A/N: Once again, thanks for reviews, favorites and alerts. This chapter we still have some Bones family business to sort through, but we'll also see Harry again.

I've also been asked if this story will have Harry/Susan pairing. Well, I'm not completely decided about pairings, but Harry/Susan is one of those I have considered.

21st August, Bones family home

Susan Bones frowned as she unpacked her things after the vacation with the Macmillans. A greater part of the two weeks had been all about fun and relaxing. Mrs Macmillan had been kind and welcoming, and while Mr Macmillan's behaviour reminded her a bit of the redheaded Gryffindor prefect, Weasley, there was enough cordiality and politeness to make Susan and her friend Hannah Abbott feel welcome.

Nobody had gone down with a queasy stomach after eating local food, the worst health complaint had been Hannah's sunburnt nose, the weather had been good most of the time and the three teenagers hadn't gotten into any arguments.

When Susan thought about it now, it all seemed a bit too good to last. The first hiccups happened on the 15th. Hannah, Ernie and Susan came across Loony Lovegood, who claimed that she was in Greece with her father looking for blibbering humdingers.

Ernie immediately started explaining in a tone more appropriate for an oversensitive toddler that blibbering humdingers, or any other strange animals Lovegood believed in, didn't exist. The kooky Ravenclaw tried to defend herself and implied that Ernie was narrow-minded. Of course, the boy hadn't liked it and retaliated.

Hannah had tried to convince him to leave the younger girl alone, but Ernie used that same annoying, patronising tone, explaining that anyone who had strange ideas needed to have them banished out of their mind, before that person grew up to be a complete lunatic.

Susan got irritated when she'd seen that while the Lovegood girl tried to put on a calm and unconcerned façade, she'd still been quite hurt by Ernie's behaviour. And when the boy treated Hannah like a half-wit, Susan got angry. The heated exchange which followed hadn't been pretty and for a while it looked as if Mrs Macmillan would need to contact Susan's aunt and Hannah's parents, telling them that the girls were returning home early, but in the end they straightened things out.

But then the Daily Prophet had to go and print that awful article about Susan's aunt being a bullying, power hungry harpy. Two days after that there'd been another, even worse article. Susan still got furious when she thought about it.

Mrs Macmillan just rolled her eyes over the articles and dismissed them as nonsense, but Mr Macmillan hadn't been so wise. While he never denigrated Susan's aunt in her niece's presence, he sent the girl sympathetic glances and repeatedly asked if she was happy living with her aunt.

In the end, Susan was glad when the vacation came to an end. She'd managed to answer Mr Macmillan's questions with civility every time he asked, but her patience had slowly been coming to an end. Her irritation changed to worry when she finally got home the evening before.

Since Susan began to attend Hogwarts, the two Bones women had established a certain custom. Every time before Susan left for an extended period of time, and every time she returned home after a longer absence, aunt and niece sat on the bed in Susan's room and talked about everything that happened during the time they were separated, while Susan's aunt also brushed her niece's long red hair and braided it afterwards. Her aunt didn't forget about the small ritual, but Susan could see that her thoughts were in some distant, and apparently quite ugly place.

There was also her aunt's nightmare from last night and her subsequent behaviour. Amelia Bones had always been a serious woman with tendencies towards brooding and worrying, but the morning after the nightmare she looked downright sad and depressed.

Susan wanted to find Rita Skeeter and anybody else who had a hand in making her aunt feel so awful, and give them a piece of her mind. A deranged, violent maniac who escaped detection for so long thanks to exceptional acting skills, indeed. Madame Skeeter and other such characters were deranged, not her aunt. And as for violent tendencies, Susan never experienced any such thing, and if anybody got hexed, slapped or punched by her aunt, the girl was sure that the target deserved it.

Her unpacking finished, Susan headed downstairs to the sitting room, where she last saw her aunt reading a book – or rather staring at the wall with a troubled expression while holding the book on her lap.

When Susan neared the door which led to the sitting room, she heard voices speaking. One, a clear alto, was definitely her aunt's, while the other, higher one sounded as if the speaker was an elderly woman. The teen got curious. She knew that she shouldn't eavesdrop, but she couldn't help herself.

"Augusta is always quick to anger, sometimes too quick, I'd say," said the visitor. "I admit, I can be, too, but I've lived long enough to learn that temper tantrums never solve anything and prevent you from thinking clearly. I think I'm now calm enough to listen to your reasons for acting like you did, if you're willing to share them."

Susan was now intrigued. Acting like you did? Was the visitor accusing her aunt of something distasteful or even illegal? She crept as close to the door as possible and pressed her ear to it. There was complete silence for a while, presumably because her aunt was contemplating how to word her answer, which Susan got to hear soon.

"I will tell you those reasons, Griselda, but I'm warning you, about half of them aren't particularly rational."

"I think I'll judge that for myself."

"Very well. You see, on the fifteenth Umbridge, Fudge and Thicknesse visited my office to allow me to send Malfoy to Azkaban, and the pink cow threatened, or at that time I thought she threatened, now it looks more like a warning, to turn me into an abusive maniac in the eyes of the public – and of the WCPS, if I didn't stop being nosy."

Susan stifled a gasp and listened even more carefully. There was no answer from the visitor, who was, as the girl now realized, none other than Madame Griselda Marchbanks, a long-time member of the Wizengamot and a feared NEWT and OWL examiner, also known as Horntail Granny among the older students at Hogwarts. Susan shook herself out of her thoughts and concentrated on her aunt's words:

"Bad public opinion and howlers from busybodies who have too much free time on their hands would be pretty unpleasant, but the thought that somebody from the WCPS would get in league with Umbridge – Dolores is determined enough to find such a person – and they'd try to take Susan away… it felt like being shoved back to 1980."

Susan's eyes went wide. She knew that the whole Bones family, except for Amelia Bones and her niece had been massacred in 1980, but Susan's aunt never mentioned what else happened to her at the time.

"That was when the Death Eaters caught you and nearly killed you, wasn't it?" asked Madame Marchbanks.

"Yes. If Alastor and his team came a day later, I wouldn't be sitting here today."

"What does that have to do with any WCPS trouble which Umbridge could cause?"

"Everything. You see, I had a period of… well, it could best be described as temporary insanity after I woke up at the spell damage ward at St. Mungo's. Every time I heard, saw or smelled something which reminded me of the time with Dolohov and Rabastan Lestrange, I had a tendency to react violently. Add to it the fact that my whole family apart from Susan had been murdered while I was out cold… and that Susan wasn't killed, too, only because she'd been laying half-dead in the magical disease ward with spattergroit and it wasn't certain that she would recover…"

Susan put a hand over her mouth. She had no idea that such things had happened and couldn't imagine how awful her aunt must have felt. The girl wanted to run into the sitting room and hug her aunt, but she checked her impulse and continued to listen to the conversation.

"So you think that Umbridge, or whoever else helps her, would try to convince the WCPS that you've actually never managed to overcome that insanity and it had only been well concealed?"

"Exactly."

The conversation moved on to other topics, such as the possibility of Fudge, Umbridge, or somebody from the circle of Lucius Malfoy's friends finding or making up some dirt, which would be awful enough to get Amelia sacked, her possible successor (the two women agreed that with the situation looking like it was, that successor would probably be Pius Thicknesse). Susan also caught the name "McAdams" and something about a man named Tom Riddle. At first, Susan didn't understand why this Mr. Riddle was so important, until she heard the words "teenage Voldemort strolling down the Diagon Alley". The girl couldn't hold in a squeak of fear after hearing the name of the most feared dark wizard of the century spoken aloud, closely followed by the admission that he could return in the future.

Susan realized that at least one of the two women in the sitting room must have heard her and began to retreat back to her room, but she didn't get very far before the door was opened and her aunt ordered:

"Susan, come back here."

"Yes, aunt," the girl mumbled and retraced her steps with bowed head.

"How much did you overhear?"

"Everything from Madame Longbottom being hot-tempered to you-know-who strolling through the Diagon Alley."

"In other words just the things you shouldn't have heard," said Amelia with a resigned sigh. "I'll have to take a look at your occlumency skills. If they got rusty, we'll sit down after dinner each evening and try to bring them up to speed."

"Yes, aunt," said Susan again, thinking that her attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation had been a bad idea. After everything she heard, the girl felt bad about the occasional sour faces, whining and bratty comments aimed at her aunt. There was also the awful idea of a sadistic dark lord returned from death, and last, but not the least, her aunt's reaction when she found out that Susan hadn't really put much effort into her occlumency.

When Susan had been dealt with, Amelia returned back to the sitting room. Griselda Marchbanks had picked up her hat, gloves and walking cane, preparing to leave for her home. As Amelia re-entered the room, the elderly professor turned to her and said:

"I've heard quite an extraordinary story today. I'll try to cool down Augusta's temper and I'm going to think about some way to get at Umbridge or Nott. They should be dealt with before the ICW meeting."

"Thank you, Griselda. I'll contact you if I come up with some plan myself."

Madame Marchbanks nodded and started walking towards the door to the hallway and a small entrance hall which had the only fireplace connected to the floo network. At first, she was frowning slightly, as if trying to remember an old faded memory, but then she snapped her fingers and smirked.

"I've got it!"

When Amelia lifted her eyebrows in a silent question, the old witch clarified:

"Not a plan how to get at Miss Dolores, no. You see, when you said that the American ICW representative's last name was McAdams, it sounded quite familiar. I was sure that I've heard about an American wizard with that surname before, but I couldn't immediately recall where."

"And do you remember now?" asked Amelia.

"Oh yes. It was at the 1964 Duelling World Championship in France. A young man who couldn't have been much older than a fresh Hogwarts graduate, with long black hair and a little too pretty face, but also with a lot of skill – he won the championship in the end. The other duellers made him work hard for it, but he did it. The final duel was quite something, an excellent show of very impressive spellwork by both participants."

The elderly witch was quiet for a while, lost in memories. Amelia thought that her guest was either remembering said extraordinary spells, or the sixties in general. That decade had been shaping up to be a time of great changes, but it ended in disappointment as Abraxas Malfoy, the Blacks, Notts and various other conservative pureblood families stopped any development they didn't like and prepared the ground for Tom Riddle, who eventually came out into the open in early 1970.

Griselda Marchbanks soon returned from her trip down the memory lane, said her goodbyes and flooed home. Amelia headed for Susan's room to do the promised check of her occlumency shields. When she opened the door, she found her niece sitting on the edge of her bed, nervously twisting, pulling and tearing at a strand of her hair. Before Amelia could say a word, Susan blurted out an apology, a confession that she hadn't been working on her occlumency as she should have been, and a string of questions about Tom Riddle and his possible return.

"Suzy…" sighed Amelia tiredly after she heard her niece admit her less than diligent efforts in occlumency.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again," said Susan quietly, her head bowed even lower than a few minutes before when she'd been caught eavesdropping.

"It better not."

There was a moment of silence. Susan stopped tugging at her hair and looked up. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again and resumed her fiddling with the much abused strand of hair. When she repeated the cycle several times, Amelia pried the hair out of her niece's fingers, took her hands in her own and said:

"I see that you still want answers to your questions about Mr. Riddle, but I'm afraid they will have to wait until you are up to speed with your occlumency."

"Understood," said Susan. She was quiet for a moment and then asked:

"Aunt?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask about the "temporary insanity" you talked about? Did it really go as far as the second article in the Prophet says?"

"Unfortunately, Rita Skeeter came across a bit of truth for once," said Amelia sadly. "I wasn't the only one with a problem like this, too. Some ended up as drunks and I also know about a junior Auror who committed a suicide."

"Isn't there a spell or a potion that could have helped them?" asked Susan curiously.

"As far as I know, there have been no such thing at the time, and there isn't any now. Those who did manage to beat the problem did so mainly because of determination and support from family and friends." Or, in my case, also thanks to knowing that if I didn't pull myself together, I could forget about any kind of contact with the last remaining member of my family and look forward to being locked up as a madwoman, added Amelia privately.

She was pulled from her thoughts when Susan scooted closer to her and gave her a hug, laying her head on Amelia's shoulder. The DMLE director returned the embrace and ran her fingers through her niece's hair, the repeated motion was comforting for both aunt and niece. Amelia knew that there were unpleasant scenes and confrontations waiting for her, but she banished the thought from her head for the moment. Now it was time to enjoy this moment of tranquillity and contentment with her niece – without anything and anybody ruining it.

Same day, St. Mungo's, spell damage ward

Harry squirmed nervously in his seat in one of the corridors of the spell damage ward. Healers Martin and Davies got in touch the day before, telling him that they came up with a way to deal with the malevolent foreign presence in his scar. When they added that his condition could best be described as a botched up attempt at possession which had strange aftereffects, Harry was relieved that they discovered some solution – and that the thing in his scar had been revealed before it could have done serious damage.

While the two healers were getting ready for the ritual and healer Wood stood some distance down the corridor talking to Mad-Eye Moody, Harry watched as a medieval healer, whose portrait hung on the wall, repeatedly scratched his nose, primped his hair and rearranged his robes. Then, as he was about to look away, a grey-haired witch in lime green robes, who looked like an older version of Madame Bones, appeared in the frame and started complaining about somebody named Urquhart Rackharrow.

Healer Davies came to collect Harry just as the medieval wizard disappeared from the frame and the witch remained standing there with her arms akimbo, glaring in the direction in which the wizard ran off.

"Good afternoon, Dilys," greeted Davies.

"Good afternoon to you, too," answered the portrait and started complaining: "Rackharrow really doesn't have any manners. Scaring patients with gruesome and mostly untrue stories, taking off his clothes and showing off his scars… "

The witch looked as if she wanted to continue, but healer Davies interrupted her:

"Dilys, I agree that he is impolite and I'll ask around if it would be possible to take his portrait down, but now I have a patient to see."

The witch looked around and finally noticed Harry.

"Oh, I see. In that case, I'm sorry for delaying you with my complaints, Healer Davies." Turning to Harry, she continued: "And as for you, young man, I hope you'll be cured from whatever ails you."

When she finished speaking, Dilys disappeared from the painting just like its true occupant and now there was only Healer Davies and Harry. The spell damage specialist led Harry to a room similar to the one where the thing in his scar had first been found, only in this room there was a big circle surrounded by many runes drawn on the floor. When he saw Harry's questioning glance, Davies explained:

"My colleague and I agree that the gentlest, or should I say least unpleasant way to get that thing out of your scar is this old ritual which had been used even before Hogwarts was founded. It's just on the line between what is allowed by the ministry and what isn't, but I believe in case such as yours it's justifiable."

Harry just nodded and swallowed nervously. Davies' colleague, Healer Martin approached them and commented on his fellow healer's words:

"Classifying most of the known rituals as dark, and therefore forbidden magic was one of the stupidest things ever done. Trust me, Mr. Potter, I could rant and rave about this a long time, but I believe we have a strange spirit to take care of."

The healer then proceeded to explain in simple terms what was about to happen. As he listened to Martin's explanations, Harry drew two conclusions. The first was about runes – they now seemed like an extremely useful subject and he was glad Moody convinced him to change divination for ancient runes (the old auror's argument that with care of magical creatures and divination for electives he was throwing away many interesting career paths and gave off the message that he was lazy and expected his fame to help him advance later on had been very convincing).

The second conclusion the teen drew concerned his Chamber of Secrets excursion. When healer Martin said that the dark presence in his scar wasn't attached to his magical core as firmly as would be expected after being there almost twelve years, and that it's hold had recently been brutally loosened, Harry immediately thought about the basilisk venom and phoenix tears. It was quite possible that his adventure in the Chamber had one more positive outcome besides Ginny Weasley's rescue.

The voice of Healer Davies returned Harry to the present when the man instructed him:

"Alright, Mr. Potter, I need you to sit or lay down in the middle of the circle, whatever is more comfortable for you. Please try to avoid stepping on the runes or the circle's border."

Harry carefully walked towards the drawn runes and symbols and stepped inside the circle, taking care to avoid touching any line. Then he sat down and turned to the two healers, waiting for more instructions. Davies studied his position for a while and then requested:

"Shift a few inches to your left and then a bit backwards, Mr. Potter."

The teen did as he was asked and this time Davies nodded in satisfaction and informed his patient:

"Healer Martin and I will now begin the ritual. Before we do, I have to warn you that it's probably going to be unpleasant and it may even hurt. Do you want us to proceed?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry firmly. The prospect of pain and/or creepy feelings was pretty unappealing, but if the thing in his scar had the potential to take over his body and use it to hurt his friends, and also mess with his magic, it had to go.

"Very well," said the healer and positioned himself outside of the circle, across from his colleague, so that the two healers and the boy inside of the circle were in one straight line. Then the two men started the chants and incantations needed for the ritual.

At first it looked as if nothing was happening, but then the runes and the circle slowly began to glow with a pulsating silver light. While the light was bright, it wasn't harsh or eye-watering.

The silver light slowly filled the air and Harry could no longer see the two healers. Normally, he would be worried, looking for a way to escape, but not this day. The magic around him gave off a very comforting feeling and his instincts told him to stay put.

As the two healers continued with the ritual and the magic swirled closer and closer, Harry began to feel an itch in his scar, which soon turned into an unpleasant stinging sensation similar to what he'd felt towards the end of his first year at Hogwarts in the presence of professor Quirrel.

Just as Harry thought that the ritual may be unpleasant, but not so awful as he feared, the stinging sensation in his scar changed to a sharp stabbing pain. He also felt a strange tugging sensation and he was almost overcome by a sudden surge of anger and the need to attack and hurt Martin and Davies.

He was ready to stand up and give in to the feeling, when a voice in his head stopped him:

Stay where you are. Those two men are trying to help you. Don't you remember that?

Harry did remember and with that reminder came a realisation that all of the anger and animosity actually didn't come from him. They belonged to the parasite in his scar. That bit of knowledge made Harry very angry. He now wanted the ritual to succeed more than ever.

Right after the last thought the feeling in his scar changed yet again. The pain became more intense and the tugging sensation was now being counteracted by a strange and completely unpleasant pressure. Harry hissed and pressed his palm to his forehead. The lightning bolt scar felt strangely moist, and when he removed his hand, he was startled by the sight of blood mixed with some kind of black viscous substance. It was disgusting and it was frightening – and it behaved strangely. The blood began to dry, but the black liquid didn't. It wouldn't even run down his hand and drip on the floor, as could be expected from any normal liquid. Rather, it began to burn his skin.

When Harry saw this, he got into the exact same state as when he shattered all the glass in the Dursley's house and blew up Vernon's sister. He was furious that he'd had something as vile as this inside him all this time and his magic reacted to the burning fury. The pain in Harry's scar was now so sharp that he felt as if his head would burst. The silver light began to swirl closer and closer until it covered Harry as a blanket. It felt soft and pleasantly cool everywhere apart from his scar.

As soon as the healing magic finally got a good grip on the parasite it was supposed to destroy, the tugging sensation changed into a sharp yank. And another. And several more. Then there was a horrible, bone-chilling, high-pitched shriek and Harry felt as if all of the black puss burst out of his scar at once. He instinctively closed his eyes as he felt the burning sensation running down his forehead and the bridge of his nose.

The shrieking got weaker and weaker, until it stopped. The silver light slowly faded. The circle and the runes continued to glow a little longer, but in the end they returned to their original state, too. Harry was exhausted and dizzy, but he also felt strangely lighter. He absentmindedly noted that healers Martin and Davies also looked wrung out. He realized that healer Wood, who didn't take part in the ritual and still had his full strength at his disposal, approached the circle and asked some questions, but Harry just didn't have the strength to work out what he was being asked, much less give a comprehensible answer.

It seemed that the elderly healer realized that, too. He stopped his enquiries and waved his wand several times, performing what Harry assumed were diagnostic charms. Then he gestured for Davies to join him. The spell damage specialist did so and started his own spell – Harry thought it was the same one which was used to reveal the parasite in his scar – the incantation was once again more like a sentence in a long-forgotten language.

The teen was now half-asleep and his brain screamed for a long, uninterrupted rest, but before he closed his eyes, he clearly heard two sentences which he would remember for a long time:

"He's clear. We did it."