He had no alternative, no choice, but he would surely be expelled, after that fiasco with Dobby in second year –

'Take me, kill me instead –'

'EXPECTO PATRONUM!' Harry bellowed.

And finally, finally, the silver stag burst out of the end of his wand, triumphant and protective, just the way it had when he'd faced that Boggart in the fourth task, and the Dementors retreated. Weak-kneed but relieved, Harry hurried over to Dudley, lying prone on his back in the dim alleyway.

'Wake up, Dudley … come on …' He slapped his cousin's face. Fortunately Dudley stirred, but at this point, he was barely coherent and consequently a dead weight almost too heavy for Harry to drag back to Privet Drive. Worse still, there was the noise of someone approaching – someone slow but determined, probably a too-inquisitive Muggle …

She wasn't.

Several eventful hours later, during which Harry had been confronted by his neighbour-revealed-to-be-a-Squib (Mrs Figg), yelled at, expelled from Hogwarts, kicked out of 4 Privet Drive and just as suddenly allowed to stay, then locked in his room and rescued by a truly impressive number of volunteers from the mysterious 'Order of the Phoenix', taken to a hidden house in London called 12 Grimmauld Place and allowed to actually sit in an Order meeting, he finally learnt some of the things Ron, Hermione, Sirius and Dumbledore had (some more reluctantly than others) been keeping from all summer.

'The Order of the Phoenix – it's a secret organisation,' explained Hermione. 'Dumbledore formed it back during the first war, out of people who wanted to actively fight against You-Know-Who. He revived it after what happened in June.'

'And you couldn't have told me this before?'

Ron raised his eyebrows.

'OK, it's a secret organisation, I get it,' said Harry, frustrated. 'Just … nobody considered that I might actually want to keep up with what's been going on? Voldemort –' (both of them winced) '– killed my parents! If you think I've just going to stand by … if things are happening, if he's gaining power again, I want to be out there; I want to be fighting.'

'But that doesn't mean you're the only one who can take him down,' said Ron. 'I get where you're coming from, mate, but let Dumbledore and the Aurors handle it.'

'You think this is about personal glory?' Harry nearly burst out, before remembering that they didn't know about the prophecy. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … Yeah, he planned to keep it that way.

'Of course not, Harry, but –' Hermione began, looking stricken.

'How d'you reckon the Dementors found you?' interrupted Ron, clearly eager to change the subject. 'You must be the only wizard around there for miles.'

'And they're under Ministry control,' added Hermione musingly. 'Unless … maybe someone sent them there, which is an absolutely horrid thing to do. Anyway, they can't possibly expel you. There's simply no evidence, and it was obviously self-defence …'

'At this point, Fudge is probably looking for an excuse to expel me,' Harry reminded her darkly. He remembered the countless Daily Prophet articles he'd forced himself to read over the summer, even when he felt sick thinking about Cedric's death and how they were covering it up, to the point of none-too-obliquely trying to hint that Harry's story was wild, unbelievable – deranged ravings of a boy pushed too far …

A smear campaign. He hadn't thought Fudge would stoop that low. Why, he'd even been nice to Harry in third year … before he thought Harry had been losing his mind because Harry believed Sirius was innocent …

And then it hit him. Fudge – and therefore the Daily Prophet – was trying to make out that he, Harry, was losing his mind. Better, after all, to put the blame on one boy who was probably deluded than to admit that Voldemort was really back.

'Fudge doesn't make the decision, though,' Hermione was saying.

'Dumbledore will stand up for you, mate, just keep your head down –'

'I'll do that,' Harry told them, appreciating their concern but eager to ward off piles of instructions.

Both of them settled for looking sceptical.

'Sirius, do you …' It was hard to start a conversation like this, but Harry's need to know had to be satisfied. 'Do you know about the prophecy?'

'Harry …' Sirius's grin was more of a grimace. 'I've known about it since before you were born – not the exact words, but I got the gist.'

Harry didn't let himself breathe easy yet. 'How come?'

'Your parents told me, but I think I was the only one, other than Dumbledore, who knew.'

'And what about me being …'

'Harry, listen to me. Whatever Dumbledore might say you have to be or do, forget it. You don't have to feel obligated to fight this war on your own just because of a prophecy. I know you're fifteen, but Molly's right in this instance – you've got enough responsibilities to deal with already. We won't keep you in the dark, but it might be best if you let Dumbledore and me handle things at the moment.'

So Sirius didn't know.

'Cleared,' Mr Weasley said loudly, 'of all charges!'

There was a second of silence, then clamour broke out. Fred, George and Ginny broke into a rousing chant of 'He got off, he got off, he got off,' Mrs Weasley congratulated him, tears in her eyes; both Sirius and Lupin looked happier and more relaxed than they had in days; Hermione flung her arms around Harry, causing him to stagger backwards and accidentally trod on someone's toes.

'Oh, Harry, you must be so relieved! I mean, there was no real reason to be worried – we all knew there was no case against you – but it's wonderful for it to be confirmed, isn't it?'

Harry said nothing. He was thinking about the short, toad-like woman sitting next to Fudge at the trial – Madam Umbridge, or whatever her name had been. Something about her had rubbed him the wrong way, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what.

When he saw her next, however, sitting at the staff table at Hogwarts on the first of September with that smug expression on her face, he knew the answer.