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Here comes the standard disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to Joanne K. Rowling!
Hope you like :)

To Ginny, it felt strange. She would be the only Weasley boarding the train that day. Granted, Fred and George hadn’t been there the year before either. But Ron was supposed to be here and get ready for his final year, and with him his best friends.

Instead, Ron was supposedly ill with Spattergroit, unable to leave the house. Some weeks ago, a Ministry decree had been released making Hogwarts attendance a obligatory, and with it came the requirement to document one’s blood status.

Although her family wasn’t considered respectable, they could still trace their ancestors way back. A fact that was so highly regarded and craved these days, but sometimes she wished it wasn’t so – she wanted no part of what they did, or be remotely linked to elitist pure-bloods like the Malfoys.

Speaking of the devil. The blonde Slytherin cut through the crowd, looking haughty and unapproachable. Did he have rings beneath his eyes? No, surely she was only imagining things. That’s what he always wanted, wasn’t it? The elder Malfoys said their goodbyes loudly. Ginny recoiled upon seeing the pale face of Lucius Malfoy. He was supposed to be in Azkaban, and seeing him in place like this really hit home. She looked at her mother and father who had accompanied her to the platform, and wished she didn’t know to place the feelings she saw – worry and horror. If a former Azkaban inmate could take a gander to Platform nine and three quarters, what would await them at Hogwarts?

Her travelling gaze got caught by a rather notorious hat that seemed to float above the crowd like a boat on water, the stuffed vulture teetering up and down in tune with the hat’s owner’s movement. Verifying that it was really Augusta Longbottom who emerged in her line of sight with a dismissive, scornful expression on her face, Neville Longbottom appeared behind her shoulder. Ginny’s eyebrows rose, making her forget their current whereabouts for a minute. He had grown quite a bit over the summer, lankier than she’d ever seen him, but his face still belonged to the same, familiar, unpretentious Neville she knew. Giving her mother’s arm a squeeze, Ginny left with a nod in the Longbottoms’ direction, letting them know where she was going.

“Neville!” she exclaimed, giving in the urge to hug him briefly. As she could have predicted, he hadn’t expected that greeting and stood there awkwardly. He’d always preferred the background, and still, she knew she could count on him to be there if needed.

“Erg, hey Ginny. Where’s everyone else?” he asked.

“Ron’s ill,” she said loudly, adding as quietly as quietly as she could, “but ask me again later.”

Her parents had joined them in the meantime, exchanging a few words with Neville’s grandmother.

“Criminals. Unbelievable. The nerve of them!” The elderly lady was muttering under her breath, looking for the world like she was not currently cursing the officially-clad people among the crowd of parents.

“Gran’s not amused about our new government,” Neville commented off-handedly, and Ginny had to look twice at him to find out whether that statement was supposed to be sarcastic or not. As far as she could discern, he was as horrified and incredulous as herself about the presence of Death Eaters and trying to mask it, doing a remarkable job of appearing as casual about it as his Gran. His clenched fists, however, told her he was anything but calm.

That’s new, she thought. This Neville resembled the one who had attacked the Inquisitorial Squad with her and subsequently went to the Department of Mysteries without hesitation. Or fought Death Eaters the evening of Dumbledore’s death in the halls of Hogwarts. The one who lived up to the tales about his parents, the once famous and powerful Aurors.

Ginny could sympathise with the frustration, anger and the urge to fight back, although the grip her friend had on himself seemed to have caught on her as well. Too many people here, too many innocent children. A single dark curse could do so much harm.

“There’s Luna,” Ginny said, pulling herself out of her thoughts as she waved her friend over. Luna’s serene face made her calm down even more; now that she knew she wasn’t going to be alone, even with her Harry and her brother and Hermione gone.

She hugged Luna too, the light yet reassuring touch and the scent of moonflowers comforting her.

“Ginny! How nice to see you!” Luna’s father was clad just as spacey as his daughter, as usual trying to present her with one of his copies of the Quibbler. She took it gladly, though, convinced whatever was in there would make way more sense than the Daily Prophet, even if there was nothing else in it but Snorkacks and Nargles.

A teary Molly pulled her back for the last goodbyes when the warning bells rang, and she felt her father’s arms go around the two of them. This was not at all how it was supposed to be, and even for the smallest amount of time, she let herself think of what was going to happen to all of them; whether she would see all the people she loved so much again, together and safe. It was brief, though. Ginny was not prepared to give up that easily, and so she steeled herself when she extracted herself from the tight hug and smiled at her parents with a determined glint in her eye.

“I’ll be seeing you. That’s a promise, Mum. I love you both so much, and Bill and Charlie and Fred and George and Ron. And even Percy.”

Molly started tearing up again, though Ginny wouldn’t let her, leaving her to her father’s arms. She’d break down herself if she did, and she needed all her famed stubbornness and resilience for the upcoming year, for she had the distinct feeling it would be anything but easy.

Ginny boarded the train with her head held high, the feeling of a walk to the guillotine eerily present and at the same time too surreal to be allowed any room; closely followed by Neville and Luna.


Remus had been warring with himself, avoiding wizards and Muggles alike. He had tried to outrun human company as much as his own thoughts. Yet, Harry’s words were coming back again and again. He just couldn’t get away from it all.

When he simply couldn’t run anymore – both physically and mentally – he just collapsed where he stood. The grass and every bump of the ground was tangible beneath his back, and as his breathing calmed down, he concentrated on feeling it. The stars twinkled above him, reminding him of his former professor’s eyes, which had lost their twinkle forever only last June. That devastating loss also brought on thoughts of Sirius and James. Which led him back to Harry’s words.

“Would you really be ashamed of me, James?”

He listened into the night for an answer, but of course there wasn’t one. Back in their schooldays, his friends used to tell him he was being stupid whenever he sank into a bout of self-pity, or just distract him by cooking up some elaborate prank he then needed to steer back on the right track. The friends he knew back then would also have encouraged him about having a family.

But none of them were there now. James and Sirius dead. He’d also come to respect Lily’s opinion a great deal, but of course that wasn’t a possibility either. And of course Wormtail wasn’t even an option anymore, although he was the only one still alive. They’d have called his doubts, talked him out of it. Maybe. He thought they would have. Trouble was, after he had learned through Sirius about their distrust of him during the last few months before the Potters had gone into hiding, those niggling little doubts had settled back somewhere in his subconsciousness. He’d never trusted easily, and it had only got worse with that knowledge.

And now he had severely hurt the only woman who had taken up with his many moods, and hadn’t been deterred by his affliction or the wall he had built around himself.

He never would have followed up on his attraction to her if she hadn’t taken the first step. Which irked him more than he was prepared to admit to himself. He’d been brought up to be a gentleman, and she just refused to take up the role of the distressed damsel. She was younger, more than a dozen years – and what was more, she was Sirius’s baby cousin. Sirius had shown them pictures of her in diapers during seemingly endless History of Magic lessons, for Merlin’s sake! He wondered what Padfoot would have had to say about the current situation. The whole baby thing in general, and then about him running out.

He had never been able to predict his friend’s actions, between a nonchalant dismissal and a full-out blow-up everything had been possible.

“It’s hopeless. I’m hopeless. Why can’t I stop living in the past, or questioning everything? Really, it would make things so much easier.”

He sat up, propping his elbows on his knees so his chin was now resting on his hands. Sarcasm had become his second nature, had to be after he’d been bitten by Greyback. As had the self-consciousness and pensiveness.

He had long ago had to become used to the fact that werewolves didn’t have normal lives, or families. The Ministry’s laws included exact provisions for that.

“Why do I let their laws interfere? Now, where they’re practically synonymous to Death Eaters? Why did I push away the one thing I always wanted, but never thought I could have?”

He would go to her, beg if he had to. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t take him back, but that would be his own fault. Harry’s words still stung, but it was nothing less than he deserved. Driving home the facts like a friend would have done.

“I’m going back,” he said aloud, wishing he could tell the black-haired boy – no, he corrected his own thoughts, he’s not a boy anymore – that he could tell the young man that he had been right. “And I wish you’d be here to give your opinion on how to fix this mess. Though I do hope you don’t have James’s talent with girls.” He could just imagine Padfoot laughing out loud at the last comment, while Prongs would narrow his eyes at them.

“Although James did get the girl in the end. So I shall take a leaf out of his book and be persistent. And most of all, I’m going to stop the monologues.”

With a last exaggerated sigh at himself, Remus got back on his feet, a quick glance to the skies above, before he began his journey home.


He knew that Dora had moved back in with her parents; apart from providing company, it was also a safe house of the Order. Or had been, before the approved wards had been taken down with the fall of the old Ministry. In the meantime, the protection had been put up again, providing shelter to a couple of refugees. Remus was sure she must have told her parents about their break-up when she moved back home, and they hadn’t been too thrilled about the relationship in the first place. How wise was it to show up at the place? Probably not very much.

He could see the outline of the house. He might not be able to cross the new wards, but he had been told the location. His wolf patronus shot off, and took into the air some distance from the house, vanishing through the walls of the upper story. Which probably meant Dora was in her room.

A weak sheen of light had gleamed through one of the windows and was extinguished at that moment. He could detect no further sign of life, not in that window or in any other. Nor did her patronus apppear with an answer. Remus nodded to himself, he shouldn’t have expected that she came flying back into his arms.

His cottage was deserted and cold, and after a cursory search that no one was inside, he laid down on his bed.

“Not even Death Eaters want to live here, apparently,” he said to himself, remembering his resolution not to talk with himself. “Old habits …”

Remus spent the remainder of the night mostly awake, only now and then did he fall into a fitful slumber. Most wizards and witches had disconnected their floo connection, and it was unlikely he would be able to send a letter via owl. Another patronus was his best bet, although he might not get her alone.

When the sun had finally risen, he pulled out his wand once more, whispering the incantation and his wolf cantered out of the room. “Please give me a chance to explain.”

He didn’t get an answer, nor the next time he tried. As much as he cursed himself, it didn’t change anything.

Late in the afternoon, he decided he couldn’t wait anymore to share the theory about Voldemort’s name with the rest of the Order.

He would try Elphias’s first, then the Weasleys.

Doge housed several Muggleborns and their families, including the Dursleys. When he had greeted the older man, he looked up at the entrance of a tall man.

“Kingsley!” he exclaimed in suprise, offering his hand.

“Remus. How are you? Where have you been?”

“I’ve been better.” Surely everyone knew he’d run out on his wife? He winced slightly at how it made him sound – how had Harry phrased it? – like a coward.

“I’ve seen Harry. – And that’s part of why I’m here,” he carried on before Kingsley or Elphias could ask the questions he could see were on the tip of their tongues. “I’ve been hoping to run into you. Did you, by any chance, mention You-Know-Who’s name before they ambushed you? The one no one dares to say?”

“What Vol-“ Kingsley stopped abruptly when Remus shook his head wildly, and eyed him oddly. Then he continued more slowly, “I – I’m not quite sure. I might have cursed Vo- him under my breath.” His frown disappeared and his eyes went wide as a thought struck him. “You don’t think it has anything to do with that, do you?”

“Actually, I only thought about it after I connected your misfortune with Harry’s story. It’s only a theory at the moment which I wanted to run by you. The three of them ran into Death Eaters, seemingly out of the blue. He reckoned he still had the trace on him, but what if it was something else that triggered it?”

The other two were silent for a bit, trying to comprehend the magnitude of that information. “I’m not an expert on that … different department … but … but if you’re right ...” Kingsley looked horror-struck.

Elphias found his voice, although it was rendered high and terrified by the news. “I’ve been advisor to the Wizengamot long enough to say one thing: magical traces weren’t only used on minors, but sometimes as a precaution, or to keep petty criminals from leaving or entering certain areas …”

They looked at each other, the suspicion turning into conviction.

“We said no Order meetings unless there’s an emergency. Well, if this doesn’t qualify as one, I don’t know what does. Only persons close to Dumbledore would use the name.”

“I call them here.” Elphias said, scurrying off.

“Well, welcome back.” Kingsley told Remus, heaving a dry sigh.


Molly twisted the dishcloth in her hand, looking out of the window. Arthur was late. All the other times he had been late, it hadn’t boded well. He’d brought bad news, or on Harry’s birthday, the minister himself.

She tried to calm down. It didn’t have to mean anything. She tried to tell herself she was so nervous because she didn’t have her children with her. Bill and Fleur had moved to Aunt Muriel’s little cottage near Tinsworth; she’d always had a soft spot for her oldest. Percy … but she didn’t want to go there. Ron – she hadn’t heard anything new since Remus came back from his stint to Grimmauld Place, and although she wished she could go there, she knew too many visitors would only draw attention. Fred and George were running their shop, and Charlie was at work too, having decided to take a long leave of absence from his work in Romania for the time being. And her little girl had gone to Hogwarts, having little choice but to follow the new ruling.

It was growing dark, but she could see a figure pop out of thin air. With two steps, she had opened the back door, seeing the strained expression on his face. She couldn’t quite place it. Was it fear, glee, or something else?

“Arthur! Arthur, what happened?” she asked as soon as he was near enough, grasping his hand to pull him in.

He didn’t answer immediately, closing the door with a relieved sigh, before telling her quietly to sit down.

“There’ve been intruders at the Ministry,” he said.

Molly wanted to jump up again, a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue. Arthur continued in the same soft voice as before, “Muggleborns have been freed, Molly. Reg Cattermole just about made it out, his wife was among the group that had managed to escape. Albert Runcorn was discovered bound and gagged, and it suspected that the one who was in today was someone else under the guise of Polyjuice.”

Molly had her hand in front of her mouth, trying to possess what he was saying. “Who?” she whispered.

“Molly, whoever it was had to pass dementors. They had a stag patronus,” he told her, his voice had picked up volume and she could hear the same bubbling excitement she felt.

“Harry? And Ron and Hermione? They … oh my Merlin! Did they … what happened?”

“No one has been captured yet,” Arthur continued, his hands on her shoulders. “I think – I’ve talked to … I think I’ve talked to both Ron and Harry.”

“When? What did they say?”

“I was in the lift, Reg Cattermole came stumbling in, asking for a spell. I didn’t think much about him stuttering at the time – but I think he just about stopped himself from calling me Dad!” He had replayed those minutes in the lift countless times, trying to see more than he had at the time. Percy’s short appearance felt like a pinprick to the hope it was giving him.
“Reg’s wife was heard calling out to him in the Atrium, while the doppelganger pulled her into the fireplace. The second Reg – who I think shouldn’t have shown up according to their plan, the real one – acted more quick-witted than I’ve ever seen him, getting away just in time. They haven’t brought the Cattermoles back yet, or any of the others who escaped. At least Tonks hadn’t heard differently when we parted.”

“Oh Ronnie!” Molly sighed, her hand now resting on her heart. What could have made them go into the Ministry? “And when did you talk to Harry?”

“I figured it out afterwards. I thought at the time Runcorn was threatening me. – Oh, right. Runcorn was already in the lift when Ron – Cattermole – got in, and dashed out again. Runcorn wanted to leave when I stopped him about Dirk Cresswell. He played dumb, which enraged me even more. But then – he told me I was being watched. Of course I thought he was threatening me. But if it really was Harry, he must have seen something. They tried to hush it up, but Mad-Eye’s eye went missing from Umbridge’s office, so he must have been in there.”

At Molly’s questioning look, he remembered that Tonks and he had agreed not to mention that gory and cruel detail. Sheepishly, he explained, “You remember Mad-Eye’s artificial eye? She stuck it on her door, like the little looking glasses Muggles sometimes have at their doors.”

“And Hermione?” Molly asked.

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve seen her. But Mafalda Hopkirk was reported missing when they ordered everyone into the Atrium for checking attendance and questioning. That could have been Hermione, someone said Mafalda had transcripted at today’s hearings.”

“They’ve got away,” Molly summed up the only thing that seemed clear, and most important to her. At his nod, she pulled him close, whispering, “I just want my children back safely.”

Instead of offering reassuring words he knew they didn’t believe in anymore, he tightened his hold, sending silent prayers that her wish would come true.


He’d settled into a monotone routine, spending his days wandering the safe house. That way, he didn’t have to spent time in the two rooms allotted to them, where his father would be found, complaining all day long about the ‘freaks’’ general freakishness and their rudeness of not even providing them with television in their rooms. His mother would scrub down the rooms every day, before sitting down, eerily silent and absent-minded, fiddling her thumbs. Dudley just couldn’t stand it in there. Other kids and their children had joined them, some of them had magic, and others apparently didn’t – those who did, called themselves ‘Muggle-Borns’. He had memorised the word, just as he had gathered that he, apparently, was referred to as a ‘Muggle’. The words didn’t make sense to him, and he’d often thought about asking some of the others, just as he had often thought about getting to know that foreign and yet so strangely fascinating world. He’d chickened out every time, just at the last minute. The clenching of stomach was entirely new to him – he was Dudley Dursley, after all, people were afraid of him, not the other way round. Well, he recalled with a shudder, with one exception, obviously. The dementor incident came to mind. There was another new word which he had learned to pronounce correctly, but its sense still eluded him completely. He just knew that he owed that dementor the most horrible experience of his life, and that he wouldn’t be able to defend himself with his boxing skills since he couldn’t even see it. And it had registered that he himself was a Muggle, but it still eluded him whether that was an insult, or what it implied. So he kept watching, trying to gather little nuggets of information.

Two days ago, some of the children – everyone who referred to themselves as ‘Muggle-Born’ had been particularly down-spirited and tense, spoiling yet another of his so carefully, but eventually abandoned attempts to approach one of them. Something about start of the school year, which they weren’t allowed to go to. Based on his own experiences, it wasn’t a big deal; he’d skip school whenever he felt like it and look for some other entertainment instead. Though, he supposed it would be pretty cool to learn how to let a bottle of coke or lemonade zoom into his hand instead of having to get up and get it from the fridge himself. Not that they had those kinds of beverages here. In his zeal to learn as much as he could, he’d tried that pumpkin juice, spitting it out immediately. To his misfortune, he’d sprayed one of the Muggle-Born boys who had been getting some himself, earning him a nasty look, and too flustered to apologise – something he’d never had thought necessary before – he had hurried away, a strange hot feeling rising in his cheeks.

Yesterday, there’d been another commotion to break the monotone. Hestia Jones, the witch who had brought them here, and all the other wizard adults had hurried about, whispering frantically. He’d only managed to snatch some snippets of their conversations, which included ‘Potter’, ‘break-in’ or ‘uproar’. He’d mulled it over for the whole night, not finding much sleep. Wasn’t Harry supposed to be the good guy? Why would he break in anywhere?

Thus, he was once again looking for answers the next day. He’d been lurking around the common room for some time now, and he had gathered that there had indeed been a break-in, involving his cousin. The wildest theories were flying around the room, but no one seemed to know for certain. The arrival of a tall, red-haired man with longuish hair had everyone in a dither again. Bill, as Hestia had called him, hadn’t stayed long and apparently couldn’t solve the mystery either, but he brought several papers with him. They were scooped up immediately, and Dudley wrinkled his brow in annoyance; it’d be ages before he’d get to read them. He’d seen newspapers with the same headpiece seen lying around before, though he had given up trying to read them since it only held boring politics stuff and rubbish about Harry, which he didn’t believe in the slightest. Harry had saved him although he had no reason to, and he couldn’t bring that together with the things that that paper said. The voices had grown so loud, several conversations and discussions mingling, that it was rather hard making sense of it.

“Stupid rag!” A loud voice yelled, and the paper he thought was one of those unfriendly Daily Prophets sailed across the room, hitting the wall with a loud ‘thud’.

Looking around from his place in the corner, he waited for someone to pick it up, but no one did. Slowly, he inched closer, snatching it up and putting it behind his back as if someone would pry it out of his fingers again. Apparently, he needn’t have worried; no one seemed to pay him much attention. It had irked him at first, not being the centre of attention, although he’d gotten over that quickly recalling that giant man and the red-haired twins he’d encountered before. He scurried back to his chair in the corner, unfolding the crippled paper. He didn’t have to search; there on the front page, he could see his cousin in clothes belonging to a much bigger person, in the act of turning his back to the onlooker, running full-speed into what looked like a fire-place with green flames, the action repeating itself over and over again. Dudley started to read.

Ministry Infiltrated

Yesterday, Harry Potter revealed his true intentions and objectives. The Ministry of Magic was infiltrated in a heinous attempt to usurp the new policies of ensuring the survival of the true wizarding race. The Undesirable Number One took out and assumed the identity of one of the Ministry’s most respected officials, breaking into the innermost circles and setting loose a group of suspected Muggle-borns, supposedly to have them join his attempts of taking over power and enforce his continued worshipping by a misinformed public (see all about Dumbledore’s ploy to lift the Potter boy into hero status, and the Ministry’s successful strike to foil that heinous plan on page 3). Head of Muggle-Born Registration Commission Dolores Umbridge, escaping Potter’s miscreant assault only by an admirable show of bravery and skill, described his appearance as malevolent and deranged. “He has clearly gone over the edge, being revealed as the liar he is,” the former Hogwarts Headmistress stated. Rewards for Potter’s capture have been set. The Ministry advises not to support Potter, and report any sightings immediately.

Dudley pulled a face. Who would want to struggle through those words? They didn’t make half-sense to him. He didn’t think Harry looked deranged, but the woman, who was gazing out of another picture captured as Dolores Umbridge with a sickly smile, looked anything but nice to him.

Before he could dwell further on it, a girl of about his own age had appeared next to him, sinking down the wall, mostly hidden by a coffee table. As soon as she sat, she pulled out a magazine from under her sweater where seemed to have hidden it. Dudley blinked twice as she opened it, and could just make out the title page, which once again featured his cousin. In large neon green letters, the caption read HARRY POTTER THWARTS THICKNESE.

Faster than he thought he could move, Dudley had moved around the little table, kneeling next to her. “What does it say?” he asked hurriedly, too curious to care for his usual anxiety. He felt her eyes on him for a few seconds, before she motioned for him to sit down next to her, holding the magazine so they could both read.

Yesterday, employees and present wizard folks were gathered in the Ministry’s Atrium and subjected to questioning. The reason: the impregnable Ministry had been broken into, by none other than Harry Potter. It is unknown what exactly The-Boy-Who-Lived was looking for in the Ministry, but this paper can reveal that several Muggle-Borns escaped the certain fate of being imprisoned for allegedly stealing magic in the wake of Harry Potter’s stunt and are leaving the country as we speak. The Ministry may have upped security, but yet again The Chosen One has demonstrated that he is very well capable of thwarting their attempts, and will do so again when he has achieved what he set out to do. It is believed that Albus Dumbledore himself, the vanquisher of Gellert Grindelwald, set Potter across his path, and we all wish him luck in his quest. Support Harry Potter, I encourage you all, for he is giving us hope in this abysmal.

“So he did break in? What does it mean?” Dudley mumbled to himself, whipping his head around at the scoff beside him.

“Wouldn’t we all like to know? But since the Ministry’s the bad guy in this, it’s rather certain he had to have had a good reason,” she said, her pale blue eyes seeming to x-ray him again behind her glasses.

“Huh. And I always ignored Dad when he ranted about corrupt governments,” he said mostly to himself, feeling inexplicably relieved to have it confirmed that Harry was not, in fact, criminal. Contrary to what his father had sprouted for most of Dudley’s life, he couldn’t believe that about Harry anymore, and ever since the dementor experience Dudley had actually started to question a lot of what his father had to say. It was just easier not to say that out loud.

She let out an involuntary snort. “In this case, he’d be right. Is this the Prophet?” she gestured to the paper still clutched in his hand.

Dudley handed it over, an awkward feeling settling in now that he had time to think again. So he just stared as she read through the article. She seemed indeed about the same age as him, her hair a mousy brown, and a plain face. Although her eyes were sharp and intelligent when she looked back up. “That is a lot of rubbish. Who do they think is going to buy that?”

He shrugged his shoulders, hoping it sufficed. How was he to keep the conversation going? Though it didn’t seem necessary, as she voiced her theories out loud. “A lot of Muggle-Borns never returned from their hearings, which is why a lot of them went into hiding or left the country altogether. The group they’re talking about was most likely doomed for a stint to Azkaban, if not worse. And nothing good can come from Umbridge. Maybe they were trying to annoy her? Or trying to make a statement? Or they could have been after something from the Department of Mysteries, which would make sense since they had to pass Courtroom Number Ten on the way down. Or ..., Oh, sorry, need to go. Maybe I’ll see you around. Mind if I take them?”

She’d jumped up at the call of her name (‘Lucia!”), pushing both the magazine and the paper back under her sweater before hurrying off towards a small group of teenagers, and all of them disappeared.

Dudley was left behind with even more questions. For the first time in his life, he felt the need to take notes so as to not forget the things chasing each other inside his head. Department of Mysteries? Azkaban? The last one rang a bell, though couldn’t recall what it was. He hoped she had been serious about seeing him around, and he’d get to ask her about it. At least it didn’t seem like Harry had done something wrong.

So, let me know what you think? How was the Dudley bit - want more or not?
Thank you to anyone who read, and reviewed of course!

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