask, honestly."

They looked at each other for a moment. Harry didn't know what to say.

"It'll be warm in Italy," he commented like an idiot.

"Yes," Fay agreed lamely, looking over the shoulder. "I should say goodbye to Dean."

"Right," Harry agreed bitterly.

Hermione looked from one to the other.

"Have a nice journey, Fay," she said, hugging the other girl. "I know we weren't close in the past, but I'm glad we got to know each other."

Fay hugged Hermione back.

"You take care, Hermione," she said, for some reason displaying more emotion than she had when saying goodbye to Harry. "And make sure Harry reads the book; it's very entertaining."

As they broke apart, Fay stretched out her arm and gave Harry something: a letter in an envelope.

"Like I said, I'm not good with words," she admitted. "I'm sorry to leave, Harry. Truly, I am…"

She blinked back tears. This was it.

"We'll see each other again," she promised.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "we will."

Of course, he wasn't at all certain about this. Nothing was certain anymore. There might be no next time. Next time, he could be dead.

Clutching the envelope in his hand, he watched numbly as, after one last goodbye, Fay briefly approached Dean before being called by her mother, who had finished her conversation. Walking up to the two adult witches, Fay received a few phrases from McGonagall, which she returned. Then they were leaving. Harry and Hermione followed Fay and Mrs Dunbar with their eyes, sad yet pleased when their friend glanced back at them and waved. A few seconds later, they were gone, and Harry barely noticed Hermione's hand land gently on his arm as the Great Hall continued buzzing around them.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

As Harry had known all along, things did not get better in the following days, which were as bleak and tense as before. Nearly half the students were gone, taken home by their parents, and Hogwarts felt quiet and despondent. Harry would have had the force to face it all if only he could feel his friends being on his side. As it was, he had lost Fay, created a rift in his friendship with Ginny and caused Ron to turn against him. Once Dumbledore's death had been announced, some of Ron's belligerency had ebbed away, but he still was angry at Harry. Only Hermione stayed near him, but after everything that had happened, he would not be surprised if he committed another mistake that would alienate her too.

All the exams had been postponed, and while the lessons still ran according to the usual schedule, no one's heart was in the work. Everyone was anticipating Dumbledore's funeral, which had been announced that same morning. Harry wished he could be doing something helpful, focusing on the ways to destroy Voldemort and his Horcruxes, for this inertia was eating him alive. He was wasting time while, any day now, the Ministry could be taken over. He still hadn't given Scrimgeour an answer either, and his time was running out. At the funeral, which would be taking place soon, he would have to do so, he knew it. For the umpteenth time, he wished he could just make it all disappear, make the old days come back, or else leave the castle and find some peace and quiet. But there was no hope of leaving Hogwarts before the term officially ended, and he was reduced to spending his hours either in the common room with Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Neville and Lavender, or down in the grounds with Hagrid, who had been in a desperate misery ever since he had learned of Dumbledore's death. Seamus was now more or less the only person to keep everyone's spirit up. Despite the general gloom, he would often organize board games for all of them to play, and it wasn't too bad, though nothing could truly lift anyone's mood anymore.

Things with Dean were awkward. Harry wasn't talking to the other boy on principle, and apparently, Dean wasn't all that keen on talking to Harry either. Perhaps it was because of Ginny, but perhaps because of Fay. Lavender would often join them for the evening board games, and it was fun when she did. More often than not, she would timidly ask for Hermione's help with homework, for they were the two last people to share the girls' dormitory. Neville truly was changing now that he had gathered the courage to ask Hannah Abbott out. The Hufflepuff was a good influence: Neville seemed to have become more enthusiastic and less shy, as if he'd literally discovered life outside Gryffindor where between Harry and Ron and Seamus and Dean he'd never really managed to find anyone to hang out with. He also was one of the few people, aside from Hermione, who somehow understood how Harry felt and knew to give him space.

It was when Harry was walking aimlessly around the grounds that he was—absolutely shockingly—grabbed in a choke hold.

In a few terrifying seconds, his oxygen was gone, and he nearly passed out. The ordeal was far from over, though. If anything, his instincts were self-destructive. His hands had gone straight to the bruising grip that was choking him, losing precious time. The blood flow to his carotid artery was disturbed, and so was the blood flow to his trachea. He leaned back—a fatal mistake—and his attacker swiftly brought him down. The next thing he knew, he was roughly punched and forced to roll over onto his stomach while his arms were squeezed behind his back, rendering him completely powerless, any opportunity for striking back gone. His wand—as he could distinctly feel—was masterfully wrenched away from him; his attacker was probably even ready to aim it right at him rather than finish him off the Muggle way.

"Seriously, Spotty?" a voice asked, clearly irritated. "Are you going to beat up a child?"

"A child? 'E'eez what, only five years younger? And you obviously aren't a very good teacher."

Harry groaned and gasped for air as the deadly heavy weight left him. To his surprise, he found himself facing none other than Tonks and her colleague from Durmstrang.

"All you 'ad to do was lean forward, strike and then turn around and strike again," the young man told him, leaning lazily against a tree.

"You caught him unawares," Tonks protested. "It wasn't very nice."

The other Auror looked at her as if she were crazy. "Do you zink the Dark wizards are nice and always warn you before'and? Seriously, show me one, and I will give you my broom to ride."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Your broom to ride? As if I would fall for that—don't you have plenty of witches lined up for that broom of yours already?"

"Oh, I 'ave… but none of zem eez like you."

Tonks let it go.

"Hey, Harry," she greeted. "Sorry about that. How have you been holding up?"

Harry looked from one Auror to the other. Tonks was no longer working for Hogwarts, and as to her colleague, it wasn't really his shift, though Harry could be wrong on that account.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Harry, you're coming with me," Tonks told him seriously. "Right now: while Vasil covers for us."

Harry's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Harry, listen, this is the only way. Tomorrow, there's Dumbledore's funeral, and many Ministry officials will be there, many outsiders—too many people to keep track on. How difficult do you think it will be for Voldemort's followers and their accomplices to organise your mysterious disappearance?"

"Tonks, what are you saying?" Harry asked fearfully, still rubbing his sore throat while Tonks's colleague waved his wand mockingly until Tonks's stern gaze made him stop.

Harry caught his wand absently when Vasil threw it to him with an innocent shrug at Tonks. He felt like pinching himself. It was hard to believe it was really happening. Was this even Tonks?

As if to emphasize her earlier point, however, Tonks sat down on the ground to be on his level.

"Harry, I promised I'd help," she assured him. "And that is exactly what I'm doing. The Death Eaters are not stupid. They know their master wants you to be captured alive. They also know that right now, you are at your most vulnerable: Dumbledore is gone, and despite our recent disagreements with the Headmaster, it's clear that without him, Hogwarts is not safe. You, least of all."

"But I am not going back to my aunt and uncle's," Harry reminded her. "You said I was in danger only if I went back there."

"No," Tonks corrected him, "I said it would be a stupid move no matter which way I looked at it. I planned to pick you at the station, but as it is, time is pressing."

"I have to go back," Harry protested. "Last year, Dumbledore said there was a special protection that would hold until I became of age."

"By the time you become of age, the Death Eaters will be hovering above your place, waiting to strike, and seeing how the Floo network and the Portkeys are something they are able to trace, you will be quite trapped, Harry—with or without protection."

Harry nodded. It made sense. But still…

"I can't go with you, Tonks. I'm sorry," he said firmly.

"And why is that?" Tonks asked. "Don't you trust me? Nothing is keeping the Death Eaters—or maybe even our corrupt colleagues—from setting up a Portkey and whisking you away to Voldemort's feet at any given moment, Harry. And—I'm sorry, I know how much Dumbledore meant to you, to all of us including me—I can't take that risk. The only reason why Barty Crouch waited so long was because if you were to disappear on an ordinary school day, the portraits would have reported it immediately, and his cover would have been blown. It was difficult for Barty to pick the right moment, making sure the Headmaster would be distracted enough and that you would be outside the castle walls. If anything, his only mistake was not disappearing with you when you touched the Portkey."

"But what about Ron and Hermione? They will target them next."

"You know, zey will target zem regardless," the other Auror spoke up.

"We will take care of that, Harry," Tonks assured him. "Ron's family is pure-blood, which buys them some time, not to mention that Arthur works for the Ministry. It is not that easy to make Ron disappear, trust me—I know how the Ministry works, and I also know that regardless of how Voldemort proceeds from now on, there will be no open taking over. He will not risk provoking a rebellion, no: he will be forced to work from the shadows, using the tools the likes of my dear auntie, Narcissa, will happily provide him. It does protect Ron and Ginny. As to Hermione, I will have to protect her myself as soon as I get you to safety."

Harry still looked uncertain.

"Harry, it is time to decide," Tonks insisted.

Harry looked her in the eye. He knew she was taking a great risk helping him, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Voldemort wasn't an idiot, and nor were his Death Eaters. The time had come, and he had to decide.

"Can I at least take a few things with me?" he asked, thinking of his father's Cloak and the book Fay had given him.

"I can cover for you for—" Vasil looked at his watch, "ten more minutes."

Harry locked gazes with Tonks. Her hair was no longer pink at all, and it was clear she'd seen some bad days, as he had. She truly was one of the last people outside of Hogwarts who could help him now.

Could he really let her down after everything she'd done for him?

"All right," Harry agreed. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere nobody will ever suspect," Tonks smiled. "You hurry up now; we only have a few minutes."

Harry did just that. He sprinted into the castle and up the moving staircases, acting as naturally as he could but ignoring the others. None of his friends were in the common room, and while it gave him a painful pang in the chest, he felt it was ultimately better this way. He entered the dorm and opened his trunk to extract his most prized possessions. There was no time to take everything with him; a backpack would have to do. One change of clothes, the Marauder's Map, Tonks's Auror booklet, the shreds of the mirror Sirius had given him, the bottle of Felix Felicis he'd won during the first lesson with Slughorn, and, of course, his father's Cloak. He had no idea what would happen to the rest of his things. The fact that he was actually leaving what he considered to be his only true home had not yet settled in. But as much as he had been wishing to be doing something useful rather than roam the castle aimlessly, it was difficult. More difficult than he could have known.

At last, he put Fay's letter into his backpack after sliding it into the book she had urged him to read. One last time, he took a look around him: Ron's disarrayed bed with its patched quilt, the Mimbulus Mimbletonia on Neville's bedside table, Dean's football poster and Seamus's battered trunk. A memory came to his mind, and he recalled the way Seamus's underpants had hung there in full view the night Lavender had crashed into their dorm to get his help. He pushed the thought away, his eyes nearly watering. No matter how happy he had been at Hogwarts, he could sense this part of his life was fading away, and it was time to go. A new, darker part of the future was beginning.

Afterword:

dear readers, thank you all for having read the story. Dinky Aurors started off as a pet project of mine when my main story—The Darkness in My Veins—was still in progress. The main purpose of this story was to show that by befriending someone else aside from Ron and Hermione, some things would really change for Harry, but not as drastically as for Harry to acquire Marvel-style superpowers overnight. Not to mention that not all the changes would have been necessarily for the best. There is still a big threat looming above the protagonist.

Also, I just always wished there had been more of an adventure and detective edge to the Harry Potter saga in the later books. Similarly to how it was in the 2nd book when Harry, Ron, and Hermione discovered the Chamber of Secrets hidden beneath the castle essentially by investigation.

The ending of this story is an open one. Fay has not abandoned Harry even if may seem so. There is a clue in this chapter she left for Harry to figure out. As to the rest: it can go either way. Everybody has their motives. The teens might yet reunite, but they may also end up scattered in different places. Regardless of how it could have gone, the times are dangerous now and any sequel to this story would have been an action-packed, most likely a political, thriller with a little fluff here and there seeing how Harry understood that he has feelings for Fay. As it is, all readers are welcome to imagine their own ending.

Your thoughts, reviews, and comments are welcome.

From my part, I hope you liked the portrayal of different teenagers, for it was certainly enjoyable to explore them as people having their own aspirations in life, be it the wish to open a beauty business, become an Auror, or else become a Ministry employee working on legislation and, once again, thank you for reading.

almanera