18: Lessons in Humility

"You're joking," said Harry.

Ginny burst into tears, but Ron only shook his head. "I just can't believe it," he said. "All those worthless bullies sticking daggers in people's backs for years, and then climbing up the hilts to the top, and every last one of them suddenly takes their name out of the running and disappears. Until it's time to elect the new Minister, of course. Dad wasn't even at the meeting--they didn't send him the memo in time! What do you want to bet that wasn't an accident, eh?" Ron buried his face in his hands, rubbing his forehead.

Hermione was rendered speechless, plopping into a chair that had just been rapidly vacated by an insightful third-year student. Harry, however, was already clenching his fists with a murderous expression.

"How DARE they?" he shouted. "He can decline, can't he? Tell me he refused the appointment, Ron." But even as Harry asked, he knew the answer. Arthur had never expressed any ambition to become Minister, but he would never turn down such a challenge if he believed he could help others by accepting. "Morgan le Fay. He's taking it, isn't he?" Again, Harry didn't have to ask, but at least the sound of it in the air gave him something on which to focus.

"They can't do this!" said Hermione. "Surely there must be a rule against--"

"It's legal, Hermione," said Ron, his voice weary with defeat. "They declared a state of emergency when Scrimgeour was killed, which gives them the power to appoint the next Minister without the usual process. Dad could refuse, but that would pretty much end his career in the Ministry. And besides that, someone else would get railroaded into the job. Dad reckons he's the best prepared to handle it, out of all the people likely to get the shaft, so he's taking it."

Harry finally flopped into a chair as well, clutching his head as if it were about to explode. "But doesn't he understand what they're doing?"

"Of course he does!" wailed Ginny suddenly. "He knows bloody well that they're just using him as a target, to set Voldemort's sights on him and off their useless hides! Oh, why does every man I know have to be the world's biggest bloody hero?" She leapt to her feet and charged up the stairs to the girls' dormitory, followed immediately by Hermione.

Ron and Harry gave each other a glum look before each settled into their chairs for a furious, private brooding.

"What are we going to do?" Harry finally asked, though he didn't really expect an answer.

"I suppose what we talked about is pretty much out of the running," said Ron bleakly.

Harry grimaced, shaking his head. "I'm not ready. I thought I was, but I'm not." He paused. "I'm sorry, Ron."

"It's okay, mate. Mum really would have a paddy if I disappeared now. She's in a right state. You know that clock of hers with all our names on it? The minute they took the vote, the hand for Dad popped clean off."

"How's she taking it?" asked Harry.

"Oh, you know Mum," Ron sighed. "She'll stand right behind him like a rock, then go worry herself sick every day after he leaves for the office. She's trying to make a show of being proud of him, as though he's been promoted because he deserves it."

"He does deserve to be Minister, Ron," said Harry angrily. "Just not the way those prats gave it to him."

"Well, one thing's for sure," Ron said with a wry grin, "he's due for a big raise."

The Great Hall was already buzzing with the news by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived for breakfast the next morning. The Daily Prophet had a huge photo on the front page of Mr. Weasley, flanked by dozens of smiling toadies "showing their support" for the new Minister-to-be. Harry stared at the moving photograph for some time, convinced that if he watched carefully enough, he'd spot them plunging little silver daggers into each others' backs.

"Is this really true, Ron?" said Luna Lovegood, who rushed up to their back-to-back chairs as soon as she entered the Hall.

"Every word of it, except the lies," groused Ron.

"Well, in that case, congratulations!" said Luna, quite sincerely. "How fabulous! Finally, a real person appointed as Minister! My dad would love to interview him for The Quibbler. He's virtually unknown, you know, and people would love to hear his stand on all sorts of issues."

Harry and Ron exchanged a sour glance, each pondering the "issues" of interest to The Quibbler. "Yeah, well, I'll be sure to pass that along," said Ron. "He's bound to be pretty busy, though, so he may not be able to squeeze it in."

"Oh, that would be lovely! Thank you, Ron!" Luna tweaked the tip of Ron's nose and floated off to her usual seat at the front of the Great Hall. Harry silently admired the fact that Ron kept a straight face throughout the whole exchange.

Hermione didn't manage it as well, and opted to face her table and concentrate on her breakfast as the lesser of two impolite evils. That gave her a few moments to study the article about Mr. Weasley. When Luna left, Hermione quickly poked her head over the back of her chair with an purposefull expression. "Ron, it says here that your dad won't be sworn in for two weeks."

Ron nodded. "I know, it's some formality. But there's not going to be any talking him out of it, he's made up his mind on that score."

"That's not where I was heading. Harry, I think if we're going to do anything with that mirror, we need to take care of it before Ron's dad takes office."

Harry simply stared at her, too flummoxed by the non-sequitor to reply. Hermione rolled her eyes and began speaking more slowly. "The archway and the veil, Harry! Once Mr. Weasley is sworn in, he'll ultimately have to answer for anything that goes on within the Ministry. You can bet he'll be less than thrilled if we're caught tampering with that thing. And if something goes wrong... well, if we do it now, it's basically no one's fault, but if we do it once Mr. Weasley is in charge..."

Ron scoffed. "I don't think there's been so much as a leaky faucet in the Ministry that didn't cost someone points, Hermione. It'll probably still get back to Dad if we sneak in there now."

"Maybe, but it certainly will after he's sworn in! In fact, I don't think I'd want to do it--I'd feel like I was betraying him personally, making trouble in the Ministry when he's in charge."

"Believe me, he's used to it," said Ron. "The man raised Fred and George, remember? If anyone knows how to handle heat when he's supposed to be the boss, it's my dad."

"Lowering the boom on Fred and George for blowing up the toilet is one thing. But if his son got caught trespassing on Ministry property--in the Department of Mysteries, nonetheless! The Prophet would rip him to shreds!"

Harry smiled mischievously. "All the more reason to do it before he takes over. If we get caught, maybe we can get him disqualified from the post."

Ron's eyes widened. "You know, that just might work! I could be Family Hero, keeping Dad from becoming Minister!" He tilted his head and sat back in his chair. "Good grief, I can't believe I just said that."

Hermione let out a frustrated growl. "You two... well, regardless of the reason, do you agree we ought to get right to work on this?"

Both Harry and Ron nodded. "Good then," said Hermione smartly. "Now we just need to find that other mirror, get out of Hogwarts, sneak into the Ministry and try it out!" She grinned cheerfully and turned back to dig into her remaining breakfast with vigor.

Harry eyed Ron, who shrugged and grabbed a slice of toast. "Piece of cake," Ron muttered before chomping half of it in one bite.

By lunchtime, Ron was feeling rather fed up with all the attention he was receiving on account of his father's appointment. "Merlin's beard, Harry, what am I supposed to say to these people? Most of them are all smiles like this is a good thing! And the rest still look jealous. I think I might throttle the next person that says 'congratulations' and shakes my hand."

Harry reached immediately for Ron's hand and said, "Congratulations!"

"You git," Ron sneered, shoving Harry's hand away. "I could handle this whole spotlight business when we won the Quidditch Cup. At least that really was a good thing. But this stinks. Most of these people wouldn't give me the time of day a week ago, and now they act like we're the best of friends." Ron stuck out his tongue.

"Catching flies?" said Hermione as she took her usual seat nearby.

"Yeah, lunch was really bad," Ron replied without missing a beat.

"Well, it's good you're done early," Hermione said. "Today's Wednesday, after all." After a few seconds of silence, she glared over her shoulder at the two of them. "Wednesday? As in, 'Moral Support for Hagrid Day?' You haven't gone down to see him yet, and it's almost October."

Harry and Ron exchanged a pained grimace. "Oh, no you don't!" snapped Hermione immediately, waggling her fork at them. "Besides, I'm sure he'd like to talk about the news. If you go now, while it's still early, you can use the start of class as an excuse to leave." She rolled her eyes in exasperation over having to explain such an obvious tactic to the two of them, and turned back to her plate.

"You know, Ron," said Harry with an impish grin , "if we go and visit Hagrid now, just before class starts, we can--"

"Silencio!" said Hermione, pointing her wand over her shoulder without even looking. Harry's voice cut off abruptly, and Ron wisely kept his laughter to a very low volume.

The charm wore off about halfway to Hagrid's cabin, just in time for Harry to answer Hagrid's cheerful shout of greeting. Hagrid was bustling around at the edge of the forest, clearly preparing for his next class. He had a bundle of lethal-looking peppers in his hand, and Harry immediately guessed the topic of today's lesson. "Fireflies today, Hagrid?" he asked cheerfully.

Hagrid set the peppers down on a small folding table and began to untie them. "Yeah, 'fraid it'll be a short class, seein' as they gotta come back out tonight ter get their Flies. Then I'm havin' half of 'em hide and the res' have ter use the Flies teh find 'em. Too bad it's all gotta be done a' night, we could'a used the great outdoors, but it'll still be alright in the castle. It'll be pretty in there, all the Flies zippin' about in the corridors. I jus' hope we'll have time fer both groups ter hide tonight."

As Hagrid rattled on cheerfully about his lesson plan, a little candle suddenly went on over Harry's head. "Hagrid... do you think Ron and I could join your class for this lesson?"

Hagrid's smile widened until it threatened to overtake his earlobes. "Yeh really mean that, Harry? You two wanner be part o' my class again?"

Ron, who was standing behind Harry, had managed to hook the waistband of Harry's underwear through his robe and was clearly threatening to give him an atomic wedgie, but Harry ignored him. "Sure, Hagrid! I saw your memory of the technique, after all; I'd like to give it a try myself!"

Beaming, Hagrid gave Harry the pepper he'd just untied. "We're meetin' inna Entrance Hall at sunset, Harry. Ron, you dig up somethin' small o' yers teh give 'em the scent."

As they walked away, Ron quietly demanded, "Have you gone spare?"

Harry winked. "No worries, Ron, there's a method in my madness. If I've got this right, those Fireflies are going to lead us straight to Kreacher's hiding place."

As the sun disappeared below the horizon, Harry left the Gryffindor common room and met the handful of seventh-years in Hagrid's class at the entrance to the castle. Hagrid marched them down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "Lucky it's been a warm fall, there's still lots of 'em aroun'. Come now, set out yer bait an' get back a bit, they'll be comin' along before yeh know it."

That was a bit of an exaggeration, but pale flickering lights eventually appeared in the lower branches, and soon after that a number of Flies took interest in Harry's pepper. When it was covered in glowing Flies, Harry tossed a handkerchief over it and collected his little swarm. He wished he'd had some of these fellows when he'd walked through the Forest with Ondossi. With a bit of their light, Harry could have caught those walnuts she was tossing like so many Snitches.

Ron was waiting for him just inside the oak front doors, having a bit of a staring match with Filch. The caretaker was most displeased that he was required to let Hagrid's students out after dark, and naturally insisted that they present for inspection upon entering the castle. He eyeballed Ron as though he expected him to make a headlong charge for freedom at any moment. As Harry came in, Ron made a slight feint toward the entrance and Filch leapt to his feet, only to scowl menacingly when Ron merely leaned over and picked up a scrap of parchment from the floor. "What a blooming git," commented Ron quietly as the two of them headed downstairs.

A small crowd of house-elves welcomed them into the kitchen with plates of buttered rolls and cake (which both Ron and Harry felt honor-bound to accept graciously). The elves weren't thrilled by their request for a dark space in which to prepare the Fireflies. Harry felt a bit guilty as he monitored their anxious discussion; they were appalled by the idea of deliberately introducing insects into their kitchens. He turned to Ron, who nodded in resigned agreement. A clean kitchen was a rather nice thing.

Dobby saved the day when he burst into the main scullery. "Harry Potter! They told me you was visiting! Of course Harry Potter may use the kitchen in any way he requires," Dobby said with a sharp glare to all the elves present. There were a few dissenting grimaces, but none of the elves spoke up. Apparently Dobby's status as a free agent had won him a position of authority.

"Thanks, Dobby," said Harry as the elf escorted them to his own sleeping quarters, a roomy nook in a storeroom with two wooden window shutters for doors. It was a bit reminiscent of Harry's cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive. "We've got a plan to find the things that Kreacher took. We just need a few minutes to prepare the Fireflies. You wouldn't have an oil lamp, would you?"

"Dobby can find one, of course, Harry Potter," said the elf, but Harry noticed the slightest furrow between his spherical eyes.

"Is something wrong, Dobby?" he asked.

The furrow immediately vanished, but Harry could still see a trace of... something in Dobby's eyes. Resentment? Harry had never seen Dobby indicate displeasure before, and he found it rather chilling. "Dobby... what's on your mind?" he asked cautiously.

Dobby looked back up and opened his mouth as if to speak, but sighed and drooped his ears instead. "It is nothing, sir. Dobby knows there was no offense meant, sir."

Harry's mouth fell open. "No, Dobby, there wasn't! But you have to explain--I don't even know what I said to offend you!" But even as he spoke, Harry recognized that this was the same peculiar emotional state he was in when he was able to skim the surface of Ron's thoughts: a bit of disappointment, a smattering of regret, and a hopeful optimism about future success. He didn't need Dobby to tell him (and the elf certainly seemed reluctant to do so), he could just lift the answer from Dobby's mind.

Harry peered at the elf's huge green eyes. Within seconds, his vision dimmed slightly; the process was beginning--

The next thing Harry saw was the bottom of a rack of pots and pans hanging from the kitchen, completely framed by an oval ring of enormous, concerned pairs of eyeballs. "How did I..." Harry mumbled, realizing that the back of his head hurt sharply.

Ron's voice carried from somewhere outside the ring of eyes. "You've been out for twenty minutes, Harry. Dropped like a stone, for no reason we could see. You okay?"

Harry groaned, gingerly patting the goose-egg on the back of his head. "Been better. Why am I back out in the kitchen?"

"I told the elves if you didn't wake up, they could serve you for breakfast tomorrow," said Ron wryly. Dozens of scandalized house-elves glared at Ron in indignation and horror. "Easy, easy, just a joke! We wanted to give you some air. It was a compromise, so they wouldn't nip off and fetch Madam Pomfrey."

Good thinking, Ron, Harry mused silently. This was getting ridiculous, all these delays. Harry sat up, ignoring the new headache this produced. "I'm all right, really, I think I know what happened. Where's Dobby?"

"I don't think he left his, uh, room," said Ron, sidling up next to Harry to give him a hand up. "He's pretty upset--he thinks he hurt you."

"Oh, no," groaned Harry. "He's not banging his head, is he?"

There were no thumping sounds emanating from Dobby's nook, but the elf did not answer their knock. Harry finally pulled open one of the shutters to find that Dobby had twisted his ears up so tightly that they looked like braids. He practically leapt into Harry's arms when he saw him.

Harry patted the creature's papery skin and gently unfurled the ears until Dobby had calmed down enough to speak coherently. "Harry Potter, Dobby would rather die than--"

Harry put his hand over Dobby's mouth. "Shh," he crooned soothingly. "It's all right, Dobby. It was my own fault. I tried to use Legilimency on you, and I think it backfired."

Sniffling, Dobby said, "Dobby doesn't know about Wizarding arts like Legilimency. No one has ever tried such a thing on Dobby."

Harry attempted to smooth the crumpled ears. "There's a lot I don't know about it either," he admitted. "But all's fine again, so let's get back to the point. Now, I'd asked for a lamp, and that bothered you. Why?"

Dobby averted his gaze with an air of shame or humiliation. Harry glanced at Ron, who shrugged. Both of them stared at Dobby with concealed impatience for some time before the little elf finally spoke, his eyes never leaving the floor of his cubbyhole.

"Harry Potter knows that a gift of clothing will free a house-elf from his master, but that is only one of our customs." Dobby's voice became gravelly. "There are many more, which Harry Potter has never learned, because he has never kept one of us under his thumb. Harry Potter asked if Dobby had a lamp. For a moment, Dobby felt insulted by this question, but that was foolish!"

Fearing a new auricular onslaught, Harry reached protectively for the ears again. Dobby dropped his hands into his lap, sighed, and continued. "Harry Potter would not try to insult Dobby, no, not ever. Not on purpose. He just didn't know that, like clothes, house-elves doesn't own lamps."

Harry raised his brows. "But I see house-elves carrying lamps all the time."

"Carrying them for master, yes, sir, and to light fires to cook master's food or warm master's bed. But not to keep in their own quarters. Even Dobby, who was set free by Harry Potter, does not presume to own a lamp."

"Why not?"

Dobby cleared his throat. "A rule from hundreds of years ago, sir. If master wishes an elf to work at night, he will provide enough light. If it is dark, an elf is supposed to sleep until it's time to work again."

Harry frowned. "But it gets dark early in the winter! What if you finish your work and you're not tired yet? You're not allowed to play a game, or read?"

Dobby's hand flew over his mouth as though Harry had uttered something blasphemous. "That is exactly why house-elves doesn't keep lamps, sir. Elves are forbidden to read!"

Not just Harry's jaw, but his whole head fell forward in shock. "Not allowed to read?! Says who?"

"Dobby told you, this has been the rule for centuries. Elves work, Harry Potter. Time spent reading is time wasted from their chores, or from getting the proper rest before the next chore. And worse than that, reading leads to thinking. Ideas." Dobby's squeaky voice dropped in both volume and pitch. "Slaves who thinks and has ideas does not make good slaves, Harry Potter."

Harry's chest tightened uncomfortably, and one look at Ron showed that his was doing the same. The pidgin English most elves spoke, their limited comprehension of concepts like freedom and payment, their intense distrust of changes to the status quo--all of these made sense now. Most elves lived alone with their masters, or perhaps one or two other servants. Isolated by silence, unable to even send an owl once in a while, they could go an entire lifetime in ignorant despair, never knowing any code of conduct besides the one their Wizard masters imposed upon them.

"Dobby," Harry said quietly, but was too conscience-stricken to continue.

The elf looked up at last with a wan smile. "Dobby will fetch a lamp for Harry Potter right away, sir."

Harry silently watched him depart, then turned to Ron. "Ever get the feeling that maybe the world would be better off without any wizards at all?" Ron said nothing, but nodded grimly.

Harry felt his face flush heatedly. All right, I never listened to Hermione, I just looked the other way, but now I know better, he thought. I'm going to do something about this. I'll buy Dobby a lamp while we're down in London, and some early reader books. Just planning out a redress for this unscrupulous "rule" helped him feel better; the tightness in his chest dissipated at last into a comfortable warmth.

"Ron, I think--" Harry began, sitting up straighter, but to his great surprise, Ron was staring at him, agape. At that moment, the warmth became painfully hot and Harry caught a whiff of smoke. "Mother of Merlin, the Fireflies!"

Any lingering fantasies Harry had of quickly finding Kreacher's stash were immediately quashed. Harry scrambled to get out of his smoldering robe, trying desperately not to crush the Flies. This was not easy, since he was crouching inside a cupboard. Ron, seated against the opposite wall, quickly took out his wand and cast the Aguamenti spell before Harry could stop him.

"Turn it off! Turn it off!" Harry shouted desperately, turning his back to shield the Flies from the stream of water. Even one drop would douse their lights! Of course, protecting the little blighters took several precious seconds from his attempt to disrobe, at the price of his shirt. By the time he managed to yank the robe down from his shoulders, even his nice silk Gryffindor tie was singed.

But that didn't end the chaos. No longer personally on fire, Harry had time to realize that the Flies finished their pepper and therefore had no more reason to stick around. Harry tossed fold after fold of his robe over them frantically, hoping to keep them trapped under the layers until the lamp arrived. With one foot he tugged at the shutters, hoping to slow down the flies when the robe gave out, but that only sealed he and Ron in the cupboard with the acrid smoke. Almost immediately, the two of them were forced, coughing and gasping, to half roll, half crawl from Dobby's nook.

About that time it dawned on Harry that the robe he'd left to the mercy of the Fireflies still had things in its pockets--his Invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map, and Sirius's mirror, to name a few! He reached for his wand to perform an extinguishing spell--it might kill the Flies, but those other things were just too valuable--and realized his wand was in the robe as well. Rudely yanking Ron's wand from his hand, Harry pointed it at the burning heap and croaked, "Flammafrigus!" It was the spell used by witches in the Middle Ages who were being burned at the stake, to cool the flames to a tolerable temperature. Once again he owed Hermione for her most excellent History of Magic notes.

Thus poor Dobby returned with a lamp to find smoke billowing from his tidy little cubbyhole, a huge ashy puddle in the center of his mattress, and Harry buried to his elbows in what looked like a campfire. Dobby's eyes bulged out further than ever before, but Harry and Ron were too busy extinguishing Harry's finest possessions to notice. When the wizards sat back, panting with stunned looks upon their faces, Dobby's ears, shoulders, and even his long thin nose had sagged and drooped until he rather resembled a waxworks model of himself (one which had been left out in the hot sun too long).

Harry winced guiltily at the sight of the flabbergasted elf, but there was no time yet for apologies. The Flies had not yet emerged from the cinders of his robe, so there was still a chance to pull this off. Harry took the lamp from Dobby's unresisting hand, lit it from the last burning remnants of his clothes, and lowered the wick. He quickly noxed the three small sconces on the walls of the storeroom and conjured a black curtain to cover the arched entrance.

The Flies began exploring the storeroom slowly and silently, meandering among the shelves like glowing butterflies. Harry hoped it wouldn't take long for one of them to discover the waning lamplight. He turned at last to Dobby (or at least in the direction he believed Dobby occupied).

"Dobby? I know this looks terrible, but I promise, I'll fix it all up--"

"Harry Potter is being silly!" said Dobby, poorly disguising the distress in his voice. "House-elves cleans up messes, sir, and this is just another mess. Harry Potter mustn't fret about it one more minute. You sirs go on about your business and don't give Dobby another thought."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see Dobby's face. The poor fellow looked as though he'd rather return to Malfoy Manor than allow Harry in his sleeping-nook again. Harry sighed, vowing to find an exceptional lamp for Dobby at the next opportunity, and perhaps a new bed as well.

A Fly floated past the dying lamp and burst into a loud buzz. The remaining Flies rushed to rally around it, humming loudly in their concern. "Finally!" Harry muttered. The Fireflies were hooked--they would not wander off until their "companion" was safe once more. "Worst is over!" Harry said brightly to Ron and Dobby, but neither of them looked any cheerier. Harry set his jaw and pawed around until he found the mirror.

"Now it's just a matter of imprinting them with the scent," Harry said to no one in particular as he fetched the mirror. "All Hagrid did was hold the comb near them and let each one touch it. The trick is keeping track of which ones have 'hit.' I can see why he only picked three at a time." Harry had assumed that "the more, the merrier" applied to Fireflies, and had trapped closer to fifteen of the insects under his handkerchief. That probably explains why they went through the pepper so quickly, he noted inwardly as he unwrapped the mirror from the strip of cloth he'd wound around it to protect it.

The first Fly to notice the mirror zipped over to it encouragingly, but stopped a hand's breadth from it and hovered, staring intently. Harry frowned; Hagrid's Flies hadn't seemed to notice the comb at all, even when Hagrid brushed it against their glittery wings. Another Fly joined the first, then another, all stopping and hovering. Harry tried to move the mirror toward them, but the Flies simply backed up and kept their distance. He then pulled it away, hoping they would give chase and overtake it, but again, the Flies simply followed it in perfect synchrony with his movement. A fourth one caught sight of the mirror and joined in.

"What's the matter with you blokes?" Harry wondered aloud. "This isn't at all how they acted with Hagrid," he continued, almost apologetically.

Ron screwed up his face thoughtfully. "You know, it's almost like they're dancing with it. Maybe they think their reflection's another Fly."

"Could be," said Harry. "They're probably just sizing up the new fellows."

"Or maybe they're wondering why the new Flies aren't down there, helping the lamp," said Ron ominously. Harry groaned. The Flies in the mirror must seem like a bunch of snobs, milling about up here while there was a friend in need. That was not a good impression for them to make about the mirror! He quickly yanked it away.

As if on cue, the four hurled themselves at the mirror in unison, determined to teach those jerks some manners. There was a startlingly loud thud as four hard little heads rammed the glass. One Fly fell to the ground, its little rump dimming to a pale red. One of the others dove protectively after it, while the remaining two geared up for a second strike.

Harry tried to turn the mirror away from them, but the little fellows were lightning fast and followed the face of the mirror as if glued to it on an invisible stalk. Another thud and the two Flies rebounded in irregular spirals through the air, clearly a bit punch-drunk from the assault. Harry flattened the mirror against his chest before had a chance to recover.

"Well, that went as well as could be expected," said Ron glumly. "I don't think you want them spreading the news to the rest of the crowd, Harry."

Harry groaned. "Merlin's beard, no. They probably imprinted on the mirror already; the last thing we need is for them to tell the others it's an enemy! Ron, can you conjure up a net really quick? My wand's still in the pile."

Ron did so, and scooped up the dazed Fly still lolling on the floor. He tossed the little fellow out of the storeroom, its faithful companion following with an angry buzz. The others were now flashing around the room at high speed, determined to find the traitors and give them a good thrashing. With a more athletic effort, Ron managed to trap one of them, but his net only lasted a fraction of a second before the Fly incinerated it and continued on its vengeful way. Ron faced toward Harry, but his eyes were crossed in pure vexation.

"Think you can make one out of metal?" Harry pleaded.

Ron distorted his face even more. "Morgan le Fay, Harry, I'm glad Hermione's not here, we'd never hear the end of being dumber than bugs." Ron's first attempt to conjure a woven wire net failed miserably, the fibers becoming tangled and stretched to the breaking point. With a snort of frustration, he started anew with very fine chain mail. Harry watched in admiration; this was one of the most meticulous spells he'd ever seen Ron perform.

"No, now you've got to bring the edges in--link two at a time with one ring," he prompted, as the net reached a nice depth.

Ron, whose forehead was beginning to ache from the concentration, waved at Harry to shut him up. "Be still!" he grunted, focusing intently on the final few rows, interweaving larger jump rings with the tiny loops to close the net with an elegant series of pleats and darts. Ron sealed it shut by running a single wire through the end loops, cinching it tight with a triumphant flick of his wand.

"Woohoo!" Harry howled appreciatively, slugging the air victoriously with his free fist. "You're wasted on those houses of cards, mate, that was some wicked magic!"

Ron nodded, turning the net over in his hands and giving it a few experimental swishes. "It is good, innit? Think I'll make a full-size version or two for my beloved brothers. Dangle them from the ceiling of their own shop. Now that's funny, what'cha say, Harry?" Ron beamed impishly.

"You could open your own place right next door. 'Weasley's Revenge On Wheezy Wizards.'

Ron gazed wistfully, imagining the torture he would inflict on Fred and George if he had a life-size chainmail sack for each of them. He snapped out of his reverie. "Well, enough of that. I've had all I'm going to stand of these bloody Flies for one night. Engard, insects!" he bellowed, flourishing the net like a rapier.

Even Dobby eventually lapsed into giggles as he and Harry watched Ron's prolonged but relentless pursuit of the Fireflies. They had revved themselves up into a frenzy and were bouncing around the ceiling like laser blasts in a Muggle movie, with Ron leaping from shelves and crates in his attempts to ensnare them. When he finally captured one Fly, the momentum from the creature's great speed nearly ripped the net from his grasp.

Harry burst out laughing as Ron quickly flipped the little beast out of the storeroom. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Harry lied unconvincingly. "Just for a second there, it looked as though it would just keep going, with you flapping after it, hanging on for dear life..."

"Laugh while you can, monkey boy," muttered Ron darkly, and resumed his pursuit.

After finally turning out the last meteoric Fly, Ron calmly scooped most of the remaining would-be Good Samaritans from their vigil around the oil lamp, shoving them beyond the curtain despite their squeaks of protest. Two remained anxiously tending the tiny flame, apparently not even noticing that their companions had disappeared. "There," said Ron with a defiant huff. "Now we've got a manageable number."

Harry nodded. "All right, then, I guess what I need to do is hold the mirror backwards and make sure they don't see themselves, right?" He hoped that would work, anyway. After all this trouble, Harry's confidence in his Firefly Management skills had dwindled away to nothing.

Luck at last seemed to favor them. The Flies paid no more attention to the dull side of the mirror than they had to Sirius's baby comb. When Harry was certain that each fly had bumped against the mirror at least once, he brought it up next to the lamp and raised the wick.

The little gleeful sounds the Flies made were so droll that Harry, Ron, and Dobby all cooed over them like new fathers over their babies. All three smirked in embarrassment, but it couldn't be helped; the little blighters were cute when they cooperated. To everyone's relief, both Flies immediately landed on the mirror and began rubbing it gratefully with their forelegs.

"Set it down, Harry!" said Ron. "You don't want them bumping into your fingers!"

Harry laid the mirror on the floor by the lamp and leaned back against a sack of flour. "Well. I hope I never do that again for the rest of my life."

"Eh, now you've got all the bugs worked out, so to speak, next time it'll be a piece of cake!" gaffed Ron, poking Harry's shin with the end of the net. "And I've got this lovely thing that I made. Maybe I can get extra credit for it in Conjuring."

Harry smiled and leaned his head back against the flour sack to enjoy a window of quiet after all the chaos, glimpsing Ron doing the same as he closed his eyes. Harry finally noticed that between the smoke in his face and the smack he'd received on the back of his head earlier that evening, he had quite a headache.

The sweetly crooning Flies on the mirror were almost enough to soothe the tension away, but Harry knew this was no time to relax. He asked Dobby to bring him a glass of water, feeling guilty that the poor elf had returned to such a disaster from his last errand, but it couldn't be helped. Harry knew that water from the Aguamenti spell would fade away once the magic wore off, and he didn't know how long it would take the Flies to find the other mirror. If this mirror resurfaced, they'd simply return to it and the hunt would have to start over from the beginning.

Dobby brought the water quite quickly and Harry was about to submerge the mirror when he stopped short. "Ron, I just remembered something. If Kreacher's den isn't down here, these Flies may leave in a big hurry! Hagrid followed them on a thestral when they were looking for Sirius. I think I better get my Firebolt before starting the hunt." Harry suddenly felt crestfallen. "You, uh, want your broom?"

Ron lowered his eyebrows in a brooding stare. "Hah. You know the Cleansweep can't get half the speed you can. You're on your own if it comes to that, mate."

"Sorry, Ron. I forgot. You can try..." Ron wrinkled his nose cynically, and Harry stopped asking. He knew he'd have trouble keeping up even on the Firebolt if those Flies really opened throttle.

Tossing on the Invisibility cloak, Harry slunk up to Gryffindor Tower, where he changed out of his burnt shirt and soaked, ashy pants. He settled on plain Muggle jeans and a warm sweater, realizing that he'd just burnt up his second set of robes in two months. Fawkes eyed him knowingly from his preferred perch on the headboard of Harry's bed. He must have smelled the ashes and smoke, because he looked downright smug. Apparently Fawkes found it ludicrous that a lesser flame than his own would presume to touch Harry. Tell that to my best tie, Harry mused.

Harry finally returned to the dungeons with his broomstick and a backpack in tow, having surprised everyone in the common room by descending from the boys' dormitory when they had all thought (correctly) that he was out with Ron. "Okay, I'm ready for anything. Let's get this started," he said. The Flies were still fawning over the mirror, but their humming had faded and they looked a bit bored with their unresponsive new friend. He picked up the mirror and prepared to dunk it, but a nervous little cough from Dobby rattled his concentration.

Harry peered at the elf, who looked dangerously close to attacking his ears again. He immediately supressed a groan. "Oh, Dobby, of course, I'll set to work on your bedroom as soon as I get back--"

"Oh, no, sir, Harry Potter, sir, that's not it at all, sir," said Dobby anxiously. "Dobby will see to that. It's just that..." The elf looked as though he'd rather bite his own tongue than speak at that point.

"What is it now, Dobby?" said Harry, immediately wishing he'd phrased it more gently.

"It's just that... Dobby told all the other elves that it was all right for Harry Potter to bring his insects into the kitchens because Dobby knows sir would never, ever make troubles on purpose. But now most of the Flies is not with Harry Potter anymore..."

Harry and Ron groaned as one, but Ron spoke up. "Now there are at least a dozen Flies snooping around and thinking this might make a nice cozy new home. Okay, Dobby." Ron pulled himself to his feet. "I'll take them outside." Harry gave Ron a look of total gratitude. "How about you get me a pot with a lid to put them in?" said Ron to the elf. "Chasing them down will be bad enough, but carrying them one by one up the stairs to let them out is just plain silly."

"A pepper in the pot would help too," added Harry.

Alone at last with the Fireflies, Harry picked up the mirror and gently shook them off. He immediately dunked the mirror in the water glass and hid it behind Dobby's shutters just to be sure. If they happened to spot their reflections in the mirror through the water glass, Merlin only knew what they might do.

While Harry scooped his things into the backpack, the Flies slowly began to circle one another in a rising column. Harry held his Firebolt at the ready and shook out his Invisibility Cloak, just in case. The Flies began to spiral faster, and he mounted the broom in anticipation.

Suddenly both Flies headed straight for him, alighting on his forehead and nuzzling him like a long-lost cousin. "Not me, you idiots!" He pushed the Flies from his head, but they immediately landed on his neck. "No!" he growled, wiping them off again. "I'm not your buddy. Go look for someone else." The Flies tried landing on each ear, then his nose, then finally the top of his head (with one becoming so tangled in his hair that it required a considerable effort to extract the little fellow). Harry was ready to swat them by that point, but fortunately, they gave up on him at last and returned to their midair spiral to discuss their next tactic.

They were clearly picking up speed. Harry pointed his wand the doorway and said, "Finite Conjurum" to remove the curtain. The Flies darted out through the arch and through the kitchens at a rapid pace, and Harry suddenly recalled that Hagrid had opened a window back in the Leaky Cauldron to let his Flies outside. Oh, no, he thought, and launched his broom with all the acceleration it could muster.

He made it to the kitchen entrance before the Flies and opened the painting before they burned through it, but things were not so smooth at the oak front doors. Filch had suspected that some Flies might want out during the evening; he was standing right beside the entrance with a bucket of water. In desperation, Harry aimed his wand while still flying up the stairs (no easy feat at that speed), and launched a charm to open the door. Sparks shot from his wand and reached the door before the Flies, preserving the ancient oak from a burning assault, but Filch, in a fury, tossed his pail of water at them anyway.

Once again Harry's clothes were soaked, but the quest was truly on at last, and thanks to the Invisibility Cloak and a determined silence, the caretaker had no idea what had really blasted out through that door. Harry heard Filch shout, "Peeves! I'll get you for this!" as he rose in the air, cold and wet but free.