Johnny thought it was great to be back in the rebuilt Potter Manor with Evelyn, Hermione and Harry. Johnny and Harry spent most days on the small Quidditch field in the back garden, then Johnny would join Hermione in the kitchen, helping to cook their lunch as Evelyn was protecting the Muggle Prime Minister, and then the three would binge watch some movies.

However, this day was different. Harry had popped down to the local supermarket to buy groceries for the week, letting Johnny and Hermione lie in. Hermione was awake, lying on Johnny's chest as small snores emitted from her boyfriend. Hermione let a small smile stretch across her lips, as she repeatedly kissed Johnny's lips to wake him.

"Lemme sleep!" Johnny whined, rolling over so he laid on top of Hermione, causing her to giggle.

"Babe, it's eleven pm," Hermione said softly, running her hands along his scarred back and kissing his neck. She sucked on his neck lightly, causing Johnny to let out a low moan.

"You're just making me horny," Johnny mumbled, moving down Hermione's body so his head rested in the valley of her breasts. Hermione smiled softly, running her hands through Johnny's hair as his eyes flickered open, his ocean eyes meeting hers. "Good morning, darling."

"Morning, sweetheart," Hermione whispered, letting a moan escape her mouth as Johnny sucked on the skin between her breasts. Johnny smirked, standing and leaving to the en-suite bathroom. "You can't leave me like this!"

"Like what?" Johnny asked through the door, a chuckle escaping his lips. Hermione groaned in annoyance, throwing a pillow at the door. Ten minutes later, Johnny left the bathroom in a tight fitted Slytherin shirt, light blue skinny jeans and white trainers. Hermione eyed her boyfriend, getting to her knees. Johnny noticed the look of lust and hunger on Hermione's face, and ran out of the room, a chuckle leaving his lips.

Hermione followed him, a gasp leaving her lips as Johnny tripped over a small table out in the hall, and it sent him tumbling down the stairs.

"Babe!" Hermione yelled, rushing down to Johnny who was sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs. Blood trickled down his forehead from an open wound, and he was holding his ankle.

"I'm fine," Johnny winced, Hermione helping him over to the sofa, where she laid him down. Hermione went to a bathroom on the ground floor of the Manor, pulling a bottle of painkillers and a First Aid kit from under the sink.

"Take one of these," Hermione told Johnny, placing the bottle of painkillers in his hand. "They look strong."

Johnny didn't listen, but instead popped two in his mouth and grinned mockingly at Hermione, who glared at her boyfriend and shook her head. She proceeded to wipe Johnny's cut clean and placed a plaster over it, but it needed stitches.

"I'll have to take you to the hospital," Hermione sighed, slightly irritated. Johnny had taught Hermione how to drive during the summer, but neither had their license. However, Johnny had managed to get him and Hermione fake driving licenses, but no matter how much Hermione refused to use it, she knew she'd have to at one point. "We can't have you doing magic while you're high."

"Hermione, who's that?" Johnny slurred, the painkillers had clearly made Johnny very high, and he was pointing at Harry who had just walked through the door with many shopping bags.

"The bloody hell happened to him?" Harry asked, dropping the bags and taking in a deep breath.

"He fell down the stairs," Hermione said, heading towards the stairs to change into something appropriate for the hospital. "And he took two very strong painkillers , so he's a bit high."

"Oh my god," Harry laughed, clutching his stomach and looking towards Johnny who was glaring at him, a rather large pout on his face.

"Answer the question, you specky bitch!" Johnny slurred angrily, throwing a cushion widely, which was meant to hit Harry but ended up knocking a rather expensive looking vase off of a table, causing the cousins to wince. "Whoops!"

"I'm Harry," Harry answered, grinning at his cousin who looked deep in thought.

"I don't like that name," Johnny decided, slapping his thigh like he had the best idea in the whole world. "Let's call you Johnny!"

"Ignore him, Harry," Hermione said with a laugh, wrapping her arm around Johnny's waist and tried lifting him off the sofa, but Johnny was to heavy. She looked at Harry as if to say "help me". Together, Harry and Hermione made sure a very high Johnny was led down in the back of a baby blue 1960 Chevy Impala, and Hermione slid into the drivers seat, with Harry in the passengers seat.

Hermione drove down the gravelled driveway of Potter Manor when the car suddenly stopped, the red petrol light flashing on the dashboard.

"Seriously Johnny! How could you forget to put petrol in the car?" Hermione snapped at her boyfriend. Johnny sat up on the backseat and stuck his head between Hermione and Harry, looking directly at Harry.

"Answer the question, Johnny," Johnny said, before giggling and curling up in the corner of the car.

"He's so lucky there's a petrol station down the road," Hermione muttered, exiting the car with Harry following.

"Wait, you can't leave me here!" Johnny yelled dramatically, watching Hermione and Harry set off through the front gates. There was a look of genuine fear on his face. "What if I get fondled? Or kidnapped?! I'm to pretty to get kidnapped!"

"You're in your driveway of a private Manor with magically locked gates, you'll be fine," Harry reassured him.

The following two weeks seem to fly by, with no mention of Johnny's adventures of being high. On Friday the 17th of July, Dumbledore had appeared at the gates of Potter Manor. He had needed Johnny and Harry to help him with something, and later they'd be dropped off at The Burrow, where Hermione had already been for two days.

"Keep your wand at the ready, boys," Dumbledore said brightly as they walked down the driveway.

"But I thought I'm not allowed to use magic outside school, sir?" Said Harry.

"If there is an attack," said Dumbledore, "I give you permission to use any counter-jinx or -curse that might occur to you. However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."

"Why not, sir?" Johnny asked, his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket.

"You are with me," said Dumbledore simply. "This will do."

He came to an abrupt halt at the end of the driveway.

"Harry, you have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test," he said. He turned to Johnny with a twinkle in his eye. "And as I understand, Gellert has taught you when he removed the trace."

"No," said Harry, first. "I thought you had to be seventeen?"

"You do," said Dumbledore. "So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind--as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment. Johnny, if you grip onto Harry."

Harry gripped Dumbledore's proffered forearm, and Johnny grabbed Harry's elbow.

"Very good," said Dumbledore. "Well, here we go."

Johnny felt Harry's arm twist away from him and redoubled his grip; the next thing he knew, everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions; he couldn't breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then--

"Are you alright?" asked Johnny, looking down at Harry. "It does take some getting used to."

"I'm fine," said Harry, rubbing his ears, which felt as though they had left Potter Manor rather reluctantly. "But I think I might prefer brooms..."

Dumbledore smiled, drew his traveling cloak a little more lightly around his neck, and said, "This way."

He set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.

"How're you and Ms. Granger doing, Johnny?" Dumbledore asked, making conversation. "I believe even a short time in Azkaban and five months on the run, you would miss each other tremendously."

"We did, sir," said Johnny, not sure how to answer about his love life.

"So tell me, Harry," said Dumbledore, turning towards him. "Your scar... has it been hurting at all?"

Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed the lightning-shaped mark.

"No," he said, "and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again."

Johnny glanced up at Dumbledore and saw that he was wearing a satisfied expression.

"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," said Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort has finally realised the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you."

"Well, I'm not complaining," said Harry, who missed neither the disturbing dreams nor the startling flashes of insight into Voldemort's mind.

They turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. Johnny looked sideways at Dumbledore. "Professor?"

"Johnny?"

"Er--where exactly are we?"

"This, Johnny, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton."

"And what are we doing here?" asked Harry.

"Ah yes, of course, I haven't told you," said Dumbledore. "Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."

"How can we help with that, sir?" Asked Johnny, feeling like he was being watched.

"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you both," said Dumbledore vaguely. "Left here, boys."

They proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows were dark.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Johnny muttered, checking and double checking the trees, bushes and empty lanes for any signs of movement.

"Professor, why couldn't we just Apparate directly into your old colleague's house?" Harry asked, his own uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door," said Dumbledore. "Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance --"

"-- you can't Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds," said Johnny quickly, distracting himself. "Hermione and I have read Hogwarts: A History loads of times."

"Quite right, Johnny. We turn left again."

The church clock chimed midnight behind them. Johnny wondered why Dumbledore didn't consider it rude to call on his old colleague so late, but now that conversation had been established, he had more pressing questions to ask.

"Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked..." Johnny said, trailing off.

"Correct," said Dumbledore, now turning up a steep side street. "He has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who used to be Head of the Auror office."

"Is he... do you think he's good?" asked Harry.

"An interesting question," said Dumbledore. "He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius."

"Yes, but I meant --"

"I know what you meant. Rufus is a man of action and, having fought Dark wizards for most of his working life, does not underestimate Lord Voldemort."

"And... sir... we saw about Madam Bones."

"Yes," said Dumbledore quietly. "A terrible loss. She was a great witch. Just up here, I think -- ouch."

He had pointed with his injured hand.

"Professor, what happened to your...?" Johnny asked, but was interrupted.

"I have no time to explain now," said Dumbledore. "It is a thrilling tale, I wish to do it justice."

He smiled at Harry and Johnny, who both understood that they wasn't being snubbed, and that they had permission to keep asking questions.

"Sir, we got Ministry of Magic leaflets by owl, about security measures we should all take against the Death Eaters..." said Johnny.

"Yes, I received one myself," said Dumbledore, still smiling. "Did you find it useful?"

"Not really."

"No, I thought not. You both have not asked me, for instance, what is my favorite flavor of jam, to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore and not an impostor."

"Always thought you was kind of sus before the leaflet," Johnny muttered to himself.

"For future reference, boys, it is raspberry... although of course, if I were a Death Eater, I would have been sure to research my own jam preferences before impersonating myself."

"Er... right," said Harry. "Well, on that leaflet, it said something about Inferi. What exactly are they? The leaflet wasn't very clear."

"They are corpses, aren't they?" Asked Johnny. "Dead bodies that are used to help someone?"

"Quite right, Johnny, this is the place, boys, just here..."

They were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden. Johnny was too busy digesting the horrible idea of Inferi to have much attention left for anything else, but as they reached the front gate, Dumbledore stopped dead and both boys walked into him.

"Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear."

The two boys followed Dumbledore's gaze up the carefully tended front path and felt their heart sink. The front door was hanging off its hinges.

Dumbledore glanced up and down the street. It seemed quite deserted.

"Wand out and stay behind Johnny, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "How would you like to approach this, Johnny?"

"I'll go first," Johnny confirmed instantly. "The both of you stick behind me, if I tell you to run, you run. Is that understood?"

"We're not going to-" Harry went to say, but was cut off when Johnny glared at him with red alpha eyes. "Understood," Harry muttered.

"Understood," Dumbledore nodded.

Johnny opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up the garden path, Harry and Dumbledore at his heels, then pushed the front door very slowly, his wand raised and at the ready.

"Lumos," Johnny's wand tip ignited, casting its light up a narrow hallway. To the left, another door stood open. Holding his illuminated wand aloft, J0hnny walked into the sitting room with Harry and Dumbledore right behind him.

A scene of total devastation met their eyes. A grandfather clock lay splintered at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little farther away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier flittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides; fragments of glass and china lay like powder over everything. Johnny raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where something darkly red and glutinous was spattered over the wallpaper. Harry's small intake of breath made Dumbledore and Johnny look around.

"Not pretty, is it?" Dumbledore said heavily. "Yes, something horrible has happened here."

Dumbledore moved carefully into the middle of the room, scrutinising the wreckage at his feet.

"Maybe there was a fight and -- and they dragged him off?" Harry suggested, trying not to imagine how badly wounded a man would have to be to leave those stains spattered halfway up the walls.

"I don't think so," said Dumbledore quietly, peering behind an overstuffed armchair lying on its side.

"You mean he's--?"

"Still here somewhere? Yes."

And without warning, Dumbledore swooped, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!"

"Good evening, Horace," said Dumbledore, straightening up again.

Harry's and Johnny's jaws dropped. Where a split second before there had been an armchair, there now crouched an enormously fat, bald, old man who was massaging his lower belly and squinting up at Dumbledore with an aggrieved and watery eye.

"There was no need to stick the wand in that hard," he said gruffly, clambering to his feet. "It hurt."

The wandlight sparkled on his shiny pate, his prominent eyes, his enormous, silver, walruslike mustache, and the highly polished buttons on the maroon velvet jacket he was wearing over a pair of lilac silk pajamas. The top of his head barely reached Dumbledore's chin.

"What gave it away?" he grunted as he staggered to his feet, still rubbing his lower belly. He seemed remarkably unabashed for a man who had just been discovered pretending to be an armchair.

"My dear Horace," said Dumbledore, looking amused, "if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house."

The wizard clapped a pudgy hand to his vast forehead.

"The Dark Mark," he muttered. "Knew there was something... ah well. Wouldn't have had time anyway, I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room."

He heaved a great sigh that made the ends of his mustache flutter.

"Would you like my assistance clearing up?" asked Dumbledore politely.

"Please," said the other.

They stood back to back, the tall thin wizard and the short round one, and waved their wands in one identical sweeping motion.

The furniture flew back to its original places; ornaments re-formed in midair, feathers zoomed into their cushions; torn books repaired themselves as they landed upon their shelves; oil lanterns soared onto side tables and reignited; avast collection of splintered silver picture frames flew glittering across the room and alighted, whole and untarnished, upon a desk; rips, cracks, and holes healed everywhere, and the walls wiped themselves clean.

"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" asked Dumbledore loudly over the chiming of the newly unsmashed grandfather flock.

"Dragon," said Johnny before the other man, as, with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling.

There was a final plunk from the piano, and silence.

"Quite right, boy, quite right," repeated the wizard conversationally. "My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable."

He stumped over to a small crystal bottle standing on top of a sideboard and held it up to the light, examining the thick liquid within.

"Hmm. Bit dusty."

He set the bottle back on the sideboard and sighed. It was then that his gaze fell upon Harry.

"Oho," he said, his large round eyes flying to Harry's forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore. "Oho!"

"This," said Dumbledore, moving forward to make the introduction, "is Harry Potter, and also the boy who answered your question, is Johnathan Grindelwald. Boys, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."

Slughorn turned on Dumbledore, his expression shrewd.

"So that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Albus."

He pushed past Harry, his face turned resolutely away with the air of a man trying to resist temptation.

"I suppose we can have a drink, at least?" asked Dumbledore. "For old time's sake?"

Slughorn hesitated.

"All right then, one drink," he said ungraciously.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry and Johnny and directed them towards two chairs not like the one that Slughorn had so recently impersonated, which stood right beside the newly burning fire and a brightly glowing oil lamp. Johnny took the seat with the distinct impression that Dumbledore, for some reason, wanted to keep them as visible as possible. Certainly when Slughorn, who had been busy with decanters and glasses, turned to face the room again, his eyes fell immediately upon the two boys.

"Hmpf," he said, looking away quickly as though frightened of hurting his eyes. "Here --" He gave a drink to Dumbledore, who had sat down without invitation, thrusted the tray at Harry, and then sank into the cushions of the repaired sofa and a disgruntled silence. His legs were so short they did not touch the floor. Harry grunted back, handing Johnny a drink.

"Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not so well," said Slughorn at once. "Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."

"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," said Dumbledore. "You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?"

Slughorn said, half irritably, half proudly, "Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still," he added sternly, seeming to pull himself back together again, "the fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."

He certainly had those, thought Johnny, looking around the room. It was stuffy and cluttered, yet nobody could say it was uncomfortable; there were soft chairs and footstools, drinks and books, boxes of chocolates and plump cushions. If Johnny hadn't known who lived there, he would have guessed at a rich, fussy old lady.

"You're not yet as old as I am, Horace," said Dumbledore.

"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself," said Slughorn bluntly. His pale gooseberry eyes had found Dumbledore's injured hand. "Reactions not what they were, I see."

"You're quite right," said Dumbledore serenely, shaking back his sleeve to reveal the tips of those burned and blackened fingers; the sight of them made the back of Johnny's neck prickle unpleasantly. "I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand..."

He shrugged and spread his hands wide, as though to say that age had its compensations, and Johnny noticed a ring on his uninjured hand that he had never seen Dumbledore wear before: It was large, rather clumsily made of what looked like gold, and was set with a heavy black stone that had cracked down the middle. Slughorn's eyes lingered for a moment on the ring too, and Johnny saw a tiny frown momentarily crease his wide forehead.

"So, all these precautions against intruders, Horace... are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or mine?" asked Dumbledore.

"What would the Death Eaters want with a poor broken-down old buffer like me?" demanded Slughorn.

"I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder," said Dumbledore. "Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?"

Slughorn eyed Dumbledore balefully for a moment, then muttered, "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house--the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands--it's been very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave. It's quite easy once you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscopes and make sure the neighbors don't spot you bringing in the piano."

"Ingenious," said Dumbledore. "But it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts--"

"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that's how you treat teachers these days --"

"Well she deserved everything she got," said Johnny, Harry nodding in agreement.

"The Death Eater, Dolores Umbridge ran afoul of our centaur herd," said Dumbledore. "I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the forest and call a horde of angry centaurs and a werewolf, who happens to be the Queen of the Supernatural, 'filthy half-breeds.'"

"That's what she did, did she?" said Slughorn. "Idiotic woman. Never liked her."

Harry and Johnny chuckled and both Dumbledore and Slughorn looked round at them.

"Sorry," Harry said hastily. "It's just--I didn't like her either."

Dumbledore stood up rather suddenly.

"Are you leaving?" asked Slughorn at once, looking hopeful.

"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom," said Dumbledore.

"Oh," said Slughorn, clearly disappointed. "Second on the left down the hall."

Dumbledore strode from the room. Once the door had closed behind him, there was silence. After a few moments, Slughorn got to his feet but seemed uncertain what to do with himself. He shot a furtive look at Harry and Johnny, then crossed to the fire and turned his back on it, warming his wide behind.

"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you two," he said abruptly.

Harry and Johnny merely looked at Slughorn. Slughorn's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar, this time taking in the rest of his face. His eyes then turned to Johnny, taking in his ocean blue eyes, dark hair and high cheekbones.

"You both look very much like your fathers."

Johnny faked a smile.

"Yeah, I've been told," said Harry.

"Except for your eyes, Harry. You've got--"

"My mother's eyes, yeah," Harry had heard it so often he found it a bit wearing.

"Hmpf. Yes, well. You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but they was two of mine. Your mothers," Slughorn added, in answer to Johnny's questioning look. "Lily Evans and Evelyn Potter. Two of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girls. I used to tell them they ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too."

"Which was your House?"

"I was Head of Slytherin," said Slughorn. "Oh, now," he went on quickly, seeing the expression on Harry's face and wagging a stubby ringer at him, "don't go holding that against me! You'll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Sirius Black? You must have done--been in the papers for the last couple of years--died a few weeks ago --"

It was as though an invisible hand had twisted Johnny's intestines and held them tight.

"Well, anyway, he was a big pal of both your father's at school. The whole Black family had been in my House, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame--he was a talented boy. I got his brother, Regulus, when he came along, but I'd have liked the set."

He sounded like an enthusiastic collector who had been outbid at auction. Apparently lost in memories, he gazed at the opposite wall, turning idly on the spot to ensure an even heat on his backside.

"How about you? Slytherin or Gryffindor?" Slughorn asked, turning his eyes to Johnny. "Of course, Jakob Grindelwald was a Slytherin, and Evelyn had been a Gryffindor."

"Slytherin," Johnny muttered, and a proud look came across Slughorn's face.

"Oh bravo!" Said Slughorn happily. "How very much like your father you are, boy! Of course, both your parents were exceptionally smart, but even Jakob scored higher marks than your mother!"

Slughorn's eyes swept back over to Harry.

"Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been Pureblood, she was so good."

"My girlfriend is Muggle-Born," said Johnny, hiding his rage at the bottom of his stomach, "and she's the best in our year."

"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" said Slughorn.

"Not really," said Johnny coldly, his claws chipping the wood of the chair.

Slughorn looked down at him in surprise.

"You mustn't think I'm prejudiced!" he said. "No, no, no! Haven't I just said, Lily Evans was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too--now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course--another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!"

He bounced up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and pointed at the many glittering photograph frames on the dresser, each peopled with tiny moving occupants.

"All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes--a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkisss who gave him his first job! And at the back-- you'll see her if you just crane your neck--that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies... People are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"

This thought seemed to cheer him up enormously.

"At the front! There's Jakob and Evelyn!" Slughorn pointed out. He took the picture into his hands and handed it to Johnny. Both of his parents looked considerably younger, around seventeen, both dressed in very fancy clothes. "That was one of the last parties I had hosted at Hogwarts, they had been together around three years then. It's a real shame, the path Jakob took. Evelyn though, became one of the best Aurors to ever exist, a fine woman she is."

"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" asked Harry, noticing the frown on his cousins face.

The smile slid from Slughorn's face as quickly as the blood from his walls.

"Of course not," he said, looking down at Harry. "I have been out of touch with everybody for a year."

J0hnny had the impression that the words shocked Slughorn himself; he looked quite unsettled for a moment. Then he shrugged.

"Still... the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate --"

"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," said Harry. "Most of the teachers aren't in it, and none of them has ever been killed--well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort."

Slughorn gave a shudder and a squawk of protest, which Harry ignored.

"I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's Headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?" Harry went on.

Slughorn gazed into space for a moment or two: He seemed to be thinking over Harry's words.

"Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," he muttered grudgingly. "And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend... in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus... I cannot pretend that Amelia Bones's death did not shake me... If she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection..."

Dumbledore re-entered the room and Slughorn jumped as though he had forgotten he was in the house.

"Oh, there you are, Albus," he said. "You've been a very long time. Upset stomach?"

"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines," said Dumbledore. "I do love knitting patterns. Well, Harry, Johnny, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave."

Not at all reluctant to obey, Johnny jumped to his feet. Slughorn seemed taken aback.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Lost...?"

Slughorn seemed agitated. He twiddled his fat thumbs and fidgeted as he watched Dumbledore fasten his traveling cloak, and Harry zip up his jacket.

"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace," said Dumbledore, raising his uninjured hand in a farewell salute. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."

"Yes... well... very gracious... as I say..."

"Goodbye, then."

"Bye," said Harry.

"Uh, in a bit," said Johnny awkwardly, holding his hand out for a high five, but when it didn't come, he dropped his hand to his side and followed Harry out of the house. They were at the front door when there was a shout from behind them.

"All right, all right, I'll do it!"

Dumbledore turned to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room.

"You will come out of retirement?"

"Yes, yes," said Slughorn impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."

"Yes, I daresay you will," grunted Slughorn.

As they set off down the garden path, Slughorn's voice floated after them, "I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind them, and they set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.

"Well done, boys," said Dumbledore.

"We didn't do anything," said Johnny in surprise.

"Oh yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"

"Er..."

They wasn't sure whether they liked Slughorn or not. He supposed he had been pleasant in his way, but he had also seemed vain and, whatever he said to the contrary, much too surprised that a Muggle-born should make a good witch.

"Horace," said Dumbledore, relieving them of the responsibility to say any of this, "likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat--more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystallised pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office."

"I tell you all this," Dumbledore continued, "not to turn you against Horace--or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn--but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you boys. Harry would be the jewel of his collection; 'the Boy Who Lived'... or, as they call hi, these days, 'the Chosen One.' And Johnny, known as a King, what more could he want?"

Dumbledore had stopped walking, level with the church they had passed earlier.

"This will do, boys. If you will grasp my arm, I am dropping you off at the Burrow."

Johnny, Harry and Dumbledore approached the back door of the Burrow, which was surrounded by the familiar litter of old Wellington boots and rusty cauldrons; Johnny could hear the soft clucking of sleepy chickens coming from a distant shed. Dumbledore knocked three times and Johnny saw sudden movement behind the kitchen window.

"Who's there?" said a nervous voice they recognised as Mrs. Weasley's. "Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry and Johnny."

The door opened at once. There stood Mrs. Weasley, short, plump, and wearing an old green dressing gown.

"Harry, Johnny, dears! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky," said Dumbledore, ushering Harry and Johnny over the threshold. "Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Their doing, of course. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"

Johnny looked around and saw that Mrs. Weasley wasn't alone, despite the lateness of the hour.

"Hello, Professor," she said. "Wotcher, boys."

"Hey," Johnny said. Johnny thought she looked drawn, even ill, and there was something forced in her smile. Certainly her appearance was less colorful than usual without her customary shade of bubble-gum-pink hair.

"I'd better be off," she said quickly, standing up and pulling her cloak around her shoulders. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Please don't leave on my account," said Dumbledore courteously, "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

"No, no, I need to get going," said Tonks, not meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "'Night..."

"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend, Remus and Mad-Eye are coming...?"

"No, really, Molly... thanks anyway... Goodnight, everyone."

Tonks kissed Johnny's forehead and hurried past Dumbledore and Harry into the yard; a few paces beyond the doorstep, she turned on the spot and vanished into thin air. Johnny noticed that Mrs. Weasley looked troubled.

"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, boys," said Dumbledore. "Take care of yourself. Molly, your servant."

He made Mrs. Weasley a bow and followed Tonks, vanishing at precisely the same spot. Mrs. Weasley closed the door on the empty yard and then steered Harry and Johnny by the shoulders into the full glow of the lantern on the table to examine their appearance.

"Harry, you're like Ron," she sighed, looking him up and down. "Both of you look as though you've had Stretching jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. At least you're still 5'8, Johnny."

"Nice subtle jab at my hight," Johnny said sarcastically, causing Mrs. Weasley to smile.

Are you hungry, boys?"

"Yeah, I am," said Harry, suddenly realising just how hungry he was.

"I'm fine, thank you," said Johnny through a yawn. "I just want to go to bed."

"Straight up to the attic then, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, motioning towards the stairs. "Up you go, Hermione will more than likely already be asleep, so be quiet when you're opening and closing the attic door."

The attic bedroom was on the top floor. Hermione and Johnny had took their time over the years to make the attic look personal to them. At the very end of the attic rested a large bookshelf, filled to the brim with books on their Hogwarts subjects, Quidditch, and even Muggle stories like Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen. A double bed was pushed up under a small window at the opposite end to the bookshelf.

When Johnny closed the attic door behind him, he saw Hermione sat resting against the headboard of the bed, book in hand and not paying attention to the world around her. Quorra and Crookshanks meowed happily at Johnny from their potions on top of a large wardrobe.

"Hey," Hermione jumped at Johnny's voice, causing her head to snap up and let out a shriek. When Hermione realised it was just Johnny, she let out another shriek and jumped off the bed and into Johnny's arms, kissing him eagerly.

"Hi," Hermione said cutely, Johnny's t-shirt that she was wearing was riding up her thighs. "I missed you."

Johnny smiled at her cuteness, kissing her head as she buried her head in Johnny's chest, her arms wrapped tightly around his midsection.

"I missed you too, darling," Johnny whispered, picking Hermione up by the waist and dropping her on the bed. "What were you reading?"

A look of realisation and shock made its way onto Hermione's face as Johnny reached down to the floor and picked up Hermione's discarded book. A look of shock and amusement appeared on Johnny's face as he read the title, before turning the front cover towards Hermione.

"Fifty Shades of Grey?" Johnny said with an amused smile. Hermione blushed a dark shade of red, throwing a pillow at Johnny which he skilfully dodged. "Hermione, darling, are you fantasising about this?"

"N-no!" Hermione squeaked, burying her head in another pillow. "I-I-I-"

"Hermione Jean Granger, how filthy of you," Johnny grinned, sticking a bookmark on the page Hermione was on and sticking it back on the bookshelf. Hermione watched Johnny as he stripped himself of clothing, leaving him only in his boxers as he got into bed besides Hermione.

"I love you," Hermione whispered when Johnny wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back to his front. Johnny's hands rested on her stomach, drawing soft circles.

"I love you too, beautiful," Johnny whispered, kissing Hermione's shoulder. "And I was wondering where my shirt went."

Hermione giggled, turning in Johnny's arms so her head was tucked under his chin, and Hermione could take in the scent of Johnny's expensive cologne.

"I took your Quidditch jumper too," said Hermione softly, her legs entwining with Johnny's. "I received the dirtiest look from everyone yesterday when I walked down for breakfast wearing a Slytherin jumper."

"Well, you're the Snake's Lion," Johnny whispered, running a hand down Hermione's back.

"And you're the Lion's Snake," Hermione laughed.

"And there's no chance I'm ever wearing red and gold."

"Please."

"I would do anything for love," Johnny said, causing a hopeful look to appear on his girlfriends face. "But I won't do that."

Seconds later, or so it seemed to Johnny, he and Hermione was awakened by what sounded like cannon fire as the attic door burst open. Sitting bolt upright, he and Hermione both brandished their wands and aimed in the direction, though Johnny's vision was blurred.

"Wuzzgoinon?" Johnny asked tiredly.

"We didn't know you were here already!" said a loud and excited voice, and he received a sharp blow to the top of the head.

"Ron, don't hit him!" said Hermione reproachfully.

A long, looming shadow quivered in front of him for a moment; he blinked and Ron Weasley came into focus, grinning down at him.

"All right?"

"Never been better," said Johnny, rubbing the top of his head and slumping back onto his pillows, Hermione laying back on his chest. "You?"

"Not bad," said Ron, pulling over a chair box and sitting on it. Harry followed his actions.. "When did you get here? Mum's only just told us!"

"About one o'clock this morning," Harry answered for them.

"How was y0ur summer?" Asked Ron.

"Same as usual," said Harry, as Hermione perched herself on the edge of his bed, "How're you, Hermione?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Hermione, who was scrutinising Harry as though he was sickening for something. "What's the time? Have we missed breakfast?"

"Don't worry about that, Mum's bringing you and Johnny up a tray," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "So, what's been going on? You've been off with Dumbledore!"

"It wasn't that exciting. He just wanted Harry and I to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn," Johnny explained, yawing slightly.

"Oh," said Ron, looking disappointed. "We thought--"

Hermione flashed a warning look at Ron, and Ron changed tack at top speed.

"-- we thought it'd be something like that."

"You did?" said Harry, amused.

"Yeah... yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't we? So, er, what's he like?"

"He looks a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin," said Johnny. "Something wrong, Hermione?"

She was watching Harry as though expecting strange symptoms to manifest themselves at any moment. She rearranged her features hastily in an unconvincing smile.

"No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he'll be a good teacher?"

"Dunno," said Harry, picking up a book from the bookshelf, flicking through it and then placing it back down. "He can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?"

"I know someone who's worse than Umbridge," said a voice from the doorway. Ron's younger sister slouched into the room, looking irritable. "Hi, boys."

"What's up with you?" Ron asked.

"It's her," said Ginny, plonking herself down on Hermione and Johnny's bed. "She's driving me mad."

"What's she done now?" asked Hermione sympathetically.

"It's the way she talks to me... you'd think I was about three!"

"I know," said Hermione, dropping her voice. "She's so full of herself."

Johnny was astonished to hear Hermione talking about Mrs. Weasley like this and couldn't blame Ron for saying angrily, "Can't you two lay off her for five seconds?"

"Oh, that's right, defend her," snapped Ginny. "We all know you can't get enough of her."

This seemed an odd comment to make about Ron's mother. Starting to feel that he was missing something, Johnny said, "Who are you...?"

But his question was answered before his could finish it. The bedroom door flew open again, and Johnny instinctively yanked the bedcovers up to his and Hermione's chins so hard that Ginny slid off the bed onto the floor.

A young woman was standing in the doorway, a woman of such breathtaking beauty that the room seemed to have become strangely airless. She was tall and willowy with long blonde hair and appeared to emanate a faint, silvery glow. To complete this vision of perfection, she was carrying two heavily laden breakfast trays.

"Johnee," she said in a throaty voice. "Eet 'as been too long!"

As she swept over the threshold toward him, Mrs. Weasley was revealed, bobbing along in her wake, looking rather cross.

"There was no need to bring up the trays, I was just about to do it myself!"

"Eet was no trouble," said Fleur Delacour, setting the trays across Johnny's and Hermione's knees and then swooping to kiss Johnny on each cheek. "I 'ave been longing to see 'im. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter and Johnee Grindelwald. She will be delighted to see you again."

"Oh... is she here too?" Johnny croaked.

"No, no, silly boy," said Fleur with a tinkling laugh, "I mean next summer, when we... but do you not know?"

Her great blue eyes widened and she looked reproachfully at Mrs. Weasley, who said, "We hadn't got around to telling him yet."

Fleur turned back to Johnny, swinging her silvery sheet of hair so that it whipped Mrs. Weasley across the face.

"Bill and I are going to be married!"

"Oh," said Johnny blankly. He couldn't help noticing how Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny were all determinedly avoiding one another's gaze. "Wow. Er... congratulations!"

She swooped down upon him and kissed him again.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very 'ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought me 'ere for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you would be coming... zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well... enjoy your breakfast, Johnee!"

With these words she turned gracefully and seemed to float out of the attic, closing the door quietly behind her.

Mrs. Weasley made a noise that sounded like, "tchah!"

"Mum hates her," said Ginny quietly.

"I do not hate her!" said Mrs. Weasley in a cross whisper. "I just think they've hurried into this engagement, that's all!"

"They've known each other a year," said Ron, who looked oddly groggy and was staring at the closed door.

"Well, that's not very long! I know why it's happened, of course. It's all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they're rushing all sorts of decisions they'd normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and center..."

"Including you and Dad," said Ginny slyly.

"Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting?" said Mrs. Weasley. "Whereas Bill and Fleur... well... what have they really got in common? He's a hardworking, down-to-earth sort of person, whereas she's..."

"A cow," said Ginny, nodding. "But Bill's not that down-to-earth. He's a Curse-Breaker, isn't he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour... I expect that's why he's gone for Phlegm."

"Stop calling her that, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Johnny and Hermione laughed. "Well, I'd better get on... Eat your eggs while they're warm."

Looking careworn, she left the room. Ron still seemed slightly punch-drunk; he was shaking his head experimentally like a dog trying to rid its ears of water.

"Don't you get used to her if she's staying in the same house?" Harry asked.

"Well, you do," said Ron, "but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like then..."

"It's pathetic," said Hermione furiously, stabbing a sausage. "Kissing my boyfriend too! Four times!"

"You don't really want her around forever?" Ginny asked Ron incredulously. When he merely shrugged, she said, "Well, Mum's going to put a stop to it if she can, I bet you anything."

"How's she going to manage that?" asked Johnny.

"She keeps trying to get Tonks round for dinner. I think she's hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I'd much rather have her in the family."

"That's nit going to work," said Johnny, all eyes snapping towards him. "Tonks started dating this girl around May time, I met her before Mum and I picked Harry up this summer."

"I'd much rather have Tonks in the family," said Ginny. "At least she's a laugh."

"She hasn't been much of a laugh lately," said Ron. "Every time I've seen her she's looked more like Moaning Myrtle."

"That's not fair," snapped Hermione. "She still hasn't got over what happened... you know... I mean, he was her cousin!"

Johnny's heart sank. They had arrived at Sirius. He picked up a fork and began shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth, hoping to deflect any invitation to join in this part of the conversation.

"Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!" said Ron. "Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and before that their families never met--"

"That's not the point," said Hermione. "She thinks it was her limit he died!"

"How does she work that one out?" asked Harry, in spite of himself.

"Well, she was fighting Jakob with Evelyn. I think she feels that if only she had finished Jakob off, Jakob couldn't have killed Sirius."

"That's stupid," said Ron.

"It's survivor's guilt," said Johnny sadly. "I know Lupin's tried to talk her round, but she's still really down. She's actually having trouble with her Metamorphosing!"

"With her...?"

"She can't change her appearance like she used to," explained Johnny. "I think her powers must have been affected by shock, or something."

"I didn't know that could happen," said Harry.

The door opened again and Mrs. Weasley popped her head in. "Ginny," she whispered, "come downstairs and help me with the lunch."

"I'm talking to this lot!" said Ginny, outraged.

"Now!" said Mrs. Weasley, and withdrew.

"She only wants me there so she doesn't have to be alone with Phlegm!" said Ginny crossly. She swung her long red hair around in a very good imitation of Fleur and pranced across the room with her arms held aloft like a ballerina.

"You lot had better come down quickly too," she said as she left.

Johnny took advantage of the temporary silence to eat more breakfast. Hermione had finished and was peering into Fred and George's boxes they had stored for them in a corner of their room. Ron, who was now helping himself to Johnny's toast, was still gazing dreamily at the door.

"What's this?" Hermione asked eventually, holding up what looked like a small telescope.

"Dunno," said Ron, "but if Fred and George left it here, it's probably not ready for the joke shop yet, so be careful."

"Your mum said the shop's going well," said Harry. "Said Fred and George have got a real flair for business."

"That's an understatement," said Ron. "They're raking in the Galleons! I can't wait to see the place, we haven't been to Diagon Alley yet, because Mum says Dad's got to be there for extra security and he's been really busy at work, but it sounds excellent."

"And what about Percy?" asked Johnny. "Is he talking to your mum and dad again?"

"Nope," said Ron.

"But he knows your dad was right all along now about Voldemort being back..."

"Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right," said Hermione. "I heard him telling your mum, Ron."

"Sounds like the sort of mental thing Dumbledore would say," said Ron.

"He's going to be giving Johnny and I private lessons this year," said Harry conversationally.

Ron choked on his bit of toast, and Hermione gasped.

"You kept that quiet!" said Ron. "Blimey... private lessons with Dumbledore!" said Ron, looking impressed. "I wonder why he's... ?"

"I don't know exactly why he's going to be giving us lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy," said Harry, causing Johnny to furrow his eyebrows. Why was he having lessons too?

"Nobody knows what it said, though," said Hermione quickly. "It got smashed."

"Although the Prophet says..." began Ron, but Hermione said, "Shh!"

"The Prophet's got it right," said Harry, looking up at the three with a great effort: Hermione seemed frightened, Ron amazed, and Johnny had a blank stare. "That glass ball that smashed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said," Harry took a deep breath, "it looks like either Johnny or I has to finish off Voldemort... At least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives."

"So, you're telling me that you or J-Johnny could die?" Hermione asked.

The four of them gazed at one another in silence for a moment. Then there was a loud bang and Hermione vanished behind a puff of black smoke.

"Hermione!" shouted Johnny, Harry and Ron; the breakfast tray slid to the floor with a crash.

Hermione emerged, coughing, out of the smoke, clutching the telescope and sporting a brilliantly purple black eye.

"I squeezed it and it... it punched me!" she gasped.

And sure enough, they now saw a tiny fist on a long spring protruding from the end of the telescope.

"Don't worry," said Ron, who was plainly trying not to laugh, "Mum'll fix that, she's good at healing minor injuries..."

"Oh well, never mind that now!" said Hermione hastily. "Johnny, oh, Johnny..."

She sat down on the edge of the bed again.

"We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry... Obviously, we didn't want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about the two of you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this..." She stared at him, then whispered, "Are you scared?"

"You're telling me you all knew that I was in the Prophecy?" Johnny asked, suddenly standing up and pulling on a shirt and a pair of jeans. At all the guilty looks, Johnny let out a scoff, biting his lip as he shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the prophecy," said Ron eagerly. "And we were kind of right, weren't we? He wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn't waste his time... he must think you both got a chance!"

Johnny shook his head, throwing everyone a dirty look before storming out of the attic. When he entered the kitchen ten minutes later, it was to find Hermione sitting at the kitchen table in great agitation, while Mrs. Weasley tried to lessen her resemblance to half a panda.

"It just won't budge," Mrs. Weasley was saying anxiously, standing over Hermione with her wand in her hand and a copy of The Healer's Helpmate open at 'Bruises, Cuts, and Abrasions'. "This has always worked before, I just can't understand it."

"It'll be Fred and George's idea of a funny joke, making sure it can't come off," said Ginny.

"But it's got to come off!" squeaked Hermione. "I can't go around looking like this forever!"

"You won't, dear, we'll find an antidote, don't worry," said Mrs. Weasley soothingly.

"Bill told me 'ow Fred and George are very amusing!" said Fleur, smiling serenely.

"Yes, I can hardly breathe for laughing," snapped Hermione.

She jumped up and started walking round and round the kitchen, twisting her fingers together.

"Mrs. Weasley, you're quite, quite sure no owls have arrived this morning?"

"Yes, dear, I'd have noticed," said Mrs. Weasley patiently. "But it's barely nine, there's still plenty of time..."

"I know I messed up Ancient Runes," muttered Hermione feverishly, "I definitely made at least one serious mistranslation. And the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went all right at the time, but looking back--"

Ah, O.W.L results. Johnny was aloud to take his exams over the summer, thanks to permission from Dumbledore and Rufus Scrimgeour.

"Hermione, will you shut up, you're not the only one who's nervous!" barked Ron. "And when you've got your eleven 'Outstanding O.W.L.s...'"

"Don't, don't, don't!" said Hermione, flapping her hands hysterically. "I know I've failed everything!"

"What happens if we fail?" Johnny asked the room at large, but it was again Hermione who answered.

"We discuss our options with our Head of House, I asked Professor McGonagall at the end of last term."

Johnny's stomach squirmed. He wished he had eaten less breakfast.

"At Beauxbatons," said Fleur complacently, "we 'ad a different way of doing things. I think eet was better. We sat our examinations after six years of study, not five, and then..."

Fleur's words were drowned in a scream. Hermione was pointing through the kitchen window. Four black specks were clearly visible in the sky, growing larger all the time.

"They're definitely owls," said Ron hoarsely, jumping up to join Hermione at the window.

"And there are four of them," said Harry, hastening to her other side. Hermione was gripping onto Johnny's hand so hard he felt his fingers crunch.

"One for each of us," said Hermione in a terrified whisper. "Oh no... oh no... oh no..."

The owls were flying directly at the Burrow, four handsome tawnies, each of which, it became clear as they flew lower over the path leading up to the house, was carrying a large square envelope.

"Oh no!" squealed Hermione.

Mrs. Weasley squeezed past them and opened the kitchen window. One, two, three, four, the owls soared through it and landed on the table in a neat line. All four of them lifted their right legs.

Johnny moved forward. The letter addressed to him was tied to the leg of the owl in the middle. He untied it with fumbling fingers. To his left, Ron was trying to detach his own results; to his right, Hermione's hands were shaking so much she was making her whole owl tremble.

Nobody in the kitchen spoke. At last, Johnny managed to detach the envelope. He slit it open quickly and unfolded the parchment inside.

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Pass Grades:
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectations (E)
Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades:
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)

Johnathan Fleamont Gellert Grindelwald has achieved:

Astronomy E
Care of Magical Creatures O
Charms O
Defense Against the Dark Arts O
Divination O
Herbology E
History of Magic E
Potions O
Transfiguration O

Johnny read the parchment through several times, his breathing becoming easier with each reading. He looked around. Hermione had her back to him and her head bent, but Ron and was looking delighted.

"Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about them?" he said happily to Johnny. "Here... swap..."

Johnny glanced down Ron's grades: There were no "Outstandings" there...

"Knew you'd be top at everything," said Ron, punching Johnny on the shoulder. "We've done all right, haven't we?"

"I only failed History of Magic," Harry breathed out, glancing down at Johnny's results. "Course you got all O's and E's."

"Well done!" said Mrs. Weasley proudly, ruffling Ron's hair. "Seven O.W.L.s, that's more than Fred and George got together!"

"Hermione?" said Johnny tentatively, for Hermione still hadn't turned around. "How did you do?"

"I--not bad," said Hermione in a small voice.

"Oh, come off it," said Ron, striding over to her and whipping her results out of her hand. "Yep... ten 'Outstandings' and one 'Exceeds Expectations' at Defense Against the Dark Arts." He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. "You're actually disappointed, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head, but Johnny laughed.

"Well, we're N.E.W.T. students now!" grinned Ron. "Mum, are there any more sausages?"