Chapter 1: The Coldest Summer

Not for the first time, the night was a restless one for Harry Potter. His bedroom window was flung open wide, hoping against hope to entice a non-existent breeze into his stifling room. The heat wave engulfing Britain had reached Little Whingeing only a few days before and the solid, scorching humidity was now almost unbearable. Privet Drive was still the same; the large square houses and the pristine gleaming cars the only things unaffected by the arid heat. The soaring temperatures had made Uncle Vernon more volatile than ever, but for once he wasn't venting on Harry.

For Harry was now being treated as the usurper in Privet Drive in the worst form he could remember. He was being completely...and utterly...ignored.

It was as if he didn't exist at all. Vernon, Petunia and Dudley simply walked past him as if he wasn't there, all angered into silence by the threats laid down by Mad-Eye Moody and others at King's Cross. Harry rather expected this to happen, and in many ways thought it would be an improvement to the usual abuse he suffered during the Summer holidays. But, somehow, the silent treatment was worse.

Harry was used to being blamed for most of Uncle Vernon's problems. He needed to vent his anger several times during the day and shouting at Harry was usually his preferred method. If it wasn't the heat then it was work problems (Uncle Vernon couldn't sell drills if Harry was on his mind), or miscreants in the street (all the scruffy people in the world were Harry's best mates according to Uncle Vernon), or the hole in the Ozone Layer, which Uncle Vernon swore was caused by Harry's abnormality.

But now, there was nothing. Harry wasn't even worth insulting. It added to his sense of dark anguish, which had plagued him since the end of the school year. Depression had crept upon him that first night back, as he sat alone in the bland, unfurnished bedroom, sick with guilt and dark memories, his stomach roiling through lack of food.

For the Dursleys were even ignoring him during meal times.

But in the dark of his bedroom, even his starvation didn't matter. Nothing much did these days. If Harry's mind wasn't drawn to the public return of Lord Voldemort, then he was back in the Department of Mysteries, staring through the dark Veil. The very thought of Sirius made his insides clench. He curled up against the agony of it, as if trying to turn his back on his pain. But it was no use; no matter which way he turned, or whatever he did, the ghost of his Godfather followed him both night and day.

It was during the long, lonely night hours, cooped up in his bay window, staring down Privet Drive, that Harry felt the gut-pinching loss of Sirius the strongest. He could imagine what Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia would say if he tried talking to them; the thought was almost comical. He had tried to say something in his letters to Ron but couldn't quite word it. Hermione was on holiday, and he didn't want to ruin another period of time with her parents by saying the things on his mind. In her last letter she seemed to know what Harry was thinking; she had a way of doing that.

'...things must be hard, there on your own...I doubt Ron would be much help...talk to me if you need to...'

And, at times like this, he did need to. She'd be the best person, maybe the only person he could open up to. She'd let him rant, let him scream, just sit with him quietly if that's what he wanted. And she'd be the only one who wouldn't laugh if the emotion overcame him and he was reduced to angry tears. But she wasn't here, and after nearly a fortnight of solitude, the lonely frustration was borderline unbearable.

Even Hedwig wasn't here. He couldn't blame her. Harry knew that he'd be wretched company just now. But with his only link to the magical world absent he felt more alone than ever. But he was bitterly pleased that Hedwig was far away from him, convinced as he was now that his affection was a curse. Those he bestowed this dubious honour upon inevitable suffered, and more often than not ended up dead.

Which was why he was now firmly of the opinion that he should be alone. To know him was just too great a risk.

Lack of sleep made Harry more and more apathetic as the days went on. The stifling heat, coupled with disturbed dreams on the few occasions he actually managed a few non-waking hours, served to heighten his already drawn and skinny look. Dudley, who was rarely found to miss out on such opportunities, took full advantage of Harry's dishevelled manner.

"Can't sleep?" Dudley taunted maliciously one morning. "You look like crap."

"What are you on about?" Harry hissed back, keeping his voice low.

"I heard you last night," said Dudley, smirking. "Last year it was, 'Oh Cedric! Don't be dead!' and this time its, 'Sirius! Sirius! Come back. I need you! I'm coming to get you!' What's the matter? Another one of your boyfriend's dumped you? Maybe you should try being straight, or is that too normal for a freak like you? And what's a 'herm-irony'? Some sort of weird beast that you're knocking off, or something? I hear you whining about losing that half the time as well. Crying like a sodding girl about it, too. "

"You keep your mouth shut!" spat Harry.

"Herm-irony! Wake Up! Wake up, Herm-irony!" aped Dudley in a girly voice, before fawning about in mock tears. "What a big baby!"

"Well I didn't hear you complaining when I saved your fat arse from the Dementors last year," Harry hissed angrily.

Dudley paled at the memory. "Mum said you brought them there. That it was your fault."

"Maybe it was," said Harry. "And if you don't get out of my way, maybe I'll call them back!"

And Harry barged past Dudley, rapping him hard on the head as he did so. He thought it best to get out of the house as quickly as he could. He went to his bedroom, pulled on his trainers and bolted down the stairs just as Dudley emerged from his own room, swinging his knobbly Smeltings stick in Harry's direction.

He didn't have to think where he was going, or even to look, really. Harry knew this path well, he escaped to it most days. He might as well have been haunting it. He felt like a ghost sometimes. Formless, listless, with only his plagued thoughts for company and substance. He would stay out for hours, mindless of his surroundings, simply trying to disappear from the world.

This had been a Summer harder than any other. Ten days now of such dark and cold that Harry felt numb. The outside heat barely touched him. It belonged in some other universe, one where Sirius was alive and there was still a reason for the struggle. Harry could barely remember it now. All he could think about was the darkness closing in on him, and the Prophecy that burdened him.

What did it feel like to commit a murder? Harry found himself pondering this question a lot. He had to, it was his future. Unless he intended to die, which, he ashamedly admitted in his lowest moments, was an idea that had its merits. He would see Sirius again, and his parents. It wouldn't be all bad. It might not even hurt if it was quick. Not like the Cruciatus. Those wounds had never completely healed. Death would be preferable to another dose of that torture.

Harry wondered if the pain of murder would ever pass. Even if it was Voldemort. Life was life, wasn't it? Would he be able to cope with it, taking Voldemort's life and living with it for the rest of his own? Everyone would expect him to, he knew that. This big, mythical hero the world had built him into. They were looking to him already. The Daily Prophet wasn't so much a newspaper anymore as a propaganda vehicle for his legend. One he had no control over. It was like Ginny Weasley made parchment. If it wasn't for the snippets of news from the Wizarding World, Harry would have scrapped his subscription after the first few days.

But he hadn't. He still needed to feel connected. Ron was the only one who wrote regularly, but his letters were scant and short. He'd never been much for epic prose. Harry accepted that his writings were probably subject to intense scrutiny and censorship, but it did nothing but add to his well of loneliness.

This was further deepened by Hermione's even briefer interactions. He felt her absence keenly, far more than during any other Summer. He knew the cause. As much as he was loathe to confront it, the memory haunted him easily as much as Sirius and his graceful arc through the Veil. He dreamt of it often, Dudley had at least gotten that part right. That flash of purple, the surprised gasp, the crumple of her body.

And those seconds where his entire world shattered beyond repair.

He sat on a bench near the playground and buried his face in his hands as the recollections surged through him again. He couldn't look at it, the image of Hermione cradled in his lap, possibly dead. Nothing, ever in his existence, had frightened him so much, had reduced him to a static, mindless state. He shivered uncontrollably at even this most basic of thoughts about that night. It was weeks ago, but it wasn't getting any easier.

And he hadn't even apologised for it. He'd been too distraught about Sirius to even ask how she was getting on in her recovery. Even now he could see the line of potion bottles, all ten of them, at her bedside. And he'd not asked about her condition, even asked how the potions tasted to take her mind off it. The vision made his insides twist uncomfortably. It was the equal of his anguish over Sirius, sometimes more so. The potency of it startled him sometimes.

Then it would strike him just how much he missed her. Much more than he had any Summer since they'd met. Even after last year, when he was out of his mind in worry about her, about everyone, with Voldemort's return. Even when he was balled up in agony on his bedroom floor, nursing the nerve-searing after effects of his Cruciatus torture, even when he was plagued with the worst, most vivid visions of Cedric's death, there was still this niggle about Hermione. The shy kiss she'd placed on his cheek at Kings Cross lingered against his skin, a gentle reminder that, through all the darkness, he was still loved somewhere. He was being thought about by someone who cared.

He'd never found the words to tell her what that meant to him, how it had helped him survive that Summer. He was fully intending to when he saw her again, then Dudley had been attacked by a Dementor, Harry had been up in front of the Wizengamot, then overlooked for the Prefect's position. The disappointed look on Hermione's face haunted him for weeks and the reality of the regret he felt was something he'd never fully looked in the face.

He'd let her down, not been good enough. Even though it was Dumbledore's fault, Harry couldn't shake his own sense of disappointment at having failed Hermione. He had never noticed before just how much he wanted to measure up for her, it was a stark realisation.

It returned to him now, spiralling his mood into the parched earth beneath his feet. Why did he feel these things? Where had this restless necessity for Hermione come from? Had it always been there, or had his swell of guilt for nearly getting her killed simply stirred an even more powerful need to keep her close, to protect her? He wasn't sure of that, aside from the urgent desire to have her in his sight, within reach. But she was so far away. Harry hated the distance between them. It caused a dull ache all through him. He didn't know how much longer he could stand it.

It was growing dusky by the time Harry made his way back to Privet Drive. There would be hell to pay when he got back in. Hitting Dudley was as bad as an Unforgivable Curse in the eyes of the Dursley's. It was worth several days of locks on the kitchen door. Harry had lost at least half a stone as it was. He only ever got scraps from his Aunt's table, but he wasn't about to beg for anything more. He would just have to suck it up as always, and sneak to the kitchens once everyone was in bed.

But right now, the Dursleys were still in the living room. Harry heard the low buzz of the television as he quietly closed the front door. He moved silently along the carpeted floor and peered through the gap in the living room door. They were watching a programme about animals.

"It's just bad stock, you see," Vernon announced sagely. "If the horse is lame, they put a bullet in it. No messing about there. Shame your sister wasn't a horse, could have used a bullet on that bleedin' menace she spawned. Maybe even a whole magazine just to be sure."

Vernon chortled at his own comment. Harry felt his insides roil in fury. He clenched his fists in his pockets as he mounted the stairs, ignoring the carrying voice of his Uncle.

"Just like his father, Marge was right about that. Maybe it is the breeding..."

"Ignore it, Harry," said a Hermione-like voice in his head as a car pulled up in the street and the door slammed. "He's goading you...wants a response...it's Number Four...that's the one..."

That was a strange thing to say. It made Harry pause on the next step. Voices were coming from outside now, from on the lawn maybe. It was a woman's this time, a voice that Harry didn't recognise.

"Are you sure it's the right street, honey? Maybe it's the next one."

"No, it's this one. Privet Drive. There's the sign, look!"

It couldn't be! It was Hermione's voice again, but not in his head this time. Harry stared in a sort of dazed wonder out of the long, open window on the staircase and, sure enough, there she was. Outside, with her hands on her hips at the edge of the garden. Harry was so startled by her appearance that he forgot his legs could move if he wanted them to. A shiny blue car was parked on the road, its engine idling, with two occupants sat in the front seats.

"If you are sure, honey, go and ring the bell," said the woman again. She was sitting in the car.

Hermione was frowning. "There's magic here. I can feel it." She reached out into the air in front of her, and touched something that Harry couldn't see. The air shimmered as she did so. Harry could only watch as Hermione traced the protective enchantment that covered the entire boundary of the garden.

"You will not be able to cross the barrier, Miss Granger."

Harry gasped at the new voice, and his jaw-dropped as Professor Dumbledore stepped out of thin air to stand in front of Hermione.

"Professor! What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, her voice startled.

"The same as you, I imagine," Dumbledore replied lightly. "Trying to protect Harry."

"How do you know I'm here for that?" asked Hermione, her suspicion evident. "How did you know I was here at all?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I suppose it's a little much to ask that an old man be allowed to keep his secrets?"

Hermione huffed. "I think you've kept enough, sir."

Harry balled at Hermione's brassiness. But Dumbledore sagged in agreement.

"I happen to concur with you, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore sadly. "Though my intentions were honourable. Protecting Harry has always been my singular concern. As, I see, it is yours. To trigger my wards...to the point that you almost broke through...that shows admirable concern for your friend."

"For my best friend, Professor," Hermione corrected. "And it's that concern that has brought me here tonight. I don't intend to leave Harry here a moment longer."

Harry's felt his heart swoop at Hermione's words. He still couldn't move, and these new flutters in his chest made him less kinetic than ever. All he could do was listen.

"May I ask what, specifically, has triggered this restless urgency, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore was asking.

"Hedwig," Hermione replied simply. "She came to me two days after I got back home. She was depressed and wanted to stay with me, I knew something was wrong. She always reflects Harry's mood. And she was losing weight. Then, one night after she went hunting, she returned with a crumpled up note. I think she'd stolen it from Harry's waste paper basket. It just said ' neither can live while the other survives'...it means Harry and Voldemort, doesn't it? That's what was in the Prophecy?"

"You really are the brightest witch of our age," said Dumbledore, reverently.

Hermione gasped angrily. "Professor! Shame on you! How could you tell Harry something like that...then just leave him to his horrendous family all Summer...alone?"

"My reasons are complex," Dumbledore explained. "Harry is protected here."

"Protection is a relative thing," Hermione scoffed. "Especially if he is suffering as I think he is. I mean - you're here, tonight. What are you protecting him from?"

"I came to see who had triggered my wards," said Dumbledore. "It takes immense power to pose a risk to them. I've been watching you the past few minutes. You have been trying to penetrate the barrier...non-verbally?"

Hermione huffed. "I had a glance at next year's curriculum. I knew this was part of it. I visited Flourish and Blotts to take out some preparatory reading. It's not spell casting. I'm not breaking any rules, Professor. I checked the wording of the Restrictions for the Use of Underage Magic."

"Nevertheless, it is mightily impressive," said Dumbledore. "So, now you are here, what do you intend to do?"

"Get to Harry and see how he is," said Hermione. "Then take him away from here so I can look after him. Someone needs to...and I think he needs me."

Harry felt his heart come to life at that. He stepped back, his breath catching heavy in his chest. For the first time in weeks, the anger and grief that had consumed him had lifted a little. Then the doorbell chimed and Harry could only stare down stupidly as Dudley yanked it open without realising he was there.

"Who are you?" Dudley spat.

"What lovely manners," said Hermione, scrunching her nose. "Is Har - HARRY! There you are!"

Harry leapt the last few stairs as Hermione rushed into the house, uninvited, to meet him. She clobbered him with bear hug, as his face got lost in the expanse of her bushy hair.

"Oh Harry, how are you? What am I saying...you must be awful. But...what's happened to you...you've lost so much weight!"

Hermione pulled away and looked him up and down, before shooting dagger-laden looks at the Dursleys, who had now gathered in the hall.

"What have you been doing to him!" Hermione squealed angrily. "Have you been starving him?"

Harry felt a swell of emotion churn in his gut. The idea that Hermione felt so impelled to stand there and defend him was truly humbling. He wanted to tell her so, but her abrupt appearance in his day had robbed him of the ability to speak.

"Who are you? And what do you mean barging into my house? Uninvited I might add."

Vernon Dursley had found his voice at last.

"I'm Hermione Granger, a friend of Harry's from school," said Hermione firmly. She fixed Vernon with such a fierce stare that he seemed taken aback.

"You're one of those - those - things!" Vernon hissed. He seemed unable to muster the will to say the word witch. He scowled at Harry, his face reddening. "How dare you give our address away to another of your freaks?"

"I assure you neither Harry nor Hermione are freaks, Mr Dursley," said Dumbledore, stepping over the threshold.

His words were light, but as his eyes flicked from Harry's ragged frame and the oversized clothes hanging from him, to the Dursleys gathered nearby, a palpable anger rolled off him furious waves. Vernon cowered away from it and even Harry felt his skin tingle as Dumbledore's magic swelled in the narrow hall space. He turned to Petunia.

"I set you a simple task," said Dumbledore. "Take care of your sister's child. I warned you last Summer that you were failing to heed my words. Your punishment for this dereliction of duty will be extreme."

"Punishment?" asked Vernon, finding a shot of courage from somewhere. "How dare you come into my home and threaten my family!"

"Oh, my dear Mr Dursley," said Dumbledore gently. "It is not I who poses the threat. I do not engage in the torture of our non-Magical kin. Unfortunately, a Dark Power is on the rise in Great Britain which does. And its leader - one of the most dangerous and feared wizards to ever live - has a blood vendetta against the very boy I have asked you protect.

"My toll for this...your payment, if you like...is for you to have been kept as safe as we can possibly make you, in exchange for your providing safety for Harry. A fair bargain, I reasoned, as the evil wizard - the same one who slaughtered your sister and her husband, Mrs Dursley - knows all about you. He has been searching for you, to locate and murder Harry. My protections have prevented that.

"But, when Harry leaves tonight, those protections leave with him. And we leave you to your fate...however horrific that may be."

Petunia squeaked, Vernon made similar pitiful noises of distress. "You...you cannot do this...how can we protect ourselves against magic?"

Dumbledore frowned at him. "Have you not always decried our arts, shunned our world? To expect us to provide you with solutions now is, frankly, a comical request. I suggest you pack up and run. And keep running. For you represent the only genuine blood link to Harry in the world. That makes you a high-value target. Lord Voldemort may never stop hunting you."

Vernon roared and kicked into high gear. He grabbed Petunia by the arm and hauled her upstairs, yelling at Dudley to follow after them. Five minutes of frantic crashes and shouting followed, before the Dursleys re-emerged with overstuffed suitcases in tow. They thundered past Harry without so much as a glance goodbye, heaved their cases into the car, then screeched out of the driveway and sped off into the night.

Harry watched it all with a sort of mind-numbed shock. Then a question came to him. He turned to Dumbledore.

"I'm leaving?"

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore confirmed. "It is for the best. The protections on this house were suitable when the threat was vague and ephemeral. But now, you are perhaps the principle target of an enemy we are engaged in open warfare with."

"Open war?" asked Harry, aghast.

"Indeed," Dumbledore sighed. "It has been barely a fortnight since Voldemort's public return, but already there have been a number of attacks, disappearances as people return to his banner, and the Dementors of Azkaban have committed themselves to Voldemort's service. We have been slow to react, I will not wait for him to come for you, Harry, as we both know he surely will."

"Then where am I going? I don't want to go to The Burrow, to put the Weasleys at risk."

Dumbledore's eyes darkened in fury. "No, Harry, The Burrow is out of the question. We have reason to believe that Percy Weasley has continued his defection to the Dark Side, taking his older brother Charles with him."

"His defection?" Hermione hissed. "What's happened?"

"The details are secret," said Dumbledore.

"No, they're not," said Harry firmly. He looked at Hermione who returned his gaze in a show of fierce support. "I have suffered under enough secrets. I wont tolerate any more. If you expect me to go along with anything you have planned, I want honesty and clarity. And Hermione will be closer to me than anyone else. I will share everything with her."

Hermione turned her eyes down and blushed at Harry's words. Dumbledore's eyes danced between them, glittering vividly.

"That is a choice I whole-heartedly encourage, Harry," said Dumbledore. "And you are right, I have been too guarded with you. This is your fight, whether I wish to protect you from it or not. Very well, I will be honest with you. Percy Weasley is ambitious. More than that, he is ashamed of his family, of their descent into poverty and ridicule. He is a prime candidate to be seduced by the lure of easy power that Voldemort offers.

"And the offer was simple - turn your brother, Charlie. Either through converting him to Voldemort's ideology, or subjugating him through magical force. The reason being that Voldemort needs an expert in dragon-control to train a division of assault-riders for his army. Charlie is renown for his skills in the area. Percy has succeeded, though we have no way of knowing how. He stands to be highly rewarded, though how this takes shape is yet a mystery to us."

Harry shuddered where he stood.

"And we have no idea how far his treachery goes," Dumbledore went on. "His Dark influence could reach deep into the recesses of his family. Molly and Arthur are devastated, of course, but blinded by loyalty. They refuse to let us test them or the other children for magical manipulation, choosing to believe instead that Percy is the one being controlled. Our evidence is beyond contestation, but a parents' love is protective to the extreme.

"So no, Harry, I would not send you to The Burrow unless I had no other choice. You may not be safe there."

Hermione gasped in shock. "You think...Harry could be in danger from the Weasleys?"

"We cannot rule it out," said Dumbledore. "And we must be vigilant against any potential threats."

"So, where am I going?" asked Harry again.

"I do not believe I am the one who can answer that question, Harry," said Dumbledore, inclining his head towards Hermione. She shifted nervously and stepped forwards.

"I've been looking into defensive magic, Harry," said Hermione quietly. "Protective spells and enchantments. They can form powerful wards - barriers to harmful intent. I...I think I've come up with combinations that will make you safe enough...at least hidden. Professor Dumbledore will have to check them, of course, maybe even add to them. But they are powered by my intent, my magic. I think they should hold."

"Where are they?" asked Harry, enthusiastically. After weeks of feeling exposed, the idea of security was very appealing.

"They...they're at my house, Harry."

Harry just stared at her a moment. The bubble of hope that had risen in his chest fell again as though suddenly coated in lead. Hermione clocked his crestfallen expression, the surge in his anxiety.

"You will come, wont you?" she asked. It didn't seem to have occurred to her that he'd refuse the offer, and her spirits seemed to nosedive with his own.

"I can't," Harry whispered. "It's too dangerous. For you...for your parents. Thank you for the thought, Hermione, but I can't."

"Harry," said Hermione stoutly, stepping close and taking his hand in both her own. "I've thrown up these barriers to protect us all. I'm as likely to be targeted as your Aunt and Uncle, and my parents might be used to get to me. It's no secret we're close friends. Besides, this is a two-way thing - if anything does happen, I would be seriously outnumbered...I need you to help protect us."

Harry's heart slammed into his throat. The idea of Hermione in danger stirred a powerful, protective imperative in him. For a moment, he was light-headed at its potency, but he would attend to that later.

"Have you discussed it with your parents?" asked Harry.

"It was they who suggested it."

Harry gawked at Hermione. "Your parents suggested I come and stay with you?"

"Well, not you specifically," said Hermione, then she flushed again. "But when I said how poorly you were being treated they were outraged. They said we could look after you, and you'd be able to help defend us if it came to it."

"And they'd be okay with a strange boy staying in their house all Summer?"

Hermione laughed. "You are not a strange boy! Well, okay, maybe you are a little strange, but they know all about you. I've told them...well, things. They feel like they practically know you at this point."

Hermione turned her eyes shyly away again. Harry, to his own surprise, found his usual abhorrence to being talked about strangely absent. If Hermione had chosen to confide in her parents about his life and their friendship, he found he didn't mind it. It was a startling realisation.

"It's not just that," said Harry, slightly ashamed. He flicked a look at Dumbledore who met his eyes and understanding flared in a flash of Occlumency. The old Headmaster became suddenly fascinated by the hanging begonias on the front porch. Harry turned back to Hermione. "I...I'm not in the best way. Everything that's happened...it's been getting to me. I've been...having trouble...at night, you know. I don't want to disturb your home with my own internal grief."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whined in sympathy. "That's all the more reason for you to come with me. I'd like to try and help if I can. You shouldn't be suffering alone."

Harry couldn't help it. He drew Hermione into an unexpected hug. He'd needed it, far more than he'd known until he was receiving it. The well of his loneliness went deeper than he previous appreciated. He wanted nothing more, he realised, than to take Hermione up on her offer. But he had to be sure.

"I don't want to burden you," he moaned quietly.

"Harry - you've never been a burden," Hermione breathed in reply. "You're my best friend...and you're in pain...let me help."

Harry looked deep into her chestnut eyes, sighed against his own neediness, then bowed his head in agreement. He felt Hermione step close again, easing his head gently to her shoulder. She was so warm, so protective. He gave himself into her care. He knew he should feel selfish for accepting her offer, but he didn't have it in him. He needed her too much, he would have to analyse that in the future.

But, for now, he just let her look after him.

"Let's go and help you pack," said Hermione softly, as they separated.

"No need, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, joining them again. "I have a suggestion to further assist your defensive efforts, if I may?"

"Of course," said Hermione.

Dumbledore held out his hand. "Dobby!"

The house-elf popped into view under his palm. Harry noticed then that Dumbledore's hand was blackened and withered, as though it had been seriously burnt. An ancient gold ring with a deep red jewel stood out starkly against the charred flesh. Harry opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but then Dumbledore whipped his hand from sight. The very action seemed to catch Harry's words in his throat.

"Harry Potter!" Dobby squealed. He raced to Harry's leg and clutched at it powerfully.

"Hello, Dobby," said Harry, somewhat awkwardly. He turned to Dumbledore. "This is your suggestion?"

"No, more of a solution...to a problem we have had for some time," said Dumbledore.

Hermione huffed next to him. "Dobby should not be seen as a problem. What is wrong with the culture towards sentient magical creatures in this country! I -"

Dumbledore held up his hand. Hermione was instantly silenced and Harry suspected non-verbal magic may have been at work.

"The problem is not with Dobby, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore patiently. "It is, in fact, with you."

"M-me?" Hermione stammered. "What have I done?"

"Nothing, besides being too kind-hearted for your own good, and for that of the house-elf community," Dumbledore went on. "Your campaign for elfish welfare is admirable, and needed, but also naive. You are assuming the way magic works for humans is the same for magical creatures."

"And it isn't?"

"No. It is not," Dumbledore explained. "And for house-elves, it is fundamentally different. To be able to summon a house-elf requires a remarkably powerful connection between wizard and elf. Their own magic could resist a summons if they so chose. House-elves make a conscious decision to bind themselves to a family or person or place.

"The relationship is a symbiosis. All magical beings renew themselves through their surroundings - unicorns only inhabit certain types of magical forest, dragons build their dens with elemental materials of fire and frost, that sort of thing. But humans largely destroyed elfish habitats with our rapid expansion in the world. Elves offered themselves into a mutual beneficial union with humans...in order to survive and preserve the species."

"To free an elf is to commit it to die," Dobby added darkly.

"But you didn't die," Harry pointed out.

"No, but Dobby had already reached out and made the beginnings of another fundamental union," said Dumbledore. "With you."

"By freeing Dobby from evil Malfoy's, Mister Harry Potter performed an act of kindness," said Dobby. "This be enough to join us together."

"Then you came to Hogwarts," said Hermione. "And Harry's magic flows around the school when he's there...renewing you?"

"Miss Hermione Granger be very clever," said Dobby. "But also very silly."

Hermione frowned. "Silly?"

Harry felt a bizarre urge to laugh at Hermione's cross expression. It was like medicine...he hadn't felt like laughing in ages. It lightened his mood no end.

"Making clothes for elves is very nice," Dobby went on. "But Miss Hermione Granger not linked to elves, so cannot free them from the link to Hogwarts. Elves be choosing to be there, Miss. Dobby was born into slavery with the Malfoy's and was desperate to escape, so invoked the Freeing Spell when ugly Lucius gave Dobby a sock. But it only worked as it was Mister Harry Potter's sock - Dobby recognised him as new master, so transferred loyalty to him."

"So what would have happened if Harry hadn't been there, and Lucius had just freed you?" asked Hermione, still frowning.

Dobby's ears sagged. "Dobby would have sickened and died, Miss. Like poor old Winky."

Hermione gasped. "Winky is dead?"

"Yes, Miss," said Dobby sadly. "She was released because her wizard was angry, thought she'd been bad. But Winky not want to join with new master. So she died a few months ago."

"Would that have happened to all the elves...if I'd somehow managed to free them?" asked Hermione aghast.

Dobby nodded. "If an elf loses a joining, it damages them. Hard to form new link then. Some would have managed, but the younger ones wouldn't be strong enough."

"Sweet Merlin!" Hermione gasped. "I'm so sorry, Dobby. Will you tell the others for me?"

"Other elves not be angry," said Dobby simply. "They knows Miss Hermione Granger mean well, and we make beds for little ones out of the bobbly hats."

"But this is precisely why I feel it would benefit you to take Dobby with you," Dumbledore added. "Your desire to help is noble, Miss Granger, but understanding how to help will certainly give focus to your efforts."

"Dobby will help Miss Hermione Granger to see," said Dobby energetically. "And can look after Master Harry Potter, too."

"It's a lot to ask," said Harry. "I can't ask Dobby to be our slave."

"Dobby want only to be Master Harry Potter's friend," said the elf, shyly.

Harry looked at him, confused. "You already are my friend, Dobby."

Dobby curled his head up, huge tears welling in his eyes. "Does Master Harry Potter really mean that?"

"Of course I do!" Harry replied. Dobby exploded into peals of wet tears and clung again to Harry's thigh. He patted his head awkwardly. "Come on, Dobby...er...please don't cry."

"Master Harry Potter be worried about Dobby!" the elf wailed. "He be the bestest and bravest and most honourable wizard there is!"

Harry looked at Hermione for support. She was just smiling oddly at him. He felt his skin tingle under her gaze.

"Yes, he really is," said Hermione, sincerely.

"Then can Dobby come to Miss Hermione Granger's house with yous?"

"Of course you can," said Hermione. "The more friends to help look after us the better."

Dobby flew from Harry's leg and locked on to Hermione's instead. Harry huffed. "Replaced...just like that."

"Don't get all pouty, it doesn't suit you," Hermione laughed. She turned her eyes down. "Dobby - would you please pack Harry's things and take them to my house? Do you know how to get there?"

Dobby nodded vigorously. "Miss Hermione Granger have special link to her home. Dobby use it to find. I takes care of everything now."

And with that he popped away. Harry turned to the others. His voice was small and cracked when he spoke.

"Thank you...both of you...for doing this," he said. "For going to all this trouble."

"Trouble, my boy, seems to be the order of the day," said Dumbledore heavily. "We have been passive against it for far too long. I am as guilty as anyone on that score. Age is finally catching up to me, but we must apply ourselves now."

"I want to apply myself," said Harry staunchly. "Just tell me how."

"Your first task is to begin the healing process," said Dumbledore firmly. "Miss Granger is right, and I rather feel you can have no better nurse than her at this point, assuming she is willing."

Hermione snorted, as though affronted that Dumbledore felt the need to even question it. "Of course I'm willing!"

Harry's breathing caught again at her ferociousness. "If...you're sure. I know I'm asking a lot."

"And I'm offering more!" she fired back. "I care about you, Harry. If I could take your suffering, I would. But I can't. What I can do is to be here for you, so here I am."

"Thank you," Harry managed to say, amazingly as his entire body was oddly trembling.

"The weeks ahead will be difficult, for you both," said Dumbledore, warningly. "Ordinarily I'd suggest professional help...but the depth of your obvious affection for one another...it may be a more potent tonic than any potion or spell."

Harry and Hermione shared embarrassed glances, then found it near impossible to meet the other's eye.

"We all face a difficult future," Dumbledore continued. "When you return to Hogwarts, Harry, things will have to change."

"What things?"

"Your curriculum, your entire life," said Dumbledore. "I know you hate it, but to be Harry Potter is to have an extraordinary life. I have resisted it on your behalf. It was selfish and misguided of me. I knew of your destiny, I possess the tools to assist you in the task. But I have shied away from sharing them with you.

"Please, forgive me...give me the chance to make amends."

Harry blushed under his mentor's heartfelt pleas. "You...you don't have to apologise, sir."

"Oh I do, and for far more than you realise, Harry," said Dumbledore. "But I am offering myself to your service. Let me show you the wizard you can become. Let us drop the boundaries and give Tom Riddle something to have nightmares about."

Something stirred in Harry's chest, wild and feral. It wasn't hatred or vengeance...but the promise of a reckoning.

"How, sir?"

"Training, tutoring, from myself and others personally," said Dumbledore. "You will abandon your studies if they will not help you in the short term. Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology - all worthy subjects, but useless to you right now. We will design a timetable for you, focusing on Defence and Duelling, Potions, Transfiguration, Advanced Charms, as well as introducing you to runic and ritual spell casting and continuing your work on mind magic, such as Occlumency. Your parents were never able to tell you, but you may have a special legacy in the world of alchemy, too. These things will all empower you. We will need you at your fullest if we are to venture into the world to fight this darkness."

Now all of Harry bristled in swell of nervous excitement. Hermione, on the other hand, had gone rather pale.

"Going out into the world...to fight?"

"War is not for the faint hearted, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. Colour rushed back to Hermione's cheeks and she actually glowered at the Headmaster, which Harry thought was very bold and brassy of her.

"I'm ready," said Harry.

"No, you are not," Dumbledore disagreed. "But you have the remaining weeks of the Summer to lay the foundations for your recovery. Your wounds run deep, Harry, do not expect them to heal overnight. We will take things as slowly as we can...but time is not eternal...for any of us."

Harry found his gaze had dropped to Dumbledore's sleeve, from which his wounded hand was peeking out.

"Yes, it is to do with that," said Dumbledore as Harry made to ask again. "I promise I will explain when the time is right. But for now, our focus must be on you, Harry, to prepare you to become the leader we need you to be. Training for that will begin in my righting a mistake I made last year."

Dumbledore reached into his robe and drew out a shiny red and gold badge with a large letter 'P' engraved onto it. Hermione gasped in glee as she saw it, an act not missed by Dumbledore.

"This correction is also my apology to you, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "Harry was my initial choice for Prefect, but I had rather hoped to gee-up some effort from Mr Weasley by offering him the position. Forgive me, it was an old man's error."

"Nothing can correct Ron's laziness," bemoaned Hermione. "He likes the idea of authority more than the reality of it."

"Then I hope to see you take to the role with more gusto, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Leadership is a skill that can be learned."

"And I'll have a great teacher," said Harry, grinning at Hermione, who turned a rather cute shade of scarlet. "I wont let you down...either of you."

"Very well, very well," said Dumbledore, his eyes flashing brilliantly again. "Come along. Let us get you both to a safer location. Miss Granger, I do hope your parents will not object to my joining you. I haven't been in a Muggle car for years and I so do enjoy the experience."