Circle's Close

Fae Princess

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 10/10/2003
Last Updated: 20/06/2006
Status: in_progress

Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. This is a sequel to my first-ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow". UPDATED AT LAST! Warning: Very long chapter -- if you have to use the loo, do it now! ^_^

Chapters

1. Meeting the Grangers

2. Ghost of a Nightmare

3. Back To School

4. Prediction of Doom

5. Ravenclaw VS. Gryffindor

6. Hagrid

7. The Hallowe

8. A Picture

9. Confessions of the Heart

10. A Gift From Harry

11. Christmas at the Burrow

12. The Hanging Tree

13. Like Father, Like Son?

14. Friendly Advice, All Around

15. Auror Training

16. The Golden Eagle

17. Auror Training: Apparation

18. Bulgarian Devil

19. The Past Returns

20. Daughter of Prophecy

21. A New Beginning

22. The Stubbornness of Weasleys

23. Secrets and Lies

24. Forward To Time Past

25. Flight of Death

26. The Power He Knows Not

27. The White Tomb

1. Meeting the Grangers

Circle's Close

Chapter 1: Meeting the Grangers
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Harry spends his last two weeks with Hermione at the Grangers, but for Harry, it's no picnic in the sun. Find out what happens when Harry is faced with the prospect of meeting Mr Granger as Hermione's boyfriend.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks: First, I must thank my amazing beta and friend, Gary Skinner. He's great at what he does, and without him, this story wouldn't exist. And secondly: to my readers and reviewers of "Snow." Because without your wonderful support, I wouldn't want this story to exist. Because I wouldn't want to write it. Thank you all!

Author's Note: Well, here it is. The sequel that I promised. Ain't I a quick one? You may or may not find that this story starts off slow, and there are reasons for that. At least here's the most obvious answer: it starts off slow because it's more of a romance/drama/mystery more than a full action-packed story. But in truth, it starts off slow because originally I had no idea where I was going with the story. But now I do. :D

Feel free to leave a review, (as it's the only sure way that I'll know if you're enjoying the story). And the more responses I receive, the quicker I'll be at posting the next chapter. See? It's a give-give relationship, eh?

I would also like to point out a slight warning: the majority of this story was written before OotP, so some things definitely don't follow canon. (Just like in "Snow"). However, I hope you can still enjoy the story, in spite of that little detail!

Well enough of my babbling! Go and read the story! And enjoy it!

***

I am not your rolling wheels,

I am the Highway,

I am not your carpet ride,

I am the sky,

I am not your blowing wind,

I am the Lightning,

I am not your Autumn moon,

I am the Night

'I Am the Highway'~Audioslave

*

Harry Potter's stomach gave a sudden nervous lurch, like the feeling someone would get when on a roller coaster, slowly speeding upwards before the big drop. The title "The boy who lived" typically provided a sense of comfort for him during one of these moments, and even now that reassurance was quickly fading. He tried to tell himself firmly that everything would be all right. Everything would work out. But the cloud of doubt kept hovering over him, stubbing out that optimistic voice.

Because today would be the day he arrived at the Grangers. Upon receiving a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry found out that he would be the Head Boy for his 7th and last year at the wonderful school of magic. He found out as well that Hermione, his soul mate, would become Head Girl. As soon as he had receieved his Hogwarts letter, Hedwig had flown into his bedroom with a note from Hermione.

Her parents wanted to meet him. The letter also had said that they would be having a quiet celebration in honor of the Head Boy and Girl of Hogwarts. This was the reason he was nervous. He had already met the Grangers in the past, who were very nice people, and had always been wonderful to Harry.

He wouldn't be meeting them as Hermione's best friend, but as Hermione's boyfriend. He had never worried about meeting his girlfriends' parents before. Sure, he had had dates inside of Hogwarts, where one would never have to worry about peering eyes, scolding parents, the unfairness of having an over protective, psychotic father. Outside of Hogwarts he never dated and Hermione had been the only one he was serious about. Not that it mattered anymore. He was sure he would never survive her father and he cringed for the hundredth time just thinking about it.

"This is it," announced the driver.

Harry pulled himself out of his self-pitying state and stepped out of the cab that was now sitting in the Grangers driveway. Already Hermione, bushy brown hair, tanned body, wearing shorts and a tank top, was speeding out of the house at top speed. Apparently she had been waiting by the window for his arrival.

"Harry!" she shouted as she launched herself into his arms.

He laughed happily at her enthusiasm, and quickly responded to the hug. It had only been two weeks since he last saw her, but those two weeks were torture, and suddenly the prospect of being murdered by her father didn't seem to matter anymore. He was with his true love.

The cab driver smiled in amusement as he heaved Harry's own trunk out of the trunk of the car.

"There you go. You're all set," he told Harry, again peering closely at the lightning bolt shaped scar beneath his ebony bangs.

Harry paid the driver, thanked him, and Hermione helped by taking Hedwig's cage.

They walked side by side to the house, Hermione chatting non-stop.

"Was the trip OK? Are you hungry? Did it take a while? When was the last time you ate? Isn't this exciting!"

Harry laughed, trying to answer every one of her questions.

"The trip was long and boring," he replied honestly. "Which makes me appreciate my arrival all the more."

Hermione grinned and nudged closer to him as the reached the veranda.

"I've missed you," she said softly, gently pressing a kiss to his lips. He kissed her back and pulled back nervously.

"I've missed you, too," he told her as he glanced anxiously around him. Hermione caught the nervousness in his voice, and the way his eyes twitched in every direction.

"He won't hurt you," she soothed.

Harry's eyes widened.

"What makes you think so?" he asked. She giggled. He just looked so cute.

"I've lived with the man all my life. I should know a little about how he acts towards my friends," she said and added, "Besides, it's not like you haven't met him before."

"Oh, Hermione. It's not the same," he said quietly. The last thing he needed was for Mr Granger to be lurking around the corner, eavesdropping on their conversation about him.

"I understand. Really I do. But you're getting all worked up for nothing," she insisted, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

He nodded slowly, and motioned for her to open the door since both of his hands were occupied with the now growing heavier trunk.

Hermione swung the door open and called out to her parents as they both stepped inside.

"Oh good, Harry, you've made it," Mrs Granger called out happily as both she and Mr Granger stepped into view from deep within the house.

"Hello, Mr Granger, Mrs Granger," Harry greeted.

"Hello, Harry. The trip was fine I hope?" Mr Granger asked with a non-threatening smile.

At this, Harry started to feel the nervousness automatically returning. No one but Hermione noticed this, and Harry had to wonder why he was so terrified of Hermione's father. What was it about girlfriends' fathers that made them so intimidating?

"It was fine. Long, but fine," Harry replied before being led around the house as Hermione gave him the tour.

*

After a delicious dinner that involved barbecued chicken, baked potato, and corn on the cob, and after a scrumptious desert of apple cobbler and ice cream, Hermione showed Harry to his room, the spare bedroom right across the hall from her own bedroom.

"My parents were a little nervous, knowing that you'd be right across the hall from me," Hermione giggled. Harry chuckled in amusement as Hermione continued to chat away.

"Like we'd ever do anything in their presence. Honestly," she added.

Harry nodded in agreement, looking around the room.

"It's not your four poster, I know...," Hermione said, feeling a little anxious.

"No, it's perfect. As long as I'm here with you," and he pulled her close, getting lost in her scent. A mixture of vanilla and citrus.

"I'd sleep in the depths of Hell to be with you," he said softly into her hair.

Hermione sighed happily, lifting up her face to meet his emerald gaze. Every time she saw him she could swear that those eyes became more bright, more clear. Just like they were now.

"I love you," she said, and he smiled as he lowered his lips to her own, ignoring the fear of being caught by her own parents.

"I love you, too." He closed the gap and she moaned into the kiss, suddenly realizing just how much she had missed him. His loving kisses, his strong hands, and the way her body responded to him.

They broke apart from the passionate kiss and hand in hand they both headed back downstairs to sit with her parents.

"We were just discussing where we should go for dinner, darling," Mrs Granger informed them as they sat on the sofa.

"I thought we could go to Gusto's," Mr Granger suggested.

Hermione glanced at Harry and nodded. He shrugged politely.

"I think it sounds good. Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Well, to be honest, I've never even heard of it," Harry said.

"It's an Italian restaurant. Great food, great prices, great service and dancing," Mr Granger informed him.

"It's very cozy. I love it there," Mrs Granger said and Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Sure. I love Italian," Harry agreed and Hermione squeezed his hand, giving him a loving smile.

"All right then, it's set. We'll go to Gusto's. It's semi-formal. So that means..."

"No jeans and tank tops," Mrs Granger finished, glancing meaningfully at her daughter.

Hermione giggled and nodded. "I'll find something nice to wear. Don't worry. Maybe we could go shopping. Did you bring anything?" Hermione asked Harry.

He nodded.

"But I may have to buy a new shirt. I don't like the one I have," he said regretfully.

"Then we'll go shopping tomorrow," said Hermione.

The two parents and the two young lovers continued chatting for the remainder of the evening.

*

Harry stared up at the ceiling, a blank look on his face. Sleep would not come easily tonight. At three in the morning, the rest of the house was deathly silent, so with that Harry got up from his bed, stepped into the hallway, forced himself downstairs, (as opposed to bedroom that was across from his own) and made his way outside to the backyard. He had a yearning to try out the porch swing that he had seen in their backyard earlier.

The stars were crisp and clear tonight. Not a cloud anywhere to be seen. The moon was full and shone what light that illuminated the backyard. Thinking of the full moon made Harry think of Remus Lupin. Thinking of Remus made Harry think about his godfather. Thinking about Sirius Black made Harry ponder about the home he missed terribly.

He hadn't been there for long, but it hadn't taken him that long to grow accustomed to the new home he shared with his godfather. He wondered if he was alright. But then, Harry had to remind himself that Sirius had survived twelve years in Azkaban, and had dodged the ministry for another three years after that.

"He's fine," he told himself.

"Who's fine?" came a voice behind him. Harry spun around in the porch swing, trying to find the owner of the voice. Upon finding it, his stomach did loops, turns and flips he didn't know was capable of doing.

"I'm sorry, Mr Granger. I couldn't sleep," Harry apologized quickly, aware he sounded like a very frightened ten-year-old. He scoffed at himself. He could face Voldemort, the Dark and powerful Lord himself, and he couldn't face a muggle dentist.

Mr Granger put up a hand to stop Harry from further apologies.

"Can I sit?" he asked. Harry's eyes widened and he nodded, sliding over to give Mr Granger some room.

"I couldn't sleep either, to be honest. I suppose it's difficult to, when you know your daughter is just twenty feet away from her boyfriend," Mr Granger told him.

Harry's face contorted to a look of horror.

"I...I--I'd never..."

"Not you, Harry. It's Hermione," the older man said.

Harry's jaw dropped and Mr Granger continued to speak as though he didn't notice this.

"She's been going on and on about you non stop. She loves you. I can see that even without her saying so. Both her mother and I know it's taking a lot of willpower for her not to go to you at night. But she promised us. It's part of the reason why we let her have you here," Mr Granger told him.

It occurred to Harry that Hermione's father was not only someone you should never cross, but he was also someone you could trust. Someone you could look to for advice, or speak to in confidentiality. He realized that Mr Granger actually trusted him enough to tell him this.

He also knew that Mr Granger was wrong about one thing. It was taking both Hermione and himself a lot of willpower not to go to each other at night. But he didn't want to correct her father on that matter. He would let him think what he wanted. He figured it was better than facing his wrath.

"So tell me about your godfather," Mr Granger said, breaking Harry from his thoughts.

Harry's spirits brightened slightly at this opportunity. "Hermione must have told you...that he was an escaped..."

"Convict...who's innocent. Yes I know. How was it that his name got cleared?" he asked.

"Oh...The man who actually committed the crime was caught. Sirius came through after hearing this and there was a court case for months. Wormtail--er--Peter Pettigrew, eventually came clean and admitted to the crime. That was what cleared Sirius's name," Harry explained.

"How did this...Pettigrew?" Harry nodded. "How did he get caught?" Mr Granger asked.

Harry shrugged. "I never found out. Sirius told me that Pettigrew screwed up somewhere along the line," he said, and suddenly wondered how Pettigrew really did get caught. Not that it mattered. As long as he was put away for life.

"He was the one who killed your parents," Mr Granger said softly.

Harry nodded, avoiding Mr Granger's caring and thoughtful gaze.

"He didn't actually do the killing. That was Voldemort. Pettigrew sold my parents to Voldemort," Harry explained, and launched into full detail of the Secret Keeper.

"Fascinating," Mr Granger said after Harry finished. "And this Voldemort was the one who gave you that scar. Correct?" he asked.

Harry nodded, reaching up to touch the scar he was referring to. He knew that Mr Granger was just trying to get to know him. In the wee hours of the morning it was a thought that could make him laugh. Mr Granger actually wanted to get to know him? Did that mean he liked him?

"So it's been you, all these years, who Voldemort has been after," Mr Granger finally said.

Harry half shrugged, half nodded, remembering the previous year when Hermione had been the Dark Lord's target. "But we think he's gone for good now. After last year..."

"I heard about that. Hermione gave us a very vague explanation. Usually she's so apt to telling us everything though," Mr Granger added.

Harry grinned. He sincerely hoped that Hermione didn't tell her parents everything.

Thinking about this made Harry suddenly very nervous. Exactly what did Hermione tell her parents? Mr Granger could know everything, and could be playing with Harry's mind. He didn't want to linger very long on these thoughts, afraid his fear would show.

Again he had to wonder what was it about meeting girlfriends' parents. What was it about the idea that sent chills down his spine?

He's a muggle, he could be carrying a shot gun.

"Is something bothering you?" Mr Granger asked. Harry's eyes shot upwards nervously to meet the older man's firm gaze, whose brows were furrowed together in confusion.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking," he answered, and mentally smacked himself for possibly giving himself away. Just then a slow blush crept along his cheeks, thinking of Hermione in ways that would give Mr Granger more than ample reason to pull out that imaginary shot gun.

"You gave her that ring, didn't you?" came Mr Granger's voice, apparently thinking that his reason for nervousness was the fact that Harry had given Hermione a ring nearly a year ago.

"Er, yeah, I did. For Christmas," Harry told him.

This time Harry looked confused. Had Hermione avoided telling her parents the truth behind the ring? Mr Granger seemed to look completely clueless, as though he was seeking answers from him.

Mr Granger nodded thoughtfully, taking liberal breaths. His eyes roamed the vast backyard, strewn with flowerbeds and on the far west of the yard grew a vegetable garden. His eyes then shifted to the dark sky, and he sighed deeply.

"Do you love her?" he finally asked.

His voice was quiet, though thick with emotion. Mr Granger wanted nothing but the best for his daughter, and in the early hours of the morning, he was coming to the conclusion that Harry was the best. He had known the young boy for years now, and not once had Mr Granger ever doubted him. He knew that in time if ever came the day, he could love Harry like the son he never had. Mr Granger sighed again. In fact, he was sure that he already did.

"Yes," came Harry's reply, his voice only betraying his most deep and profound love for the girl that lay asleep in the house, in the room across from his own.

Mr Granger nodded, not pressing the meaning behind the ring. True, Hermione had told them that the Ring had come from Harry, that it was a Promise ring, and nothing more. Yes, Hermione had told both her father and her mother of the Dark Lord's return (and even as he thought this, he could swear he was living a real life fairy tale...Dark Lords...Witches...Wizards...He wondered if he would ever get used to it).

Something had deeply haunted Hermione upon her return. A witch that had too much on her mind. She was happy, Mr Granger had no doubt about that. He was sure that Harry had much to do with that. But there was something about their previous year that Hermione wished to keep to herself. Mr Granger had always thrived on granting ones wishes for privacy. He trusted that in time Hermione would come to him when she was ready.

Mr Granger then looked at Harry, who had a determined look on his face. Harry did not, above anything else, want Hermione's father to doubt his love for her. He knew that if he told him the story of the Ring , that it would cancel out any doubt whatsoever. But knowing Hermione, Harry knew that she had her reasons for secrecy. He would ask her later, when they were alone. For now he stuck to looking fierce, honest, and as challenging as ever.

Mr Granger chuckled softly, aware of Harry's determination. "It's alright, Harry. I believe you. Though you are quite young...not an adult even..."

But Harry cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"Not to sound like a hopeless romantic, Mr Granger, and no disrespect intended, but I believe that love holds no boundaries. Including age. My parents, as I found out, fell in love at the same age, and from what I've heard, they were happy until the day they died, and even now, they're still together in the afterlife. I hold no illusions of my love for Hermione. I know it's real. It's the only truth I really know," he told him.

Mr Granger then smiled. Harry was too wise beyond his years. Already in love, planning a future with his own daughter. When he had been 17, he was still in high school, ready to attend University. Becoming a dentist. Career first, family later. Though he hadn't counted on meeting his now wife.

"I believe you, Harry. I hardly think I could doubt you in the slightest, regarding the love you feel for my daughter," Mr Granger said.

Harry cringed inwardly again. He wondered if Mr Granger could see right through him. Could he tell that his and Hermione's relationship was more than just mere affection, and had escalated to making love on warm summer nights? The distinct sound of a shot gun clicked in his mind, and his heart gave a fear-ridden lurch. Mr Granger, Harry knew, most certainly couldn't read minds. Nor could he detect such details in their relationship. Harry mentally checked himself, and the shotgun produced in his mind disappeared abruptly.

"We should get to bed. My wife will start to miss me," Mr Granger said, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry nodded, and silently followed the man inside the house.

Bidding Mr Granger goodnight, Harry made his way to the guest bedroom, only to stop and longingly stare at the door that closed him off to his beloved Hermione.

Opening his door he stepped inside the dark room and closed the door firmly behind him.

To Be Continued...

2. Ghost of a Nightmare

Circle's Close

Chapter 2: Ghost Of A Nightmare
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: In this chapter, a familiar dream begins to haunt Harry and he makes the decision to keep it from Hermione.
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks: To my beta, Gary Skinner. And to the reviewers from Chapter One. Thank you! At least I know where I stand, and I can continue to post because you "apparently" want to see more. Well, here it is! Chapter two! Enjoy, people.

***

Now that we're here, it's so far away,

All the struggle we thought was in vain,

And all the mistakes, one life contained,

They all finally start to go away,

And now that we're here, it's so far away,

And I feel like I can face the day,

And I can forgive,

And I'm not ashamed to be

The Person that I am today

'So Far Away' ~Staind

*

All Harry could see was green light. Not that of an electric lamp, or of a gentle glow, but only of darkness and evil. It made his blood run cold. Harry hadn't had this nightmare in a long time, at least not since he and Hermione had discovered their growing feelings for each other, and had acted on them.

He was witnessing the death of his parents again. The Killing Curse was always relentless, the screams of his parents deafening to his ears, so terrible in fact, that Harry felt he--himself--was dying. He could never see his parents in these dreams. But he could sense them, as though they were apart of his spiritual being. After being blinded by the bright, green light he only heard a high pitched, icy laughter. Voldemort.

Harry instantly woke up with a start. Knowing it was only a dream while he was dreaming was the only benefit to these nightmares, so he could pull himself out before the face of Voldemort loomed before him, as it had years ago. He could somewhat control these nightmares, another benefit from having them for so long, and for so often. Usually, he could pull himself out well before he could see his parents dying, sacrificing themselves for Harry. Maybe the reason he couldn't pull himself out this time was because he hadn't had the nightmare in a very long time.

Whatever the cause may be, it still didn't stop him from shaking with fear and paranoia. The fact was, it wasn't so much that he had just watched his parents die once again that bothered him so much. The real problem was: the star of the dream was none other than the Dark Lord himself. And that could only mean one thing.

"But it's impossible," Harry told himself firmly, and reached a shaky hand to find his glasses on the nightstand beside him.

Adjusting the glasses to his face, he realized upon looking at the digital clock that sat on the nightstand, that it was indeed morning, and he found the sun beaming happily through the curtains. Ignoring the stab of fear and doubt which was the aftermath of the nightmare, Harry sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the side as he concentrated on the sweet aroma of breakfast wafting through the bottom crack of the bedroom door. Pancakes and bacon. His stomach wailed in protest and Harry decided that the dream could wait. After all, there was no pain in his scar. Which meant that he really was paranoid.

He brushed his hair, desperately trying to tame it, all efforts proving futile. He imagined the mirror making some witty remark towards his appearance. Heading downstairs, finally deciding that the Grangers would have to take him as they saw him, he came to the conclusion that he would not disturb Hermione with the dream. Deep down he knew she would want to know, but he personally thought that they were on vacation, and he wasn't going to let anything interupt or ruin their holiday.

It's nothing, he told himself firmly, ignoring the rebuttal his logic shot back.

*

The things that brightened Harry's morning was being able to sit at breakfast with his girlfriend, and the other was knowing that Mr Granger had accepted him wholeheartedly. The older man didn't say it with words, but Harry could sense it. Perhaps it had a lot to do with the conversation he had had with him the night before, or perhaps Mr Granger had always felt that way, and Harry had been too stubborn and afraid to believe otherwise. The latter was more likely.

Hermione observed her father and Harry from beneath her lashes, hiding the desire to burst with happiness. The moment Harry had walked into the kitchen, she could feel that a weight had been lifted. Harry had finally accepted her father. She knew in her heart that Harry would never feel anything but respect for her father, but he had shown a great fear. That fear seemed to have vanished now.

Hermione felt her heart rise as she heard her father and Harry eased into a conversation about Quidditch. Harry listed off full details of the three types of balls, the positions of the players, what the uniforms looked like, how the points worked, and how to win the Quidditch Cup. Harry explained his job as the Captain and how he had become Seeker. Hermione remembered that day clearly, and in her minds eye she saw 11-year-old Hermione Granger, insisting that Harry could be expelled if he mounted that broom for the first time.

"You seem awfully quiet, dear," Mrs Granger said softly, peering at her daughter with curiosity in her eyes.

"Oh," Hermione said and swallowed down some orange juice. "I was just thinking. Memories have a way of...casting a spell on me...so to speak," she replied, smiling back at her mother.

Mrs Granger smiled and patted her daughter's hand gently.

"Would you like me to drop you and Harry off at the shopping center?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

At this point Harry and Mr Granger turned their attention to the women of their lives.

"Yes, I actually have some shopping I need to do myself. We could all go, separate, and meet up after an hour or two," Mr Granger suggested.

Hermione nodded and smiled in agreement, Harry doing the same. He hadn't shopped in a while. Though he detested shopping for clothes, he knew Hermione would help out in that department. He knew he and Hermione still had to make a trip to Diagon Alley, but that could wait.

"Well I think I'll hop into the shower. We should head out in an hour if we're going to beat the lunchtime traffic," Hermione suggested, and excused herself from the table.

"She's always been the take-charge type," Mr Granger warned Harry after Hermione was out of earshot. Harry grinned.

"Yes, but she wouldn't be Hermione if she wasn't the take-charge type," he answered, getting a nod of approval from Mrs Granger as she stood up to clear the table.

"I'll help clean. It's the least I can do," Harry quickly offered.

"Nonsense, Harry. You're our guest and we want you to be as comfortable as possible. Don't you dare lift a finger!" Mrs Granger snapped, slapping Harry's hand away from the empty plate at Hermione's seat. She gave him a warm smile and sent him to the family room with Mr Granger.

"Now you know where Hermione gets it from," said the older man.

"I heard that!" called out Mrs Granger from the kitchen as Mr Granger cringed.

Harry laughed.

*

The shopping centre on a Saturday was quite busy, even before lunchtime. Immediately the Grangers separated from the young couple and Harry and Hermione found the first and best store in the whole mall that supplied men's shirts.

"This is perfect," gushed Hermione, lifting a dark blue dress shirt from the rack. Harry observed it, running a hand across the material, and decided that he quite approved of the long sleeved shirt.

"It matches perfectly with your black pants. You are going to look so handsome," Hermione said dreamily.

Harry frowned, and gave what he hoped looked like a pout.

"Hey. What are you trying to say?" Harry replied defensively.

Hermione giggled and linked an arm through his, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"That I love you. And you always look gorgeous. In fact, maybe you shouldn't wear this. You'll have all the girls' attention at Gusto's," Hermione said dejectedly.

Harry rubbed a hand up and down her back and kissed her softly on the lips.

"I only want your attention, love," he told her. Hermione beamed.

It was at this point that a short, balding man approached them, speaking in a nasal voice. "Can I help you two?"

"Yes, thanks. He'd like to try this on," Hermione told the salesman and handed him the blue shirt.

"Excellent choice. Right this way. I'll get you a change room," said the salesman.

"Thank you," Harry murmured, following the man to the back of the store.

*

For the second time that day Harry found himself standing in front of his mirror, arguing with his reflection. He almost wished that this mirror could talk back to him. At least he'd know what he was doing wrong.

He admitted he really liked the shirt. Hermione had also chosen a dark yellow tie to match, and he was quite impressed with her ability to create perfect outfits for the slightest of occasions.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked from the other side of his bedroom door. Like always, she was quick and to the point, very concise in every situation, and had already finished getting ready for their dinner reservation at Gusto's.

Harry opened his bedroom door and felt his mouth hanging slightly, his heart doing leaps.

Hermione had always been beautiful in his eyes, and he was a very firm believer that appearance did not matter whatsoever. Hermione had a beautiful soul, and that's what attracted Harry in the first place. However, tonight, he could make an exception.

A blue skirt hung to her knees, hugging her hips and then flaring outwards. The skirt held an intricate flowered pattern, beautiful and what he would describe as very 'feminine.' Her v-neck pewter shirt was snug, though not too tight, the sleeves cut off just past the shoulders. A silver necklace hung around her neck, dangling diamond earrings to match. No make up for her, though her lips were slightly glossed and Harry could smell the distinct scent of vanilla. Her hair was left down, though pulled back by two large camouflaged barrettes. She looked heavenly in Harry's eyes. He had said it before, and would say it again: she was an angel.

"Would you stop gawking at me and come here," Hermione giggled, pulling Harry into an embrace.

To say the least, Harry looked divine. She couldn't believe after nearly a year, (more so since she had liked him well before that time), he could still have this effect on her. The 'weak in the knees' effect. The one that sent her heart pounding and her love for him soaring.

She pulled back and looked up at him, immediately sensing something was wrong. She couldn't really explain where the feeling of doubt crept in, but it was there nonetheless and she said the only thing that logical Hermione could say.

"What's wrong, Harry?" she asked, and before he could mask his doubts and fears, she pressed on, now knowing something was wrong.

"Tell me, Harry. You always do this," she hissed impatiently, keeping her voice low so as not to startle her parents.

Harry sighed and rested his hands on her shoulders, pulling her close again.

"It's nothing. I swear. Let's not dwell on matters that can be discussed later," he said quietly. His voice was soothing, and somehow wiped most of her frustration away. He had that effect on her as well.

"Harry, there's something wrong. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me," she said in her most stubborn voice.

"There's nothing wrong," Harry insisted but heaved a weary sigh in spite of himself. He held her at elbows length and met her steady, stubborn gaze, her chin lifted defiantly.

"Alright. I'll tell you," he caved, and Hermione's face softened with relief. Then Harry added, "After dinner. I promise, honey. Let's just enjoy a delicious dinner, I'll even take you dancing. Just...please let's not worry about it. There really is nothing to concern yourself about," Harry protested once Hermione's face turned into a scowl. A few moments passed, and Harry knew that Hermione was thinking it over.

"You'll take me dancing?" she finally asked, a hesitant grin teasing her lips.

He raised his right hand and placed his left hand on his heart. "I solemnly swear," he intoned.

She laughed then and nodded before placing a soft kiss on his lips.

"I'm holding you to that, Potter," she told him. She turned to leave but abruptly turned back, her long curly hair flowing with her every movement.

"I almost forgot," she said, and this time there was the distinct glimmer of mischief in her eyes, "after dinner Mum and Dad are going to a late night movie," she finished.

Harry's mouth simply dropped. This was something he did not expect. Why in the world would the Grangers want to leave Harry and Hermione alone in the house?

"They felt that maybe they were crowding us, and wanted to give us time to ourselves, without them lurking around the corner. I know...weird. Dad must really like you," Hermione answered.

Harry was still speechless. He would actually be left alone with Hermione? For at least two hours? Was he hearing things? It seemed that his brain wasn't processing the information. He just stared blankly at Hermione, jaw hung low.

Hermione giggled and waved a hand in front of his face, she snapped her fingers repeatedly, clapped her hands, and finally Harry returned from his trance.

"The house to ourselves? " and he yawned dramatically, covering the teasing smile that crept up. "I don't know, Hermione. After our dinner and dancing, I think I might just want to go straight to sleep," he said.

Hermione gave him an appalled look, and then realized that he was teasing her.

She quirked a brow and poked a finger into his chest. "Be careful, Potter. Or you may just get that wish," she said and turned back to the doorway, and down the hall towards the stairs.

He refused to believe anything she had to say at that moment, knowing she was looking more forward to their time alone than he was. He followed her, keeping in mind that dinner would only take a couple of hours.

*

"Dinner was delicious," Hermione sighed two hours later as she leaned against Harry, his arm around her waist as he lead her up the steps to her house. Mr and Mrs Granger remained inside the car, waiting until the two teenagers were inside before pulling out of the driveway, and driving out of view.

Harry and Hermione kicked off their shoes and made their way to the family room.

"Now will you tell me?" Hermione asked, snuggling against Harry on the couch.

Harry sighed. He had secretly hoped Hermione would have forgotten about his promise. He should have known better. 'I do know better', he told himself and then searched for the proper words so as not to frighten or worry Hermione.

"I had another nightmare about my parents," he said simply. There. That sounded fair. After all, it wasn't that uncommon for him to have nightmares about his parents' death.

Hermione, however, looked alarmed.

"Do you mean...like the ones you had before? With Voldemort?" she asked.

Harry mentally kicked himself. Naturally she would remember the nightmares he had told her about, time after time. Hermione was hardly someone to forget such a thing.

He nodded slowly, not sure whether to tell her everything: all his worries, or rather, just his main concern.

But he loved her. And if it were she in his position, he would want her to tell him. She trusted him and he trusted her. That had been one of the gifts the Ring-Spirit had given to them. To trust each other. To be loyal to each other. To love each other. And he did not intend to take those three gifts for granted.

"Most of the time I was able to control my dreams, to the point where I could end the dream before it got too graphic," Harry began as Hermione listened with rapt attention. "This time I couldn't. It was like an invisible force chaining me. It was relentless," he said softly.

Hermione said nothing at this point, allowing the information to sink in. She knew it was difficult for Harry to confess such a painful dream. She knew that all he wanted to do was protect her, and she knew that he was trying to protect her from the dream's implications. If he was having nightmares about Voldemort, surely that could only mean one thing.

"Does your scar hurt? Did it hurt when you woke up?" she asked suddenly.

"No, that's the thing. Because it didn't hurt, I now have my doubts as to what the dream truly meant. If I don't have another nightmare, I doubt there will be anything to worry about. I've always had a keen intuition when it came to Voldemort," Harry told her.

Hermione placed a palm on his cheek, turning his face to hers so she could look straight into his emerald eyes. His gaze was faraway, and almost too painful to bear.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered. His pain was also hers, after all. She knew she didn't experience it first-hand. But there was a link from her sould to his that allowed them to share the same pain and the same happiness.

Harry couldn't decide what she was apologizing for. Was it for the dream? The fact that he would never shake off the Dark Lord? Well, whatever the reason, he was glad he could confide in her. Destiny certainly couldn't have provided a better soulmate. His hand reached up to hold hers, and he brought it down to kiss her palm.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm sure the dream meant nothing," he said.

"Don't say that. Just because it may not mean that Voldemort is returning--which seems next to impossible--doesn't mean the nightmare doesn't mean any thing. They were your parents," she gently reminded him.

"I know," he replied defensively. "But I have the feeling that these dreams will always haunt me. Whether Voldemort is gone or not. It's like my subconscious refuses to let go," Harry said.

Hermione offered him a smile. "There will be times in your life, Harry, when you'll be glad your subconscious never forgot your parents' image," she said.

Harry smiled back and gave her a soft, gentle kiss on her cherry-flavored lips.

"I love you," he said, pulling back. He'd never get tired of saying it.

"Of course you do, silly," she said playfully and pulled him closer, kissing him back. He responded immediately, pressing a hand onto her back, also pulling her as close as possible. He could forget about the dream for now. He had more important things to do. Hermione pulled back and wiggled her eyebrows seductively at him.

"My bed? Or yours?"

To Be Continued...

3. Back To School

Circle's Close

Chapter 3: Back to School
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: The Crew returns to Hogwarts where a pleasant surprise awaits them. Hermione and Harry familiarize themselves with their Head Boy and Girl duties, and enjoy some time alone, while Hermione expresses some deep concerns.
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks: It's all down to Gary Skinner, who's not only an amazing Beta, but a wonderful Friend as well.

Author's Note: Well...here's another chapter to tide you over until...well...probably tomorrow. Because I've been posting pretty much every day. Anyway, thanks for the amazing support! Aw, guys...I don't know what I'd do without you. Probably shrivel up and die. Keep reading, and enjoy!

***

Never opened myself this way,

Life is ours, we live it our way,

All these words I don't just say,

And nothing else matters.

Trust I seek and I find in you,

Every day for us something new,

Open mind for a different view,

And nothing else matters.

'Nothing Else Matters' ~Metallica

*

"Thanks, Hedwig," Harry greeted as his snowy white owl perched herself on Harry's shoulder. He retrieved the burden from her clutches and she pecked his fingers affectionately.

"It's a letter from Sirius," Harry informed Hermione after reading the signature at the bottom of the parchment.

Hermione crossed her brows in confusion. "But we're leaving today. Why would he be writing?" she asked.

After another moment of scanning the letter with his eyes, Harry frowned as certain words jumped out at him.

"He says he'll see us soon," he told her.

Hermione straightened, more puzzled by this bit of news than the fact that he had actually written.

"How? Will he be seeing us off at the station?" she asked.

Harry shook his head, tucking the note into his jacket pocket, and he shrugged. "If he is, I know nothing about it," he said, brushing off the subject. He turned his face upwards, towards the sky and took a deep breath.

"I'll miss it here," he told his girlfriend. Hermione smiled warmly and took his hand, leading him back up to her house.

"You have everything you need?" Mrs Granger asked hurriedly from the kitchen. The 1st of September always filled the Granger home with an air of excitement.

"We think so. We're going to double check upstairs," Hermione told her parents, leading Harry up the staircase.

When they returned to the main floor, they discovered the Grangers outside loading the minivan with Harry's and Hermione's trunks. Hedwig and Crookshanks in their respective cages took the very back seats, Hermione and Harry took the very middle seats, while the Grangers took the front.

Looking out the window, Hermione gave a slow, wistful wave, and whispered "Good bye, home. See you in a year."

Harry smiled at this, and squeezed her hand gently.

"This is going to be a great year," he promised. She smiled back, and nodded in agreement.

*

"Well, I say. It's about time you two got here. We almost thought you had gotten lost," piped up the youngest male Weasley.

"Hello, Ron! Hello, Ginny!" Harry greeted, waving them over. The red-haired Weasleys hurried over, barreling Hermione and Harry over with hugs and greetings.

London's King's Cross was presently scattered with adults and children of all ages, some standing between platforms 9 and 10. Many of them were eager to push their way through the barrier that would lead them to the Hogwarts Express.

"Did you have a good vacation?" Ginny asked curiously.

Harry and Hermione nodded furiously, smirking like young teenagers in love. Ron rolled his eyes playfully and then his eyes widened.

"Did you hear the news yet?" Ron asked eagerly. Ginny jabbed Ron in the ribs, and he yelped. Hermione observed the two, as the youngest Weasley gave odd looks to her older brother. Ron frowned, obviously in pain.

"What news?" Harry interrupted.

"Nothing, Harry. Ron is being a git again. Aren't you, Ron?" Ginny said, her eyes narrowing in a dangerous way.

"Absolutely," he muttered, before turning to his mother.

"Hello, Harry dear. Hermione! You look lovely," Molly Weasley complimented. Hermione gave a modest smile and greeted the older woman back.

"But where are your parents? Did they not come to see you off?" Molly asked, peeking her head above the crowd.

"They have to work. It's fine really. They'll probably write to me the moment we get to the school," Hermione insisted. Harry reassured Molly with a nod, and she relaxed.

"Well then, best be off, children. Wouldn't want to be late now," Molly warned, and sent Ginny through the platforms first. Ron ran through, followed by Hermione and just before Harry was about to run through, Molly stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder, steering him away from the barrier.

"How are things, Harry?" she asked with concern in her eyes. Harry knew that she wasn't trying to pry. She had been like the mother he had never known in the past six years. He understood that she was simply concerned for his well being.

"I'm fine. Wonderful actually. I don't think I've ever been happier," he replied, knowing it was the truth.

"How's living with Sirius? How's that going?" she asked.

"It's going great," Harry said while nodding. "He treats me like an adult. Like an equal and we have a great time together."

Molly smiled warmly at him, and pulled him into a last hug before he faced the barrier.

"Good luck this year, Harry. Don't let anyone get you down. You hear?" she said.

Harry nodded, desperately wanting to fulfill her demands. He wanted to believe that this year would be better than any other year. He could do it. He knew it was possible.

That is, if Snape wasn't teaching, and if Malfoy would fall off of the face of the earth.

"Go along now. Don't keep them waiting," Molly ordered, stepping back so Harry could speed through.

"Good bye, Mrs Weasley! Thanks!" he shouted, before passing through.

"Don't tell me Mum kept you," said Ron, as Harry made his way to the three that had been waiting for him. Their trunks were already on the Express, the train that now whistled shrilly.

"She wanted to say good bye. Now let's hurry. We'll miss the train," Harry reminded them.

"So how does it feel to be Head Boy?" Ron asked once they had found a compartment to share as the Express sped on towards Hogwarts.

Harry shrugged while poking through a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"I haven't really had time to think about it. I don't imagine it will be any different than how it usually is at school," he answered without looking up.

"Oh, yes it is. Don't you know? Head Boys and Girls and Prefects all get their own dormitories. Of course, you can't be separated from your own houses. Didn't you know that all houses have a separate area for all authority figures? It's kind of like getting your own bathroom," Ron explained.

Harry looked surprised, as he usually did. He seemed to be the last person to find out anything of importance. It was ironic enough, considering he was supposed to be the "famous" Harry Potter.

"Yes. We get our own dormitories. But we do share different rooms, Ron. So don't get any ideas," Hermione warned.

"Yes, one lousy wall separating the boys from the girls. Are you sure you won't need someone to keep you warm at night, on those cold, blustery--"

"Cut it out, Ron. You're not really all that funny, you know," Hermione said, though she was smiling and blushing at the same time.

Harry grinned and elbowed her softly.

"I do believe Ron's got a point, Hermione. Who's going to keep me warm at night?" he asked, and gave a heavy pout.

Hermione rolled her eyes and opted to start another conversation with Ginny, completely ignoring the two boys sitting next to them.

This only fueled their laughter, as the Hogwarts Express continued onwards towards its destination.

*

"I can't wait to eat," Ron declared once they arrived at Hogwarts as all the students piled together behind Harry and Hermione. Some of the students snickered at this and even Harry grinned, knowing of Ron's fetish for food, whatever shape, size or color. Taste also didn't seem to affect Ron's decision. He ate anything.

Harry opened the grand doors, and lead the students through the Entrance Hall. He took a deep breath, instant memories flooding his mind, heart and soul. This was his home away from home. At one point, it had been his only home, his only refuge.

The First years had yet to arrive for the Sorting, and Second years to Seventh took their seats at their proper house tables in the Great Hall.

The excitement of being back and the bustle of conversations floating around Harry distracted him from the front table which was lined with all of the professors, as well as the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Had he not been distracted, he would have seen Dumbledore trying to get his attention.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted into Harry's ear. Harry reeled back from the volume of her voice and rubbed his ear, frowning.

"All you had to do was tap me. Jeez, Hermione," he grumbled.

"I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes," Hermione said and nodded towards the Headmaster. "Dumbledore wants to see us. He's been trying to get your attention, too," she told him.

"Oh," was all Harry could say, and turned himself away from Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, making his way to the High Table beside Hermione.

"Hello, Harry and Hermione. I hope you enjoyed your holidays," greeted Dumbledore. He wore the same warm smile, and the same twinkle gleamed in his eyes, which were framed by half-moon spectacles.

"We did, thank you, Professor. You wanted to see us?" asked Harry.

The door that stood behind the table opened suddenly, and Harry reeled back for the second time in two minutes.

"Sirius! What are you doing here?" he cried in astonishment.

"I hope that's not an "I-don't-want-you-here" question, Harry," said Sirius warmly, taking his seat beside the Headmaster.

"No! Of course not. But...why are you here?" he asked again. His excitement was contagious, because Hermione was grinning as well.

Suddenly Ron and Ginny made their way to the High Table, also sharing wide, knowing smiles.

"It's taken me a lot not to blurt it out. Ginny here has been jabbing me every five minutes," Ron pouted.

Ginny smiled proudly.

"Blurt what out? What's going on?" Harry asked again.

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave an impatient sigh.

"Harry, honestly. Isn't it obvious? The new Defense against the Dark Art's teacher?" she said.

Harry turned back to his godfather, his jaw hanging. "It's true? You're going to be the new teacher?" he asked.

"Of course it's true. Lord knows I gave you enough hints, too. And you made him Head Boy," Sirius said to Dumbledore, and laughed when he saw the look of disbelief cross Harry's face.

"You never gave me hints! What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, secretly thinking back to when many hints were in fact given.

"The letter, Harry? He said he'd see us soon. We're both idiots," Hermione said.

"Important idiots, I'd say," Sirius said. Both Hermione and Harry glared at him, and he laughed again.

"Way to start on the wrong foot Sirius. Don't get these two angry. I certainly wouldn't want to face their wrath," Ron said.

Sirius turned to Ron, smiling.

"That's Professor Black to you, Weasley," Sirius retorted, eliciting a laugh from those around him.

"Well then. Now that you know of Sirius's well kept secret, I suggest we all take our seats. Harry, Hermione, we'll talk after the feast," Dumbledore told them. They nodded, and the four Gryffindors went back to their table.

It was all Harry could do to keep from jumping for joy. Already, his Seventh year was shaping up to be a wonderful year indeed.

*

Harry and Hermione walked wearily back to their Gryffindor common room for the first time since they arrived at Hogwarts. Having spent what seemed like hours in Dumbledore's office (it had actually been an hour) they were exhausted. Too much travel, a full stomach, and the only thing keeping them awake was the desire to spend some time together alone. Naturally, the only thing they could think of doing was talk. They had spent another hour taking on their duties as Head Boy and Girl (this included making sure the Prefects knew their positions, their own duties and responsibilitie. And it also included checking on the students).

It was no surprise to them when they found the dormitories completely deserted. It was still too early for the students to go to sleep. All the trunks were accounted for, each student and Prefect having already chosen their beds. The Head Boy and Girl, however, got special treatment: a special perk to being the Head of the school. Their beds were still the same four-poster, but the bed seemed double the size of their regular ones. Harry could get used to this. He also had his own bathroom, just as Hermione had her own.

Hermione twisted the silver and gold band that circled the finger next to her pinky on her right hand, a look of deep concentration etched in her brows.

Harry stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her slim figure and enjoying the feel of her relaxing in his arms.

"What are you thinking about, love?" he asked.

Hermione's mind went blissfully blank as Harry's arms wrapped around her. But when he spoke her former worries returned to her.

"Have you...been having more of those nightmares?" she inquired softly.

They hadn't discussed Harry's nightmares since that first one nearly two weeks ago. Harry supposed that they both had come to a silent agreement not to bring it up and ruin their vacation.

He shook his head and hugged her closer.

"I haven't had a single one. That's a good thing, Hermione. There's no danger. It was just a fluke dream," he said.

"Nothing is fluke in the wizarding world, Harry," she said quietly. Deep down she wanted to believe him. More than anything she wanted to believe that no one had anything to worry about. Maybe he was right. But that still didn't diminish the majority of her fears.

Harry sensed this and prodded gently, asking what exactly she was worried about.

"Do you think we can pull this off? Us, being Head Boy and Girl. I mean, we're responsible for every student," she reminded him.

Harry turned her to face him.

"You doubt your abilities, Hermione? I never thought I'd see the day," he said.

"Don't tease," she pouted. "I have a right to worry."

"Then let's put this into perspective, shall we? Do you doubt my abilities?" he asked.

Hermione's eyes widened, shocked, thinking that she could never doubt such a thing.

"Exactly," Harry said, reading her thoughts. "We have the advantage here, Hermione. We have each other. Ron knows it, he said it: when we're together, no one wants to face our wrath. Likewise, we are probably two of the most approachable people in this school. People like and trust us. Well... at least they like you. I'm just in for the ride," Harry told her.

She punched him playfully in the arm.

"Don't be silly. They love you, and will always love you. You're Harry Potter. The hero. The boy who lived," she reminded him.

He shook his head in denial.

"I may be Harry Potter, 'the boy who lived.' But you're the hero, Hermione. Even Voldemort knew it. And I don't care if they love me. I only want you to love me," he told her.

Hermione gave him warm smile, the same warmth that she felt in her heart while she listened to his reassuring words.

"Thank you," she said and reached up to place a kiss on his lips.

He kept his arms wrapped about her and tilted her backwards, deepening the kiss.

She giggled into the kiss and pulled back, running a hand through his hair, the other hand clutched to his arm. And their eyes blazed as they sent the secret message of love to one another.

"We should go back to the common room," Hermione suggested. "Our friends are going to start to wonder what we're doing up here."

"Let them wonder. Heck, invite them up," he said and Hermione laughed.

"Isn't that what video cameras are for?" she teased back, and he nearly dropped her on the floor from the shock of what she had just said.

She laughed harder this time and loosened herself from his grasp.

"See you downstairs, Romeo," she called, already heading out of the room.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. He liked the fact that Hermione could loosen up, and lose that composure that labeled her as 'the brain'. If only others could see what she was really made of.

They would probably never find out, and Harry had to remind himself that if that were the case, then all the better for him. He could have her all to himself.

To Be Continued...

4. Prediction of Doom

Circle's Close

Chapter 4: Prediction of Doom
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Harry's first day of classes goes from bad to worse, and it doesn't help that Ron won't even speak to him. So what exactly does Professor Trelawney have to say to Harry this term? Read and find out!
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks: Thanks to Gary Skinner; an amazing Beta, Friend, and Writer. And to all the reviewers (good or bad) for remembering that this story is slightly AU, because it was written before OotP was released, as I clearly stated in an earlier AN. Well, now that I've got that out of my system, I hope the majority of you can still enjoy this story even if I do fall for cliches. (God forbid).

***

Let me be the one you call

If you jump I'll break your fall

Lift you up and fly away with you into the night

If you need to fall apart

I can mend a broken heart

If you need to crash then crash and burn

You're not alone

'Crash and Burn'~Savage Garden

*

Morning came sooner than Harry expected, and with it a feeling of excitement and anticipation. Today would be the first day of classes, and normally the first day of school would fill Harry with a feeling of dread and reluctance. But this year was different, he knew. Nothing bad was going to happen, and he was determined to prove to everyone that he was a good choice for Head Boy.

"We've got Potions with the Hufflepuffs," Ron said as Harry took his seat in the Great Hall for breakfast.

He reached over for a piece of toast and started munching.

"That's good," he said after swallowing. "No Slytherins for us."

Ron shook his head. "We have Divinition with the Slytherins. I'm having a hard time figuring out what's worse," Ron said and shoved some scrambled eggs into his mouth.

Harry's stomach gave a sudden lurch of dread. Professor Trelawney always had a habit of predicting Harry's death, or predicting something just as horrible in Harry's life. He would never hear the end of it if the Slytherins caught wind of her crazy predictions.

"It'll be all right, Harry. What's the worst they can do?" said Hermione, who had just taken her seat across the table from them both.

"Now that's just asking for trouble," Ron pointed out.

"Harry is Head Boy. If anything, they'll show more respect towards him. If not, just take points from their house," Hermione said in matter-of-fact tone.

"Hermione!" Harry gasped, more with amusement than horror.

"What?" Hermione replied innocently as she spread some jam over her piece of toast. "No one insults my Harry and gets away with it."

Harry laughed while Ron gagged.

A tap on Harry's shoulder made him turn his head.

"Hey, Sirius," he greeted brightly.

Sirius was obviously in a good mood, as he beamed down on the three students.

"How's your timetable? Not too rough I hope," the older wizard said.

"Actually, it's a little heavier than my former years. But it's nothing I can't handle. I see we don't have your class until tomorrow," Harry said, glancing back down at his timetable.

"I have the Slytherins today with the Hufflepuffs. That's going to be a disaster," Sirius noted.

"Don't be so sure. You're supposed to look on the positive side," Hermione reminded him.

Sirius smiled. "You're right. But at the same time I remember clearly what it was like here in my day. The Slytherins were ruthless towards the Hufflepuffs."

Ron nodded. "That sounds about right," he said.

"Well I should get going. I have class first thing. I'll see you at lunch," Sirius said and he sauntered off.

"We should be going as well. I have Arithmancy in a couple of hours and I'd like to start reading right away," Hermione said and polished off her toast.

"What? You mean you haven't read the whole book already?" Ron asked in disbelief.

Hermione sent him a piercing glare.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you are not funny?" Hermione shot back. She stood up from her chair and glared at Ron before she exited the Great Hall.

"You can be so mean to her," Harry said in an off-handed tone.

"And you always seem to defend her. No surprise there. And besides, it's not even a big deal. I was only teasing her," Ron said.

"Sometimes it is a big deal. Just...watch what you say, alright? Sometimes you have a tendacy to be a little insensitive and I just don't want you to be the reason Hermione is upset," Harry told him, and dismissed the subject as he stood up and gathered his book bag.

But Ron's stubbornness wasn't letting him dismiss the subject so easily as he followed Harry out of the Great Hall.

"Watch what I say? So when am I allowed to talk to her, Harry? Should I make up a timetable to go with that, too?" Ron asked.

Harry knew he had gone too far, and immediately wished he hadn't said anything in the first place. Ron's childish temper was not something he wanted to face this year, let alone the first day of school.

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry sighed impatiently. "I just don't want you to say something that could hurt her. You know how sensitive she can be when it comes to school. It's important to her, and all you do is laugh at her when it comes to school. You're supposed to be her best friend, not her best tormentor," Harry said, feeling like he was explaining this to a five-year-old.

"I'm not her best friend anymore, don't you see?" Ron nearly shouted. The halls were empty, since most kids were still in the Great Hall, so Harry didn't feel the need to tell Ron to keep it down.

But he did stop in his tracks.

"Could you be even more of a prat, Ron? Of course you're her best friend. We both are," Harry said, and knew instantly what was coming.

"No, Harry," Ron said more quietly, and somehow Harry preferred the shouting to this calm demeanor Ron had suddenly developed. "You're her best friend. Her protector. Her boyfriend. Her future. I'm on the outside, looking in, waiting to see if she'll ever need me. And she never does," he said.

"That's not true," Harry choked, not wanting to believe that it was possible that they could have ignored Ron over the past few months.

"It is. Why come to me when she can go to you? When she has a nightmare, when she has a problem with a teacher, when she feels lonely, when she just wants a hug...who does she go to?" Ron asked.

Harry stood there, pondering not the questions Ron had asked, but the tone in which he asked them.

Ron, on the other hand, didn't wait for an answer. He took off to their common room, walking much faster than they had before.

Harry sped to catch up with him, but realized with a sharp pain that Ron would not be talking to him for a while. Harry knew this, because he had been through it before. In which case, he also knew to give Ron his space so he could cool down. Eventually the red head would calm down and they could have a mature discussion about the problem at hand.

They arrived at the portrait hole and Ron gave the password in an agitated tone.

Harry trudged reluctantly behind him, wanting more than anything right now for everything to be right. Why did he have to get Ron angry with him on their first day?

"What's up with Ron?" Hermione asked. They both watched as Ron made his way to his side of the dormitories, completely ignoring his best friends as he walked up the stairs and out of view.

Harry made his way to Hermione, who sat at one of the tables, her Arithmancy book opened to the first chapter.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, sitting down beside her.

Hermione took this as a hint, and closed her book. She gave her full attention to Harry, a determined look on her face.

"Try me," she said.

Harry took a deep breath and explained exactly what had happened just moments ago between him and Ron.

"Oh, Harry. He'll come around," Hermione finally said.

"Don't you see! He feels we've left him out of something. But I never meant to. He's my best friend," he insisted, feeling completely helpless.

"Of course he is. He's mine, too. Which is why we know he'll come around. He will if he truly values our friendship," she said.

"That's not it, Hermione. He feels that we don't value his. Somewhere along the line we neglected him, and this is the result," he said.

Hermione sighed. She loved Ron, but sometimes he could be so difficult. She supposed it had a lot to do with having six other siblings, five of whom were older. But she had hoped that in time Ron would grow up a little. They were no longer the dramatic 14-year-old's they once were. Hermione laughed at this. She had remembered clearly what it was like to be 14. She shuddered to think about it.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, still bitter about Ron.

"Nothing really. Listen. I read that red heads tend to be more passionate than others. I don't know if the hair color has anything to do with it, but in Ron's case I'd say it fits. He's a very emotional, stubborn, passionate and angry person at times. The most we can do is ride it out," she said.

"He's angry with me, not you. You're safe," he told her.

"If he's angry with you, he's angry with me. Don't forget..." Hermione said softly and knelt down to his level. She rested her chin on his lap and looked up at him, her brown eyes shiny and earnest. "We're one. No matter what the situation, we're in it together. You don't have to face Ron's wrath alone," she promised.

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Hermione. But this is Ron we're talking about. Not Voldemort," he reminded her.

This time Hermione smiled and placed a kiss on his hand.

"All the same. I've read that those red heads can be a handful," she joked and stood up.

Instantly Ron came down the stairs, head lifted haughtily as he made his way to the portrait hole.

Once he disappeared through the hole, Harry stood up as well.

"Class will be starting soon. I should get going," he said mournfully.

Hermione wrapped him in an embrace, and she kissed him softly on the lips.

"Have a good class, Harry. Don't let Ron get you down," she advised.

He nodded, kissed her back and left through the same hole.

*

After three years of previously taking the class, Harry had no problems finding the North Tower, contrary to his third year, his first year taking Divination. He noted with dread that Professor Trelawney was still currently the teacher for that class, and the fact that Ron was not talking to him (again) did nothing but sour his mood greatly. But he was Head Boy, and he forced a smile to his face as he passed younger students in the halls, making his way up to the dreaded classroom.

The room was the same as ever. Stifling warm, and dimly lit with lamps covered with red scarves, giving off a crimson light. He was early, he noticed, and also noted that Ron had yet to arrive. He took his seat at the usual round table he had been sitting at since his first day taking Divination. And he waited patiently.

Soon enough, the remaining students popped up through the trap door, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley amongst them.

Harry didn't bother to greet Ron, but was secretly relieved when Ron pulled up a chair beside him. Ron didn't say anything, or give any indication that he was no longer angry, but him sitting next to Harry was the next best thing. Surprisingly enough, Malfoy passed him without a word, not even a sarcastic sneer, and pulled up a chair to the table next to him.

This unnerved Harry. The last thing he wanted was to be seated next to his arch-enemy. But it seemed that that was the way it would be for the remaining year. Malfoy was without his two goons, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Harry figured that they too, did not exhibit the 'Inner Eye'.

"Good morning, my students. My first class," came Professor Trelawney's misty voice. She glided out of the darkness, her hands spread out in a majestic manner.

"We have very little time this morning, and most of it will be shortened due to my long over-view for the rest of the year. First, I am happy to note that most of you from my previous classes have returned. An excellent decision, one I knew you would come to."

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. Already he was regretting taking the class.

"Second, I will tell you all now that by the end of next term, only two of you will walk away with a deeper sense of the Inner Eye."

She paused at this, and nodded towards Lavender Brown, who only stared at her.

"You were going to ask something, child?" she asked.

Both Lavender and her best friend Parvati Patil looked deeply impressed.

"Actually, I was wondering... if only two of us will have the Inner Eye, then why are the rest of us wasting our time?" she asked nervously. She felt nothing but deep respect for her teacher. Harry knew this because she took every single one of Trelawney's predictions to heart.

"Of course, dear. This class is by far the complete opposite of 'wasting your time'. This is something I never mention in your younger years, I always wait until you are in your 7th year. Every single one of you possesses the power of the Inner Eye. Most--I regret to inform you--are clouded. We are all of the magical world, and in every sense of the word. Whether you have the power to harness the Inner Eye is not up to you, but up to your magical being. We all have our strengths," her eyes flickered to Harry and then back to the rest of the class, then added "some, more than others. This will be the year you will discover them. Not only in this class, but in all subjects. You may not See it, but your strengths will play out your future," she smiled briefly. "And I foresee a wonderful future for you all."

Harry almost did roll his eyes again. He was sure that this was a speech she gave to all her 7th years.

"Now, onto more pressing matters. To discover whether Divination is your strength, we will have to work very hard. There will be an assignment at the end of the year which will determine the outlook of your future. To start this we must master the art of palm reading, tea leaf reading, and of course the most difficult, the crystal ball. This will not be like your previous years, because your previous experiences in those classes are to help you with this one. We'll start today with Crystal-gazing," the teacher announced, and floated around the room while handing out the crystal balls.

Harry reluctantly took his globe and sat it in front of him. Ron did the same, and continued to ignore Harry.

Harry wondered if Ron would ever start talking to him, and tried to foresee that in the crystal globe.

Nothing useful appeared. However, his globe started to take on a blackish colour and the only thing visible in the darkness were silver dots that seemed to appear, slowly, one-by-one, out of nowhere.

"Interesting," Trelawney said mistily.

Harry's head shot up to meet his professor's concerned gaze. Harry felt the painful dread return, and wished he could instantly Disapparate.

"Silver points on a field of black," Trelawney said softly.

She said it so quietly that it would be impossible for the furthest person in the room to hear her. But the room was so entirely focused on Harry and the Professor, that every last person caught her words.

"You can see that? I thought only the one crystal-gazing could see," Harry said, the coldness of dread seeping in. He knew that this could not be good. Suddenly, the vision in the globe disappeared, and Harry sighed with relief.

"I have the Inner Eye. Not to give myself a swelled head, but I see all. Including that which you see. Very good, Mr Potter. You've made your first successful prediction," Trelawney said.

"What makes you think it's successful? That could very well be stars coming out at night. Some prediction. The sun sets every night," Ron interjected. Harry was surprised. Ron had just defended and insulted him at the same time.

Ron seemed to have suddenly realized what he had just done, as well. He tightened his lips and looked furiously into his own globe again.

Trelawney apparently chose to ignore his argument, and floated over to Parvati and Lavender's table.

Though the vision had disappeared, Harry's fear remained. Deep down Harry knew this could not be an ordinary night sky. Those specks of silver could not be simple stars. And yet he found it hard to believe that he could have had his first vision.

He brushed this all away, determined instead to focus on getting Ron to talk to him again.

To Be Continued...

5. Ravenclaw VS. Gryffindor

Circle's Close

Chapter 5: Ravenclaw Vs. Gryffindor
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Hogwarts just isn't Hogwarts without a game of Quidditch! But what about Harry and Ron? Can they put aside their differences for the game?
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks: To Gary Skinner, for supporting me in all my endeavors. He's a fantastic beta. And I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of those who have read/reviewed this story. It means so much to me!

Enjoy!

***

With Ron angry at him, Harry found it very difficult to concentrate on school work. He found it so ironic that after insisting this year would be the best, he had failed miserably at making it so. Hermione was the only one right now keeping him focused, reminding him to always look for the bright side. Harry knew that Ron couldn't stay angry forever. After all, they had Quidditch practices and games to consider. Could he really stay angry that long?

Harry was actually looking forward to the Quidditch season, which was set to begin in two weeks time. That left him two weeks to get his team into shape, which left him months still before the game which would determine which house got the Quidditch Cup. This was Harry's last year at Hogwarts. He had never felt so determined in all his life to win something. He suddenly knew what it had felt like for Oliver Wood, a graduate who was once Gryffindor's captain. Ruthless, determined, but fair. And one Hell of a Captain. After winning the Quidditch cup his final year, they had never lost it since. Minus, of course, Harry's fourth year, when Quidditch had been cancelled to host the Triwizard Tournement.

"Harry, stay focused," Hermione said impatiently.

Harry snapped back to reality, visions of him on his Firebolt instantly disappearing.

"Sorry. My mind's not exactly on Charms today," he apologized.

Hermione sighed heavily, and shut both of their textbooks.

"What's on your mind?" she asked.

Harry smiled and said, "I was thinking about Quidditch."

Hermione moved closer to him, also smiling.

"You were always happiest on that silly broom," she said. Harry then looked at her, and frowned.

"I'm always happiest when I'm with you. The Firebolt is just a perk. You know how I love to fly."

"I also know just how dangerous that broom is. Not to mention the sport," she replied, her brows creasing even more deeply.

He put an arm around her to pull her closer, and he pressed a kiss to her temple.

"That never stopped you from coming to the games," he teased.

Hermione gaped at this, then reluctantly admitted, "It's an exciting game. That doesn't mean I enjoy watching you get bludgered up there."

"And when I catch the Snitch? How do you feel then, Miss Granger?" he asked. He loved teasing her about this. Quidditch was something he favored, and he eagerly rose to the occasion when somebody had something bad to say about the sport.

Hermione knew that he had trapped her. She was trapped, because he had a point. Her heart soared when he caught the Snitch (which was more often than not). Not only did her heart soar, but it also seemed to burst with a certain pride, a joy that she couldn't explain. Even when he didn't catch the Snitch, it didn't matter to her. Because he was alive and well coming out of most games. And even when he lost, he still had an aura of excitement, an excitement that only came with the sensation of flying. She, on the other hand, detested flying. She only did it when it was necessary, and to achieve the compulsory credits which were required to graduate from Hogwarts.

"Well, since we're on the topic, and since you'd rather talk about Quidditch than our Charms assignment, when exactly were you planning on holding the first practice?" Hermione asked.

"I've already booked the Pitch for Friday evening," Harry told her.

"And Ron?" Hermione asked delicately.

"And Ginny will tell Ron about the practice," Harry said stubbornly.

Hermione sighed, desperately holding in her frustration. Why couldn't they work out their differences? They were best friends. Best friends did not stay angry at each other for more than two minutes. At least, that was the way it was supposed to be. But Ron was Ron. And Harry was Harry. Both stubborn and determined to wait for the other one to come around.

"Shouldn't...maybe you tell him? It's been over a week now. You're supposed to be adults," Hermione finally said.

Harry had heard this argument before. So naturally, he knew what was to come next.

"You're Head Boy, and as Head Boy you're supposed to set examples for the younger students. If they see the hostility between you and Ron, not to mention anyone else, they'll get the idea--"

"I know, Hermione." Harry sighed. He didn't want to get into it. "I'm just as upset as you are about it. I think he just needs more time to cool down," he said.

"Well... did you ever consider that maybe he's waiting for you to make the first move? He's a very stubborn person, Harry. Maybe if you approach him first, he'll take that into light and know that stubbornness isn't everything," Hermione suggested.

"To him, stubbornness is everything. He's the second youngest of seven, Hermione. What else has he got left?" Harry asked.

"He's got you. If you'll step past this childish behavior, act like the 17-year-olds that you both are, and face up to your friendship, then these six years of memories will not have been for nothing." Hermione paused, then added more softly, "He's your family, Harry. Don't lose all of that over petty stubbornness."

Harry turned his body on the couch to fully face the woman he was destined to be with for all eternity, and again silently thanked Destiny. She knew what she was doing.

"Why do you put up with me?" he then asked.

She gave him a sweet smile, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Your guess is as good as mine," she joked lightly and stood up.

Just then Ginny walked in with Dean, Seamus and Neville, all of them chattering and bubbling with excitement.

As Hermione walked over to the set of stairs, she looked over her shoulder and said, "I think I'll hop into a shower. Do try and work on that assignment," she suggested.

Harry twisted his body around to face her at the stairs, while the other four Gryffindors took the remaining seats by the fire.

"I'd rather take a shower," he said, rather slyly.

"Well then, go take a shower," Hermione suggested, as though this was the obvious thing to do. Harry just stared at her, while Dean, Seamus, and Neville stifled laughs (the latter of whom with a face as red as a tomato). Ginny's face contorted to a look of shock.

Hermione seemed to have finally grasped Harry's implications, and she sent him a scathing glare. She could hardly speak, half laughing, half exasperated. She pointed a finger at him, still glaring. "Harry James Potter! If you weren't Head Boy...I'd...I'd...."

Harry laughed then, which gave the others full permission to laugh at Hermione's stuttering.

"I love you too, sweetums," Harry cooed.

Hermione fumed, turned at once, and practically flew up the stairs.

"You're so cruel," Ginny finally said, once Hermione was gone.

Harry turned back to his fellow Gryffindors, still smirking.

"What's got you guys so excited?" he asked them.

Dean calmed down enough to finally answer. "What else? Quidditch."

Harry smiled. "Hermione and I were just talking about that. Practice is this Friday," he informed them. They all nodded, and continued talking about the sport that had everyone's attention.

*

Harry was the first to arrive at the Pitch that same week on Friday. He held out his Firebolt at arms length, surveyed it, then mounted it. Next to Hermione, this was when he was happiest. This thought crossed his mind as his feet lifted off of the ground swiftly, and soon he was 20 feet above the ground....30...40...50...He swooped through the air, free as a bird. The breeze teased his already wild hair, the warm whoosh of the wind tickling his ears. He closed his eyes and pretended he wasn't on the broom at all. Instead he was soaring through the air, like Hedwig. Broomless and free...

"Who d'you think you are? Superman?" called Dean.

Harry's eyes snapped open, and he realized that his team had arrived. He reluctantly descended, only wanting to stay up in the air for the rest of his life. But then he realized that this was a practice. Plenty of time for flying. Right now, he needed to be Captain.

"Well then," Harry observed as he landed swiftly back on the ground. Taking a mental count, he surveyed his team.

Ginny Weasley:Chaser-6th year
Ron Weasley:Keeper-7th year
Dean Thomas:Chaser-7th year
Seamus Finnigan:Beater-7th year
Kevin Willis:Beater-5th year
Leah York:Chaser-5th year.

He looked at the team and smiled. "It's good to be back, isn't it?" he asked.

They all nodded, not nearly as excited as Harry was, but enthusiastic nonetheless.

"Do you think we'll win this year?" Dean asked.

"Right now, what I think doesn't matter. I know what I know, and what I feel." Harry paused, aware now that he had everyone's rapt attention. He continued. "I have such strong faith in our team. We have two weeks to shape up. Two weeks to get to know each other again, as a team. Well, no use sitting down here. Let's go!" Harry announced.

Excitedly, they all mounted their brooms, and soon after, Harry released the Quaffle, then the Bludgers, then the Golden Snitch. He watched as his team passed the Quaffle around to each other, then watched as Dean caught the ball, and made a getaway, aiming to shoot a goal. Harry watched with anticipation as Dean neared, zooming at high speed towards Ron. Dean released the ball with a powerful blow, and Harry cheered as Ron swung upwards, and caught the ball in such a manner that left everyone cheering madly.

Ron did a grand, dramatic leap, evidently proud.

"You lazy git! You forgot to catch the Snitch!" shouted Seamus, who was now swooping down to meet Harry at ground level.

Harry, grinning like mad, mounted his broom. "I didn't forget. This is part of being Captain. I need to observe my team, so I can assess what needs to be changed, fixed, and what doesn't. Now, excuse me," laughed Harry, and he soared up into the air, searching for the little winged nugget. He felt a sudden flutter around his left ear, and almost as instantly--the Golden Snitch was gone. But this time Harry didn't lose sight of it. He swooped down, towards the Snitch, and in just four seconds time, the wings were beating furiously within his grasp.

His team cheered once more, as Harry lowered himself to the ground, and the others ran towards him.

"Why do you even bother, Harry? It's us who needs the practice. You've been catching that snitch for six years now," piped up Kevin.

Harry gave a sheepish smile, and shrugged. "Makes good practice. I'm a little out of shape," he admitted.

Ginny laughed. "Harry, if you're out of shape, then we can kiss that Cup good-bye," she told him. The team laughed, silently agreeing that Harry was by far the best player on the team.

"Shall we have another go?" Harry asked.

The team agreed enthusiastically, as half mounted their brooms. The other half seemed preoccupied, however, and Harry finally noticed why.

"We've got company, Boss," Seamus pointed, straight across the field.

It was clear, even in the night, who the 'company' was.

"Slytherins," snarled Ron, who stood beside Harry.

"This Pitch is ours for the next hour. You know that just as well as we do. There's a notice in Madam Hooch's office!" yelled Dean.

"Dean, enough." Harry stepped in front of his team, just as Draco Malfoy came to a stop a few feet in front of him, his own team standing directly behind him, looking massive and menacing. Harry, being tall and thin, like the rest of his team, was nothing in comparison to the Slytherins, who looked to be just one large mass. Nevertheless, Harry, though not the least bit intimidating, seemed to possess a quality of control and authority that none of the Slytherins could ever possess themselves.

"Your practice is over," barked Goyle, Slytherin's Beater.

"Harry, let's just go," Ginny suggested lightly, placing an arm on Harry's shoulder. Malfoy's icy gray eyes flickered to each of Harry's team members, as if sizing them up.

"No, we'll go," Malfoy finally said, not taking his eyes off of Harry.

His team suddenly flew into an uproar, obviously not liking his hasty decision.

"We'll go," Malfoy repeated, not quietly, not loudly, but with a sense of unmistakable authority. The Slytherins instantly quieted, not needing to be reminded as to who the Captain was.

Ginny's grip on Harry's arm loosened, but she still remained by his side. The others stayed silent, watching as the Slytherins made their way back to the castle.

"What was that about?" asked Leah quietly.

Harry waited until he could no longer see the Slytherins in the distance, and turned back to his team.

"My guess is that they wanted to get a look at our team. They do it every year as a desperate attempt to intimidate us," Harry finally answered.

"They're huge," Kevin said worriedly.

"They've always been like that," Ginny consoled. "And Harry's right. Don't let them get to you. They might have size, but we've got talent. We'll see who's the better team."

"And until then," Harry began, "we should finish our practice. I'm holding a team meeting on Sunday, common room. No practice intended. This is talking purely strategy and other topics worth mentioning."

Taking this as a sure sign that practice was to continue, they all mounted their brooms and resumed to their practice, with more fervor and excitement than before.

After another half an hour of their first Quidditch practice, Harry decided it was getting too dark to continue on.

"Excellent practice. Let's head back," Harry suggested, concluding an hour's worth of practice.

His fellow teammates walked in two's and three's, heading back to the castle. Harry seized the only opportunity he had, stemming down his nervousness. It's now or never.

"Ron," he called after the red head.

Ron looked over his shoulder to Harry, then looked back at Ginny, who stared furiously at her brother. For a couple of minutes they seemed to be sharing a silent argument. In the end, Ginny won, because Ron turned towards Harry and made his way up to him.

He did not look pleased. But he didn't look upset either. This gave Harry all the push he needed, while Hermione's voice echoed in the back of his mind. Ron was family.

"I think we need to talk," Harry began, nodding towards Ginny. Ginny smiled, waved and followed her teammates.

To Harry's utter amazement, Ron nodded. "I think so, too."

Suddenly, the words that Harry had rehearsed in his mind seemed to be leaking. He didn't know what to say. He had expected Ron to frown, stomp his foot in anger, maybe even flee. But Ron was showing maturity in his instant agreement. This meant that Ron had been thinking about their argument too. Had he been dwelling on it just as Harry had, the past week and a half?

"About what I said..." Harry finally said.

Ron put a hand up to stop him.

"I don't want to hear it," he told him firmly. But he was smiling.

"But--it needs to be addressed--" objected Harry.

"I said some things too, Harry. We're both sorry. Let's just forget about it," said Ron.

Harry finally smiled, relieved and happy. Together they walked back to the Hogwarts Castle, chatting nonstop about the previous week that they had missed experiencing together.

*

The next two weeks flowed by so quickly, Harry had very little time to reflect on Time's frightening speed. Autumn was upon them once more, the most breathtaking season of the year. The Forbidden Forest resembled a majestic painting, bright hues of orange, crimson, and gold seemed to glow from the forest. A seasonal temperature reminded the students to wear their sweaters and mittens for the first Quidditch game of the season. As of now, each side of the pitch was crowded with every student and professor in the school.

Ravenclaw would play against Gryffindor. This was not good for Harry's team, considering how good the Ravenclaws had become in the past year. Not good enough to gain the Quidditch Cup, but definitely a rival to shake a fist at. So it was no surprise to the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, when Harry paced nervously up and down their bench, as they all sat in the change room, all fitted into their uniforms.

"Words of encouragement, anyone?" Harry asked lightly.

His team caught the joke, and laughed with him. Yes, Harry was nervous. But he had not lost hope.

"I think now is the only time, if any, to sound overly confident. Ravenclaw has nothing on us," boasted Dean.

Harry nodded, grateful for his enthusiasm and faith.

"I'm not good at this. Pep talks have always been Oliver Wood's field. I'm just Harry, trying to do the best possible thing for his team. If we lose, that does not mean the end for us. If we win, it means only the beginning. My faith has never wavered when it came to my team. To you." He paused, knowing he had them hanging on his every word. Then, "We are as tight as we can possibly be, especially with three practices a week. You guys have exceeded my expectations, always. That does not mean I'll be disappointed if we lose, because in my eyes, we will always be winners."

Ginny and Leah emitted tiny squeaks of encouragement, visibly touched by Harry's warm speech.

"Girls," muttered Kevin teasingly.

They both glared at him.

"That's good enough for us, Harry," Ron announced, standing up to join him at his side.

There was a silence that filled the room just then, as all of them contemplated Harry's words.

"Shall we go?" Ginny asked, still glowing from the comfort Harry's speech brought to them.

Harry laughed softly and patted her shoulder reassuringly.

"I couldn't have put it better myself. Let's go," he announced and they all stood to follow him outside.

The air was crisp and refreshing. Harry looked all around him, standing just underneath the stands beside Ginny. Behind them stood Ron and Seamus. Behind them stood Leah, Dean and Kevin. Each one clad in their scarlet robes, broomsticks in hand.

On the outside, Harry looked like the confident leader they all knew him to be. But on the inside, he was a jumble of nerves. Not necessarily because he feared this game would be lost to him, or because Ravenclaw seemed ten times better this year than they did last, or because Ravenclaw also seemed ten times more confident than last year. But mainly because he didn't want to disappoint anyone. This, above everything else revealed, terrified him more than anything. Throughout his Hogwarts years, he had disappointed many, only wanting to prove himself. Was he a good wizard? A good Seeker? A good Captain? A good friend? His team had never failed to reassure him of these things, but he still worried.

If they lost this game, he knew it was not the end, that they still had a shot at the Cup. But the light of hope would dim in his team's eyes, shadowed by disappointment and faltering confidence, and he couldn't bear that.

The crowd's increasing enthusiasm reached Harry's ears, and thoughts of worries fled instantly. He was here for the game. A game he had spent six years playing, improving year after year, game after game. Nothing else mattered anymore, because he felt inside himself his heart pounding with excitement and anticipation. This was the feeling he loved. This was Quidditch.

Dennis Creevey began his commentary, which sent the crowd into a cheer.

"Welcome to Hogwarts' first Quidditch match of the season! Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw!" he announced, and being a Gryffindor himself, he emphasized on Gryffindor. "Gryffindor is currently in possession of the Quidditch cup! Here come the teams now!"

Harry and his team mounted the brooms instantly, and from the opposite side of the Pitch, Ravenclaw's team flew up into the air, circling the pitch, clad in their own Royal Blue robes.

Harry lead his team to do the same, and soon the air was nothing but a blur of blue and red.

"For Gryffindor: Weasley, Weasley, Thomas, York, Willis, Finnigan, and Potter!. Potter is Seeker and Captain for his seventh and final year at Hogwarts! This year will be his last chance to win the Quidditch Cup! For Ravenclaw: Boot, Brocklehurst, Patil, Ross, Sibley, Hallman, and Frederiks!" Dennis continued to announce.

The crowds on both sides gave ear-splitting shouts and screams, each eager to cheer on their own team, or their preferred team.

Minutes later, teams in position, Madam Hooch on the ground below them waiting to release the Balls, the crowd silenced with Dennis.

She tossed the Quaffle into the air, released the Bludgers and finally the Golden Snitch, which Harry lost sight of almost immediately. His heart pounded with excitement and nervousness as Dennis continued his commentary.

"Gryffindor starts with a swift catch, as Ginny Weasley shoots across the field! Weasley passes to Thomas, but wait! Ross intercepts! Ravenclaw now in possession, Ross scores! Not even five minutes into the game! Ravenclaw now takes the lead with ten to nothing!"

The disappointment didn't linger on Harry. He had more important things to focus on, but he found it difficult when his team was losing by a large margin. After 45 minutes of fair play, Ravenclaw was in the lead by 120 points. Gryffindor had 50. Another hour passed, only to reveal that Ravenclaw was now at 200 points, and Gryffindor hung at a depressing 60.

Harry called a timeout. This was something he should have done ages ago.

"Potter's called a time out! Ravenclaw remains in the lead with 200 Points! With Gryffindor only at 60. If they catch the snitch now, they can still win the game!" Dennis announced.

Harry waved his team over, and they all crowded together.

"I don't know what's going on! I can't seem to block their goals," Ron whispered shrilly. He was evidently embarrassed.

Harry waved a hand to stop him.

"It's just a game, remember that. But if we're going to win, I need to find that Snitch. Ron, you have to at all costs, block those goals. I know you can do it. If I know you at all, then you can do this," Harry insisted. The others agreed, patting Ron while Ginny and Leah hugged him.

"Remember, distraction is the key, now more than ever. They cannot get another goal. So, that is why it is so important that you put all your skill as Keeper to use, Ron. I have faith in you," Harry said.

Ron managed a smile. "It's you we need to rely on," he told him.

"No, Ron. Don't you get it?" snapped Ginny impatiently, but she was smiling, "It's you. This is your moment."

"Yeah, so no pressure Ron," said Kevin. The others laughed.

The game resumed, and Dennis continued with his commentary.

"Ravenclaw in Position! Zooming in on another goal is Padma Patil! There it goes and it's not good! Ron Weasley saves the goal!" Dennis shouted, clearly as excited as the rest of them. The Gryffindor students in the stands roared with excitement, hope at last being restored.

"Potter is moving...does he see it!? Yes! It's the Snitch!" shouted Dennis.

Harry had seen the Snitch moments before, but had kept his position, instead opting to keep an eye on the winged nugget from where he was. It was a difficult task, considering how fast the Snitch was, and only years of practice had allowed him to accomplish such a trick. He wanted to make sure that he was within the Snitch's area, while the Ravenclaw Seeker, Frederiks, was not. An opportunity presented itself, and Harry leaned on his Firebolt, urging it forward, and he streaked across the pitch.

Ron saved two more goals before Harry finally grasped the Golden Snitch, and the cheers that followed would leave him deaf for days to come.

Relief and utter joy surged over Harry as he descended, and his team ran towards him and Ron, showering them with high fives, hugs, and soon the other Gryffindors in the stands were on the pitch, running towards them.

Dennis made his final commentary, "POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH. LEAVING GRYFFINDOR WITH 210 POINTS, RAVENCLAW WITH 200!"

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

More cheers erupted from the pitch and the stands. The game was over, though the thundering excitement had just begun.

Hermione made her way through the crowd, and stopped in front of Ron and Harry, beaming.

"You were amazing, Ron," Hermione said, through happy tears. This was her weak moment, when Harry saw just how much she loved Quidditch. Who couldn't?

Hermione wrapped Ron into a fierce hug, and they both laughed with giddiness.

"Hey, save some of that lovin' for me," Harry interrupted, and Hermione eagerly slipped from Ron to Harry, sliding her arms around his neck, his hands lingering at her waist. She looked up at him, her brown eyes shiny from tears.

"Congratulations, Mr Potter," she said.

"And what have you got for the winning team's Captain, Miss Granger?" he asked coyly.

Hermione gave a wide, beautiful smile. Then she kissed him, quite passionately, rocking him backward from the force.

The Gryffindors laughed at Hermione's enthusiasm as she pulled away, leaving Harry breathless and quite speechless, his glasses askew.

"Is that any way for a Head Girl to behave?" asked Sirius Black, who had made his way to the team as well.

Hermione giggled, red in the face from having acted so boldly in front of so many fellow classmates.

Sirius had a wide happy smile on his face. "You guys were incredible. All of you," he encouraged.

"We have Harry to thank. He's been our Captain and Coach for the past few years," replied Seamus.

"No," objected Harry. "We have Ron to thank. It was his idea."

A slow silence followed this statement as the other puzzled over what Harry had just said.

"Idea?" pressed Ginny with a frown on her pretty face.

"Well, do you honestly believe that Ron is that terrible of a Keeper? We knew this game didn't count for much, so we thought we'd have a little fun," Harry explained.

"WHAT!" Ginny shrieked.

"I faked most, if not all of those goals. I figured, even if we did lose, it wouldn't matter. We wouldn't be out of running. But I knew we'd win anyway. Harry's a superb Seeker," grinned Ron.

"Besides, it's our last year. We had to do something to make it more memorable," Harry added.

The Gryffindors looked utterly shocked, though quite impressed.

"I wondered why you were sucking so bad up there," Dean finally said to Ron.

"I was about to hit you with my bat," Seamus admitted.

"So you were FAKING IT! The WHOLE TIME!" Ginny shrieked.

"Chill, Ginny. We just wanted a dramatic ending to the game is all," Harry explained, trying not to laugh at her reaction.

Hermione was frowning as well. She naturally didn't approve of his and Ron's antics, but after more contemplation, and since everyone else (besides Ginny) thought it amusing, Hermione soon agreed, and finally smiled.

"That's just brilliant. Wish I had known," Kevin said.

"It was taking all of our energy not to tell you guys. We've only been planning it for the past couple of weeks, and we realized that we wanted the game to look as real as possible. So I acted like an incompetent Keeper, while Harry kept himself busy deterring Frederiks from the Snitch. It was just perfect that Ravenclaw kept getting the Quaffle. It meant more goals for them, which sped the game up even more. We could have been up there for hours," Ron explained.

"Brilliant," Kevin gushed again.

"Good thing you won," Hermione said.

"Why's that?" asked Harry, an arm still around her waist.

"Party time, Mr. Captain?" she asked, smiling innocently and sweetly.

Harry grinned.

"I suggest you get inside quickly. Looks like it's going to rain," Sirius noted, looking at the darkening sky. It was still morning. "However, I'd like to speak with you two," Sirius added to Harry and Hermione as the others went on ahead to the school.

"What's up, Sirius?" asked Harry.

"I thought you should know, Hagrid will be back within the next couple of weeks," Sirius informed them.

"Really? So everything's well then? Has he succeeded this summer?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"It seems that way. He sent an owl to Dumbledore yesterday. Everything is well, and so is he."

Harry sighed with relief, and he heard Hermione do the same.

"We should pay him a visit upon his return," said Hermione once they were inside the castle.

"We'll take Ron with us. He'll be happy to see him as well," Harry said.

Once they entered through the portrait hole, they saw that the party was in full swing. Food, candy and drinks littered the tables, music seemed to be playing from nowhere in particular (Harry couldn't find the source), and people were laughing, singing, dancing, and celebrating.

They deserved this celebration, even though Ron and Harry had practically staged the game. Because the others had worked hard to win. Most of the team's success was due to them.

"JOIN IN THE FESTIVITIES!" shouted Leah York from the corner. She was sucking on a Sugar Quill and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself as she bounced around the room on a sugar-high.

Harry and Hermione laughed at this, and joined her, Seamus, Dean and Ron while the party went on well into the night.

To Be Continued...

***

Author's Note: In my defense, I already know that Gryffindor plays Slytherin in their first match of the season pretty much every year, and I'm perfectly aware that the Quidditch season started a little too early, and that I'm not necessarily following "canon." I did this purely for one reason: it worked for my story. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

So what's in store for the next chapter? What will Hagrid have to say to the trio? And will the mystery to Harry's prediction be resolved? Stay tuned and you'll find out!

6. Hagrid

Circle's Close

Chapter 6: Hagrid's Back!
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: The Trio visits with Hagird, who has mysteriously broken his wrist. Harry, Hermione and Ron take themselves into the Forbidden Forest, in the process discovering something that none of them ever expected.
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks: Thanks to Gary Skinner, for his ideas, his opinions, and his lessons in grammar. And to the readers and reviewers, for your support and critical reviews. I enjoy both!

***

The next couple of weeks to follow were some of Harry's busiest of all. Quidditch practices continued with its three days-a-week course. Classes ran as scheduled, Head Boy duties took up some of his time, whether in classes, at lunch, or when Dumbledore needed him (and/or Hermione) to run a special task for him. The rest of his time (when he wasn't running tasks, doing homework, coaching practices, and having somewhat of a social life) was taken up by the most disturbing, grueling task of all. And he kept reminding himself that he was Head Boy, and that it was his duty alone that was forcing him to the task at hand.

The Halloween Ball.

Just thinking about it made Harry shiver. Though, he had to admit he was handling it a lot better than Ron, who indeed cringed when Harry or Hermione made mention of it. The only reason for their mention of the Ball (which was coming up in two weeks time) was because Harry and Hermione had been put in charge of planning it. However, there were so many details that had to be taken care of (such as theme, music, food, etc...) that Harry and Hermione couldn't do it all on their own, due to their already full schedule.

Thankfully, Ginny had volunteered to help. And somewhere along the line, Ron became involved as well. Ron detested this upcoming Ball because every year he never failed to ruin his own date. Harry figured Ron was a complicated person, with complicated emotions, and just needed to find that one person who would just--understand him. It seemed that that person was not destined to meet Ron anytime soon, because he was still miserable with the future prospect (though he liked to compare it to raising Blast-ended Skrewts) of finding a date.

And so the planning continued, well into mid-October. The temperature had dropped a considerable amount, which allowed for the usage of the fireplaces. The fireplace aglow, with Harry and Ron concentrating on their homework, with other students in the common room either doing homework or gossiping (Lavender and Parvati more likely), Hermione and Ginny came bustling through the portrait hole, in obvious high spirits.

Ginny clutched a big folder to her chest, which contained the planning of the Ball. Since she had volunteered, and since she had so much time on her hands, she had insisted upon taking on most of the work. Likewise, she never went through with any of the details until asking permission from Harry and Hermione. They had insisted that asking them was silly, because they trusted her judgment and knew that she knew what she was doing.

Hermione was clutching her own books, and her smile brightened even more when she saw Harry and Ron sitting down to work.

"Don't give me that look," Harry said to her indignantly.

"What look?" Hermione asked innocently, sitting down next to Harry and giving him an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

"The look that suggests I don't do my homework. The look that suggests that this is the first time in the six and some years we've been here that you've actually seen me do my homework," Harry replied. From beside Ron, Ginny giggled, and grabbed their attention by slamming down the folder on the table.

Startled, Harry turned from his girlfriend to the youngest Weasley.

"I've done it. They've finally agreed," Ginny said, beaming.

"Well, don't you look proud. So spill," said Ron.

Ginny cast a worried glance to Ron, and then took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Suddenly, she seemed reluctant.

"I, er--got the Weird Sisters signed for the Ball," she said.

As Ginny expected, Ron turned bright red with her revelation and he suddenly seemed ten-times more interested in his assignment than anything else, as he began to scribble furiously on his parchment.

"Really!" Harry exclaimed. "How'd you manage that?"

Ginny turned her half-apologetic, half-concerned gaze from Ron to Harry and her former expressions evaporated as she beamed at him.

"With my cunning and talent, of course," she bragged, perking up in her seat and puffing out her chest much like her older brother Percy would do.

Harry laughed in delight.

"But seriously, I conned them into it. One of my finer moments," Ginny said.

"But how!" exclaimed Harry.

Ginny sighed, tilting her head to the side, trying to look knowledgeable. "Oh, but Harry, if I disclosed that information to you, I would no longer be cunning, and my talent wouldn't be so unique now, would it? I'm afraid it is too much of a risk to take," she said dramatically.

Harry laughed again while Ron stayed solemn.

"Oh, Ron," comforted Hermione. "I'm sure it'll work out better this year."

Ron flinched, and Harry knew he was only remembering what he had tried so hard to forget.

Ginny placed a hand on her brother's arm, her brown eyes warm with concern.

"It's just a Ball. You don't have to go," she told him.

"Yes, I do," Ron mumbled, now hiding his face in his hands. He couldn't believe that after a year, he still felt like such a fool.

The year before, it hadn't been a Halloween Ball, but a Valentine's Day Ball. Romance was in the air, couples were happy, love was the theme of everyone's conversation. Ron, of course, didn't have anyone to love, let alone to go to the Ball with. So he went alone. And while he was there, alone, one of the Weird Sisters had approached him with love in her eyes. Disturbingly hairy, Ron turned her away. Not because he was disgusted, as he constantly denied, but because he felt uncomfortable on the dancing floor. The result of this was horrifying on Ron's part. The Slytherins taunted and teased relentlessly, and the Weird Sisters, for the remainder of the evening, refused to play any more slow songs, which made everyone bitter since it was a Valentine's Day dance, and it was an opportunity to get some one-on-one time with their loved ones.

The tormenting had stopped now. Summer had come and gone, and since school had started, Malfoy had said nothing to either Ron, Harry or Hermione. This puzzled Harry greatly, and up until now he had chosen not to reflect on its meaning. Malfoy was as complicated as Ron, but with more of an evil twist to him.

In spite of all of this, there had been many times when Malfoy could have had a perfect shot at insulting Harry. He shared his Divinition class with him, where the barmy Trelawney always had something to say about Harry. But nothing. Not a smirk, not a sneer, not a gesture. Draco hadn't completely ignored him however. Even when they weren't in class, they still had Quidditch and a Pitch to share. And during these practices he seemed to be more interested in Harry's team than he was his own.

Harry didn't react to this, trying to keep as calm as a Captain could be. But he had become convinced that Draco Malfoy was spying. Though, the blond Slytherin wasn't doing a very good job of remaining inconspicuous. He showed open interest, and Harry decided that it was high time to bring this up to his team. They already seemed concerned with the fact that the Slytherins could in fact, be "stealing their moves".

It was only when Hermione headed to her own dorm that Harry approached Ron and Ginny with the plan of a future Team Meeting.

"Sure. What's up?" asked Ron curiously.

"The Slytherins," Harry replied. There was no distaste in his voice, or even open hostility. He was as cool as a cucumber.

"What for?" asked Ginny, who was bending over to collect her school work and Halloween Ball folder. Ron copied Ginny, gathering his books.

"I just have some concerns I'd like to address. Nothing really serious," he told them.

"But why the Slytherins? What have they done?" asked Ginny, her hair blocking her face as she was bent over, picking up her things.

"They've been to nearly every single practice we've had. We have to think of a way to deter them from spying on us, or-- we have to devise a plan that will throw them off. Think of new tactics, new strategies, so that when it comes to the game, they won't know what hit them," Harry explained.

"What makes you think they're spying on us?" asked Ginny, still ruffling through her books, making sure she had her quills.

"Are you trying to tell me you don't believe they are?" replied Harry, slightly puzzled by her attitude.

"Are you saying," Ginny said, still ruffling through her books, head bowed, now making sure she had her ink, "is that because they hang around our practices, practicing themselves, that means they're trying to steal our tactics?" she asked.

"Maybe. Have you got any other suggestions?" asked Harry.

She ruffled through her books, making sure she had her parchment.

"Maybe they have a thing for you Harry. I've seen the way Draco looks at you," purred Ginny. She looked up now, grinning slyly.

Harry laughed dryly.

"That's sick," was Ron's reply.

Ginny giggled. "See? It could be any reason. And I was only kidding," she added.

"Say anything like that again, and I'll have you thrown off the team," Harry finally said in his most serious tone.

Ginny gave him a sweet smile, and shook her head.

"You'd never, because you know we can't win the Quidditch cup without my superb skills as a Chaser."

Harry grinned. "Got that right. And getting back to the subject at hand--I have a feeling that something is going on with the Slytherins. Just you wait," Harry told her.

"And I'm just trying to tell you that I think you're wrong about what your instincts are telling you," she said calmly.

"I'm going upstairs!" Ron announced as he made his getaway to the dormitory stairs. "I can't take much more talk of Slytherins." He tossed the last part over his shoulder as he disappeared up the stairs.

Harry and Ginny continued talking as though they hadn't heard Ron.

"Really? I'm wrong? What makes you so sure?" he asked.

At this, Ginny faltered, as if searching for the right answer.

"I'm not sure. But--you can't just assume the worst of them, you know. They aren't all bad," she said.

Harry pondered this, and regarded Ginny curiously. Malfoy hadn't been the only one acting strange the past month and a half.

But before he could linger on these thoughts, Hermione had returned, books gone, but wearing her cloak.

"Nighttime stroll, love?" asked Harry, suddenly forgetting about his debate with Ginny.

"We're going to visit Hagrid, now that he's back from doing that special task for Dumbledore. Go get Ron," Hermione instructed.

Ginny, with her books, quill, ink, and parchment in hand, went up to her own dormitories, saying goodbye to Hermione on her way up.

"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione called after her retreating back.

"Yes?"

"Thanks," said Hermione. Ginny turned back briefly.

"For?" she asked curiously.

"You really have amazing organizational skills, you know that? It really is quite a talent," she told her.

Ginny tried to suppress a smile, but found that it was useless. She beamed, and turned back to finish climbing the stairs.

*

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood facing Hagrid's cabin. Harry knocked hard, three times, before Hagrid opened the door, first peering out cautiously, then his eyes fell upon his visitors.

"'Ello yeh three! Bin waitin' fer yer visit," exclaimed Hagrid, beaming fondly at the three of them.

"Welcome back, Hagrid," Harry greeted as Hagrid opened the door wide, stepping out of the way for them to walk through the massive doorway.

Harry scanned the little cabin, familiarizing himself with all the things he had grown used to over the years. The fireplace, Fang (Hagrid's Boarhound), the large chairs that seemed to swallow any normal sized human. He then spotted the flowery pink umbrella in the corner. The same one that had given Dudley Dursley a pig's tail so many years ago. Harry felt a warm tingle cascade over him, remembering the first feeling of leaving the Dursleys, the feeling of the newfound knowledge that he was a wizard.

"Hagrid! What happened to your arm!" exclaimed Ron, his mouth agape. They all found seats and faced Hagrid, who's bandaged arm was in a sling.

The half-giant looked slightly embarrassed, and more than reluctant to tell them what happened. "Ne'er yeh mind," he said in an attempt to avoid their prodding questions.

"We're your friends, Hagrid. You can tell us," Hermione said gently. She took her seat next to Harry, with Ron on the other side of him.

"Alrigh'. I fell," was his simple reply.

"Fell?" asked Harry, deeply concerned for his professor and friend.

"In the Forbidden Forest. Puzzlin', ter me, t'is," Hagrid said.

"You know that forest like the back of your hand! How could you possibly have fallen?" asked Ron.

Hagrid regarded the three of them with his beetle-black eyes, suddenly aware that he had no choice but to answer their questions.

"I was takin' Fang fer a walk and we--I-- stumbled into a hole in the groun'," he told them.

"What were you doing there, Hagrid?" asked Harry.

This time Hagrid didn't look embarrassed, or upset. He looked downright terrifying. Angry, almost vengeful.

But he hesitated nonetheless, not wanting to startle or worry his three students. But he had always tried to be honest with them. He also knew that nothing short of the Avada Kedavra Curse would stop them from their constant questions.

"There's been a unicorn killin'," he replied grimly, and sniffled as his eyes grew dewy. Harry instantly felt sympathetic. Not necessarily for the unicorn, but for Hagrid as well. He normally took animal killings personally. He had a real love for rare creatures, even dangerous ones.

"When did this happen, Hagrid?" asked Harry.

Hagrid stiffened, yet with a resolve that told the trio that he had no desire to reveal any more information.

"Who killed the unicorn, Hagrid?" Harry pressed with determination. Yet at the same time he was afraid to hear the answer, his mind reeling from possibilities and memories of the past.

"I dunno the answer ter that, Harry. But do yeh need one? I'm sure yeh'll draw yer own conclusions. But yeh'all have ter promise ter not go lookin' fer the source. Promise me," Hagrid demanded, his beetle-black eyes narrowing.

The three exchanged looks, and they finally nodded.

Hagrid sighed with relief, and relaxed by sitting back in his seat. "Now, don' worry 'bout me arm. It don' hurt," Hagrid assured them.

"But why don't you just go see Madam Pomfrey?" asked Hermione.

Hagrid lowered his eyes, flushing with embarrassment once again.

"I'll be righ' healed soon. I don' want ter bother the nurse," he said.

Harry knew that his real reason was that he was more ashamed than anything else, and wanted to keep his accident a secret. He'd have kept it from Harry himself, if he hadn't shown up at his door.

"Well, we don't want to keep you, Hagrid. You're tired and everything, and you've had quite the trip," Harry said. They all stood to make their leave.

"We'll come back tomorrow," Hermione promised, reaching over to give the giant a hug.

"Yeh better, or I'll grow mad wit bored'm," Hagrid replied gruffly.

"Don't you have classes to prepare?" asked Ron curiously.

Hagrid gave a loud, gruff laugh. "S'pose so. Thanks fer remindin' me."

"We'll see you later, Hagrid," Harry said.

"Remember yer promise!" Hagrid said in a booming voice which startled them. Hagrid took a deep breath and exhaled as he regarded his three students with narrowed eyes. "Yeh know the sayin'. Curiosity killed the cat, is all I'm tryin' ter tell yeh." he added more calmly.

"Yeah," Ron said, smiling slightly. "But satisfaction brought him back, Hagrid. Goodnight!" he said cheerfully as they exited the cabin.

They stepped outside, and were greeted by a cool, sweeping wind that made them pull their cloaks tighter around them.

"Anyone else besides me have the jitters?" asked Ron as they walked down the steps to the hut and walked a few small paces.

"Hagrid looked slightly worried," Harry admitted, shivering against the cool wind.

"More than usual," Hermione added softly, in a thoughtful manner that told Harry she was concerned about something.

"Do you guys see what I see?" asked Ron.

Harry and Hermione followed the direction of his eyes, and saw what he was talking about.

Large, swelling round pumkins. About two dozen or so growing in a patch.

"They're massive," said Harry.

"Yeah, but he's grown them before, remember?" reminded Hermione.

"How is it possible that they could already be this large?" asked Ron. "I mean, he's only been back for a few days."

Hermione gave him a pointed look.

"Isn't it rather obvious?" she asked.

"Well, the thought did cross my mind that he might have used magic. But he's not allowed, is he?" asked Ron.

"I suppose every now and then Dumbledore gives him a little leeway. Just a little Engorgement Charm to do the trick," answered Hermione.

Harry smiled. Good ole Hagrid. "They'll be ready for Halloween," he said.

The three left, only to talk about what Hagrid had mentioned inside the cabin.

"Do you think...?" Ron asked, but cut himself off. First, he didn't like to mention the terrifying implications of a dead unicorn, and second, he didn't want to worry his best friend by insinuating these implications.

"There's only one way to find out for sure," was Harry's reply. Ron and Hermione knew this would be his response, and in light of the consequences (and their promise to Hagrid), they could only agree and support him.

"I'll get out my dad's cloak."

*

There was a chance that after everyone was in bed that they could still run into someone, anyone, such as professors, or students of other houses. The Gryffindor house was completely silent, however, which made sneaking out less difficult than predicted.

They also took into account that they had had lots of practice sneaking out at night under the comfort of the Invisibility Cloak. Though, as Hermione pointed out, there was no way that three grown students were going to fit under one cloak without showing some finger, nose or foot. It was then that Harry made the decision to go on ahead and pretend that he was scouring the castle for prowling students (the irony of the situation) and made his way outside, waiting for Ron and Hermione to arrive invisible.

"Harry," came Hermione's shrill whisper, after Harry had been waiting for nearly 15 minutes.

The cloak came undone, and Harry saw through the darkness the visible forms of Ron and Hermione materialize.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

They nodded, staying mute, and crossed the field with Harry, Ron clutching fast to the Invisibility Cloak.

They reached the woods, no longer under the guiding light of the stars and the moon. The three pulled out their wands and muttered "Lumos."

Instant nostalgia filled Harry as they walked deeper into the woods. The last time he had been here it had been the previous May, when the Spirit of the Ring had been released, and had destroyed Lord Voldemort on the spot.

"Where do you think Hagrid tripped?" asked Ron, visibly terrified, and struggling to look as brave as Harry.

But Harry didn't feel brave. He felt like the 11-year-old he once was, during his first time in the forest.

They circled trees, rocks, clearings, and the most exiting part of their trip through the forest was when Ron jumped after he heard scurrying to their left. But the sound disappeared quickly, and they were once again alone.

"Spiders," Ron muttered.

"There are no spiders. We aren't that far in," Harry comforted. Hermione shuddered, and moved closer to Harry, who put an arm around her waist to support her.

"Do you want to go back? We don't have to go through with this," he said to her.

Hermione shook her head firmly, and stuck by Harry's side.

Trying to keep her mind off of the terror of the forest he said, "Do you remember the last time we were here?"

Hermione smiled in remembrance. "How could I forget?"

"Oh sure," sniffed Ron. "Go ahead and leave me out of the conversation!"

The others laughed with him, feeling slightly lighter as they trudged through the dark woods. After searching for what seemed an endless amount of time, they decided to give up.

"Well, since we're here, you may as well show me where the Spirit appeared. I wasn't there for it, remember?" Ron said, after an hour of searching. They were all getting very cold, and very tired.

Harry and Hermione agreed, thinking of this particular landmark as a happy memory, even in the gloom of the forest.

"Here it is," Harry pointed. He looked all around the clearing, recognizing the trees and the bushes.

"Harry," gasped Hermione, a look of horror etched across her face. She pointed a solitary finger owards the ground, where a small version of a crator now resided.

"Remember, that's where Voldemort--"

"I know. But...look," Hermione hissed, and all three knelt down to observe the hole.

Specks of silver dotted the black depths, and a nagging voice at the back of Harry's mind told him that this was important.

"Unicorn blood, like Hagrid said," Ron voiced, and looked up to meet Harry's eyes, which were flashing with concern, curiosity, and worry. Silently they seemed to send a message to each other without Hermione's knowledge. They exchanged the long forgotten prediction in Professor Trelawney's class.

'Silver points on a field of black' was the vision that had been foretold to them on their first day of classes, over a month ago. Now with the realization that the prediction looked to be authentic, Harry shivered.

"This must be where Hagrid fell," said Hermione, oblivious to the exchange between the other two.

"Must be," agreed Harry. What did this hole mean? It hadn't been here before, that was for sure. Yet this was the exact spot that Voldemort had died. And now, there was the knowledge that a unicorn had been killed nearby.

"Well, this is puzzling," said Hermione, voicing Harry's thoughts.

They all stood up, still peering down at the hole.

"So are you guys eventually going to tell me about Professor Trelawney's prediction?" Hermione asked.

Harry's eyes widened with Ron's, more freaked that she knew about the prediction than anything else.

"Er, how'd you know?" asked Harry nervously.

"I've known for weeks now. Honestly, Harry. I expected better from you," Hermione huffed.

"Even if I did tell you, you'd only ridicule it. Besides, I never took it seriously, neither did Ron," Harry said in his defense.

"I still don't," muttered Ron, though there wasn't the usual strength in his voice. He had been thoroughly shaken by the sight of the hole. For more reasons than just the one prediction.

"You should have said something," Hermione replied stubbornly.

Harry sighed. True, he should have told her. But what would be the use? Was this even the prediction that Trelawney had foreseen?

"How'd you know about the prediction?" asked Harry.

"Who else? Lavender and Parvati practically knocked me down the stairs, so excited to hear Trelawney's first prediction of the year," she said in a mocking tone.

"And what'd you think?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. "What was I supposed to think? I ridiculed it, as you said I would," she admitted.

"And now?" Harry wondered.

Hermione sighed, looking as puzzled as he felt. The girl who normally had all the answers couldn't even find comfort in her far-reaching knowledge. They all left the chilling atmosphere of the forest, eager to surrender themselves to sleep. They would think about everything later. Right now, ignorance certainly was bliss.

To Be Continued...

***

Author's Note: gil: First, I noticed you have reviewed 'The Joining' by Stoneheart. That is great! I was really excited when I saw that review left by you. That's my favorite story written by him, and I've read a lot by him. He is a fantastic writer.

Anyway, when you asked about Trelawney's/Harry's "first" prediction, I thought: that makes sense. Technically, it should only be considered Trelawney's prediction. However, I consider it Harry's and only because he's seen it, too. Had it only been Trelawney's vision, Harry would not have seen it, and it wouldn't be considered Harry's prediction at all. (I apologize for sounding redundant. It's early still, and I haven't had my coffee yet). In any case, I know that Harry didn't voice the prediction, which really doesn't even make it his. And this is where Trelawney comes in. Harry sort of "speaks" through her. She's his voice when these visions come to him. And yes, this means that there are more predictions to come. I appreciate your reviews so much. I hope you continue reading.

And thanks to everyone else!

7. The Hallowe

Circle's Close

Chapter 7: The Hallowe'en Ball
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@Hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: In this chapter we watch the students celebrate Halloween night at the Ball. Who's going with whom? And why is Ginny acting so mysterious?
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks:First, to Gary Skinner, a fantastic Beta to boot, and then to my brother, who has supported me from day one.

Dedicated to all the girls out there that want to be Sirius's date for the Ball

***

October 31st. The Halloween Ball.

Harry stood in front of his mirror, in his single room, frustrated for more than one reason. First: He couldn't seem to get his robe fitted just right. He struggled with the material that seemed to want to go one way, when he wanted it to go the other. Second: Hermione had locked herself firmly in her room with the firm promise to curse Harry if he tried to get in. She obviously wanted to be alone to get ready, which left his frustration number three: he needed her help, and she wasn't there to give it. Cursing his robes, he jumped when a desperate knock came at the door.

"Come in," said Harry, from his spot at the opposite side of the room.

Ron stepped in, and Harry could swear he had never seen him looking so excited and flustered in his whole life.

"She said yes," he blurted, sitting on the corner of Harry's bed. But immediately the red head stood up again as he paced the room.

"Who's 'she'?" asked Harry, as he turned from his mirror to his best friend.

"Leah."

"Leah?" Harry asked in bewilderment. He hadn't even known that Ron was interested in Leah York, their Gryffindor Chaser for the Quidditch team.

"Hey, don't look so surprised," Ron said, mistaking the look.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly. "I just never saw that coming." And indeed he hadn't. Leah was pretty and had a wonderful personality. Being able to make anyone laugh, (she was as funny as Hermione was smart) and all in all, she was a very lovable person. Not to mention that she was an excellent Chaser.

"It just sort of--happened," Ron admitted in a highly anxious voice. "Well, I can't stay. I just thought I'd let you know. I have to get ready too, you know," he added as he made his way to the door.

"Hey, Ron."

Ron turned back to Harry, who smiled.

"I'm happy for you. Really. She's lucky to have a guy like you," he said.

Ron smiled back.

"It's just a dance. Nothing more." But he looked disappointed at the prospect.

"This is the last Ball you'll ever attend here at Hogwarts. Make it more," insisted Harry.

Ron smiled and left, only to leave Harry to his own devices. He cursed his robes again.

"Yes," said his mirror in an amused voice. "You'd think a Head Boy would know how to dress himself."

"Shut up."

*

The late hour was approaching, and with Ginny's help, Harry managed to fix himself up. Now all he had to do was wait for the girl of his dreams (and reality) to finish getting herself ready.

"Girls will be girls," cautioned Ginny, who also waited completely ready. She chose to wear a deep sapphire blue gown, her straight, red hair swept back into a twist, the ends of her hair sprouting out at the top. Harry had to admit that Hermione wouldn't be the only one attracting all the attention tonight.

"You're not bringing anyone to the dance?" asked Harry.

Ginny shrugged. "I didn't really want to. I don't mind going alone," she said.

Harry raised a brow, just as Hermione finally exited her room, and appeared at the top stairs of the common room.

In Harry's opinion, the wait was well worth it.

A long flowing gown, like Ginny's, cascaded to her ankles. Her dress, a spaghetti strap, flowed down to her ankles in a deep crimson shade that matched the ruby which dangled from a fine chain that hung around her neck, and the rubies that decorated her lobes. She chose not to wear a stitch of make-up, though her lips did look a deeper shade of red, probably to match her dress. Her hair was not as straight as it had been the night of the Yule Ball in their 4th year. Instead it was curlier, with tiny ringlets swept back, a few left astray, tickling her shoulders.

By the time Harry had finished memorizing every last detail of the way she looked, Hermione had made her way to him and Ginny, a sweet smile playing on her face.

"Are we ready?" she asked.

Harry was speechless. He felt like he was standing in front of a temptress. His temptress. He wasn't jealous by nature, in fact he scorned jealousy. Irrational behaviour was Ron's department. Harry's was to be fair and logical. But right now all of that seemed to fly out the window. But a voice in his head kept reminding him that he was not in the least possessive, and that Hermione would inevitably catch most of, if not all, everyone's attention.

"You're breathtaking," sighed Harry, pulling her into an embrace. She giggled softly, running a hand through his soft and naturally wild hair.

"You don't look so bad yourself, love," she drawled seductively.

From behind them, Ginny giggled. She could just imagine Harry's rambling, incoherent thoughts in response to Hermione's teasing voice.

Harry held out both elbows. Hermione latched onto his left side, while Ginny slipped her arm through his right. The two girls exchanged broad grins.

"I'll consider myself the luckiest guy in the school," Harry announced, as they made their way to the portrait hole.

"Let me guess, smooth talker that you are. You get to escort the two loveliest girls in Hogwarts?" wondered Ginny.

Harry smiled knowingly. "I was actually going to say 'two loveliest girls in the wizardry world'."

Ginny sighed impatiently. "Always trying to out-do the other, aren't we, Harry," she said.

Hermione sent Ginny a teasing grin, and squeezed Harry's arm playfully.

Harry laughed. "I could never out-do you, Ginny. You have a bit of a nasty streak when the occasion arises."

"And don't you forget it," was her quick reply.

They made their way to the Great Hall, which Ginny had decorated with the help of Dumbledore and Hermione. The Hall was a flourish of black and orange, and all around, Hagrid's giant (magical grown) pumpkins were visible to everyone's eye. Over a thousand bats fluttered high above their heads. They had decorated right after the feast, when the younger students had trudged out of the Great Hall with much reluctance. Their desire was to stay for the Ball, but they knew that it was against the rules, unless invited by a student in 4th year or older.

"Fashionably late, are we?" asked Sirius.

Harry and Hermione, as Head Boy and Girl, had seats at the High Table. Sirius and Dumbledore served as chaperones, The Weird Sisters provided the music, and the House Elves supplied the food. The students provided everything else: Dancing, laughter, chatter, and the overall cheery atmosphere.

All of Harry's nervousness ebbed away, and he grew comfortable sitting next to Hermione at the High Table. Even the worries of the previous two weeks couldn't take away from how he felt tonight. Harry looked across the room and found Ron and Leah dancing to one of the Weird Sisters slower tunes. They seemed to be having an in depth conversation as they moved closer together.

Harry smiled and nudged Hermione. She looked in Ron's direction, then looked back at Harry and smiled.

"It's about time, don't you think?" she asked.

"They seem happy," he replied.

Hermione slipped a hand into his, and their fingers interlaced. "We seem happy, don't we?" she asked.

Harry nodded and brought their entwined hands up to his lips to kiss her fingers. "We are happy, love. I just hope Ron's happiness can match our own, because right now, I doubt I could feel any happier than I already am," he told her, feeling impulsively romantic.

"Oh, you're that happy, are you?" she replied coyly. She kissed him softly before he could reply.

"Hey, there's a time and place for everything," Sirius teased.

Hermione turned a thoughtful gaze to Harry's godfather. "I see you haven't brought a date. Why's that?" she asked.

Sirius's light eyes widened, and he exchanged looks with his godson.

"I'm a professor, Hermione," he said, taken aback.

"So? Since when can't professors date?" she asked.

"Well, there are many reasons," and he began to tick them off with each finger. "One: A professor doesn't have enough time to date. Two: It's unprofessional for a professor to bring a date to a Ball that is meant for students. Three:--"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Sirius," said Dumbledore, overhearing their conversation. "Tell them the truth. You know as well as I do, that professors are allowed to date. And I was the one who insisted that you bring one. You simply refused."

For the first time in Harry's life, he saw Sirius go red with embarrassment. His godfather avoided the look of amusement that appeared on Harry and Hermione's face.

"Thank you for that, Headmaster," replied Sirius. Dumbledore chuckled in return.

"I don't see why not," continued Hermione. "You're still young. You've still got your looks."

"Is she always this incorrigible?" Sirius asked Harry with a look of disbelief on his face.

"Did he just say incorrigible, or absolutely adorable?" Harry cooed, his hand resting on the swell of Hermione's hip.

"Speaking of incorrigible," Sirius muttered, shaking his head at Harry in mock wonder.

Harry and Hermione both laughed as they ate and talked some more. Harry then led his girlfriend out onto the dance floor once another slow tune started up.

They danced to the rhythm of the music, doing a minor impression of the waltz.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, looking up at him with a frown of worry.

He met her gaze, and nodded firmly.

"I can tell, you know," Hermione pressed. "You can't hide it from me. What's wrong?"

"Does it show? I thought I was doing a good job of keeping my thoughts in the dark," Harry admitted.

"You probably are-- to everyone else. Is it the hole? The unicorn?" Hermione guessed.

Harry nodded. "I can't help it. Even tonight, when I want everything to go as smoothly as possible, it's still there in the back of my mind. What do you make of it?" asked Harry for the millionth time in the two weeks since they had come across the mystery in the forest.

"Of what exactly?"

"Everything, all of it. The hole, the prediction, the unicorn blood," Harry said in a low voice.

Hermione stayed silent for a moment, pondering her answer in a way so she wouldn't sound redundant to Harry.

"It matches, doesn't it? 'Silver points on a field of black'? But the question is, what does it mean?" Hermione replied.

Harry shrugged, looking as confused as he felt.

"I have some theories. None of which are on the positive side," Harry replied darkly. "A unicorn is dead. Someone needed the blood. Do you remember the last time we heard a unicorn was killed?"

"Yes. I remember. Don't forget who you're talking to," replied Hermione. "What do you think, then?" she asked.

Harry sighed, and shook his head, not wanting to answer.

"You should go to Dumbledore," Hermione suggested with a sudden inspiration.

"No," Harry shook his head firmly. "Not until there's something to worry about." Harry looked up as though a voice in his head told him to. He saw Malfoy standing nearby, regarding him with a curious, but equally knowing look. There wasn't the same coldness in his eyes, but nevertheless, Harry shivered.

He looked back down at Hermione.

"I think we should talk about this later. There's a lot of people around. People could unintentionally eavesdrop," he said, looking back up at Malfoy.

The blond boy took this as a sign, and started to move through the sea of dancing couples. Harry lost sight of him, and finally regained his composure. There was something going on...something he couldn't put a finger on. He would find out, he knew. Inevitably, he always found out. But he'd do anything to at least have a clue, so he could wash away his curiosity and confusion.

Sighing with agreement, Hermione rested her head on Harry's shoulder, placing their entwined fingers against his heart.

"I love you," she said.

Harry looked down at her, feeling his heart swell with a love that would run deep for all of eternity. This love was for real, and how lucky he felt. How privileged.

"Back atcha, love," he said. Soon the dance came to a close.

They shared another dance, which was longer than the last, and then they made their way to the High Table where Ron and Leah sat side by side in Harry and Hermione's chairs, talking to Sirius and Dumbledore.

"Trying to replace me, Ron?" asked Harry, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I would never dream of it, Harry. Have you guys seen Ginny?" Ron asked.

The Head Boy and Girl both shrugged.

"The last time I saw her was when she was dancing with Dean. That was...when...?"

"More than half an hour ago," Hermione answered for Harry.

Ron looked puzzled.

"That's quite a while," he said, then shrugged. "She'll be back. I'm sure she's fine."

"Do you want to go look for her? I could, if you want," offered Harry.

"No, don't worry yourself. I'm just being paranoid," Ron insisted.

Harry exchanged looks with Hermione.

"You sure about that, Ron? Hey, maybe she made off with a Slytherin," Harry joked.

Ron scrunched up his nose, and made some gagging noises to go with it.

"Don't joke about that," Sirius said calmly, and it appeared that he was trying not to laugh. "Mr Malfoy is missing as well," he told them.

Hermione saw the humor in this, and burst out laughing, along with Harry.

Ron shot them deadly glares.

"Well you're both wrong, because there he is now," Ron said, pointing.

Draco Malfoy had just walked into the room, apparently searching for Crabbe and Goyle, though he didn't have to search long. His two goons were massive.

Not two minutes after Malfoy had walked in, Ginny appeared.

"It's about time. Where have you been?" demanded Ron, as Ginny made her way to the High Table.

"None of your business, dear brother of mine," Ginny replied with annoyance laced in her voice. "But if you must know, nature called. These gowns are a pain to get back on, which is why it took me so long to get back," Ginny explained, as though she had rehearsed this phrase from a textbook.

"I suppose using a Charm would be out of the question?" asked Ron mockingly.

Ginny's face grew blank, and finally she shrugged.

"I left my wand on my nightstand. But what does it really matter? I'm here now. Did you miss me that much?" she asked. Everyone at the table sniggered.

Ron scowled. "Don't get coy with me. When you're gone for no apparent reason, and for longer than half an hour, I worry," he said.

"Well... don't worry. I'm a big girl. If I get into trouble, I know how to defend myself. And I highly doubt that a bathroom stall is going to attack me in the middle of a Halloween Ball," Ginny shot back.

Everyone at the table watched with amusement, listening to Ron and Ginny's petty bickering. They were so alike it was scary.

"Don't be so sure," Ron replied coolly. "This is a Wizardry castle, is it not? Anything can happen. Just forget I mentioned it. I'm not going to get sucked into your games tonight."

"Well, goody," Ginny replied sarcastically. She turned to Harry then, dismissing Ron.

"Harry, would you care to dance? Unless, of course, Hermione isn't willing to share."

"Just bring him back in one piece. It's all I ask," Hermione said with a smile.

Harry happily led Ginny out onto the dance floor, where another slow tune curbed the pace of the previous fast song.

"So let's hear the truth now," said Harry, placing a hand around Ginny's tiny frame, clasping a hand in her spare one.

"The truth?" Ginny asked.

Harry's emerald eyes twinkled down at her. "I'm not as blind as you might have assumed me to be, Miss Weasley. Out with it," he said.

Ginny's face contorted to so many different emotions, Harry couldn't decide which one was the dominant. Nervousness, confusion, secrecy, or even relief.

"There is something, isn't there?" Harry said in a rhetorical tone. There was no denying it. She had a secret.

"No, there's nothing. Nothing big. Please, just don't ask me. Not right now. I promise that when the time comes... I'll tell you. Right now I'm just not ready," Ginny replied in a rush.

Harry stared at her long and hard. He could keep pressing it, or he could let her confide when she was ready. What to do?

"You can't even give me a hint?" he asked.

"You're not stupid, Potter. If I gave you one hint, you'd figure out the truth in an instant. This is something I'm not prepared for. But--if it makes you feel any better, you'll be the first to know when the time does come," she promised.

That was good enough for Harry. He dropped the subject.

"You do realize that you have attracted a lot of attention here tonight?" he asked.

"Oh," Ginny waved a dismissive hand. "That's because I came here alone. You see, even if every guy in here was taken, a single girl will always look attractive. Not to say that they'd approach me, or want to leave their significant others for me, but that's just the way it goes. Attached guys will always have that secret desire for a single girl," she explained.

Harry smiled. "Is that a fact?" he asked.

"It is. Though we have our few exceptions. For example, you and Hermione. I, on the other hand, am not looking. And you, Mr. Potter, had better stop flattering me so much this evening," Ginny warned, grinning.

"I'll stop if you pay me," Harry suggested lightly.

Ginny laughed. "I'm not going to pay you," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Well...if you won't pay me, then I'm afraid I'll have to decline your request."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I don't know what has gotten into you this evening. But I would suggest you stay away from the snacks and the drinks."

Harry laughed. "Well, at least we know it's not Fred or George spiking the punch this year."

"Hear, hear!" Ginny's giggles soon disolved into a serene smile as she looked up at Harry in wonder. "She's so lucky, you know."

Harry returned the smile, thinking that it was really the other way around. "Same to the guy that eventually steals your heart."

"But what about my brother and Leah? What's going on with them?" Ginny asked, hastily changing the subject. She nodded towards the High Table where Leah, Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and Dumbledore seemed to be in a very amusing conversation.

"They're very cute, aren't they?" said Harry, storing away in his mind Ginny's abrupt change in subject.

"I'm happy for them both. Though, I'm sure that they haven't even realized just how wonderful they are together. They came as friends, you know," Ginny said.

"Yes, Ron told me as much. Won't it be interesting when it turns to something more? We all see it. I look forward to the day when Ron realizes it."

"Leah, too. She's very pretty, don't you think? Oh, don't answer that. I wasn't trying to trap you. But I'm sure you know what I mean," said Ginny, slightly flustered.

"That Leah could have nearly any guy in school?" Harry elaborated. "She's got everything Ron needs, I think. And I honestly didn't even realize that until this second."

"Me, too."

The dance came to a close.

"Harry, please don't mention anything to the others, over what we talked about," Ginny said.

"You have my word," promised Harry. And he meant it.

"Thanks. I'm going to find someone else to dance with! Thank you for the dance, Harry," and she kissed him on the cheek.

Harry watched her saunter across the dance floor, making her way to Colin Creevey, then Harry made his way to his own table. Across the room Harry spotted Draco Malfoy dancing with a good-looking Slytherin Harry recognized as Jessica Williamson, and Harry realized with a certain amount of amusement that Malfoy didn't seem to be enjoying himself.

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked, taking notice that Hermione was now sitting where Ron sat, talking with Leah.

Harry took the seat on the other side of where Leah was sitting and leaned over so he could be included in the conversation.

"He went to get some drinks," answered Leah.

Harry took notice of the permanent smile that had appeared on her face since the beginning of the dance, and said, "you both seem to be enjoying yourselves."

Leah grinned, her face turning slightly pink.

"The truth is, I've liked him since as far back as I can remember," she confessed. "There's just, something about him, isn't there?" she said in a softer voice that Harry wasn't used to hearing from her.

Harry nodded. "He's a great friend. I think you two would be really good together," he told her.

Leah's face fell. "I don't think he's in it for that. I think he just wanted me as a date for the Ball, you know? But that's OK. That's good enough for me. Maybe someday..." and she trailed off, looking straight ahead, avoiding Harry and Hermione's puzzled looks.

Obviously, Ron had feelings for Leah, and apparently Ron hadn't done anything to make that obvious to Leah. Leah had just confessed that she had liked Ron for (what it seemed) years, and though she had an outgoing personality, she was undoubtedly shy about telling Ron how she felt.

Harry grinned. This could prove to provide endless amounts of amusement: to set Ron and Leah up. Ginny would want to take part in this as well.

Then Leah continued, not speaking directly to them. She spoke as though she were writing in her diary. "Out of all the guys I've ever been interested in, he's the only one who's ever made me feel this way. It's so confusing, yet it's so wonderful. I feel so warm when he's around," she said, in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she said, and caught Harry's eye. "I know exactly how you feel."

To Be Continued...

8. A Picture

Circle's Close

Chapter 8: A Picture's Worth
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Ginny and Harry have a late night talk where Ginny tells him something he wasn't prepared to hear. Trelawney makes another prediction, and Draco Malfoy's strange behavior is finally explained.
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks:To Gary Skinner, for all his undying support, and to all the readers and reviewers, for simply being there. And to the readers and reviewers for continually giving me the support I need!

Author's Note: I've been meaning to post, but life gets in the way. Anyway, here it is! Enjoy! (Expect more chapters to come within the next day or two).

Dedicated to Gary, for Colin's role in the chapter

***

It was a weary Harry Potter who made his way to his common room at a very late hour. He was sure that he was the only one in the whole school that was left awake, considering the time of night it was. Even Hermione was tucked away, sleeping soundly, and Harry's heart fell when he realized he would not have her to talk to before he went to sleep. So when Harry stepped through the portrait hole, and crossed the common room, he was certainly surprised to find that someone was indeed still awake.

Ginny Weasley.

She stood by the window, staring out onto the vastness of the grounds that stretched out beyond the school. Her arms were folded across her chest, her forehead pressed against the cool glass. She didn't seem to notice Harry at all. And if she did, then she was ignoring him. It didn't take a mind reader to see that Ginny wanted to be alone. Her back was straight and stiff, and an unfamiliar coldness washed over Harry like shards of ice--as though that coldness was coming from Ginny, herself, despite the warm fire that lit the common room.

Curiosity came naturally to Harry, and he resented it. Yet there was the need to satisfy the nagging in his brain. It was obvious to him that he had two choices. The first was to go straight to his room, without another backward glance at the red head (which, at this point, seemed to be the preferable choice) or he could stay, and let Ginny make the decision.

He doubled back to where she was standing.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" he asked, standing directly behind her.

Ginny jumped, completely startled. Harry laughed, as Ginny clutched her heart, no doubt convinced that it was going to jump out of her chest.

"Harry!" she hissed, while Harry continued to chortle with laughter.

"Sorry, Ginny. You ...just...the look on your face...priceless," he gasped between his fit of laughter.

Ginny punched him in the arm playfully, a smile teasing the corner of her lips.

"I didn't hear you come in," she said.

"That much was evident," Harry said after calming down enough to make conversation.

Ginny nodded and turned back to her window gazing, suddenly looking solemn.

"Is something the matter? You can tell me, you know," he offered.

Ginny turned her face back to him, a small, wistful smile on her lips. "I know, Harry. I just...don't know. You know?" she asked.

Harry gave her a look that suggested otherwise. The red head giggled and moved towards the sofa and sat down. The roaring fire melted away the coldness Harry had felt coming from her earlier. He followed her to the sofa and sat down as well, watching the dancing flames reflect in her brown orbs. There were lines of worry and apprehension in her face, but also of peace and contentment. An odd combination, Harry reflected, which made everything even more complicated. How was he supposed to react to her?

"Christmas is coming up," Harry reminded her, trying to make light conversation.

"Yeah," sighed Ginny. "Then a whole New Year. What do you think next year will bring, Harry? Will it bring peace, and prosperity? Love and forgiveness? At least...that's what my parents always taught me. Now I'm not so sure," she told him softly.

Silence stretched between the two, while Harry pondered the answer to her question.

"I don't know," he finally said, trying to understand the quiet pain in her voice. "I think it will bring many things, as each New Year does. I can only hope that it will bring all the things that would make our world a better place. For Muggles, wizards, and witches."

Ginny seemed to be pondering this, as she curled her legs beneath her and started to twirl a lock of hair around her finger absent-mindedly.

Harry smiled. "Do you always do that when you're nervous?" he asked, pointing to her hair-bound finger.

"No," she lied, and wrenched her finger from her hair. "I just have some stuff on my mind."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Harry offered. It was then that he realized that Ginny was deeply troubled. Not the normal teenager angst, but a much deeper, more knowledgeable pain or fear. Harry knew that if Ginny confided in him, he would have to be as strong as possible to deal with what she had to say.

Ginny tilted her head to the side, staring at Harry, as if sizing him up. Was he a worthy confidant? Ginny knew in her heart that if she was going to tell anyone, it was going to be Harry. Not because once upon a time she had fancied him, but because he was Harry. Not because he was famous, or Head Boy, or had the smartest witch in the school for a girl friend, or even because her brother was his best friend. But because Harry was just one of those people. She couldn't put a finger on it, so she took a deep breath, and exhaled very slowly.

"I do want to talk about it, Harry. I'm afraid, though," she said, blinking back burning tears. She was more than just afraid, she was terrified. If she told Harry, she could lose him as one of her closest friends. This was not something she was willing to sacrifice.

"Ginny," Harry said softly, and he took her hand, holding it securely. "I'm here, you know. And whatever you have to say, it won't change my mind about you. About who you are. Do you see? No matter how horrible it might be, I'll always love you for you. I'm here for you, Ginny. Whether you need me now, later, or never. Know that I'll always be here," he promised.

Ginny's heart lifted. This was why she knew she could tell him. He always knew what to say. He knew what real friendship was all about.

"Technically speaking, I feel wonderful. I haven't felt this wonderful in a long time," Ginny began, and slowly, but surely, a smile crept onto her lips, her eyes took on a faraway look.

Realization dawned on Harry.

"Of course!" he cried, and then lowered his voice. "Ginny, you've found him, haven't you?" he said. It was not a question meant to be answered, but she nodded shyly anyway.

"I'm not sure, but I think so," she added quickly.

"That would explain so much. So who's the lucky guy? And why the secrecy?" he asked, and then he knew what it felt like to be Lavender Brown. He had never felt so "gossipy" in all his life.

Ginny grew quiet again, and looked away, but Harry caught the worry and apprehension on her face.

"Ginny..." he said slowly. What could be making her act this way? If she found "the one", shouldn't she be happy? Shouldn't she be blurting out his name every time she had the chance? And even if she wanted to keep it secret, she had practically just told Harry (though he had to guess), so shouldn't she be ecstatic, wanting to tell him every possible detail?

Ginny turned back to him expectantly.

"You haven't worked it out in your mind yet?" she said softly.

The truth was, Harry had. It was just...the thought was so ludicrous--so out there--that he couldn't find it in himself to believe it. His calculations couldn't be right. All of it. All the signs. Ginny defending the Slytherins. Ginny wanting to go to the Ball alone, and disappearing for long periods of time during the Ball.

Draco Malfoy.

This also explained his behaviour. Ginny had been right. The Slytherins were not spying on the Gryffindors during Quidditch practice.

Draco was concentrating solely on Ginny.

Draco wasn't just being moody and solemn; he was watching what he was saying around Harry, his only purpose to stay on Ginny's good side. Come to think of it, Draco had also disappeared for periods of time during the Ball.

Draco and Ginny. Ginny and Draco.

How could this have happened, he wondered. It just didn't make sense. A Malfoy with a Weasley?

He looked at Ginny then, and knew there was no denying it.

Ginny and Draco had been dating in secret.

A shower of questions bombarded him just then, and it took a while for him to make sense of what Ginny wanted to tell him. The stronger, angry, and resentful part of Harry wanted to scream with rage, kick at something that would feel his outburst or fiercely deny that the girl he had always considered his sister could possibly care for someone like...that.

The other part of him, the friend, the brother, and the romantic in him realized that Ginny had just confided in him. In spite of the fact that he and Malfoy were enemies, she chose him, above her closest of friends, to share her deepest secret with. The logical part of him told him that in the near future she would have to tell her family. And only God knew what their reactions would be. Including everyone at school. He knew not all of them would be accepting, and a lot of them would meet Ginny with hostility. She needed him, and trusted him. He'd be damned if he would be the first to betray that trust.

"For how long?" he said aloud, shocked at how calm he sounded.

Ginny's eyes widened, wary and expecting an outburst. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, and whispered, "Two months. Since the beginning of school."

Harry sighed, then removed his glasses. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, and closed his emerald eyes.

"I told you," hissed Ginny shrilly. Tears were flowing freely from her brown eyes, and she sobbed through her words.

"I didn't want you to know. You more than anyone else. But I knew that you were the only person I could tell. And now, knowing that I'm dating your arch enemy, you hate me." She choked on her outburst, and continued to sob. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm not sorry for being with Draco, I'm sorry for hurting you. If that makes no sense to you, well then I don't think I can clear that up any better. But I'm hoping that someday, you can forgive me," and she stood up in a heated rush.

Forgive. That struck a chord in Harry's memory. Only moments ago she had pondered the gifts that the New Year would bring. He realized that her concern didn't lie with the rest of the world. It rested with Malfoy and herself. He grabbed her hand and forced her back down onto the couch.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said with a quietness that managed to calm Ginny's tears and sobs. Or maybe she had stopped crying because of Harry, as he wrapped his arms around her, wanting to chase away all her demons with his comfort.

"I told you before, and I'll tell you again. Nothing could ever change my mind about you," Harry told her softly. "If this revelation has done anything, it's only made me sure of everything that is good in life. And what a good person you are." He pulled, forcing her to look at him, so she could see that there was no mocking glint in his eye.

New tears threatened to fall and she wiped them away before they could. She sniffled as she looked at him.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You see something in Draco that not one single person does, even his own friends. You see the goodness in him. Even I don't see that, but knowing you do has given me some hope that maybe he's not as bad as he seems. That's something I've wondered for a very long time, Ginny. And though I can't completely trust or like him, there's a part of me that wants to give him a chance. A small part, but it's there. And maybe with your help... that part can grow."

Ginny's brown eyes widened.

Harry continued. "One thing is for sure. You and Draco won't have to face Ron alone. You have me, and eventually, when the time comes, you'll have Hermione as well."

Fresh tears glossed Ginny's eyes, and this time, she didn't stop them.

"Harry," sobbed the tearful girl. She didn't know what to say. Harry had rendered her completely speechless. "But...Draco...arch enemy..." stuttered Ginny.

"You're more important to me than that. You're my little sister, and I'll protect you with everything I've got. Even against your brothers," he said.

Ginny smiled uncertainly. She didn't know what to say, as her relief and love for Harry washed over her like a warm summer's breeze.

"You're the best friend any one could ever ask for, Harry," she said, standing up again with a timid, yet bright smile on her face.

He stood up with her, ready to retreat to his own room.

"Then you'll be alright?" he wondered.

Ginny beamed, hardly able to contain her excitement.

"I'm 100%!" she exclaimed, her chocolate brown eyes alight with humour.

"Good, now off to bed. I'm exhausted myself," Harry told her, and yawned for great effect.

Ginny placed her hands on her hips, giving Harry the strong impression that he was in the same room with Molly Weasley, and not Ginny.

"Exactly," she inquired, quirking a brow, "what are you doing up so late, mister?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I wish I knew. Studying, I expect. Not that it did any good," he added, yawning again.

Ginny laughed, and shook her head in wonderment. "Go to sleep," she ordered, looking more and more like her mother.

"Yes, mother," Harry said with a light laugh, turning to his own set of stairs.

Ginny was already heading up her own steps, when Harry heard her call his name for the final time that night.

"Yeah?" Harry said, poking his head around the bend to look back at her.

Ginny gave an awkward, shy smile.

"Thank you." She then sped up the stairs in a flash, leaving Harry to ponder the ironies of life.

*

"That was a nice thing you said down there," said Hermione.

Harry looked startled for a moment, and then crossed his room to sit next to his girlfriend on his bed.

"I could tell that you were listening on the stairs. I didn't think you'd come to my room, though. It's late. You should be sleeping," he told her.

"I should say the same for you, Head Boy. What is your purpose for being up so late?" asked Hermione.

"Studying, believe it or not. But I'm never studying this late ever again. I'm exhausted," sighed Harry.

Hermione crawled onto the bed, and positioned herself behind Harry. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and started to rub them in circular motions, kneading his aching muscles. A satisfied groan escaped Harry's mouth, and Hemione giggled.

"All you do is work. You need to relax," she told him.

Harry didn't say any thing, and leaned back, closing his eyes. He even ignored the fact that it was always Hermione who worked more than anyone else did, and that her statement was purely hypocritical. All his muscles and bones seemed to melt under her touch. He felt like a Jell-O mold. Hermione continued to massage him until her fingers ached.

"Thank you, love. I really needed that," Harry said, turning to face her. They sat Indian style on the bed, in front of each other.

"Any time. Now about this Ginny business..."

"I promised her I wouldn't talk about it. I don't want to betray her trust. However, since you've already heard about it..."

Hermione held up a hand to interrupt.

"My intention isn't for you to betray her trust. I just want to tell you that I'm very proud of you. In Ginny's time of need, you haven't hesitated in being there for her. I realized when listening, that you're very much like a young Dumbledore," Hermione said.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione quickly shushed him again.

"There's nothing to deny, Harry. You're far too wise beyond your years. I just want you to know that I love you."

"Oh, Hermione." There were no words now. Harry pulled her into a fierce embrace. "I will always love you," he finally said.

Silence passed, and Harry broke it by saying, "so what brought this on?"

Hermione giggled. "Which part?" she asked.

"Well," Harry said, "it's not every day I find my girlfriend sitting on my bed at two in the morning, on a school night, no less."

Hermione looked at him, all traces of humour disappearing from her serene and gentle looking face.

"It never really occurs to me to tell you just how wonderful you are. A part of me worries that I'll never get to tell you just how much I love you. After hearing your conversation with Ginny, I knew that you needed to know, no matter what. I just couldn't bear it if something happened..."

Harry leapt forward, grabbing her by the shoulders with gentle strength, and forced her to look into his eyes.

"Nothing will ever happen to me. I swear it, Hermione. You have to know that I'm here, and here to stay. You have nothing to worry about," Harry insisted, and pulled her into his arms. She responded to embrace his with equal desperation. He kissed her then, crushing his lips to hers, desperate to make her see the truth in his words. Pulling apart, they both gasped for air, breathless and now speechless.

"OK," she whispered in final agreement, and they stayed silent for a few more minutes in each other's arms, each basking in the other's presence.

"Alright. I should go," she finally said, standing up and facing him, as he sat up on his bed.

"I'd rather you stay," he insisted, pulling her back. Hermione smiled, reaching a free hand to run her fingers through his dark, untidy hair. His radiant green eyes shone back at her, looking earnest.

"Dumbledore would have my head on a silver platter, Harry. It's a big risk," she reminded him.

Harry gave her a sly smile. "A bigger risk than brewing Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?" he asked.

Hermione grinned in return. "I said it was a risk, Potter. Remember, it's never stopped me before from acting against the rules."

Harry laughed with her, pulling her back onto the bed.

"Then make yourself comfortable, Miss Granger."

*

The next morning started off as one of the best mornings Harry had ever woken to. The sun, despite the cold of the November month, was bright and cheery, an unseasonable warmth filled the castle and the grounds. In spite of the glorious morning that Harry was enjoying, he found himself starting off incredibly late for class. This was due to Hermione, who clung to him as he tried to rise up from his bed.

"Just because you have a spare this morning, doesn't mean that I get to lounge around with you," Harry reminded the love of his life.

"Oh come on, Harry. Trelawney won't miss you that much," she insisted, sleepy-eyed. A blissful smile curved her lips, tempting Harry to smother them with his own.

"Now look! Stop doing that, Hermione. I have to go to class," Harry said, pulling himself away.

"You know you don't want to. Just stay," pleaded Hermione.

"Look, I'm late," laughed Harry, wrenching himself away from the bed. "And youare an evil temptress! Stop it! I won't have it!" he cried, flinging himself into his bathroom. Hermione's light giggles followed him as he locked himself in. He looked at his reflection.

"Don't you look happy. I'd know that look anywhere," teased his mirror.

"Don't start. And for your information, we didn't do anything last night. She merely spent the night in my bed."

"In your arms..." added his mirror, delighting in Harry's embarrassment.

"That's none of your business," snapped Harry, but he couldn't hide the grin on his face.

"Ah, young love," sighed his mirror.

*

"Harry! Hey Harry! Wait Harry!"

Harry stifled an impatient groan, and turned to face Colin Creevey, who was speeding down the hallway.

"I'm going to be late for class, Colin! Can't this wait?" he asked. The corridors were deserted, since the bell had already gone.

Colin acted as though this didn't matter to him, and he finally caught up to Harry.

"I thought you'd like to see these," he said, and whipped out a wad of pictures. Harry frowned, but took the stack anyway, humoring the 6th year photographer.

His scowl soon turned to a look of worry, as he shuffled through each picture. His face drained of all color.

"Harry? You alright?" Colin said, obviously distressed at the prospect of upsetting Harry.

These were not just any ordinary pictures. Each one unmasking the secret relationship between Ginny and Malfoy.

"Where'd you take these?" Harry demanded, not bothering to keep his tone in check.

"The Hallowe'en Ball. I happened to be exiting the bathroom, when I saw Ginny heading towards one of the back corridors. I followed her, and hid myself from view. Then Draco showed up and, well, I just had to get these pictures," Colin explained. He was peering closely at Harry, worried.

Harry continuously flipped through the pictures, amazed more than anything else. Because these pictures didn't just reveal their relationship (which Harry, thank Merlin, already knew about), but it exposed much more than that.

Draco Malfoy had a soft side.

Harry observed the moving pictures, watching as Malfoy undid the clips in Ginny's hair. The next picture revealed Malfoy running a gentle hand through her flaming red hair, his face inches from hers. Another picture showed them sharing a tender kiss, and Harry flipped instantly to the next one, blushing guiltily. The rest of these pictures revealed more of this, and a side to Malfoy that Harry had never seen.

"Are there any other copies of these?" asked Harry to Colin.

"Nope! I was going to make Ginny a set after I showed them to you, though. Aren't they great, Harry? Though, I don't know how I feel about a Gryffindor being with a Slytherin," Colin added as an afterthought.

"But you're sure these are the only pictures? Has anyone else seen them?" asked Harry.

Colin shook his head furiously. "I just got them developed," he answered, looking proud. He then went on, excited that he had Harry's attention and eager to keep it.

"After taking these pictures, I was thinking maybe after Hogwarts I could do this as a career, you know? Taking secret photos for the Daily Prophet, or the Witch Weekly? What do you think, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath and glanced up and down the hallway, feeling rather nervous.

"I think I'm going to have to confiscate these, Colin," he told him.

Colin looked puzzled. "Can't it wait, Harry? I'd really like to get those doubled, if I could," he said.

"Sorry about this, Colin," said Harry. Before Colin could respond, Harry lifted his wand up and pointed it at him. "Obliviate," he called.

Colin blinked and looked at Harry.

"Harry! What are you doing standing around in the halls like this! You'll be late for class!" shouted Colin, panicking immediately.

Harry sighed with relief, tucking away the pictures safely beneath his robes. If anyone was to have them, it should be Ginny.

*

Harry found his class, and saw that he was indeed late. Everyone looked up as he pushed the trapdoor open, and his head popped up in the classroom.

"Have a seat, Mr Potter. Knowing you would be late, I took the liberty of holding off the lesson until you arrived," came Professor Trelawney's misty voice.

Harry did as told, rolling his eyes over at Ron. Ron hid a smile by tucking his face into his shoulder.

"Thanks, Professor," said Harry, avoiding the urge to look at Malfoy as he took his seat next to Ron.

"Now, class," Trelawney began. "Today we will broaden our horizons by taking a step forward in what is called Smoke Divination. This is merely another form of crystal gazing, but far more useful in case you do not have access to a crystal ball. There are many ways to use this advanced fashion of unleashing your Inner Eye, and I warn you, it is far more dangerous, and in many ways, more mysterious than any form you have previously used," Trelawney explained.

The class exchanged many excited glances, eager to begin today's lesson.

Trelawney started to pass out small copper bowls, about the size of an ashtray, while explaining how Smoke Divination worked.

"I've already given out small portions of the incense you are to use, in order to start your flame. A simple flame-inducer will work just fine. Now, I insist that you don't sit too close to the smoke, and don't lean into it. However, I have Madam Pomfrey on standby. I made her aware that I am teaching you the beginnings of this unit, and yes, Miss Patil, it's that dangerous."

Harry glanced at Parvati and noticed how her mouth was hanging slightly open, about to say something. She closed her mouth, and gave Trelawney the look of utter respect. Across the room, Neville Longbottom gave a tiny squeak. Copper bowls were placed in front of Harry and Ron, and they exchanged looks of bewilderment.

"Let's get this over with," said Harry, with a bitter glance at Trelawney's retreating back. They both pulled out their wands, and pointed them at their incense-filled bowls.

"Incendio!" they cried, and a burst of light shot out of their wands, igniting the incense.

All around the room people duplicated Harry and Ron, and soon smoke lifted out of each copper bowl. Across the room Harry could see Lavender Brown helping Neville with his own bowl.

It didn't take long for the room to take the appropriate scent of perfumed smoke, and after a few minutes of staring blankly into his smoke, Harry started to feel light-headed. His vision became blurry, then un-blurry, then back to blurry. The room seemed to disappear around him. Mutterings of his classmates faded into the thick gray-black smoke that swam in front of him. The smoke itself swirled in front of him, until it reached a circular shape, leaving a clear surface of air for him to look into. It reminded him vaguely of a muggle television set.

He reasoned that his reactions to Smoke Divination was due to lack of sleep. How he longed to fold his arms on the table and rest his sleepy head. But, he firmly reminded himself, he was Head Boy, and (with a groan) it was his duty to set the proper example. Taking naps during a new lesson didn't qualify.

He reluctantly turned his tired eyes to the Smoke again. What was he supposed to be looking for? He lifted his head to Ron, raising a skeptical brow. Ron shrugged in return.

Heaving an impatient sigh, Harry focused on his Smoke, once again, in frustration.

Then something started to take shape. He felt so sleepy he couldn't be sure if he was dreaming or not, but then he realized that it wasn't something that was appearing in his smoke, but someone. In fact, many someone's. Harry's vision became clear once more, and he leaned a little forward, carefully heeding Trelawney's advice. He squinted his eyes. The faces that became clearer were gaunt and pale, their lips curled into twisted smiles, their eyes dark and piercing. Harry observed their style of old-fashioned clothing, and upon looking closer, he realized that they were not normal "Muggle" clothes, they were old-fashioned robes. Harry was staring into the faces of old Witches and Wizards. How old? He couldn't tell.

Their mouths opened then, and they let out a loud, deafening moan that made Harry's insides twist in agony. His chest closed in on his already fiercely pounding heart. He tried to breathe, but each breath for him was nothing but intense pain. The people in the vision slowly melted away, but Harry could still hear their desperate moans echoing in his pounding head.

"Oh dear."

Harry didn't have to look up to see that Professor Trelawney was peering into his own vision, and he didn't dare peel his eyes away from what he was seeing, no matter how terrified he was.

"Cursed souls screaming on the longest night," Trelawney announced in a fluttery voice. Her face was pale, and her magnified eyes were wide.

The vision became clearer once more, and Harry could see the shape of one man, but what nearly threw him into a panic was how the man was standing. He wasn't standing at all, but he seemed to be floating while standing. No, Harry corrected himself. This man wasn't floating, he was dangling! Sure enough, Harry could see a noose wrapped securely around the man's neck. A tall, lanky object appeared beside the dead wizard, so blurry that Harry couldn't even guess as to what it was. Before he could get a closer look, the object exploded, throwing Harry back with a shock. His copper bowl spun at a rapid pace, faster and faster, until it was nothing but a mere blur, then flew across the room, over the heads of students, and it smashed through the glass window.

The entire class sat in stunned silence, staring at Harry with a mixture of wonderment and fear. Trelawney's eyes were wide and fearful, and she stood clutching her heart, looking as though someone had just died.

After a few minutes, the shock of the recent events passed. Parvati and Lavender rushed over to Trelawney and sat her down in a chair. Harry looked at Ron, and saw that Ron looked exactly how Harry felt. His face was pale, even his lips had lost their color. His blue eyes were wide and fearful.

"What did you see?" he whispered in a hoarse voice.

Harry swallowed down a nervous lump. His classmates seemed to have lost interest in Trelawney's proclamation, as they turned back to their Smoke Divination.

Harry spoke in a low voice, explaining exactly what he had seen. Sure enough, Ron's reaction doubled. He looked like he was going to be sick.

Behind Harry, Ron could see Malfoy take a sudden interest in what Harry had to say, but there was no self-satisfying grin. He wore an all-knowing frown.

"We'll talk after class, Harry," Ron told him.

It seemed that the end of class was going to be sooner than expected. After Trelawney's newest prediction, she decided that she needed to spend some time alone, and focus her Inner Eye on the Dark forces. She left the classroom after fixing the window, leaving the students to pack up their books and leave after her.

"Dark forces. Yeah, right," muttered Ron, but he didn't look as sure as he sounded.

Harry stood up with Ron, when someone called out his name.

They turned to find Draco Malfoy standing completely alone. The entire classroom was empty. The only ones left were Harry, Ron and Malfoy.

"It doesn't take a mind-reader to know what you saw in your vision, Potter," Malfoy said, as calmly as possible. Harry knew he was only using this tone because he was trying to remain on Harry's good side. But Malfoy didn't know that Harry knew of him and Ginny. Did this give Harry the upper hand? He couldn't decide.

"What do you know of it then?" asked Harry, a little colder than intended. Ron continued to stare at Malfoy with a loathing that had built over the years.

"I know enough. And if you're smart, you'll heed my advice. Don't ignore the signs, Potter. They've come to you for a reason. If you belittle them, there will be a world of trouble."

The cold chill Harry had felt while looking into his vision returned. But he didn't dare show it.

"I'll take that into consideration, Malfoy," Harry said, not taking his eyes off of Malfoy's icy gray ones.

"Get off it, Harry!" Ron burst out. "You're not going to believe what he has to say, are you?"

Malfoy broke the staring contest, and turned his eyes to Ron for the first time.

"It's a shame you feel that way, Weasley," he drawled. There was no menace in his voice, but Harry could detect a certain feeling of dislike coming from Malfoy. This was no surprise to him. He assumed that it was enough that Malfoy had to be nice to him, let alone to two of his archenemies.

"You've given Harry plenty of reasons to not trust you. Give us two good reasons why he should give your words any thought at all," retorted Ron.

"I could give you a book full, Weasley. But I thought that we are all a little too old to be playing these games. Let's act our age" he suggested, a little too condescendingly for Harry's liking.

"Hmmph," muttered Ron. "I'm not the only one who remembers clearly what your more charming qualities are, Malfoy. Perhaps you're simply trying to get Harry into trouble, or even worse, killed. It's not going to work, Malfoy. Harry isn't stupid."

"If he doesn't listen to what I have to say," Malfoy replied coolly, "my more charming qualities will be the least of your worries."

"I'm still in the room, and I can speak for myself," Harry said, interrupting Malfoy and Ron's exchange. "I promised to consider it. I believe that's enough for now," Harry said.

Malfoy seemed satisfied with this. He grabbed up his bag, and left the classroom through the trapdoor.

"That was entirely creepy," Ron mumbled.

"You have no idea," Harry said, thinking of Ginny, Malfoy, and the pictures that lay hidden in his robes. He followed Ron out of the classroom.

To Be Continued...

9. Confessions of the Heart

Circle's Close

Chapter 9: Confessions of the Heart
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: fae_child@hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G and others on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Snow is on the ground, and the students are thrilled for the nearing of the Holidays. However, Harry has become more concerned with Draco Malfoy's intentions, and finds that in order to look for the truth in his heart, he has to look deep into his own as well.
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks: To Gary Skinner, again for his undying support, his wonderful "touch-up" ideas on the story as a whole, and for his friendship. Also to Occamy (a.k.a Leah), for letting me borrow her name, and for giving me her support before I post. Luv ya, doll. And finally to the reviewers, just for being there. Thanks, guys!

Author's Note: Expect an update pretty much every day until Wednesday--because that's when I go back to work (these three days are my days off, which is why I'm able to post quickly). Enjoy!

Dedicated to Willis, Oliver, Luka, Shadow and Scooter, for keeping me company

***

By December, a descending chill floated over the Hogwarts castle, reminding every last student that Christmas was well on its way, and so were end-of-term exams. Over the bubble of excitement that usually came during this time of the year, conversations of Hogsmeade and returning home for the holidays could be heard all over the castle.

These events, these conversations were at the very bottom of Hermione's list, as far as worries were concerned. Presently, she was more concerned with her boyfriend, or rather, more concerned for herself, considering the circumstances.

"Harry! Will you please tell me what is going on?!" exclaimed Hermione.

Harry was slowly leading forward a few feet at a time, while standing directly behind her, his hands covering her eyes, obscuring her view completely.

He gave a light chuckle. "Trust me," he told her for the hundredth time.

Her body relaxed ever so slightly, and Harry continued to direct her in her blindfolded state.

Hermione took deep breaths and concentrated. She did trust Harry, and consciously knew that Harry would never deliberately put her in danger. She also knew the school as well as anyone else, maybe even better, considering her wild history with breaking rules, and roaming the halls after hours throughout all the years with Ron and Harry. So she used this assured knowledge to trace where he was planning to take her.

A few moments ago Harry had urgently steered her from the Gryffindor common room, "blindfolded" her and began to lead her down a seemingly deserted corridor. They had turned left and headed down another corridor, this one not so long.

Now he was leading her down a series of staircases. She waited for that to end, and then realized that they were on the main floor.

"We're almost there," she heard Harry whisper from behind her.

She nodded as best as she could, desperately trying to calm her thumping heart, and waited for Harry's surprise to unfold. According to Hermione's swift mind, they were in the Entrance Hall. She could hear voices echoing from the Great Hall. Harry whispered an incantation and a burst of light flooded the hall. Even Hermione could see the bright light, seeping through Harry's fingers.

A sudden chill overwhelmed her, and she automatically wrapped her arms around herself. They just had to be outside. That's where the burst of light must have come from, she thought.

"OK," Harry said to her, and released his hold on her.

Hermione slowly opened her eyes and took in the sight before her. She giggled with delight, taking in the spectacular view.

"Oh, Harry!"

It was white. Everywhere. Snow covered the grounds, the forest; and looking behind her, Hermione observed that Hogwarts was covered, too. Hagrid's hut looked like a gingerbread house in the distance, covered in a thick sheet of icing sugar. Hermione was vividly reminded of Heaven on earth.

"It's amazing!" she squealed, tossing her arms about Harry and hugging him with amazing strength.

Harry laughed, returning the embrace, and suddenly Ginny, Ron and Leah stepped into the Hall, as if waiting for a cue from Harry.

"You'll need these, hon," Ginny said, holding out Hermione's winter cloak, scarf, and mittens.

The others were all swathed in their own winter clothes. Ron handed Harry his own winter clothes.

"Come on! We haven't got all day!" Ron said with mock exasperation.

Hermione laughed and slipped on her winter cloak, shaking with excitement. Her outfit complete, they all headed outside and found that many other students were taking advantage of this glorious winter day. Some were creating snow angels, others were building snowmen, and Hermione could swear that she just saw a bewitched snowball hurtling across the grounds towards an unsuspecting 4th year.

As Head Girl she would normally have to punish the poor soul who found it in his heart to misuse his or her magical knowledge. But Hermione couldn't find it in her heart to do so. This was the first snowfall of the year, after all.

"I'm so pathetic!" Hermione exclaimed, with a slight pout. "I always miss the first snowfall."

Harry laughed and hugged her close.

"You're not lame. You just study a lot. There's no shame in that. And besides, it's not like you're missing out on the snow. We'll make sure of that," Harry assured her, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Exactly what do you mean by that?" Hermione wondered. There was a slight giggle from behind her, and Hermione sensed, rather than heard, a snowball being whipped at her.

She dodged just in time and the snowball sailed past her, instead hitting poor Seamus, who was lazily constructing a snowball of his own to hurl at Dean. He spun around sharply, seeking the perpetrator. His steely gaze focused on Hermione and Harry, and a slow grin crept along his face.

"WAR!" he shouted.

*

The five Gryffindors, soaked, out of breath, laughing and freezing, headed up to their common room hours later, eager to divest themselves of their outer wear. They all changed into comfortable clothes and then gathered in front of the roaring, inviting fire, their sole purpose to warm themselves up.

Hermione sat with Leah and Ginny, teaching them how to use a Drying Charm on their hair. Harry and Ron talked in low voices about the upcoming holidays, which put a smile on everyone's face. Everyone except...

"Hey, Leah!" Ginny exclaimed, as though just dawning on a thought. "What are you doing for Christmas?" she asked.

All eyes zoomed on the usually perky brunette, who now looked like she wanted to crawl into a deep dark hole and live there forever.

"Staying here, at Hogwarts," she told them, avoiding their sympathetic looks. She began to concentrate on a piece of fluff from her sweater.

"Here!?" Ginny gasped, absently pulling her hair into a long ponytail. "Why?"

"Well..." Leah said slowly, "My parents are visiting my grandmother for the holidays, and well, personally, I don't really like her." She fidgeted a little, as though uncomfortable with the subject.

She looked at them then, a determined glint in her eye.

"I don't mind, honest. I love Hogwarts."

Harry nodded in acknowledgment of the fact, not sure what to say, but knowing that he at least agreed with her. From day one he had always considered Hogwarts his home. He couldn't so easily forget the longing he had felt for the school, when he spent he summers with the Durselys.

"Don't be ridiculous," Ginny said, looking at Leah in a new light. "You should come home with us," she told her.

Hermione and Harry exchanged looks, surprised by Ginny's boldness.

"Mum would just love to have you. And Harry and Siri...er...Professor Black... live right across the road from us! And our brothers are coming home, you can meet them, too! And Hermione will be coming to stay with Harry. Please say yes," Ginny pleaded.

"Your parents don't mind that you're staying with Harry...with little to none parental units?" Leah asked with a sly grin.

Hermione waved a hand in dismissal. "They trust me," she said, with a knowing glance in Harry's direction.

Harry smiled in return, and discreetly turned his head away before his friends could start badgering him.

Leah gave a nervous laugh, and Harry sensed that more than anything she wanted to accept Ginny's proposal. But then Leah glanced at Ron, who at this point looked completely out of the zone. His blue eyes were focused intently on the glowing fireplace.

Ginny caught this as well, and nudged her brother as discreetly as possible.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"You'd like her to be there, wouldn't you, Ron?" asked Ginny.

Harry had to hold in a laugh as he witnessed his best friend's face turn from his usual freckled, to a bright, beet red.

"Sure I would!" he insisted, blushing even deeper now. "It'll be great, having everyone together. Come home with us, Leah," he said, his face returning to its normal color, his bravery turning up a notch.

Leah looked from one face to the next, seeking encouragement. Finally, she turned to Ginny and Ron and nodded enthusiastically.

*

"Exactly where do you think you're going?"

Harry paused in the middle of the Gryffindor common room and turned towards the sofa where the voice addressing him came from.

Hermione's head popped up and she propped her knees onto the sofa so she could face him properly.

"Hey," he greeted softly, stepping towards her.

"Hey, yourself. Going outside?" she asked, her brows creased in curiosity.

Harry looked down at his left arm, which carried his winter cloak. Then he looked outside, then back at Hermione with extreme longing.

"I'd give anything to be here, with you, in front of that glorious fire, love," he said, and then heaved a depressed sigh. "But I have something I need to take care of first."

Hermione looked like she wanted to ask what, or why, but she didn't say anything in regards to his late night excursion. It was as though she understood his reasons, whatever they were, and she was confident that he would explain everything to her later.

Harry stepped closer to her and ran a hand through her soft, chestnut hair. She smiled and reached her own hand up, lacing her fingers through his.

"I'll be here when you get back," she told him. "Just don't be too long."

He nodded and kissed her warmly, tasting strawberries and whipped cream.

Then he shrugged on his cloak and made his way from the common room, to the Entrance Hall, then he pushed through the wide oak doors and made his way through the snow that crunched softly beneath his feet.

It wasn't extremely late, so there was no need for Harry to bring his Invisibility Cloak, and the fact that he was Head Boy gave him some leeway, so if a Professor ever spotted him, he wasn't obligated to explain his whereabouts to them. More often than not, he just told them he was scouring the perimeter for students who shouldn't be lurking about. It worked like a charm every time.

Turning a sharp left around the bend of the castle, Harry saw a dark figure emerged from the creepy shadows.

How fitting, thought Harry cynically. He took a deep breath and exhaled softly.

"I'm here, just as I promised," he said, as Draco Malfoy's face became visible under the light of the moon.

"I'm surprised," Malfoy said, bringing himself closer, in turn making Harry edgier. "And I don't surprise easily," he added.

"I hope there's a good reason why I'm here, in the cold, when I could be inside," Harry answered indifferently.

"Let's walk," Malfoy simply suggested, moving past him. He strode a few steps, and Harry decided that moving under the minor moonlight was better than lurking in the shadows. Shoving his hands deep into his cloak pockets, he took step beside the Slytherin.

"Have you taken my advice?" Malfoy asked with a suddenness that multiplied Harry's uneasiness.

Harry delved deep into his own mind, trying to find the words that wouldn't startle Malfoy, and at the same time wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction of knowing that he had caused some worry in him.

"There has been very little to worry about, Malfoy. How do you expect me to accept your advice when you won't even tell me what the hell the predictions mean?"

Not good, Harry thought, knowing that his voice betrayed some of his deepest concerns.

Apparently Malfoy sensed it too.

"I can't tell you, Potter. I don't know anything about them either. But they've been sent to you for a reason."

"What reason?" Harry asked, straining for patience.

Malfoy paused, and looked Harry straight in the eyes, not unkindly and not with scorn, but with a look of desperation. Desperation for what? For Harry to accept him? For Harry to believe him?

"Maybe it's because of who you are..." he replied, trailing off for dramatic effect.

Harry shivered against the chill that swept over him, wondering if the cold was due to the December weather, or due to Malfoy's implications.

"They're stupid predictions," Harry insisted, wanting nothing more than to believe his own words. "They're not even predictions...they're just the aftermath of a bad night's sleep."

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy chuckled softly as he shook his head.

"Do you really believe that, Potter?" he asked, as a smile slowly crept along his face.

Harry felt as though his mind was crashing. Lately, more and more, he found it difficult to decide what he believed, and whether he still believed in what he always thought he had. Was this a part of growing up? Of maturing?

Draco Malfoy had been his enemy since their first day at Hogwarts. Harry found that it wasn't as easy as he anticipated, trying to look at Malfoy in a new light. Even if it was for Ginny. The old Malfoy, the new Draco, they would always be the same person.

So maybe it was that reason alone that made him resist the nagging in his gut, in his mind, in his heart, and give in to the Malfoy that stood before him. Could he really accept the fact that Malfoy wanted to help him? Was he trying to redeem himself for all those rotten years that now lay behind them?

Because, in truth, Harry feared over the predictions. What could they mean? And how would they play out? These predictions were far too sinister for even Harry to ignore, which at this point, would be the preferable choice.

In short, Malfoy wanted to help, and in short, Harry realized that he would probably need his help, regardless of the past. Harry would need to get past all the anger and hate he had once felt towards Malfoy if, in fact, Malfoy was there to help.

This is some trick, Harry thought wildly, searching for any excuse to turn Malfoy away. A depressing, ironic trick.

"Well?" Malfoy pressed.

Harry looked at him, not having to look down or up, because they were generally the same height.

"I don't know what to believe," Harry told him, deciding that the truth was better than anything else.

"It's a start. My question now is, can you trust me?"

Harry laughed in spite of himself. Trust a Malfoy? There had been a day when he wouldn't trust a Malfoy if his life depended on it. Now...

Now the closest thing he had to a sister was Ginny Weasley, and now Ginny was dating Draco Malfoy. The tables had turned on Harry, and he realized that this wasn't just a test on what kind of a Wizard he would turn out to be, but what kind of man he would turn out to be.

"Trust is a funny thing, Malfoy. For you, it's something you'll have to earn," Harry told him, silently praying he was doing the right thing.

"I suppose it's a lot better than where I used to stand," Malfoy replied. "And I suppose I have Ginny to thank for that."

Harry's head snapped sharply at that.

"What? You mean...you...knew? You know that I know?"

"It was my suggestion that she tell you, Potter," Malfoy said, and heaved a soft sigh. "Ginny's unhappy," he told him.

Harry frowned, but realized that Malfoy needed to say what he had been holding in for a while.

"She hates keeping our relationship a secret. So do I, for that matter, but she cares about her family..."

"Whereas you don't care for your own?" asked Harry, a little too sharply.

Malfoy focused his gray eyes on Harry, and for the first time ever, Harry actually felt...sad for him. He shook himself, firmly reminding himself not to feel sorry for a Malfoy.

"My parents never cared about me," he replied shortly. "Not the way Ginny's family cares about her. She feels like she's betraying them, betraying her friends, betraying you. It's been eating away at her. I want nothing more than to take away her pain. I want to make her happy, Harry. I want her to want to be with me with no regrets, do you see?"

Harry started, slightly in awe, but mostly in bewilderment. Malfoy had just referred to him as Harry. Was that just a slip up? Or was this Malfoy's way of...keeping the peace?

He returned his thoughts to the topic on hand, and thought back to the night when Ginny had confessed about her and Draco. Happy? Hell, he had never seen her so happy in all his life.

"She is happy. And she loves you, and she's doing what she feels is necessary. Just as you are," Harry told him. "But what do you mean, it was your suggestion?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"You're as close to Ginny as any of her brothers. The difference is you're not her brother, not by blood, anyway. She needed someone she could tell, confide in, without the fear of losing everyone that she loves. You...you're different, Potter. You care about her, and see things from perspectives that her family and close friends would never be able to. Understand?" Malfoy asked.

Harry nodded, comprehending. It made perfect sense for Ginny to confide in him, but what didn't make sense was-

"Why did you suggest me, Malfoy? Tell me the truth," Harry said.

An odd smile tugged at the corners of Malfoy's mouth, and he nodded.

"My selfish motive...you're smarter than you let on," he said and laughed softly. "I want you to trust me. I..." Malfoy hesitated, unsure of how to approach him with what he wanted to say.

"I love Ginny," Malfoy insisted in a tone that threw Harry off. "More than I ever thought possible, more than anyone will ever know. Her fiery nature, her desire to make everyone around her happy, her "take nothing from anyone" approach. She's everything in a girl I hadn't realized I wanted. And now I want to be a better person for her, a person she can walk around proudly with. A person that she can bring to her family reunions, where, no doubt, you will be. I want her to see that I can ditch the past, and past feelings, and past enemies. I want her to love me as much as I love her."

Harry felt like he had just been hit with the Stunning Curse. He felt moved by Malfoy's words, touched, and he felt a warmth towards him, mainly because a part of him realized that Ginny was in good hands.

Maybe Malfoy deserved a chance after all, Harry pondered shortly. For Ginny's sake?

"These belong to you," Harry said, reaching into his robes, searching.

He pulled out Colin's pictures and handed them over to Malfoy, who looked at him with furrowed brows.

"They're yours. Yours and Ginny's. You ought to be more careful," Harry warned him, nodding to the pictures.

Malfoy looked down at the small stack and began flipping through all the photographs that Harry had come across weeks beforehand.

"I know you love her," Harry continued. "Anyone with two eyes can plainly see that. I know she loves you, too. I think...I think she wanted to tell me because of Hermione and me. A part of her knows that I would understand, because I'm in love, too."

Malfoy gave a smile that was reminiscent of the ones in the photographs, and Harry was left wondering which Malfoy was the more arrogant; the rival of the past, or the friend of the future?

Time will tell, Harry thought, and Malfoy's true colors will surely shine through.

*

There were still a few nights left before the holidays, and the atmosphere of the castle was welcoming, if not warming. Christmas was, without a doubt, Harry's favorite holiday. He remembered a time, long ago, when he didn't have a single favorite day. Living with the Dursleys did that to a person.

Night had settled, and the castle was silent, yet buzzing with that same yearning and excitement of holidays to come. Harry, restless, pulled himself from his room to check up on the students.

Hermione had told him earlier that she would be in the library checking up on information that she would need for her report for the next term. Harry chuckled softly. Hermione, however different she may be now from the day he met her, would always be the same bookworm he had grown to love. And he had to remind himself that he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Hey, Harry!" Kevin, his Quidditch teammate, greeted as Harry made his way to the common room.

"Oh, hey, Kevin. Have you seen Ron anywhere?" Harry asked him.

"Oh sure," replied the 5th year Gryffindor. "I just saw him heading outside."

Harry nodded his thanks and made his way outside to find the youngest male of the Weasleys.

He marched his way through the snow, shivering only slightly because he hadn't brought any outside-wear. He wouldn't be able to stay out very long.

He saw Ron then, at the Quidditch Pitch, flying on his broom.

"Late night practice?" Harry wondered. He stopped dead in his tracks.

Ron wasn't alone. Leah York sat in front of Ron on the broom, nuzzled securely in his arms. They both seemed completely oblivious to Harry. They were very high up, and still at a great distance. But Harry could see them plain as day.

He felt guilty watching such a display of affection, but more than guilty, he felt a tugging at his heart that had nothing to do with guilt or embarrassment.

Harry loved Hermione so much it hurt sometimes. He loved everything about her. He loved every aspect of their relationship, friendship, their past and their present, and God willing, their future. But still, after all of that, Harry could still feel a little envious. Not resentful, not jealous, just...envious. And not enough envy to actually affect him. But it was enough to keep him glued to his spot, and watch Ron as he nuzzled Leah even closer.

Hermione would never get on a broom with him if her life depended on it.

Well, Harry thought, maybe if her life depended on it, he corrected himself.

Flying was such a major part of his life. Sometimes he felt like he was born to do it. It hurt to think that he couldn't even share such an exciting part of his life with the woman that he knew he was destined to be with. She would never know what it was like. She would never care to know, and that hurt more than anything.

Still, he couldn't hold it against her. She had a fear of flying. That wasn't her fault, it wasn't his fault. It was just another cruel, ironic twist to his life. He and Hermione had plenty of other stuff to do, right? Who needed flying...right?

Harry looked back up at Ron and Leah, yearning tugging at his heart, knowing that he would never hold Hermione on a broom, just as Ron was holding Leah.

"I hope you know just how lucky you are," Harry breathed upwards. He turned and headed back to the Castle, wanting nothing more at that moment than to see Hermione, and tell her just how much he loved her.

*

"You're freezing," Hermione gushed, bombarding Harry midway to the Gryffindor common room.

Harry laughed, hugging Hermione closer. "Then warm me up, silly," he purred into her ear.

Hermione laughed with him, giving him a teasing wink.

"What do you think we'll be doing during the holidays? Silly..." she said.

Harry's laugh increased. "Oh, so that's how it is..."

"Yes, that's exactly how it is. Come on, we'll get you upstairs and in bed," she told him urgently.

"I thought we were waiting until we got home," Harry said, with a grin that melted Hermione to the core.

She slapped him playfully.

"You're going to bed. I'm going to tuck you in, got it?"

Harry gave her a disappointed pout, and she laughed again.

They made their way through the portrait hole, and found that there were a few students scattered all around, still edgy over the end-of-term exams, and desperately excited for the holidays to begin.

Without a word to the students, Hermione led Harry up to his private chamber, closing the door behind them. Muttering a lazy "Incendio," Hermione directed Harry further into his room as the lamps flickered to life.

Without hesitating, Hermione rushed into Harry's arms and hugged him with all the strength she possessed. In the dim lighting, her lips found his and they remained that way for a while.

"I can not wait until we get home," Hermione panted, pulling away slightly.

Harry nodded in agreement. It had been months since summer, the last time they were able to make love.

"Crawl into bed with me," urged Harry, pulling down the covers.

Hermione grinned and nodded, jumping into the bed with him. Once they were tucked in, Harry wrapped her spoon fashion, her back facing his front, her legs curled neatly into his, his powerful arms wrapped around her front.

They lay there for a time, concentrating on the silence of the room, broken only by their own steady heartbeats.

"You seem distracted," Hermione said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence.

Harry thought back to the Quidditch Pitch, Ron with Leah, and shook himself of the image.

"I'm fine. How about you?" he asked.

Hermione sounded like she didn't want to let the topic go, but knew that if it were serious, he would tell her.

"I'm great," she replied.

Silence fell again, and for a while they both reveled in it. Then Hermione spoke again, this time a little more tentatively.

"Harry?"

"Mmm?" Harry opened his eyes, only to find that he was staring at the back of Hermione's head, and instead tightened his hold on her a little, a light squeeze to show that he was listening.

"What's your goal in life?" she asked him.

Harry's grip lessened, and Hermione turned slowly to face him.

"My goal?" he asked, and felt his face growing hot. He hoped that Hermione wouldn't notice his face growing red, even in the dimness of the room.

"Yeah, your goal. Your biggest accomplishment. What do you want to be in the future?" she elaborated, not taking notice of Harry's embarrassment.

Harry stared at her, not sure what to tell her, not even sure what happened to his voice. He felt his throat constricting, felt his heart hit rock bottom. His hands were suddenly clammy, and he wondered why he was reacting this way.

Instead of answering her straight away, he stood up, out of his bed, and started pacing the room like an expectant father.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, suddenly concerned. She had never seen him act this way.

Then Hermione realized that she had asked a question that was deeply personal. But she loved him, and he loved her, so there should be no need for the secrecy.

Either way, she couldn't take back the question, so she just waited for him to answer her.

"Harry?" she asked again. She stood up and went to him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and forced him to look into her eyes.

"You can tell me. I won't laugh," she promised.

Laugh? Harry shuddered involuntarily, praying that laughing was the last thing Hermione would do.

But could he tell her?

Yes, because he loved her. She loved him, too. Love makes the world go round, Harry reminded himself. Love.

"I...I want to..."

He sounded like a child. But Hermione was looking at him with wide brown eyes, urging him to tell her. In the end, she would understand. She always did.

"I want to be a father," he blurted out.

Hermione's mouth dropped, and he instantly regretted telling her. But there was no turning back. Now it was his turn to wait for her.

Hermione's head whirled at a fantastic speed. A father! She had never expected that, never in a million years!

Harry Potter was destined for greatness, everyone knew that. She had expected his answer to be a simple one. Like an Auror or something. But a father...

She felt the heat rising to her face, her eyes burning with the coming of tears. She suddenly felt like the Grinch who stole Christmas. She could feel her heart multiply three times its size, ready to burst with the amount of love that she felt for the man in front of her.

The love overwhelmed her, warming her like a cup of hot chocolate.

The tears fell, and Harry looked at her with that puzzled look pasted to his face.

"A father, Harry?" she whispered, and wiped foolishly away at the tears, which only caused more to fall. She started to sob, and Harry reacted instantly, pulling her into the comfort of his arms.

He sighed, and felt no reason to lie, or to take it all back.

"Yes," he whispered back, "a father," he repeated. "The kind of father my dad could have been...should have been..."

He found it odd that he had never told her that before. Why not? They had been best friends for ages. Why couldn't he have told her such a secret years ago? He had always dreamed one day of being the father that his Uncle never was to him. He wanted to be every thing that was denied to him. A real, loving parent.

Hermione was shaking in his arms, sobs wracking her body, until finally, there was nothing more than a mere hiccup coming from her.

"Are you alright?" he asked her worriedly, wondering what he had said that had made her react this way.

"I'm OK," she told him, and smiled to reassure him.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Don't take it back, please, don't take it back," she pleaded, her eyes growing moist again.

"Take what back?" he asked her.

"You wanting to be a father...I don't want you to take back that statement...because..."

"Because?" Harry pressed.

"I've always wanted a family, Harry," Hermione confessed, her heart swelling. "It's always been a part of my dream to have a large family."

This time Harry's mouth dropped.

"I've always been an only child, and...I take a look at the Weasleys and I feel so...envious towards them, you know? I mean, not towards them, but towards the idea of such a large family. They'll always have each other, and me? I love my parents, that's true. But it was so lonely growing up, and I don't want that for my children," Hermione told him.

Harry's heart burst with happiness. He lifted her into his arms and swung her around the room, feeling he had to expose his happiness somehow. She giggled loudly in response, holding fast to him. He set her down, and planted a kiss on her lips.

"I've always wanted a large family. And for the same reasons. Oh, I love you, Hermione. I love you so much," he said, kissing her deeply.

Hermione giggled and sobbed into the kiss, and they withdrew, looking at each other, not shyly anymore, but with a love that had multiplied tenfold.

The future was a touchy subject, they both knew, for muggles and wizards. A couple in love discussing the future was tough because there was no certainty that the other party would have the same outlook, or the same vision for the future.

But when Harry looked at Hermione, and saw her looking at him, he knew, deep in his heart, that the promise of their future would be the ties that bonded their love forever.

To Be Continued...

***

Author's Note: Next time on 'Circle's Close'... Harry and his friends go home for the holidays. Will Ron and Leah become an official couple--or will Gred and Feorge manage to scare her off? And will Ginny lose her nerve and tell her family about Draco? Tune in to find out.

10. A Gift From Harry

Circle's Close

Chapter 10: A Gift From Harry
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: fae_child@hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Part one of the Christmas chapters: The entire crew head back to the Burrow for the Holidays. Harry and Hermione discuss the many things that they are planning for Christmas, while having a private celebration of their own.
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks to: Gary Skinner, for his speedy Beta-work, his fantastic ideas and in-put, and for being a friend on those miserable days when I need one. And to the readers/reviewers still reading: Thanks.

"I'm a Dumbledore/McGonagall shipper, myself." ~My 17 year-old brother, on Harry/Hermione stories.

***

It was a frenzy at the Hogsmeade Train Station, where the majority of Hogwarts students were busy finding their compartments and piling their trunks into the train.

Harry was no exception to this at all, as he stood in front of the bright red steam engine, the Hogwarts Express. He felt a warm tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that had started a week beforehand. For the first time ever, he would be leaving Hogwarts for the Christmas Holidays, just like everyone else. He wasn't getting left behind this time, and he found it extremely difficult not to jump for joy when this thought crossed his mind.

But then sadness would wash over him for a moment, and he found himself wishing that he wasn't leaving at all.

"You'll see me Christmas Day," Sirius Black assured his godson for the hundredth time.

"I really don't want to leave you," Harry said, deeply torn between the joy of going home for Christmas, and the guilt of leaving his godfather behind.

"It's only one week until you'll see me again. You'll have a great time with the Weasleys, and you've got Hermione," Sirius reminded him.

At the moment, Hermione was in the Express with the Weasleys, finding their own compartment.

"I know," said Harry, smiling suddenly. "It's just my first Christmas away, and you won't even be there," Harry replied.

"But I will be there," Sirius told him, sighing with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "In a week. Christmas Day. And don't get into any trouble. Please," Sirius pleaded, with a knowing smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Who, me?" he asked innocently, laughing with Sirius.

"What's so funny?" asked Hermione, appearing at Harry's elbow. She latched onto it firmly, a gentle reminder that the Express was getting ready to depart.

"Nothing," Harry assured her. He turned back to Sirius. "The house'll be ready for when you arrive," he told him.

"You've got the key?" Sirius asked.

Harry held up the silver house key and nodded, then tucked it back into his cloak.

"Take care, Sirius," Harry said, giving his godfather a warm embrace.

"Same goes for you both," Sirius said, after wrapping Hermione in a hug.

"We'll see you on Christmas Day, around breakfast?" Hermione asked, pulling away.

"That seems to be the plan," Sirius said, and Harry shot him a threatening look.

"Don't you dare think for one second that I won't use one of the Unforgivable Curses on you if you don't show up," Hary said, which made Sirius laugh.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it for the world. This is my first real Christmas, too, remember?" he told them.

Harry's expression softened slightly as he realized that this Christmas meant a lot to him as well.

"We'd better go," Hermione said, nodding towards the train where Ron, Leah and Ginny were calling for them to hurry.

"Have a good one, Sirius," Hermione said casually, giving him a kiss on the cheek and in turn avoiding the jealous, seething looks of the other girls boarding the Express.

Harry smirked, taking notice of this. It hadn't taken very long for the female students of Hogwarts to grow rather fond of Sirius Black. Hermione had been right in saying that his godfather still had his looks. He supposed the girls were also attracted to Sirius' dark and deeply mysterious nature.

Sirius nodded to them both, and they turned, heading to the train.

"He'll be OK, right?" said Ron, as Hermione and Harry sat across from him, Ginny and Leah.

"He'll be just fine," Harry said, turning to the window. He could see Sirius standing there, waving reassuringly and enthusiastically. Everyone in the compartment returned the wave, and soon the Express hissed to life, and it started to pull away.

Harry only stopped waving when the Express turned around the bend, and fell away from the station at an increasing speed.

*

If it was a frenzy at the Hogsmeade Station, it was nothing compared to the frenzy at the Burrow. At King's Cross Station, Mr Weasley had arrived, and had driven Ron, Ginny, Harry, Hermione and Leah to the Burrow. Ron hadn't been kidding when he said his whole family would be there.

"Oh, good! Everyone's here," Mrs. Weasley called excitedly, hurrying from the kitchen to the front door. Mr Weasley ushered the five teenagers further into the house.

Percy, Fred, George, Bill and Charlie were all seated at the kitchen table, which was now large enough to fit at least 20 people. Harry suspected that perhaps Mr Weasley had the kitchen magically enlarged in order to fit all of those who would be dining at the Weasleys during the holidays.

Instantly Percy was up and rushing to Harry, extending his hand and shaking Harry's vigorously.

"Good to see you, Harry," he said in his usual pompous way.

Harry grinned. "Thanks, Percy. Good to see you, too," he said as Ron, Ginny and Hermione were greeted by the other Weasley brothers.

"Everyone," Ron said, distinctly clearing his throat and addressing the entire household, which was now squished comfortably into the kitchen. He took Leah's hand and stood her in the middle of the kitchen so everyone could get a clear look at her. They all stopped talking at once.

Harry could see Leah's face turn a brighter shade of magenta as Ron introduced her to the entire family.

"This is Leah York," Ron said. Leah covered her eyes with one hand, lowering her face in embarrassment, and raised her head again as Ron named off his older brothers.

"It's a pleasure, Leah," said Mrs Weasley kindly, getting up from her chair. "Have a seat. I'll get you all some juice. Cookies anyone? I've just baked them." She walked over to Leah, gave her a comforting squeeze on the arm and led her to a seat. Ron sat down next to her at the table, where Ginny was squished between her twin brothers, Harry took a seat next to Hermione, who was settled next to Bill.

"Ron told me you're a Quidditch player," said Charlie, turning to Leah, whose face had gone back to its original color.

"I'm a Chaser, along with Ginny on the Gryffindor team," she told him, quickly growing out of her shyness.

"I was a Seeker when I was at Hogwarts. Captain, too. I could teach you a few moves myself, if you ever need any pointers," Charlie offered as Mrs Weasley set two heaping plates of warm chocolate chip cookies in front of the whole group.

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley," Harry and Hermione chorused.

"Yeah," said Fred, plucking a cookie from the platter. "Thanks, Mrs Weasley. Where's the juice, eh?" he asked, quirking a brow.

Mrs Weasley ambled back to the fridge. "You can get it yourself, young man. I cringe to think what your flat looks like," she muttered to herself, pulling open the refrigerator.

"It looks great, mum!" George called back. "Mould never tasted better," he said and everyone except Percy sniggered at the table.

"Indeed," Mrs Weasley said with a stern glance at her twin sons. Though she smiled.

*

After an hour of sitting around the table, chatting about Hogwarts, Quidditch, and Fred and George's joke shop, Harry stood up, claiming he had to open his house for the holidays.

"Thanks for the snack, Mrs Weasley," said Hermione as she stood up with Harry.

"Will you two need a lift?" asked Mr Weasley. "Your trunks are still in the car," he reminded them.

"Nonsense," Mrs Weasley said, turning to her husband. "We'll just drop off the trunks later," she said, giving him a meaningful look.

Mr Weasley cleared his throat and nodded. "Not a problem. Have a good evening, you two," he said to Harry and Hermione, the latter of whom didn't understand in the least why Mrs Weasley was insistent on letting them both have some time alone together.

"It's because they figure we want a private snogging session," Harry explained to Hermione, as they walked hand in hand to Harry's home.

Hermione giggled, rolling her eyes. "It's not us they'll have to worry about," she said, thinking of Ron and Leah.

Harry sniggered with her in complete agreement. "Not just Ron, either," he added, reading her thoughts.

Hermione grew solemn, pondering how to phrase her next question. Then:

"You really think you're doing the right thing, Harry? Are you sure?"

"Well...if I'm not...then I'm in trouble, because I can't back out now. And besides, I am sure. Though to be quite honest, I don't know how. All I know is that if Ron finds out...it'll be over between us. He'd never forgive me," Harry said, his voice shaking.

Hermione said nothing to this, because the same bout of guilt that hung on Harry's shoulders also hung on hers. If Ron did indeed find out about the new secret that she and Harry were keeping from him, her friendship with Ron would be as over has Harry's.

"How about you? Are you OK with it?" asked Harry.

Hermione squeezed his hand in reassurance, and gave him a warm smile. "I trust you. And you need to do this," she added. "For Ginny, for Malfoy and for yourself."

Harry nodded gratefully, ignoring the queasy feeling he was getting in his stomach.

"It's probably a good thing," Hermione continued, as they made their way up the veranda of Harry's home, "that Leah is here. She can keep Ron occupied. It'll be easier to keep Ron out of the house," she told Harry.

Harry brightened slightly at this, seeing her reasoning.

He unlocked the door with the silver key, and pushed open the oak door, revealing the darkened household that was Harry and Sirius' home.

"Come on," Harry told her into the silent house. "Let's get started."

Hermione followed Harry through the house, lighting lamps and candles, opening curtains and fixing the house by dusting miscellaneous objects, fluffing cushions and doing a general job of tidying.

About half an hour later, Harry checked his watch for the hundredth time, and heaved a resigned sigh, looking at Hermione, who didn't know what to say.

Harry approached the fireplace and lit a blazing fire that warmed the house instantly. Hermione approached Harry, stood next to him, and gazed at the framed photographs on the mantle.

There was one of Baby Harry, being held by his father and mother, who were smiling brightly and waving at the camera. Another picture was taken of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, and Lily Evans, in their early years at Hogwarts. Each of the guys seemed to be struggling to get the best spot in the picture, while Lily desperately tried to get the picture-taker (probably Peter Pettigrew) to wait until they were ready. The next framed photo was of the more recent years, with Ron, Hermione and Harry grinning into the camera with playful tongues sticking out, mischief in their clear eyes. The last picture was of the Weasley family, all nine of them. Fred and George stood behind them all, sticking out "bunny ears" from Ron's and Ginny's heads as the two youngest Weasleys stood next to each other. Each Weasley was smiling broadly into the camera, though Mrs Weasley, after noticing Fred and George, started to scold them.

Hermione glanced sideways at Harry, and slipped her hand into his surprisingly cold one.

"Hey," she said, snapping his attention from his own deep thoughts.

He looked down at her, smiling reassuringly, and nodded as though to say that he was all right.

Then a distinct swooshing noise came from the fireplace, and Harry and Hermione stepped back automatically, just in time to see Draco Malfoy appear from the fireplace in a swirl of emerald green smoke.

His robes were sooty, and he coughed out some smoke before opening his eyes completely. His trunk lay at his feet, and he nearly tripped over it, blinded by the soot in his eyes.

"Watch it," Harry warned, stepping forward to remove the obstacle in his path. Malfoy coughed again, loudly, and then all was silent.

"Everything went all right, then?" Harry asked Malfoy.

"As well as they could have," Malfoy replied, now glancing around the family room, taking in the surroundings.

"Criticize all you like, Malfoy. I have no problem with letting you sleep outside," Harry said testily, mistaking the expression on his face.

Malfoy smiled. "So quick to jump to conclusions, Harry. It's cozy," he added after a few seconds, nodding approvingly.

Harry. He had said it again. Not Potter, in his usual sneering way. He had called him Harry.

At Hogwarts, when Malfoy and Harry had had their last conversation, Harry had suggested to Malfoy that he come spend the holidays with them, having found out that Malfoy was not, in fact, planning to go back home to his Manor. This was mostly a favor to Ginny, and only Harry's deep fondness for the red-head he considered his sister drove him to suggest such an idea.

When Professor McGonagall went around collecting names of those students who would be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, Draco Malfoy did not sign up, and instead pretended that he would be going to his Manor for the holidays. He had sent an owl to his father, stating clearly that he would be staying at Hogwarts for the holidays. Lucius Malfoy hadn't even bothered to reply, and so the plan continued to form itself.

Earlier that day, when all the students were piling into the Hogsmeade station to board the Express, Malfoy had sneaked away, and hidden himself in the Three Broomsticks, waiting for the prearranged time when he would travel by Floo powder to Harry's home.

The most difficult part of Malfoy staying with Harry and Hermione was keeping himself hidden. None of the Weasleys, with the exception of Ginny, were supposed to find out that Malfoy was staying at Harry's. Harry had forewarned Malfoy that he would be spending a lot of his time hidden upstairs in the spare bedroom, and Malfoy had agreed wholeheartedly, without a single complaint. He had told Harry that even if it meant spending only five minutes out of the entire two weeks with Ginny, it was a far better holiday than spending it with his own family, firmly reminding Harry that he, in fact, loved Ginny and would literally do anything for her. Which satisfied Harry -- and Hermione -- when he had told her about the plan before the holidays had started.

That had been the other catch to Malfoy staying with them. If Hermione did not agree with it, the offer was out. But Hermione, instead of being shocked, repelled and disgusted, had claimed with her usual optimism that Malfoy staying with them could prove to be extremely promising, and perhaps would end the tiring, life-long feud between Potter and Malfoy.

Harry took a deep breath, considering something for a moment, then stepped around the sofa, motioning for Malfoy and Hermione to follow him.

Harry led them to the spare bedroom upstairs, down the hall from Harry's own room.

"You can stay here," Harry told him.

Malfoy passed Harry, stepped into the room, taking a long look. He dropped his trunk at the foot of the bed, and turned to Harry with a blank expression on his face.

"Well, I'm sure it's not anything like your room at the Manor," Harry said, jumping to the defensive, clearly interpreting his silence for great disgust of where he'd be forced to sleep.

But Malfoy smiled and turned back to the bed, his gaze fixed on a teddy bear that lay on the pillow. He turned back to Harry, quirking a brow.

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, and rushed over, picking up the bear. "Sorry, it's mine. I must have left it here the last time I stayed," she explained. And Harry remembered the previous summer when Hermione had spent two weeks with Harry and Sirius.

Harry stared at Malfoy, who stared back, and finally Harry seemed to come to his final decision.

"If we're going to be friends, Draco, I want to tell you something...one friend to another."

Hermione shot a surprised look at Harry, but said nothing, letting him continue. Malfoy also seemed to be focusing on every word he spoke.

"If I ever hear the word "Mudblood" again, even one more time..." Harry said, straining to keep his voice under control, "I will have no problems unleashing all the Weasleys on you, one by one. Do you understand?" he asked, calmly looking into Draco Malfoy's face.

Malfoy's face remained carefully blank, but Harry thought he could see his throat twitch, as if wanting to say something, but unsure how to say it. He seemed to be struggling with his own thoughts, and finally he turned to Hermione.

"I'm sorry...Hermione," he said, matching Harry's same calm tone, but with a touch of unmistakable regret. Harry knew that in most cases, an apology would typically require an elaboration of sorts. But he also knew at this moment that Malfoy meant every word. The problem was, did Hermione?

Hermione, who's face had turned red with Harry's approach to defend and protect her from Malfoy, and then from Malfoy's direct apology, drew a deep breath, now dealing with her own contradicting thoughts.

Slowly, coming to the decision, she pardoned him with a single nod.

And then it seemed as though an invisible switch had just flicked on. Immediately the house cleared of the tension that had been born since Draco had arrived. Hermione smiled reassuringly to Harry, who sighed with relief.

Draco smiled, too, and grinned at Harry.

"Well then," Draco said, also feeling that the air had been cleared of many unspoken thoughts, "if this is where I'm sleeping, where will Hermione be spending the next two weeks, I wonder?" he asked slyly, looking from Hermione's blushing face to Harry's mischievous grin.

Draco returned the same grin, and Hermione glowered at the both of them.

"Oh, get off it!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "I'm still in the room, you know," and huffing in embarrassment and mild anger, she turned on her heel and exited the guestroom.

And for the first time since the two former rivals met more than six years ago, Draco and Harry shared in a delighted laugh.

*

The following week passed comfortably enough, with little incident. Only once had there been a close call, when Ron had shown up quite unexpectedly early one morning, marching into the kitchen where Harry, Hermione and Draco were eating breakfast. Draco, as fast as his feet could carry him, hid himself in the pantry until Harry could hastily direct Ron into the recreation room, so Draco could speed through the living room and upstairs to his own room.

Since that incident, Harry had become extra cautious and pleaded with Ron to knock first before entering the house. Ron, in his infamous ways, found it necessary to question this hasty pleading, and to Harry's embarrassment, Ron had come to the conclusion that Harry and Hermione were getting quite "experimental" during their time alone.

"Well, it's a lot better than Ron knowing the truth, isn't it?" said Hermione once Harry had told her this. Harry goggled at her.

The week before Christmas, Hermione had spent her nights with Harry, and Harry, after much contemplation, realized that he had never slept so well than when Hermione was in his arms.

Now December 25th dawned bright and cheerful, though very chilly. Harry didn't feel the cold, however. He only felt Hermione's warm breath on the base of his throat, her naked body pressed against his own, with a thick comforter thrown over them.

Harry didn't want to get up. It was Christmas morning, after all, but Harry felt that he would much rather stay in bed for the rest of the holidays. He had never felt so peaceful and contented. Later that day he was to spend with the Weasleys. They wanted him and Hermione over for both lunch and dinner, and Harry was very much looking forward to it...but nothing would ever measure up to the feeling of Hermione snuggled tightly in his arms.

She wasn't sleeping. Her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes were closed, but her breathing was steady, and there was movement behind her closed eyelids.

"Hey," he whispered, as his one hand found a stray lock of her hair and moved it away from her face.

She moaned a barely audible sigh.

"Happy Anniversary," he greeted as his heart suddenly swelled with love for her.

One whole year had passed, and it felt so unreal that it had only been just a year. So much had happened since then, and yet...nothing at all. At one end of the spectrum it felt like Harry had been with Hermione for years and years, then at the other end it felt just like yesterday that Harry had given Hermione the Friendship ring, the same ring that circled Hermione's third finger on her right hand. It wasn't called the Friendship ring anymore. After freeing the doomed spirit half a year ago, Harry had dubbed it the Promise ring, and Hermione had never taken it off once since that fateful day in the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione gave another small moan, and without opening her eyes her hand sought out his, and she squeezed it tightly within her grip.

"I love you," she murmured, and on impulse, Harry pressed a kiss to her lips.

"Thank God for that," he replied, making Hermione giggle. Keeping her eyes still closed, she pressed her body to his, and gave a happy sigh.

"Goodness," she said, in a dreamy stupor, "have I ever told you that you have an amazing body?" she asked, her hand gripping his one arm appreciatively.

Harry smiled. "No, actually, I don't believe you have," he told her. "Care to elaborate?"

The hand that had gripped Harry's harm slid under the covers away from view until it latched onto a body part that made Harry yelp with considerable volume and immense alarm.

Hermione giggled, withdrawing her hand. "Where to begin?" And then she cracked open one eye, giving him a sly smile. "And you had better keep your voice down," she told him. "You'll wake up poor Draco."

Harry turned his face into the pillow and gave a muffled snort of amusement. He turned his face back to her, finding that he couldn't keep his wide grin at bay.

"Me?" he said, a mad gleam in his green eyes. "That's only if you didn't keep him awake all last night. Gosh, the noises that you made. I never knew you were capable..." he said.

Hermione covered her face with her one hand in embarrassment, finding that it was burning with humiliation.

"Well," she said, after Harry's laughter died down, "I do learn from the best, do I not?" she asked, a single brow quirked, as though daring him to deny what she was suggesting.

"I do not make noises like that," he replied in mild indignation.

Hermione buried herself into his chest to muffle her laughter, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as close as possible to him. Their laughter died, and the silence increased, but it was a comfortable silence, full of soft touching, occasional kisses and dreamy expressions on their faces.

"Sit up. There's something I want to give you," Harry said, his heart thumping with excitement and a touch of nervousness.

Hermione looked at him curiously. "What is it?" she asked, a bright smile lighting up her face.

"It's a surprise," Harry answered, sitting up and reaching down underneath his bed.

Hermione sat up, propped up against the pillows just as Harry was. Her smile had not faded.

Harry brought out a small wooden case, (big enough to hold jewelry) with intricately carved flowers and wreaths all around the edges.

Hermione, taking the box eagerly, but with a touch of suspicion and humor said, "more enchanted jewelry? Didn't you learn your lesson last time?"

Harry tossed her a fake indignant look. "Hey--if it hadn't been for that ring--"

"I'd still love you. And just as much," Hermione responded before he could finish his sentence.

"Open it!" Harry urged eagerly, making Hermione laugh at his enthusiasm. She pried open the box, glancing down.

"Wha-" she gasped, lifting out a small pendant.

Harry's gift appeared to be a clear glass sphere, small enough to match the size of a large marble. Floating inside the marble, as Hermione peered at it very closely, was something that made Hermione's heart leap into her throat. A young and very beautiful girl floated within the glass sphere with eyes closed. She had long, waist-length silvery hair, and porcelain-like features.

"Harry! Is that the--"

Harry smiled. "Yes, it's the Princess," he told her, as she looked at him with wide, surprised eyes. He laughed nervously.

"But...how!?" she exclaimed.

Harry shrugged, remembering the steps he had to take. "I had Dumbledore place me in a trance so I could envision the Spirit in precise detail, just as I remembered her. While I was still in the trance, Professor McGonagall coached me to Transfigure the heart of the glass sphere into the vision of the Ring-Spirit," Harry explained.

Hermione was staring at the pendant, mouth opened in awe. She ran two fingers along the smooth sphere, a tear coursing down her cheek. She could practically hear the sweet, melodic voice of the Princess' Spirit.

"She's exactly like how I remembered her...Oh, Harry!"

Hermione threw herself into his arms, which was difficult considering how they were sitting, but their mouths seemed to be able to find each other, and they shared a warm kiss.

Pulling away, Harry said, "I thought it would be nice if I give you something that reminded you of our...first year together. When we're old and decrepit with 50 grandchildren, 20 great grandchildren and so on...you can look at this and remember how it all began..."

Hermione smiled, eyes moist. "The future you see sounds so wonderful..." She looked down at the pendant, still smiling. "I love it. I'll always cherish it," she promised, clutching it tightly in her fist, and she felt the heat from the sphere warm up her whole body.

"But just so you know," she added, tucking the pendant back into the box, "I'd never forget how it all began. You know that, right?"

Harry took the box from her and placed it on his nightstand. He took Hermione's hand and kissed her fingers.

"I love you so much," he told her, his eyes burning like coals.

Hermione smiled. "You've told me that a hundred times already. It's like you're afraid that I'm going to forget how much you love me."

"Aren't you?"

Hermione squeezed his hand tightly into hers, her eyes moist.

"As much as you tell me how much you love me, as often as you say "I love you", whether it's constant or not, I'll always know. I love to hear you say it to me all the time, but I don't want you to think that I don't feel your love whenever you're not sharing a bed with me, or sitting beside me at breakfast. If there's one thing that the Princess has taught me, it's that your love is in me, with me, and it's something that just grows stronger with every passing day."

Harry sighed, brushing his fingers through her messy, brown hair. "Thank you."

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "What for, honey?"

"For washing away my insecurities," answered Harry. "Thank you for being you."

"Just as long as you never change," Hermione replied.

"It's a deal, love."

Hermione lay back down and settled her head on Harry's chest, her arm draped over him, his arms around her frame. They lay, silent and thankful of each other.

"We should get up," Harry told her, after what seemed a very long time.

Hermione, whose face was buried in Harry's chest still, shook her head vehemently.

"Let's just stay here until the end of time," she said dreamily.

"Oooh, I'd sell my Firebolt for a chance at that," he said truthfully. "But it's Christmas, and Sirius is going to be here very soon. Not to mention the Weasleys, who are expecting us in a few hours time, and Draco Malfoy, who's still stuck in his room," Harry reminded his girlfriend.

"And don't forget Remus," Hermione added, sitting up again.

Harry slapped a hand to his forehead. "Blimey, I did forget. See? Do you see how much we have to do today?" His face showed nothing but calm, but Hermione could detect the worried tone in his voice.

She looked at him in mild concern.

"Are you OK? I mean...you don't sound so well," she said.

Harry looked sideways at her. "I just realized that Sirius is returning today...and that Remus is going to be here later. It's just that..."

"You thought you'd have more time?" Hermione asked.

Harry answered her with a short nod.

Hermione touched a hand to his arm, squeezing reassuringly.

"It's just that," Harry continued, "I have to tell Sirius about Draco. And then I have to tell him about his Christmas present. Am I doing the right thing?" he asked.

Hermione gave a sly smile. "Isn't it a little late to be backing out now?" she asked, laughing lightly. "And besides, you've worked hard on Sirius' present. However, you don't have to give it to him if you don't want to. But don't forget either, that Remus will be there when you give it to him."

Harry nodded again.

"And as far as Draco is concerned, Sirius doesn't seem to be the type to get angry over something like that. The worst he'd do is toss Draco out on his behind. And Sirius would never go that far."

Harry nodded, smiled, and gave her hand a light squeeze in return.

"Thanks," he said. "But even you can't say how he'll react to his Christmas present," he added logically.

"Maybe not," Hermione agreed. "But you had Remus and Dumbledore help you with it, and they know him better than anyone else we know. They would never have agreed to help you if they didn't think it was a good idea...or if they thought that Sirius wouldn't want to know."

Harry considered her logic for a moment, agreeing with it, but still unsure of himself.

Hermione gave him a reassuring kiss on the cheek and sat up, letting the comforter fall from her naked body before slipping into a house robe.

"I'll be a few minutes in the bathroom," she told him, smiling sweetly.

She exited the room, and not even two seconds later she burst back into the room and threw herself onto Harry with an excited screech. She rained his face and chest with kisses.

"Happy Anniversary," she whispered into his ear before pressing a heated kiss to his lips. She pulled away and exited the room without a backward glance, leaving Harry quite light-headed, his body pulsing with love for her.

To Be Continued...

***

Note from Fae: Well--part one is over. There are 4 chapters in total which take place over the Christmas holidays. Some questions have been answered and still many more remain to BE answered. How will Sirius react to the thought of a Malfoy in his home? What exactly did Harry get his godfather for Christmas? And what does Remus have to do with any of it? I'll promise to post if you promise to come back!

Thanks again,

Fae

11. Christmas at the Burrow

Circle's Close

Chapter 11: Christmas at the Burrow
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: fae_child@hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: While enjoying Christmas Day at the Burrow with the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione and Ron discover a sinister occurance, at which point Harry decides to follow his instincts.
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Fae's Quickie: This chapter takes place directly after the last. I normally don't do chapters like this, but here I was left no choice. (Don't ask why). Anyway, enjoy!

Special Thanks: To Gary Skinner, as always, for this chapter entirely. He's a brilliant beta, friend and writer. And more thanks out to the readers and reviewers, for taking the time to read and review!

***

Harry's thoughts trailed off to his godfather, who would be arriving within the next hour or so. His stomach tightened with guilt. Sirius Black did not know that Harry had been keeping Draco Malfoy hidden in their home. And personally, Harry had no idea how his godfather really would react. He did, however, assume that Sirius would be extremely disappointed in him, and he feared more than anything that he would lose his godfather's trust, as it meant every thing to him.

15 minutes later, Hermione emerged from the bathroom, re-entering Harry's room, her hair in dripping wet, tight curls. She busied herself with getting dressed while Harry quickly took his own shower, waves of nervous guilt washing over him as he did so, still thinking of Sirius' reaction.

When Harry got dressed, he and Hermione made their way to Draco's room, finding him rummaging through his trunk, seemingly looking for clothes to wear.

"Sirius is going to be here around 10," Harry told him, as he and Hermione sat comfortably on the bed.

"Right," answered Draco, looking up from his trunk with a faint smile on his face.

"Don't worry, though," Hermione jumped in quickly, "once Harry speaks with Sirius, it'll be OK. Just for now…"

"Stay in my room, and be a good boy," Draco finished for her.

Hermione's jaw snapped shut, looking genuinely apologetic.

"It's OK, guys. I don't mind. Ginny keeps saying that good things are worth waiting for. Patience was never my virtue--but I'm starting to believe her." Draco admitted.

Harry smiled in reply, thankful for Draco's acceptance, even if it was just for show. Later on that night, every thing would be out in the open, and Harry couldn't wait until everything was just so much...simpler.

Harry also had to marvel at how comfortable the three of them felt around each other. After Draco's apology to Hermione, things had changed drastically for all of them, and Harry found that there were things about Draco that he actually found admirable, even enjoyable. He couldn't believe that he and Draco had lived in total hatred of each other over six whole years. Hermione also had confessed to Harry that she could see what Ginny saw in him.

"Expect Ginny over around lunch time," Harry said to Draco. "She plans to skip out after we open presents."

Draco smiled appreciatively. "Thanks. At least I don't have to wait until dinner to see her."

"Oh, yeah," Hermione piped up. "I'll pre-make your dinner and you and Ginny can eat upstairs, here. All you'll have to do is heat it up. OK?"

Harry thought it would be impossible for Draco to look even more appreciative than he already was, but Draco proved him wrong by giving Hermione a look of deep, utter respect.

"You don't have to do that, Hermione," he objected.

"Don't be silly!" exclaimed Hermione, smiling her own sweet smile. "It's absolutely no problem. Besides..." Hermione looked sidelong at Harry.

Reading her thoughts, Harry finished the sentence for her.

"We know exactly what it's like having to keep a relationship a secret. We had to; last year. For most of the school year. We didn't really have anyone to help us through it. Eventually there'll come a day when you will be able to 'come out', but until then, Hermione and I are here for you."

"And you won't have to worry about Remus and Sirius. They'll keep this to themselves. As it turns out, last year Sirius knew all about Harry and me, and never said a word. We know we can trust them," Hermione added.

Draco's already pale face seemed to lose whatever color it held.

"Remus? As in Remus Lupin? He's coming too?" he asked in a choked voice.

"Oh," Harry said, realizing he had forgotten to tell Draco about their last-minute addition. "Something came up. I had to contact Remus, and he'll be arriving in time for dinner. Though he'll be eating dinner with us at the Weasleys, he will be spending the remaining holidays with us...here," Harry explained.

Draco gulped audibly.

"It's just that...he hated me...Lupin. Both he and Sirius hate me..."

"We've told you not to worry about that," Hermione insisted. "I have extreme faith that they'll accept you. They have to...if for no other reason than the fact that they both care for Harry, and respect him."

Draco seemed visibly relieved to hear this. He nodded, staying silent.

Harry took this opportunity to get his day going, and stood up, Hermione following suit.

"I'll bring you up your breakfast, Draco. Just take it easy up here. Enjoy the peace while it lasts," she told him with a wink and exited the room.

Harry followed her, then stuck his head back in the door.

"Hey," he said to Draco, whose head was bent into his trunk still. He looked up.

"Merry Christmas...in spite of the conditions," Harry greeted with a grin.

Draco grinned back. "Same to you, Harry."

*

"There," sighed Hermione, looking at the clock on the mantle over the fireplace. It was just a few minutes before 10 am, and Hermione had just delivered Draco his Christmas morning breakfast. Harry and Hermione had a few minutes to spare, and they spent this time tidying the house, and making sure that the Christmas tree looked immaculate with piles and piles of presents underneath.

During their first week of holidays, Hermione, Harry and Draco had kept themselves busy by decorating the entire house full of Christmas decorations. Harry had been startled when Draco had revealed that he had never decorated a Christmas Tree in his entire life, and that the Malfoy Manor had never seen a Christmas decoration since Draco could remember. The idea of such an absurdity made him laugh with mild bitterness, and Harry had given him an apologetic smile.

It was then that Harry realized that this was a Christmas that not only he would remember until the day he died, but it would be memorable for both Sirius and Draco as well, even if Draco was forced to stay in his room mostly during the day. Night seemed to be the only safe time for him to exit his bedroom, and night was when Ginny found herself at Harry's house, with or without her parents' permission.

Harry could hear a car pulling into the driveway, and he and Hermione rushed to the front door, yanking it open to reveal Sirius Black exiting his car, looking strained. But once he saw them at the doorway, rushing out to help him with his bundles and trunk, his handsome face split into a wide grin, and he waved enthusiastically.

"Merry Christmas, Sirius!" exclaimed Hermione, who was the first to reach him and wrap him into a welcoming hug, which he returned in abundance.

"Same to you, same to you," he exclaimed jovially, as Harry reached them both and included himself in the hug.

Together, with their hands full of packages and bundles, they walked into the warm, inviting house, and Harry heard Sirius in front of him give a satisfied sigh.

"It's so good to be home," he said.

"It's good to have you home," Harry said truthfully, dropping the packages under the brightly decorated tree, and he motioned for Hermione to do the same. He chose to ignore the bout of guilt he felt again, concentrating completely on his godfather.

"How was work, then? Since you found it so necessary to keep working during the holidays," Harry said, with a tinge of bitterness.

Sirius turned to him after surveying the house with a quick glance. His expression was not one of annoyance, but one of apology.

"Sorry," Harry quickly apologized, before Sirius could. "I just...missed you. Having you around all the time...and then suddenly not having you...I just get paranoid sometimes."

It felt much easier to speak his mind, now that the spoken situation had passed. He felt silly expressing his concern, but he would have felt a lot sillier had he said these things a week ago.

Sirius smiled, his light eyes shining with appreciation.

"I missed you, too. Both of you," he added to Hermione, who smiled in return. "And to answer your question, my work isn't done."

Harry's eyes widened, flashing with brief anger. "They're still making you work?!" he exclaimed incredulously.

"They're not making me. I'm doing a special favor for Dumbledore," said Sirius. "I have enough time to sit with you for a couple of hours, then I have to do this one last thing. I'll be gone just for a couple of hours."

After a moment, Harry realized that his mouth was hanging wide open, his green eyes flashing with anger. Hermione sensed his frustration, moving to him and placing a delicate hand on his upper arm. She squeezed gently, peering into his face with a look of calm serenity.

"Hey," she said, jarring him out of his angry stupor. "It's OK. If this is what Sirius has to do..." She looked back at Sirius, who was watching Harry closely.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I know this means a lot to you. But it's just this one last thing, and I swear, once it's finished, I won't lift a finger for the rest of the holidays." Sirius' eyes shone with sincere apology that didn't go unnoticed by Harry.

"Yeah," Harry finally said, thinking of Draco Malfoy upstairs, the guilt on his own shoulders and deciding that being a hypocrite wasn't exactly a Harry Potter thing to do. He forced a smile on his face. "I understand."

Sirius smiled and sighed with relief, and they all sat down in the living room, in front of the fire and the Christmas Tree.

"It looks wonderful," Sirius told them while looking at the colorful tree, as they explained what they had been up to all week.

Hermione continued to talk with Sirius while Harry's thoughts drifted, glancing at the framed photos on the mantle that hung over the fireplace.

During the first week while Draco and Harry had been decorating the living room (at which point Hermione had been in the kitchen cooking), Draco had lifted one of the photos from the mantle into his hand and had stared at it for what seemed a very long time. Then he had looked at Harry with the oddest expression on his face.

"Your parents?" he asked.

Harry nodded, and realized that even though Draco had known all about his parents' death, he had never known what they had looked like.

"You have your mum's eyes," Draco said, with a trace of a smile on his face.

"So everyone tells me," Harry replied, surprised that he didn't feel the least bit threatened by this supposed violation.

"You're tall like your dad, though. Got his hair, too," Draco remarked. He looked up at Harry from the framed photo of Lily and James Potter who were holding Baby Harry.

Harry smiled back. "I've been told that I look exactly like my father," he said.

Draco nodded in agreement, smiling again. "Isn't it funny how for some people, looking like their fathers makes them proud, even happy? And for others...they consider it a curse?"

Harry looked at him in surprise. But before he could say anything Draco was speaking again.

"For what it's worth, Harry," and he gave a small laugh through his nose, "and I very much doubt it's worth anything at all, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyway..."

Harry stared at him, waiting.

Draco looked back down at the photo. "I'm sorry," he said shortly.

Harry didn't know what exactly the apology was for. Was it for his parents' death? Or the fact that Draco Malfoy had tormented him for six years about it? Or perhaps because his own father had been involved with the one who actually killed his parents? Then again, maybe he was apologizing for all three, so Harry nodded briefly.

"Thank you."

"--dreaming again."

Harry sat up, startled out of his memory.

"Sorry?" he asked, looking at both Hermione and Sirius who were looking at him with humorous eyes.

"You weren't paying attention, were you," said Hermione. "Dreaming again?"

Harry smiled guiltily. "Sorry," he apologized again. "I'm a little tired...didn't get much sleep last night."

Sirius cleared his throat. "Is that so?" he said, quirking a brow.

Hermione stood up suddenly, and declared that she was going to finish up making their breakfast. Harry laughed, catching the redness in her face as she sped off through the living room.

They ate breakfast and chatted until just before noon, when Sirius announced that he had to leave, and would see them in a couple of hours. Which meant that Harry was free to go upstairs, inform Draco that he and Hermione would be going to the Burrow, and assured him that Ginny would arrive around noon.

*

"This one is from both Leah and myself," Ron said to Hermione, holding out a large bundle to her.

Hermione accepted the Christmas gift, nearly dropping it from its weight.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly, looking more bashful than Harry could ever remember her looking.

She delicately removed the red and green wrappings as a large, hard-cover book fell out.

"Muggle-born Witches and Their Contribution to the Magical World," Hermione read, her mouth dropping in awe. She looked up at Ron and Leah, positively beaming.

"Mum and Dad helped us find it. It's old, it hasn't been updated in years," Ron explained, looking slightly embarrassed.

"But chances are when they put out a new edition, they'll have a whole chapter on you," Mr Weasley added, making everyone laugh, including Hermione.

"I love it! Oh thanks, you guys!" And Hermione threw her arms first around Ron, then around Leah, thanking them profusely.

"Well, I think that leaves just one more," said Charlie, standing up. "We wanted to save this for last, Ron," and he exited the living room, all of the other eight Weasleys, Leah, Harry and Hermione waiting for him to return, with Ron looking extremely puzzled and amazed at the same time.

Charlie returned with a long, thin package and handed it to Ron, before taking his seat next to Percy.

Everyone seemed to be bubbling with a quiet excitement, Ron staring at the package in utter shock. It wasn't exactly difficult to figure out what the gift was by looking at it.

"Open it!" hissed Fred impatiently, smiling with everyone else.

Ron shook himself out of his stupor, tore off the deep blue wrapping paper and revealed the present within.

"Oh, wow..."he gushed, his mouth dropping open, finding that he couldn't keep it closed.

It was, of course, a broom. Perfectly polished, well kept and beautiful to every last detail. The handle read: "Nimbus 3000".

"Wow!" he exclaimed again. He knew that the Nimbus 3000 wasn't the best, as the Firebolt would exceed any of the Nimbus series, but he also knew that it was extremely expensive, and considered a first-rate broom.

"We all chipped in," Bill said, nodding to each Weasley.

"You deserve one, honey," said Mrs Weasley. "We know it's not the best, but--"

"It is the best, Mum. This is incredible!" Ron said, breathing heavily with excitement.

"One thing's for sure-- Malfoy certainly doesn't have a broom as good as this," George said with some satisfaction.

Harry shot a glance at Ginny, who was staring at her own feet, afraid that the expression on her face would reveal what she was keeping from her whole family. Looking beside him, he could see Hermione doing the same.

The Weasleys laughed at George's statement.

"Just wait until we get back to Hogwarts, eh, Harry?" said Ron, a triumphant gleam in his bright blue eyes. "I can't wait to see the expression on Malfoy's face."

Harry gave the Weasleys a fake smile, guilt hitting him in the form of nausea. He hoped the Weasleys hadn't noticed his face flushing red.

Hermione gave a high, false cough, while Ron, Leah and the others continued to ogle at the broom.

"Mr Weasley?" she said, catching the older man's attention.

As if speaking in a silent, understood language, Mr Weasley jumped to his feet, nodding enthusiastically before exiting the room.

Harry's eyes narrowed in confusion, and Hermione explained to him what Mr Weasley was getting for her.

After having disappeared for a moment or two, Mr Weasley returned with Hermione's request and handed her a stack of newspapers before taking his seat next to his wife.

"What's that, Hermione?" asked Ron, just barely taking his eyes off of his broom.

"The Daily Prophet, a weeks worth," Hermione said shortly, glancing at the top issue with a mad gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"Why would you care about week-old news?" asked Ron, looking aghast.

"Like I've told you time and time again, Ron. It's always good to keep up with the wizarding world," said Hermione without looking up.

"Hey? Where's Ginny gotten to?" asked Leah, looking around the living room, which was now cleared of most of the Weasleys.

Harry and Hermione glanced quickly at each other, and Harry shrugged at Leah, hoping he looked clueless.

"Maybe she went for a walk," he suggested. And he breathed a silent sigh of relief at the fact that no one found this suspicious.

"Well, I'm going to use her room to read up on the news in peace. If you need me, you know where to find me," said Hermione, and with her head still bent over the papers, she marched up the many staircases to Ginny's room.

"Leah!"

Harry and Ron jumped. Charlie, who had left a few moments beforehand, had just re-entered the room, his Nimbus 2000 draped over his shoulder.

"Oh, right!" Leah exclaimed. She looked at Ron anxiously.

"Do you think it'd be OK if I used your broom, Ron? I left mine at Hogwarts..."

"'Course," said Ron, looking at his brother curiously. "What's going on then? You gonna teach her your moves?" he asked, grinning.

"Just giving her a few pointers. Though I doubt she'll need any. This is just for fun anyway," he added.

"You don't mind, right?" asked Leah, kneeling down in front of Ron, her dark hair shining from the light that seeped through the curtains. Her big brown eyes twinkled with amusement, her dark red lips spread in a warm smile.

"Course not," Ron said again, and blushed furiously as Leah gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"See you later, then!" and she bolted after Charlie with Ron's new Nimbus thrown over her shoulder.

"Come on," said Harry, standing up himself. "Let's get some fresh air."

Together they walked through the kitchen and through the back door, stepping out onto the snow covered ground dressed in their new jumpers.

"Things are OK with you and Leah?" asked Harry.

Harry couldn't tell whether Ron's face was red from the cold, or from actual embarrassment, but he nodded all the same.

"Good," said Harry, fighting off a smile. They shuffled around the yard, talking about Quidditch. When ten minutes passed, Ron smacked his hand to his forehead.

"Oh, right! I wanted to hear the score on the National Teams," he said and hurried over to the kitchen window which was open ajar to let out the heat that the stove was emitting. "I hope I didn't miss it," Ron added as they approached the window.

The radio was tuned to WWN, Wizarding Wireless Network, but what Harry heard being announced had nothing to do with Quidditch whatsoever.

The newscaster for WWN spoke in a clear voice, "-- still no comment from the Ministry of Magic on the destruction of the Hanging Tree in the village of Ottery St. Catchpole."

Harry and Ron, exchanging extremely puzzled and curious looks, stepped forward to listen better.

"This ancient tree was witness to abominable acts of violence against witches and wizards, many of whom vowed everlasting curses against--"

The newscaster was cut short as the radio was turned off abruptly. Harry and Ron could hear Percy talking to his parents in a heated sort of way.

"You know the kids aren't supposed to know--"

"Kids?" whispered Ron indignantly, glaring. Harry shushed him, and nodded for them to continue listening.

"We know, Percy. We already talked with Sirius about this. The last thing we want is for their vacation to be ruined," came Mrs Weasley's voice, which was slightly higher than usual. Their voices began to fade, and Harry knew that the older Weasleys were taking the conversation elsewhere.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, a deep feeling of foreboding arousing his nerves. Ron grabbed Harry's arm in sudden inspiration.

"Hermione!" he said.

"What about her?" asked Harry.

"She's reading up on the Daily Prophets. Maybe they'll have something about what we just heard in there?"

"It's worth a shot," Harry agreed, as they entered the house.

The two of them hurriedly made their way to Ginny's room and found Hermione sprawled on her stomach on Ginny's bed, reading the most recent Daily Prophet article. The other articles were strewn all over the bed, some scattered on the floor.

They told her about what they heard on the radio, and Hermione, as though a switch in her brain had been flicked on, sat up instantly, and they all searched through the tossed about papers.

"Here!" said Hermione, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet at them. Harry and Ron sat down on the bed next to her, and listened as she read:

"Monday, December 22, 1997.

The Muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole was the scene last night of an incident that has caused ripples throughout the Magical Community.

Shortly after 8:00 p.m., a freak bolt of lightning struck and destroyed the infamous Hanging Tree in the town square. A remnant of an earlier, less civilized age, it has been shunned and all but forgotten by respectable witches and wizards for generations. In times of past, countless victims, both wizard and Muggle, met a horrible end at the hands of hysterical mobs via this barbaric instrument of death.

Many are openly celebrating its destruction, eager to wipe out the dark stains of the past and embrace the fast-approaching 21st century with a clean parchment. Others, however, consider its sudden and violent end an ill omen.

"It was evil to the core," said an old wizard who declined to be named. "Full of Dark Magic, it was. And where's it all gone, then?"

Many are voicing this same question in more concrete form, in letters owled to the Ministry of Magic. Percy Weasley, speaking on behalf of Minister Cornelius Fudge, promises an investigation after the holidays. But the Ministry's official position remains one of unconcern."

"So that's it then," said Harry, as Hermione finished reading, and lowered the paper. "The Hanging Tree."

Hermione handed him the article at his request and he looked at the photo below the article. A large, charred stump was the focus of the picture, while wizards and Muggles moved past it, some puzzled enough to stop and take a look at the destroyed tree. Over the stump, in the background, Harry could clearly see the Clock Tower in the distance.

Hermione frowned, pondering the article that was still clutched in her fist. "There's something odd about this," she said softly, almost speaking to herself.

"What is it?" asked Ron.

Hermione looked up at them both. "I'm not sure. That's just it. But there's something about it..."

Puzzled, but trying to sound reassuring, Harry said, "you'll figure it out. Whatever it is."

In spite of Sirius' warning to stay out of trouble, and in spite of Ron's parents wanting to protect them all, Harry felt that this new situation was more than just a tree being destroyed, and knew that there was more to the Hanging Tree than what most people thought.

Is this what my vision was about, he wondered.

He had told both Hermione and Ron about Trelawney's latest prediction from a month ago, but he didn't have the heart to worry them with his concerns about the article until there was something to worry about. He wanted to be sure before he said anything.

"I want to go into town and check this out," he told them, his mind set in determination. Ron and Hermione both knew that even if they tried to reason with him, their efforts would be futile. Hermione nodded.

"Dad'll let us borrow the car," said Ron, though the corner of his mouth tugged upwards. "We just won't tell him we're going into town. He'll know instantly why we'd be going there," he said.

"I'll drive then," offered Hermione. "I'm not taking any chances with you guys getting behind the wheel. That's just what we need; to hit a tree on Christmas Day."

"You're never going to let us live it down, eh, Hermione?" Ron said indignantly. "It was five years ago!"

Hermoine rolled her eyes, smiling, and led the boys out of Ginny's room.

To Be Continued...

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! And I hope you return for Part Three of the Christmas holidays to find out about the Hanging Tree. And find out what happens when Harry tells his godfather about Draco.

12. The Hanging Tree

Circle's Close

Chapter 12: The Hanging Tree
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: fae_child@hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: It's a History lesson taught by Sirius, as he sits down with the trio and tells them all about the mystery behind the Hanging Tree.
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks: I'd really like to thank Gary Skinner for all his patience, his brilliance and his awesome beta work. I don't even want to think about what this story would be like without him.

And another thank you to Occamy and Bluejello, for their pressure! ^_^

Fae's Quickie: About a week ago I was sitting around, sulking, and drinking away my sorrows with my comfort booze. At which point my Muse directly removed my bottle of whiskey and insisted that I get writing. She sat me down in front of the computer and even rested my fingertips on the keyboard. And then I started writing. But my Muse did not like what she was seeing. She got frustrated with me. I got loud and obnoxious. (What the hell did she expect when she took away my whiskey?) We ended up arguing.

And then--I left the room in a huff. (I'm a lover, not a fighter--and even in my drunken state, I'd rather not lash out at those who are clearly acting out against me in pure hatred). When I left the room, I walked up the stairs...and turned right. I entered my bedroom, yet when I walked in, it wasn't my room. I found myself standing in an endless field of silver daisies. Each petal glittering with a velvety warmth that made my breath catch. And then an overwhelming sense of beauty wrapped around me like a cacoon... and I felt the thrill and excitement of wonder pulsing through my veins once again--like blood pumping endlessly, feeding life into me.

And then my Muse appeared before me, beckoning me with a comforting smile barely gracing her lips, her eyes filled with acceptance and reassurance. And then all I felt was a sense of calmness. I wanted to write. I needed to write. My Muse led me back home (literally and figuratively) and here I am. Telling you my sensational story because I felt I needed to explain to you all why I haven't posted in what...a week?

Thanks for taking the time to read! Enjoy!

"That is the sexiest half man, half horse I have ever seen."
~My brother, spotting Firenze in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

***

The drive from the Burrow to Ottery St. Catchpole was quite peaceful, as light flakes of snow drifted down from the gray sky above them. Harry, Ron and Hermione decided to leave Mr. Weasley's car out of sight, along a more private road, so as not to attract any Muggle attention. From where they deserted the car, they walked the rest of the way to where the Hanging Tree once was. As they approached the scene, a strong, howling wind started to blow from the North, making the falling snow whip against their faces, and the trio struggled with their scarves to block the harsh weather.

It was times like these that Harry wished he could wear his own warm, hooded cloak, as opposed to the winter ski jacket that he was forced to wear. Why couldn't Muggles have the sense to include the same features in their standard clothing? One glance at Ron and Hermione told him that they were wondering the exact same thing.

"Do you think we could go into the cafe over there for shelter?" Ron shouted over the shrieking winds, as he pointed somewhere towards their left. His face was as red as his hair and his teeth chattered as he spoke.

"We can't!" Hermione shouted back. "It's Christmas! Everything is closed!"

Hermione looked far worse off than either Harry or Ron. Her long, chestnut hair whipped across her face, getting into her eyes and mouth as she spoke. Her face was red, her lips chapped, and Harry vaguely wondered if her love for snow stretched this far.

But as they continued to approach the spot where the Hanging Tree once stood, Harry saw a tall figure, his back to them, and oddly enough the cold wind and snow didn't seem to affect the man at all.

Sirius Black simply stood there, hands tucked into his coat pockets, oblivious to the three 17 year-olds approaching him. Harry stopped in his tracks, holding out his arms to stop Hermione and Ron with him.

Ron turned to Harry, his mouth open in horror. Harry could tell exactly what was going through his mind. If Sirius found them there, he would most definitely tell the Weasleys, and Harry wasn't sure whose wrath he'd rather face: A former Marauder, or Molly Weasley.

He thought of turning around and heading straight back to the car, but something held him fast to the ground. Whether it was his cursed curiosity, or whether he was rigid with indecision, Harry couldn't decide.

"Come on," Harry told Ron and Hermione, nodding from them to Sirius. They nodded, matching pained expressions on their faces.

Harry led the way while Hermione and Ron trudged through the accumulating snow behind him.

Harry barely had time to speak, when Sirius slowly turned around, a bemused sort of expression on his face. He didn't look the least bit angry or disappointed, and this was a relief to Harry.

Then he remembered that Sirius was a master at hiding his true feelings, and the relief that Harry had felt quickly evaporated.

"Should I be surprised that you're here?" Sirius asked them.

Hermione and Ron opened their mouths to reply, but closed them, deciding that Harry would probably be the only person able to handle this particular situation.

"We heard about the Hanging Tree, Sirius. First on the news, and then in the Daily Prophet," Harry told his godfather.

"So that would explain why you're here, and not at the Burrow, where you're supposed to be...you know...staying out of trouble like I specifically asked," Sirius said, and Harry flinched.

"We didn't really expect to find you here," Harry said, hoping that this would pass off as an apology.

"And I suppose that makes this OK? Do Molly and Arthur know you're here?" Sirius said, looking sharply at Ron, who took an involuntary step backwards.

"They don't know..." Ron said, swallowing thickly.

"But it was my idea," Harry cut in quickly, drawing Sirius' attention back to himself. He wasn't going to let Ron and Hermione take the blame for something that they weren't responsible for.

Sirius gave Harry a very patient, level look, which in turn only made Harry feel more anxious.

"You weren't supposed to find out about this. The Weasleys didn't want you to know, but I warned them...that you'd eventually figure it out for yourselves," Sirius told them, a corner of his mouth tugging upwards.

Harry was grateful for the howling wind, which meant that Sirius couldn't hear him sigh with a newfound relief.

"Do you know anything?" asked Ron, somewhat more bravely than he felt.

Sirius gave an audible sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. He looked extremely troubled, confused, the lines of fatigue around his eyes making him look weary and exhausted.

"Let's get back to the house," suggested Sirius. "I'll explain all I can there."

*

Harry knew that it was safe to go back to the house, Draco and Ginny were probably on the top floor, and Draco had been warned to stay out of sight.

But as Harry, Hermione, Ron and Sirius entered Harry's home, Ginny was already at the front door, her face was flushed, her brown eyes wide with shock at the sight of them.

"Ginny? What are you doing here?" asked Sirius curiously. The Weasleys were allowed free reign of the house whenever they needed it, so Harry knew that Sirius wasn't upset that he found her in his empty home.

Ginny paused for a moment in the doorway, breathing very fast and trying her best to look calm. Harry and Hermione forced their expressions to match Ron's and Sirius' own look of bewilderment, and waited for her answer.

"B-bathroom...I...n-needed," she stuttered. Ginny took a deep breath and took a moment to gather her bearings.

"I needed to use the bathroom, Sirius. Percy has been spending his entire morning in our own. He's so girly it's scary!"

Ron snorted with laughter, while Sirius merely grinned as Ginny pulled on her coat and slipped on her shoes.

"Could you tell your parents we'll be there around 4?" Sirius asked her.

Ginny nodded with a smile, turning to her brother. "When will you be home, Ron?" she asked.

Ron scratched his head, deep in thought. "Within the hour. I shouldn't be too long here," he said, remembering that his mother wanted his help preparing for Christmas dinner.

"We'll see you then," Ginny said quickly, and closed the door behind her as she left.

After hanging up their own coats and taking off their shoes, the three teenagers and adult made their way into the family room, where Sirius immediately created an inviting fire with a flick of his wand. Hermione, catching Harry's eye, told the others that she needed to use the washroom, and practically ran up the stairs. Harry knew that she was merely giving Draco an extreme warning to stay out of sight.

When she returned, they all took their seats, Hermione on the couch with Harry, Ron on the love seat, while Sirius sat in the armchair. They waited for the older man to begin.

"Maybe we could all use some butterbeer," Sirius suggested, and with another wave of his wand, a tray appeared with four steaming tankards of hot, delicious butterbeer. The tray settled itself on the coffee table, and each of them took a mug.

Now that they were warm and comfortable, Sirius cleared his throat.

"I must press upon you that what you're about to hear is in no way any laughing matter," he told them, looking serious. "Not to mention, Ron, that your parents did not want any of you to find out about this. They made me swear that I wouldn't so much as hint at anything, and to be honest, I didn't agree with them. But I respected their wishes...or at least I tried to."

"Why were you there, Sirius?" Harry asked him again. "Was this the favor for Dumbledore that you mentioned earlier?"

Sirius gave Harry an odd smile, and nodded.

"So that means Dumbledore is worried, doesn't it? If he's sending you to investigate for him," said Hermione.

Sirius turned his gaze to Hermione, a thoughtful expression on his face. "He's being very cautious," was his answer.

"So tell us about the Tree, Sirius," Hermione pleaded, looking very much like the eager student that she was.

Sirius took a sip of his butterbeer, put the mug on the table and drew himself up, making Harry feel like he was straight back in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"In the days before the Ministry of Magic was formed, the wizarding world was one of anarchy," Sirius began. "No one meddled in another's business. On the downside, this also meant that if any witch or wizard got into trouble, there would be no one to help them. So if a group of Muggles surprised a wizard and tied him up, what could he do?"

"A wizard without a wand is no better than a Muggle," Hermione added reasonably.

Sirius nodded, smiling.

"Exactly. Take it from me; even when I had been free from Azkaban those few years, without a wand, my magical abilities were useless. The Ministry snapped my wand once I was arrested," he told them.

"And they provided you with a new one from Ollivander's, once your name was cleared, right?" said Ron knowledgeably, having heard this from his own father.

Sirius nodded, and continued with the brief history lesson.

"Even though there was no order before the Ministry was created, there were still occasional conventions."

"Like the Warlock Convention of 1709, which outlawed dragon breeding, right?" said Hermione, and she bit her bottom lip automatically, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Sorry," she apologized. "Sometimes I just...interrupt people. I don't mean to..."

Sirius and Harry exchanged a grin.

"Not at all, Hermione. Anytime any of you have any questions or comments, interrupt me all you like, OK? Let's just pretend we're in class for a moment."

Harry and Ron nodded while Hermione looked relieved.

Sirius then pressed his hands together, palm-to-palm, and continued with the lesson.

"In the old days, witches were hanged, not burned. And it wasn't just Muggles who did it. In the days of mob rule, a group of good witches and wizards might have hung a Dark wizard."

Ron frowned, puzzled. "Why didn't they just have the Dark wizards destroyed, you know...with the Killing Curse or something?" he asked. "It's obviously more simple than hanging a person..."

Instead of answering straight away, Sirius got up from his seat and started to slowly pace back and forth in front of the fireplace. He looked deep in thought, and Harry wondered if he was actually bothered by the question. But then Sirius turned back to them; his face set in a grave expression, his eyes darker than Harry had ever seen them, reminding him of the person who had spent 12 years in Azkaban.

"Yes," he said slowly, "they could have used the Killing Curse, or some other form of Dark magic. Some did, in fact. But there's a reason why those Curses were finally outlawed. Dark magic corrupts the soul. It exacts toll on the user as much as on the victim. No decent witch or wizard ever relished using it, even in a good cause.

"And even if that weren't the case," he continued, "being destroyed is not necessarily the same thing as dying. Take Harry for example. When Voldemort hurled the Killing Curse at him, it rebounded and hit himself instead. He was destroyed, but not killed. And since he was destroyed by magic... he could be revived by it as well--and he was."

Harry knew that this was true. Voldemort had come back when they had finished their 4th year. And half a year ago, the Ring Spirit had destroyed Voldemort--destroyed--but did that mean he wasn't dead? According to Sirius, this meant that Voldemort could come back.

He looked at Hermione as she looked at him, and he could see her brain working beneath her deep, mocha eyes. She was coming to the exact same conclusion.

But as Harry opened his mouth to ask a question, he heard a peculiar noise coming from outside the family room. A sort of shuffling, a creak of the floor. He turned his head toward the direction of the doorway, expecting to see a certain Slytherin blond lurking nearby. But he saw nothing, and instead turned his attention back to the conversation, where Hermione was now speaking.

"But why this particular tree?" she wondered.

"Well," Sirius said, pondering the question. "The Tree is full of spirits of those Dark wizards who were hanged. In fact, that's what it's mostly famous for. It's even why most Muggles avoid it to this day. People can sense the Dark Spirits that have lingered on after death. Their hatred and desire for vengeance are the ties that bind them to our world. The Tree is pure evil...and it can be used for evil purposes."

Hermione shivered, though the room was far from chilly. Harry resisted the urge to wrap her in his arms, wanting nothing more than to protect her from all that was bad in the world. Instead, he rested his hand on her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze, and she smiled at him in appreciation.

"For now, I'm going to ask you three to watch yourselves, and please...don't get yourselves involved. If there is anything Dark going on, there's nothing that any of you can do."

Harry felt the urge to instantly disagree, but he managed to keep the thought to himself. Maybe Sirius was right; maybe this WAS a situation that would be better off left to the professionals. He glanced at Ron, hoping to get a glimpse of what he was thinking at the moment about this new stack of information, and he noticed Ron's face screwed up in concentration. He looked slightly put out about something.

"Blimey, Sirius," Ron grumbled, avoiding the older man's eyes. "You're still treating us like kids. I'm almost 18, y'know. And as for Harry and Hermione, did you know that Mad-Eye Moody suggested that they would make good Aurors?" he said, and Harry detected a light trace of bitterness in his voice. "I mean, of course it was just Barty Crouch who said it...but the real Moody told Dumbledore the same thing...later on."

Surprisingly, Sirius didn't look the least bit upset at this. In fact, if anything, he looked disappointed.

"I don't doubt it," he said to them. "And a part of me wishes you two were old enough to be trained as Aurors. I'd feel so much better knowing that you two could defend yourselves."

Harry and Hermione exchanged surprised smiles at the compliment, while Ron sat up in his seat, anger flashing in his light blue eyes for not being included, once again. Harry caught this before Ron could say anything by jumping in.

"This is Christmas! We shouldn't be talking about dark spirits, haunted trees, or people getting hanged..."

Sirius heaved a sigh of relief, while Hermione nodded in agreement. Ron simply stared at Harry, looking as though he wanted to say some scathing remark, but nothing came out, and Sirius took this opportunity to swiftly change the subject.

"So, Ron, how's your broom holding out?" Sirius asked the red head, and Ron's eyes widened in sudden remembrance.

"My broom! Leah! I completely forgot about her!"

"You never told her that you were leaving, I take it?" said Hermione, in a lecturing tone.

"I forgot!" Ron cried again, standing up and rushing to the front door.

The others followed him.

"I'm sure Charlie took good care of her," said Harry, a sly twinkle in his eye.

As Ron slipped on his jacket he glared at his wizard friend. Hermione slapped Harry on the arm in a reprimanding way.
"I'll see you at 4, then?" Ron asked.

Sirius smiled kindly at the red head. "We'll see you then, Ron. And if you could-"

Sirius suddenly looked amazingly uncomfortable.

"What is it, Sirius?" Ron asked curiously, not at all certain that he was going to like what Sirius had to say.

"Well...it's just that...could you maybe...not tell your parents what I told you here just a moment ago? Molly Weasley doesn't have a magic eye like Moody, but she seems to miss nothing, and I've never had to face her wrath before."

The two younger wizards and one witch burst out laughing, while Sirius chuckled lightly with them.

"No problem, Sirius. I can't say that I blame you," Ron told the older man, and then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

As Sirius turned to make his way back to the family room, Hermione tugged on Harry's arm, holding him back for a moment.

"Maybe we should tell Sirius about Draco now, before Remus does show up, do you think?" she suggested.

Harry bit his bottom lip, an overwhelming sense of anxiousness settling in his stomach.

So many thoughts were racing through his mind at the moment. How would he tell him? How would Sirius react? Would he throw Draco out? Send him back to the Malfoy Manor, or Hogwarts? And then another thought hit him, worse than anything he had thought so far. Would he tell the Weasleys?

There was nothing he could do about it, Harry realised. Worrying about it didn't help the situation, and Hermione WAS right. Now was the only good opportunity to tell Sirius all about Draco Malfoy.

"OK. You're right," he told her, trying to gather up some confidence.

Hermione hugged Harry close, planting a kiss on his lips, trying to chase away all his self-doubt.

"You're not in this alone, Harry Potter," she told him. "You never have been. If you take the fall, then we take it together, always, remember?"

Harry took a deep breath and smiled. "Thanks," he simply told her, his hand finding hers as their fingers laced together.

They made their way to the family room, where Sirius sat in the armchair, staring at the colorful Christmas tree. Harry and Hermione sat side-by-side on the sofa, closer together now that Ron had left, with their hands still linked together.

Harry took a deep, cleansing breath, ready to take the plunge. It was now, or never.

"Can I ask you a question, Sirius?" Harry asked.

Sirius turned his gaze from the Christmas tree to Harry and Hermione, and catching the terrified expressions on their faces, his eyes suddenly shadowed with concern.

"You know you can," Sirius told him kindly, somehow sensing that Harry was having a very difficult time with what he wanted to say.

But Harry's whole face changed, from worry and fear, to innocent curiosity.

"I was just wondering..." he said, tilting his head to the side, and focusing his eyes on the corner of the ceiling, "how would you feel if..."

The words weren't coming to Harry, and the panic he had felt seemed to double, gripping him painfully. Get the words out, Harry...you've already prepared yourself for the worst, he told himself.

Sirius frowned more deeply. "Go on, Harry. You'll feel better once you say it," he told him.

Harry swallowed, and gave a short nod. "OK. Actually, my first question is: You know all about Draco Malfoy, right?"

Sirius gave Harry a quizzical look. "I know about the Malfoys, but I don't know much about Draco, no. Other than what I learned about him in class. And of course, how you two never got along," Sirius said, not at all sure where this was going.

Harry took another deep breath, feeling slightly braver. "Well...what would you say if I told you that we no longer hated each other?"

A long silence followed this, where Sirius simply stared at Harry. Hermione tensed, and Harry held a bated breath.

"Well, I guess I would have to ask you what changed your opinion about him," Sirius finally said, and Harry let out his breath.

"What if...I told you that someone showed me that he's not such a bad guy?"

Sirius leaned forward in his chair, piercing Harry and Hermione with a steady look.

"Something tells me these aren't just your regular, hypothetical questions. What are you trying to tell me, Harry? That you've patched things up with Draco Malfoy? If that's the case, then honestly; good for you. It takes a person of strong-will and an open mind to truly bury the hatchet with a school enemy," Sirius told him.

Harry gave Sirius a regretful look. "Actually, that's only part of it," he said, and Sirius had never seen Harry look so apologetic and terrified in all his life.

"What Harry's trying to say, Sirius," Hermione said, taking the lead, "is that while he and Draco have managed to patch things up between them, Harry and I wanted to do something nice for him...for Draco..."

Sirius' eyes now focussed on the young witch, his eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt her.

"You see, Draco didn't really have a place to stay this Christmas. He didn't want to go back to his Manor, and he didn't really want to stay at the school...so we both decided to invite him here, and stay with us."

Another long pause followed this announcement, while Harry and Hermione braced themselves for the worst.

"So he's here...right now..." Sirius finally said.

Harry nodded numbly. Any minute now, Sirius was going to erupt.

"And he's been here all week," Sirius said, trying to clarify the facts.

"Yes," said Hermione.

Another pause, while Sirius registered the information.

"So I'm going to take a wild guess, and wager that the real reason Draco is here is not for either of you, but for someone else...the same 'someone else' that made you see Draco in a different light?" Sirius said.

Harry looked up at the older man, a startled look on his face.

"Ginny Weasley?" Sirius suggested.

Harry looked at Sirius in amazement. "How did you know?"

Sirius gave Harry a pointed look, but Hermione was the one who answered.

"Ginny ran into us at the door, remember? She told us she was using the bathroom."

"But in fact, she was with Mr. Malfoy," said Sirius, smiling crookedly.

Harry nodded in response, not knowing what to say or what to do. Hermione seemed to be the one with her feet firmly on the ground, which made Harry all the more relieved.

"We wanted to tell you before we left for the Holidays, but Ginny swore us to secrecy, and we were worried that you would tell the Weasleys. They don't know," Hermione told Sirius.

"They can't know," Harry added, his eyes silently pleading with Sirius. "It's up to Ginny whether she wants her family to know..."

Sirius looked at Harry, not with the scorn or anger that Harry had expected, but with understanding.

"I won't tell them," he said. "But I take it that Ginny and Draco are aware that you were planning to tell me about this?

Harry nodded. "Ginny wanted to be here, to help us explain, but her mom wanted her home."

"I'm impressed, really, that Ginny can be so forgiving," Sirius said thoughtfully. "After what happened to her in her first year, with the Chamber of Secrets, and considering the fact that it was Lucius' doing that put her in that position. If she can get over the fact that Draco is associated with what she had to live through, that's saying something."

Harry nodded, unsure how to reply to this. Apparently Sirius didn't expect an answer, as he continued on in his thoughtful manner.

"Then it was Ginny who inspired this sudden change in your opinion about your ex-arch enemy?" guessed the older wizard.

Harry drew a deep breath and then let it out slowly, measuring out his words carefully.

"I can't quite put it into words, Sirius. I think...after knowing about Ginny and Draco, I realised that maybe he really deserves a second chance. So that's when I offered him a place to stay here, so he could spend his Christmas with Ginny."

Sirius seemed to be working through an inner struggle. He looked proud and frustrated, looking like he wanted to scold Harry, but couldn't find it in himself to do so.

"And you really believe he's not the horrible arch-enemy that you've grown to hate? He's Lucius Malfoy's son!" Sirius exclaimed.

Harry wondered if Draco could hear Sirius all the way from upstairs, but felt that now wouldn't be the time to ask Sirius to keep his voice down.

"I know who he is!" Harry hissed, suddenly feeling very doubtful about everything. Had he done the right thing bringing a Malfoy into his home? No, he thought again. He'd been through this. He'd spent a lot of time working through all the pros and cons, and in the end, he had made the right choice.

Hadn't he?

"But he's not the same person, Sirius," Harry said, as calmly as possible. The only way to get Sirius to see it the way he did was by showing just how strongly he felt about his own convictions. In order for Sirius to believe in him, he needed to believe in himself.

"If Ginny can see the goodness in him, then so can I. And I'm doing it for her, not for me. I'm sorry for dragging you into this," said Harry, standing up.

"Where are you going?" asked Sirius.

"To tell Draco that he has to go home, or back to Hogwarts," Harry said, feeling and sounding thoroughly disappointed.

"Sit down, Harry," Sirius ordered in a soft tone.

Harry obeyed his guardian, trying to avoid Sirius' dark eyes, which were startlingly calm.

"I never said I want him to go home," Sirius told Harry, his tone strong and honest.

Harry slowly rose his head to meet Sirius' kind gaze.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You know exactly what I mean. But I want you to listen to me carefully, Harry. I plan to bring Lucius Malfoy down, so I hope that you're right about Draco, or else he'll end up going down with the rest of the Death Eaters. Alright?"

Harry stared at him a moment, hardly believing his ears. Then he said, "If he's really in league with his father, Sirius, you'll be the least of his worries. I can promise you that."

The corner of Sirius' mouth twitched upwards, and he nodded. "OK. We'll talk more about this later, but for now, bring Draco downstairs. I'd like to welcome our guest properly."

Harry gave Sirius a suspicious look that Sirius understood too well.

"I won't say anything inappropriate," he told his godson, grinning in spite of himself. "And I promise not to turn him into a ferret."

Hermione and Harry laughed, feeling lighter and happier, as relief washed over the young wizard. That was one secret out of the way...just one more to go...

To Be Continued...

13. Like Father, Like Son?

Circle's Close

Chapter 13: Like Father, Like Son?
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: fae_child@hotmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: This is the last part to the Christmas Day chapters. Harry searches for physical proof that Draco is good. And Harry's last "surprise" to Sirius is finally revealed.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

***

Harry and Hermione dragged a very reluctant Draco down the stairs to see Sirius, who smiled warmly at the blond and gestured towards the couch for him to take a seat. Draco did as he was told, looking more pale than his usual self.

"I've come to understand that you've been staying here for a week, and you're planning to stay on past New Year's, am I correct?" asked Sirius.

"Yes, sir," Draco said, sitting up straight in his chair. Harry sensed Draco’s determination to prove himself to Sirius. He almost laughed at the thought.

"I don't know what Harry and Hermione told you,” Draco continued, “but I thought you should know that it's not their fault that I'm here. I mean to say, it was my idea, so if anyone is going to get in any trouble--"

Sirius raised a hand to silence the blond boy, and he obeyed immediately. "Relax, Draco. I'm not here to punish anyone. Any friend of Harry's is welcome here in our home. Would you mind, actually, if we took a walk? The storm has died down. It looks rather peaceful out there, wouldn't you agree?"

Draco looked at Sirius as though he’d rather handle a rampaging hippogriff, but he gave a very hesitant nod, and they stood up together.

"We should be back shortly," Sirius informed Harry and Hermione, who merely stared on as they made their way to the front door.

"Remember to stay out of sight!" Harry reminded them.

There was no response as he heard the front door open and close.

Harry felt Hermione slip a hand around his waist, and he imitated her, slipping both his hands around her and spinning her around to face him, as he held her closely. He nuzzled her hair, taking in a deep breath, enjoying the sweet sensation of getting lost in everything that was good and sweet about his girlfriend. Hermione's hand slid around his neck as her fingers lazily played with his hair. His bright green eyes bore into her own brown ones, and they simply stood still like that, as though frozen in a painting.

"Thank you," Harry said softly as he kissed her forehead. Hermione's eyes closed, enjoying the simple touch of his lips on her skin.

"Whatever for, Harry?" she asked, just as softly.

Harry kissed her cheek, his breath tickling her earlobe. "Just for being here for me, with me, and coming to my rescue," he told her.

Hermione giggled lightly, making his pulse go berserk with love for her. "Don't mention it, love," she told him, before his lips met hers in a tender kiss.

As they pulled apart, Hermione rested her head on Harry's chest, listening to his heartbeat, which was timed to her own.

"Are you worried?" she finally asked, pulling back slightly and looking up at him. She caught a glimpse of his eyes, which were shadowed, and almost just as immediately, Harry swiped the look of anxiety from his face. But she knew he was only trying to hide his concern.

"Nah," he said vaguely, holding her closer to him. "I'm not worried. And you shouldn't be either," he told her.

Hermione grinned up at him. "You're the worst liar I've ever met, Harry. I know what's on your mind," she persisted.

Harry grinned back at her, rolling his eyes upwards. "There's no way to win with you, is there," he said.

"Nope, there’s not! Let's talk about it. What are you thinking about?" she asked.

They flopped down on the couch side-by-side, where Hermione, not letting go of Harry's hand, threw her slender leg over Harry's long one.

"Oddly enough, what Sirius told us doesn't bother me at all. Because what he said is true; there's nothing that any of us can do to help," Harry told her.

Hermione smiled. "That doesn't sound like the Harry I know," she said.

Harry grinned in return, rolling his eyes playfully. "OK...maybe there's something we can do, but we don't know what that is yet. And until we do, we're stuck. But no ... My biggest worry right now is whether Draco overheard us."

Hermione looked puzzled. "But I told him to stay upstairs. It's not like our voices could have carried that far..."

"Exactly. Which means Draco was downstairs listening in on our conversation, and that worries me for more than just one reason."

Hermione’s puzzled expression molded into thoughtfulness. "Well, I can see your reasoning. If Draco was down here listening to us, he'd be breaking his word to us by putting himself in danger of being caught, and he'd be betraying our trust by eavesdropping," Hermione answered.

"Not to mention what Draco would do with that kind of information. Sirius is partially right. He's still Lucius Malfoy's son," Harry said.

Hermione gave Harry a very pointed look. "And I thought you were ready to drop that little fact for Ginny’s sake," she said suspiciously.

"I am," Harry said defensively, feeling a familiar stab of guilt. "But sometimes I feel like I need some sort of evidence that Draco is the person that Ginny loves. I know there are times that I truly see all the goodness that Ginny sees, but my cautious side won’t let me drop the fact that he shares the same blood with Lucius Malfoy. And if he IS spying on us... “ Harry looked away, sighing deeply. “If only I could know for sure...”

Hermione gave Harry a thoughtful look, a fanatical gleam in her eye that Harry knew only too well.

"There is a way, isn't there," he told her, sitting up in excitement.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, looking deep in thought. Then she finally said, "There is a way, but I’m still trying to decide whether it’s a good idea to use it. I suppose this is a good reason...” she trailed off, frowning in concentration.

"You sound like you're trying to justify using it. What's the problem?" Harry asked her.

Hermione shot him a knowing look. "Well, Harry, this Charm isn’t used to spy on people... and performing the Charm for what we want to use it for? Well, it doesn’t exactly run with our own morals, does it?”

Harry sighed. “So you’re saying that it could compromise our morals? You’re saying this when there’s a chance that Draco could have been spying on us?”

Hermione shrugged. “We don’t know that for sure, but I’m not disagreeing with you. You know I’ll help you, if this is what you want.”

Harry took a moment to seriously think about what she was saying. True, he’d be a hypocrite by using the Charm. But there were more important things than battling it out with his own moral and value systems. Like finding out whether he had a dangerous spy in his home, for one.

“So, what is this Charm?” he asked.

"It's called the Echo Charm,” said Hermione.

Harry frowned. “The Echo Charm? I’ve never heard of it. Unless Flitwick told us about it during a day when I wasn't paying attention..."

Hermione frowned, her eyes narrowing. "With you being Head Boy, I would have thought that daydreaming during a lesson was no longer an option," she lectured.

"Are you kidding?" Harry exclaimed, grinning madly. "As Head Boy, I'm determined to push all my priveleges near breaking point, and that includes sleeping during class!"

"Harry!"

"Kidding, Hermione! I'm only kidding. Gosh, it's easy to get you worked up," Harry observed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Anyway, since you’re wondering, we never learnt the Echo Charm in Charms class. I had to teach myself the Charm sometime near the beginning of first term. Neville got in a spot of trouble with Snape, and he was made to clean up frog's guts, and I offered to help. Snape only let me help because he figured Neville would only cause more havoc.

"I decided to take my ring off in my room, so I wouldn’t muck it up with all the guts. When I came back to my room to get the ring, I couldn’t remember where I had put it. So after a trip to the library, looking up a Charm that would help me, I discovered the Echo Charm. I taught myself how to perform it, and in the end, I found my ring. I simply cast the Charm in my room, and I watched a shadow of myself place the ring where I had put it.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds good to me. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Of course," she insisted, as they both stood up and made their way upstairs.

"What do we do if we find that he had left his room?" Harry asked her, fearing the very thought.

"Well, why don't we deal with that when it comes time to. And what makes you think that Draco even left his room? Especially after we warned him half a dozen times?" Hermione wondered.

Harry shrugged. "I heard a noise outside the room while we were talking with Sirius. I thought it might be Draco," he told her, perfectly aware how lame it sounded.

Hermione laughed through her nose. "Harry, this is an older house. That noise could have been the house settling, you know. Weird noises occur all the time."

"I know!" Harry said. “But it could have been him, too. I guess we're about to find out, right?"

Hermione said nothing as they stepped inside the guest bedroom, which was very close to immaculate. Whether Draco was this meticulous all the time, or he was merely making the effort because he was a guest, Harry didn't know.

Hermione whipped out her wand and whispered the incantation. Immediately two shadows formed, one a thin mist in the form of Draco Malfoy, the other in the shape of Ginny Weasley.

These shadows, or echoes, strongly reminded Harry of the end of his 4th year, when shadows of Cedric Diggory, Lily and James Potter, and a few others had appeared from Voldemort’s wand during that frightening duel that still sometimes haunted his dreams.

"Hermione? This was a couple hours ago, at least," Harry whispered, in awe of this strange and new Charm.

"I know...I don't know what happened. I must have gone too far back," she whispered back, staring at the two shadows in front of her. “This Charm can be very complicated. When I used it all those months ago, I had to go a few hours back, so I had to use a stronger form.”

"Is there any way to fix it?" Harry asked, not truly wanting to be a witness to what was obviously a very private moment between Draco and Ginny. But then something inside him went soft, and he wondered if this was all the proof he needed. "Wait," he whispered, holding up his hand to stop Hermione, who had raised her wand again.

"Wait? But, Harry..." Hermione looked at him helplessly, but Harry was too enraptured with Draco and Ginny to listen to her reasoning. And Hermione had to admit, as she fell silent beside Harry, she was just as curious to see what they were about to witness.

Ginny's echo was the first to speak. "That was really nice of Harry and Hermione--offering to make us that dinner. She and Harry have been so wonderful. You seem pre-occupied. Is it Sirius?” she asked.

Draco's echo drew a deep breath and exhaled. "Yeah, Ginny. But that's not all. Remus Lupin is coming over later this afternoon. They both despise me."

"Yeah...and whose fault is that?" Ginny said, grinning, her hand reaching out to take his. "But they'll grow to like you, and see all the great things in you that I know are there. Even Harry and Hermione see them."

Draco laughed, somewhat bitterly. "Don't get me wrong, Ginny. But they're only letting me stay so I can be with you," he said.

"You're wrong," Ginny persisted. "You don't know Harry as well as you think you do, honey. I admit, at first, they only let you stay for me. But you would have been out of here within the first hour if Harry hadn't found in you...what I found in you. You can trust Harry, Draco. You both are doing an amazing thing here, by getting along. Don't doubt yourself, or Harry, and please...don't doubt Hermione either."

Draco smiled at Ginny, his eyes lighting up just by looking into hers. He lowered his head to hers, his lips softly brushing her own.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Ginny,” he said softly. “I want to make you so happy, but I feel like this secret game we're playing isn't doing you any good."

Ginny's brown eyes bore into Draco's gray ones. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me,” she insisted, patting him on the leg.

“I do worry about you. And- -“

Ginny placed her index finger on Draco’s lips, stopping him from further speech.

“Please, Draco,” she whispered pleadingly. “You promised we wouldn’t talk about this on Christmas day. And the last time I checked, my calendar said it was December 25th, so please...”

“You’re right...I’m sorry,” Draco said, kissing the back of her hand. “And now that we’re on the topic of Christmas, I can give you this--“ and with a swift movement of his hand, he held out a small, rectangular shaped box to her. It was wrapped in bright and shiny red wrapping paper, tied with deep blue string.

Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree as she held out a trembling hand, whereupon Draco promptly dropped the box into her palm.

“Go on, open it,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head in an affectionate way.

She peeled back the paper, revealing a smooth, mahogany case. Ginny lifted the golden latch, and she gasped with delight as a thin, silver bracelet came into view.

“Draco! It’s...it’s...” Ginny stuttered, words failing her completely. Draco took the case from her and gently removed the bracelet, turning it over to show her the underside of the bracelet.

“Take a look,” he said softly as Ginny gaped at him. She looked down at the bracelet, and saw the initials “GW+DM” engraved in miniscule writing. She looked up at him in surprise.

“Draco! What if -- what if someone sees it?” she exclaimed.

Draco gave her a nonchalant shrug. “So what if they do? First, they’d have to figure out what it means, and what are the chances of anyone seeing it anyway? I made sure that the letters were engraved on the inside, so you can wear it as often as you like without having to worry,” he told her, and then he leaned forward so their noses were nearly touching. “And that way you know that no matter where I am or what I’m doing, you’ll know that I’ll always be with you.”

Tears glistened in Ginny’s brown eyes, and she threw her arms around his neck, raining kisses on his cheek and placed a long, deep kiss on his lips.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” she gasped, as Draco placed the silver bracelet around her wrist and clasped the ends together. Ginny ran a finger along her Christmas present, her face fixed in a dreamy expression. She looked at Draco again, smiling warmly at him. “I’ll never want to take it off.”

Draco returned the smile, placing a kiss on her forehead. Ginny took a moment to compose herself, still admiring her new bracelet, and then she held out her own gift to him. It was a small square box. This was wrapped in silver paper, though the entire surface of the gift was taken up by a large, golden bow.

Draco grinned at her. “Silver and gold? Was there some greater meaning behind your choice of colors?” he asked her.

Ginny grinned back. “Actually, it was all we had left back in our dorm at school. And not until yesterday did I see the coincidence. But it makes a valid point, don’t you think? Gold and silver...Gryffindor and Slytherin. United at last.”

Draco ran a hand through Ginny’s red hair, smiling at her in a whole new way. “It’s something to work for, and it’s something we’re trying to achieve,” he said.

Ginny took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Go on, open it,” she urged. “It’s not nearly as precious as the bracelet you gave me, and I wouldn’t really blame you if you didn’t like it...but...”

Draco was peeling away the paper, where a small, black velvet box revealed itself. He opened it as Ginny turned her head away, not really wanting to see Draco’s expression.

It was a tiny diamond stud, and it shone brilliantly, looking very much like a single, bright star set against a velvet night sky.

“How did you...how were able to afford this?” Draco wondered, staring at the diamond in awe.

Ginny looked at Draco shyly, her brown eyes shining. “I saved up some money and bought if from a jeweler in Hogsmeade. The jeweler was pretty desperate to get rid of it, because it was the smallest, and it looked pretty dull, so he sold it to me for a cheap price. I managed to buff it up a little. I wanted to put some life into it, you know? But I know it’s a silly gift, and I’m aware it has its flaws,” she added, almost defensively.

Draco tilted her face up with a finger under her chin, his eyes holding her own in a steady gaze. “Oh...Ginny,” he sighed. “Who among us hasn’t?” He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her passionately.

“Maybe we should stop now...” Harry suggested, and almost just as immediately, Hermione whispered a counter-incantation with a graceful wave of her wand, and the forms of Ginny and Draco vanished.

Harry sat on the foot of the bed, and Hermione sat with him, cradling her wand as they both sat still and silent, absorbing the scene that they had just witnessed.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Hermione finally spoke. “Well, we know one thing for sure.”

Harry looked at her and Hermione continued.

“Draco couldn’t have been spying on us. There’s no way...after hearing what he said. He wants to earn our trust, Harry. He wouldn’t do anything to sabotage his relationship with Ginny.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “OK, so I was wrong. And now I’m the selfish prat...for betraying his trust.”

Hermione gave Harry a comforting smile, placing a delicate hand on his back and running her hand up and down it softly.

“We all make mistakes, and it’s a hard lesson to learn. But I hope that this is all the proof you need. Do you finally see how hard Draco is trying? Do you see how much he truly loves Ginny?” she asked him kindly.

Harry felt the guilt slowly ebbing away. “Yeah, I see it. Just as I’ve always felt it. I guess I was just being stubborn.”

Hermione kissed Harry on the cheek. “Leave the stubbornness to Ron,” she suggested lightly.

Harry chuckled, and Hermione let her head fall on his shoulder, their fingers entwining. They watched their laced fingers for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence, when a loud knock came at the door, startling them out of their comfortable silence.

“Who could that be?” she asked, sounding disappointed that their time alone had come to an end.

Harry was already making his way out of the room. He popped his head back in, grinning. “Our dear old professor,” he told her.

Together they made their way to the front and opened up the door. Remus Lupin stood there in plain, Muggle clothing, including a long, black Muggle coat. Harry spotted a cab pulling out of the driveway.

“Remus!” Hermione greeted, smiling brightly.

“Merry Christmas, you two!” Remus exclaimed, beaming at the two teenagers.

“Here, let me take your bags,” Harry offered, and swiftly lifted the bags from Remus’ hands, not giving his former professor the chance to argue.

They all made their way into the house while Remus took a surreptitious look around, admiring the Christmas decorations.

“The house looks great,” Remus told them as they sat in the family room. “It looks different from when I was last here,” he added. During the Summer, when Hermione had come to visit, Remus had also stayed for a couple of weeks.

“You mean the Christmas decorations?” Harry wondered as he took a seat next to Hermione on the sofa.

“No...” Remus said, his eyes landing on the young wizard. “It feels more...”

“Like home,” Harry finished, smiling.

“Exactly,” Remus replied. “I felt it the moment I walked in ... You and Sirius have truly made this your home.”

Harry felt his heart warm at the older wizard’s words. He had always known it and felt it inside, but it was always a wonderful thing to hear that others felt it as well.

Remus took a moment to rummage through one of his bags, from which he pulled out many packages and parcels labeled with Harry’s, Hermione’s, Sirius’, and the majority of the Weasleys’ names. He deposited them under the tree where he spotted other gifts still there, some labeled "Remus," or "Lupin," and one present had a tag with the name "Moony" on it.

Harry caught the grin on Remus’ face, and he said, “When Sirius returns, we’ll exchange presents.”

The older man sat in the armchair, turned to face Harry and Hermione. “Where is Sirius?” he wondered.

Harry and Hermione took turns explaining all about Draco and Ginny, and the fact that they had just told Sirius about it. Thankfully, Remus did not overreact to the news that a Malfoy was dating a Weasley, and also promised not to say anything.

“Although,” Remus added, looking thoughtful, “Draco and Ginny will not be able to keep this a secret forever. And if the Weasleys find out the wrong way...I wouldn’t even want to think of the repercussions.”

“Well, that’s not exactly what’s been on my mind lately,” Harry told Remus, and the older man caught on.

“You’re not worried about Sirius, are you?” he asked.

Harry gave Remus a very pointed look. “This isn’t exactly the most ordinary of situations. I’ve been sneaking behind my own godfather’s back, exchanging letters for the past two months with a person whom I’ve never met before in my life-“

“You’ve met her. You were just a baby,” Remus corrected the younger wizard.

“Right. So I have no memory of her whatsoever. Either way, Sirius won’t be happy that I’ve been keeping something like this from him.”

Remus drew himself up, giving Harry a very level look. “I would not have encouraged it if I had thought it was a bad idea.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you, Harry,” Hermione interrupted, placing her hand on her boyfriend’s knee and keeping it there.

Harry looked between Remus and Hermione, giving them a crooked smile.

“But I should warn you,” Remus continued, before Harry could say something discouraging, “that he won’t jump up in excitement, dancing and cheering either.”

Both Harry and Hermione burst out laughing. Though Sirius was a very easy-going person, very lovable, kind and fun, neither of them could picture a man who was once considered a convict, dancing around the family room in excitement.

“He’ll be very shocked,” Remus added once the laughter died down. “He could react many different ways, but I can assure you one thing.”

“What’s that?” asked Harry.

“He won’t lash out at you in anger, and he most definitely won’t hate you. Telling him about Claire is probably the best thing you could give him, regardless if he wants to hear it or not. Just as telling Claire about Sirius was probably the best possible thing you could do for her, and it took you a long time to convince her to write to him.”

“Yeah...” Harry said, looking sulky. “But it wasn’t enough to get her to come back...to us...”

Remus gave Harry a very kind look. “It’s taken you a lot of courage to go through with something like this. You’ve allowed yourself the patience to deal with it the past two months, and you know it’s going to take a lot more time for something dramatic to happen.”

“I’m no matchmaker,” Harry said, almost sadly. “I just want them to be friends...just to talk to each other.”

“Who do you want to be friends?” said a deep voice from the doorway.

Harry, Hermione and Remus all jerked their heads to the door, where Sirius and Draco stood, their faces red from their walk in the cold weather. Sirius grinned at the guilty look on Harry and Hermione’s faces, and then his eyes landed on his oldest friend.

“Hullo, Sirius. Hello, Mr Malfoy,” Remus greeted brightly, standing up.

“Remus,” Sirius said, shaking his head back and forth, grinning. “I’d ask what brings you by, but I have a feeling that I'm about to find out...” he said, shooting Harry a sly look.

“Why don’t we go upstairs, Draco,” Hermione suggested lightly, giving Harry a pointed look.

Draco narrowed his eyes in polite puzzlement. “Alright...”

“That way,” Hermione added to Remus, “you three can talk.”

Remus smiled before nodding briefly, and Harry felt his stomach drop considerably. Hermione led a puzzled Draco out of the room and out of sight, while Sirius took a seat next to Harry.

“How are you, Remus? We talked...just yesterday, wasn’t it?”

Remus smiled at the pale look on Harry's face. “Yes, actually. And I’m perfectly fine. Although, I don’t believe I’ve seen Harry look so nauseated in all the time I’ve known him.”

Harry frowned at the grin on Remus’ face. How could he act so calm and collected? Why couldn’t some of that rub off on him? He felt as though there were a thousand garden snakes writhing and twisting inside his stomach, desperate to escape.

“Yes, I’ve been noticing that all day, to be honest,” Sirius admitted, his grin matching Remus’. “I have to admit...it’s got me quite curious.”

“Oh, bloody Hell,” Harry muttered, staring at the floor, feeling utterly helpless. “You’re both teasing me.”

Remus sighed, drawing Sirius’ attention to himself. “Actually, Sirius, part of the reason I’m here is because of what Harry needs to tell you. So the guilt lies on my shoulders as well.”

Sirius gave Remus a puzzled look. “Well now you’ve definitely gained my curiosity. What else have you been keeping from me?” he asked Harry.

Harry reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled, vanilla envelope. The name “Sirius” was written in neat handwriting across the front. He had been carrying it around with him all day, as a constant reminder.

“I’ve been keeping something from you for the past two months,” Harry told him, handing Sirius the envelope. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Claire White.”

Sirius stared at the envelope in his hand, his whole face going blank. But he hadn’t screamed at Harry in rage, or ripped the envelope into shreds, which gave Harry all the courage he needed, with a prompt nod from Remus.

“Do you remember that picture I found over the summer? In your room? I asked you about the girl in the photo, but you never gave me a straight answer. But I knew I recognized her from somewhere, and that’s when I looked in my old album. The one Hagrid gave me at the end of my first year. She was in a couple of pictures. One with my mother...and one with you. But I knew that you were never going to tell me anything about her, for whatever reasons you had. So I met with Remus one day, and he told me everything I needed to know. With a little encouragement, I managed to locate Claire, and with a little bit more encouragement, I wrote to her, and eventually... she wrote back.”

Harry took a moment to pause, trying to decipher some sort of emotion running through Sirius at that moment. But Sirius was so good at keeping his face blank, that Harry just couldn’t figure out his own godfather.

“She’s in Canada, Sirius. She’s been there for the past 16 years,” Remus said softly.

Harry looked at his former teacher, suddenly realising what this kind of news was doing to him, too. Though Claire White had been Sirius’ fiancée, she had also been one of Remus’ best friends. Harry hadn’t thought or even put any consideration into what he must be going through at the moment.

Sirius cleared his throat, finally looking up from the envelope, clutching it tightly, as though afraid it would suddenly vanish into thin air.

“Well...” he said, nodding slowly. “How did you find her?” he asked, doing his best to sound nonchalant, as though this sudden and new information did not affect him in the least.

But Harry knew better. He may be good at hiding his true feelings, but Harry also knew that Sirius was one of the most feeling people he knew. He could only imagine what was flowing through his godfather’s mind at the moment.

“I...went to Dumbledore. I figured if there was only one person on the planet who knew where she was, it’d be him,” Harry explained. “Listen, Sirius. I don’t know what’s in that letter, but I do know that Claire wanted me to explain a few things to you, just so she could get right to the point. Her parents were the ones who convinced her to move to Canada.”

Sirius sighed. “They had tried for years to drag her away from here...away from me...they always wanted to take her to Canada. That's where her parents are originally from. And their ambition only grew stronger once she graduated from Hogwarts. But Claire never wanted to move. So they stayed for her. Until...”

Sirius stopped, and Harry didn’t need to know what he was about to say. He knew what had finally driven Claire to move to Canada with her Muggle parents. But that, of course, was a story all on its own.

“She...she left the wizarding world, Sirius,” Harry continued, terrified of what this information might do to him. But he had promised Claire that he would tell him, no matter how painful.

“She snapped her wand?” Sirius asked, surprised. He was clutching the letter so tightly in his fist that his knuckles were turning white. His sapphire eyes suddenly darkened, making Harry jerk back slightly. A low growl escaped the older man’s throat, and he stood up, pacing back and forth as though needing to burn off this extra burst of anger.

“She didn’t snap her wand, Sirius,” Remus said quietly, looking at his old friend as though he knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling.

“Her parents never supported her!” Sirius exclaimed, his voice full of malice that Harry had only heard once, at the end of his third year, when they were face to face with Voldemort’s servant, Wormtail. “They only put up with it because Claire begged them, and they expected Claire to pull out. But as Claire spent more time at Hogwarts, she refused to listen to them. She was too happy at Hogwarts...And then...we happened.”

He said it so quietly, Harry had to strain his ears to listen. Was this what heartbreak sounded like? He didn’t like it, not at all. This was his godfather. He had already suffered 12 years in Azkaban. He didn’t deserve to lose his freedom as well as his true love and both at the same time! Sirius was too good for that. But it had happened. And the injustice of it all wanted to make Harry kick and scream, cursing everyone in the Ministry along the way. They had done this to him.

No, he corrected himself, Voldemort had done this to him.

“Remus told me all about it, Sirius,” Harry said softly.

Sirius looked sharply at Harry. “Did he? So he told you about Claire being my fiancée? Did he tell you that she was your godmother?”

“Is my godmother,” Harry corrected. “Just because I haven’t seen her in 16 years and can’t remember her at all, doesn’t take away from the fact that she was, is, and always will be my godmother. Just as you have always been my godfather. 12 years of being separated from each other didn't take away from that fact, either."

Harry couldn’t tell why he felt so strongly about his "relationship" with Claire. He had only been talking to her for a couple of short months, and only through owl-post, but he felt a very strong connection to her. He reasoned it probably had a lot to do with the fact that she was connected to the past he couldn’t remember... to the parents he never got to know.

“Yes,” Sirius said, nodding. “I wonder as well, what she’s doing writing by owl-post if she’s living the life of a Muggle?” he wondered.

“Even you can answer that one, Sirius,” Remus said, looking sadly at his old partner in mischief.

Sirius returned the look, shaking his head. “If she’s living her life as a Muggle, then she wants nothing to do with us. Or else she wouldn’t have left,” he said coldly.

“She had to leave!” Remus said, jumping up and coming to Claire’s defense instantly. “Don’t let your mind be your judgment, old friend,” he pleaded.

“And let my heart make all the decisions? Just like last time? We all know where that got us, Moony,” Sirius said bitterly.

“This is not like you. You’re forgetting that Claire is not at fault...no one is. If you're going to blame her, then you might as well blame me, too. We can’t change the past, but we can do something about the future!”

Harry watched the exchange between the two older wizards, utterly fascinated with where the conversation was going. What had Remus meant by being part of the blame?

“There is no future. Not with her. My future is here, with the school, the Ministry, and first and foremost, with Harry. If you want Claire back in your life, then by all means, be my guest.”

Remus sighed with a mixture of frustration and determination. "Why do you blame her, Sirius? She didn't do anything wrong."

“I don't blame her! And if you really need to know, I've gotten along fine without her while in Azkaban, during my escape, and even now, I'm doing perfectly fine. And I'm not having this conversation with you," he said abruptly, sounding as though he was regretting saying too much already.

“Why not?” Remus asked. “You’ve already started, and in my opinion, this is a conversation that's long past due.”

Sirius sighed, glancing down at the letter still clutched in his fist.

“She wouldn’t have written to you if she had something bad to say, Sirius. It’s worth it just to read. But if you don’t want to...that’s fine. Burn it for all we care,” Remus said. “But keep in mind that she did write. She’s leaving the Quaffle on your side of the Pitch now.”

Sirius still said nothing, still staring at the envelope. Harry took this time to jump in.

“In one way, when you think about it...it’s almost as if she wants to come back. Think about it logically. She’s been living her life as a Muggle for nearly two decades, and then she starts using the owl-post as though she were still a witch? It’s like she’s waiting for the right push to come back. I’m not enough for her to come back, and evidently, neither is Remus, but if all three of us were to do this together, that might be enough. Maybe she’s just waiting for you, Sirius.”

“She never wanted to move...I can’t believe her parents convinced her,” Sirius muttered.

“She wanted to stay,” Remus said quietly, sliding back into his seat, his eyes pale, the memories as clear to him as though it were happening all over again. “Did you know that she always knew you were innocent? Well, as sad as it is to say, she was the only one. After you were sentenced to life in prison without a trial, she realised there was no hope left. And during her moment of weakness, her parents pounced, and managed to convince her to leave with them, saying that there was nothing left for her. She didn't even want to say good-bye to me. I had to chase her down. That was when she gave me her wand -- and told me to dispose of it."

“Her parents always hated me. I was too much of a rebel for their taste...but I guess their worst thoughts were confirmed...when I was taken to Azkaban,” Sirius said, his eyes shining with that same faraway look. He looked at Remus. “So what did you do with her wand?”

Remus lowered his head, sighing deeply. “I kept it. I still have it. I always thought that she’d be back for it someday...but she never came.”

Sirius sat down in his own seat again, giving his friend a very thoughtful look.

“Sometimes I forget how that day destroyed you, too. First Lily and James, then me and Peter...the only person you had was Claire, and she left you as well. I’m sorry for it...for it all.”

Remus smiled crookedly, glancing at Harry then back at Sirius. “Well, whatever doesn’t kill us...” he said, grinning in spite of himself.

“I’ll read the letter,” Sirius confirmed for them both, and Harry’s heart hammered beneath his ribcage. “But I’ll read it later, when I have a moment to spare. As for now, I noticed there are some presents under the tree that still need to be opened!”

*

Harry had never enjoyed a Christmas dinner to its full capacity before. He thought that the Christmas dinners at Hogwarts were good, and they definitely were-- compared to Christmas dinner at the Dursleys. But now, as Harry looked all around him and at all the people seated on both sides of the long dinner table, he came to the decision that nothing could compare to a Weasley Christmas. He felt a swell of happiness building in his chest, and he knew at that moment that he was truly the luckiest wizard alive.

Hermione sat to his left, conversing with Leah and Mr Weasley. The older wizard seemed to be telling them an amusing story about Ron.

“He was just a baby when he showed his first sign of being a wizard,” Mr Weasley was saying with a trace of pride.

“What did he do?” Leah wondered, her hands clasped casually under her chin, looking very keen to hear the answer. On the other side of Leah, Ron's ears were turning pink, and he fidgeted in his seat.

“He set Bill’s head on fire,” Mr Weasley said, and at this Leah, Hermione, Bill, Harry, Mr and Mrs Weasley all burst out laughing.

“It was an accident!” Ron exclaimed. "I only made it smoulder a bit..." he added, and Harry had the distinct impression that this was a topic Mr Weasley had brought up on more than one occasion. It was also a story Mr Weasley liked to tell, just to embarrass his youngest son.

Leah placed a comforting hand on Ron's arm. He calmed down and struck up a new conversation with her, one that didn't inlcude his father.

That was Harry’s own calming effect, as everyone chatted together about one thing or another. Sirius (who sat to Harry’s right) and Remus (who sat diagonal from Sirius) were engaged in their own conversation, Hermione was chatting with Molly and Arthur, the twins were harassing Percy, who was sitting at the very end of the table. Bill (sitting on the other side of Sirius) chatted with Charlie, who sat at the other end of the table. The only one not saying a word was Ginny.

She stared at the bright, Christmas coloured table cloth, clutching her abdomen, as though she had a bad stomachache. Harry and Hermione had suggested that Ginny should fake being sick, so she could excuse herself from the table and sneak over to visit Draco, who was busy at the house setting up a table for two. So Ginny, taking the advice but wanting to make it look sincere, began to moan and gripe about a stomachache earlier in the afternoon.

Looking at Ginny at that moment, Harry could see that she really did look genuinely sick, and wondered if it was due to nerves. All this sneaking around must have been taking a physical, emotional and mental toll on her. He wondered, however briefly, if she was going to crack. But then he reminded himself that Ginny was as strong as they came. All of the Weasleys were, but Ginny seemed to carry more strength and integrity than any of them. Of course, Harry thought with a wry smile, it would take that kind of a person to handle Draco Malfoy. And then Harry thought that that probably went both ways.

Just then Mr Weasley raised both of his hands into the air, requesting silence. And immediately everyone at the table stopped talking.

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” he exclaimed joyfully. With the clap of his hands, the empty dishes on the table filled to the brim with food. A large turkey appeared in the middle of the table, potatoes, stuffing, all sorts of vegetables and other food that Mrs Weasley had been preparing all day appeared all around them. The sweet aroma was making Harry’s stomach gurgle in protest. He suddenly couldn’t remember when he had last eaten. All that mattered was stuffing himself as much as possible with all the food that was on the table.

“This is great, Mrs Weasley,” Harry sighed, before shoveling some turkey into his mouth. Hermione nudged him, frowning in a reproving way. Apparently she didn’t appreciate his eating habits. He grinned back at her from one cheek to the other, with a mouth stuffed with turkey. She rolled her eyes at him before spooning some sweet potato into her mouth.

“It was well worth it, dear,” Molly said gratefully. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“The Hogwarts food is shabby in comparison,” Harry confirmed for the older woman.

“Don’t let Dobby hear you saying that,” Hermione cautioned, waving her fork around for emphasis.

“Now, dear,” Mrs Weasley said to Harry. “What are your plans for the future?”

“Molly, honey...” Mr Weasley said, shooting his wife a warning look.

“I’m allowed to ask, Arthur,” Molly insisted, glaring at her husband, who suddenly seemed to be interested in what the twins were talking about.

“Er,” Harry said, not sure of the nature of the question. “I plan to...graduate...”

“I meant after Hogwarts, Harry dear. What are you going to do with your life?”

Harry knew he should have had an answer ready, but the truth was, he never really thought about it. On one hand, he didn’t want to think of a future that didn’t include Hogwarts. On the other hand, his future was with Hermione, so what he did for a living didn’t seem to be one of his main concerns. Of course, that didn’t stop other people from telling him what he should do with his life. Some people thought he was cut out to be an Auror, others thought he should be a Professor. The twins were constantly trying to get him into their joke shop and Hagrid was always trying to convince him to get into the Magical Creature business.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied honestly, not at all feeling the pressure of the question, as nowadays he was getting it more and more. “I haven’t put much thought into it.”

“Harry!” Molly exclaimed. “You only have a few short months before you decide. What happens when you graduate when you still have no idea what you want to do?”

Harry gave Molly a serene smile. “Oh,” he said, turning his smile to Hermione, whose interested face glowed with affection for him. “I reckon we’ll do just fine.”

*

Late that night when Harry returned to his home with Sirius, Remus and Hermione, they found Draco and Ginny on the sofa in the living room, chatting away animatedly. Harry loved watching them together. It gave him reassurance that he was right in helping Ginny. Not that he needed it. What he had seen earlier in Draco’s room was all the reassurance he would ever need.

Harry walked Ginny home, stopping in front of her house, still standing on the driveway so no one could overhear their conversation.

“Don’t you think your parents will get a little suspicious if they see you walking through the front door?” Harry asked her anxiously.

Ginny waved a hand, dismissing the idea immediately. “I’ll just tell them I needed some fresh air. Once I walk in and they see that I’m feeling better, they won’t care that I was outside. They’ll just assume that the fresh air did me some good after all.”

She sounded as though lying to her parents didn’t bother her, but Harry knew she was worried and sick to death of the need to lie. She frowned, looking anxious herself.

“What kind of a person am I if I can lie to my parents so frequently and so easily, Harry?” she whispered, her eyes glossing over with tears.

Harry didn’t say anything, and instead pulled her into his arms, hoping to chase away all the doubt and sadness in her life. Ginny sobbed quietly onto his shoulder as he rubbed her back and placed a kiss on the top of her head. A moment later she pulled back and looked up at him.

“Thanks, Harry. For everything. You and Hermione are two of the most amazing and understanding people in the world. Just one thing; what you said at the table, about your future...you said ‘we’ll do just fine.’ So you’re really serious about her, huh?”

Harry drew back, looking at her thoughtfully. “I never even realised I said it like that. But yes, I’m dead serious about her. She’s my other half, Ginny. Just as Draco is yours, right?”

Ginny nodded, another tear sliding down her cheek. “Were you ever scared, Harry? When you and Hermione first began? Did the thought of how much you loved her scare you so much that it left you in a panic? Like you’d be lost without her?” she said softly.

Harry couldn’t help but smile. He ran a thumb across her cheek to wipe away the tear and he nodded fervently. “I still feel that way. That feeling never goes away, Ginny. At least, I hope it never does.”

Ginny nodded in agreement, and she spoke with a desperation that shocked Harry.

“I’ve felt that way, I still feel that way, and if anything, it only gets stronger. When you love someone, how can you love them more than you already do? How is it possible?”

Harry looked at her with a brotherly sort of affection. “I don’t know, Ginny. And maybe that's a good thing, that we don't know the answer to that mystery. But I do know that there are a lot of things that are possible now because of Hermione. Things I never knew I would experience.” And then another thought hit Harry.

“Are you having doubts?” he asked her suddenly.

She shook her head, pulling her hair back. “I’m so frightened, Harry,” she whispered shrilly, her eyes welling up with tears again. “I’m scared because I love him, because I’m not supposed to love him, because I’m lying to my whole family. And I’m scared that if I ever tell them about us, they’ll never let me see him ever again... and as much as I love my family, and you and Hermione...Leah,” she added, “my life would be over. I know that sounds awful... but I can’t help but feel that if he was suddenly wiped away from my life, if I could never see him again, then...” she trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“As much as you may not believe it Ginny, I do understand. I know exactly what you mean. And for the record, your parents can’t prevent you from seeing him. First of all, they’re not like that. They love you too much to ruin your life like that. They’re not controlling, and they would never make you live a life that you’d never want to lead. They love you Ginny. And when the time comes to tell them, they'll find a way to support you. If I can do it, if Hermione can do it, then so can the people who have known you and loved you your whole life. That's what family is all about."

Ginny didn’t say anything, but she looked less anxious anyhow, which satisfied Harry.

“Now get back inside, before you do get sick,” Harry ordered her, and Ginny looked back up at him with a brighter smile lighting up her face. He smiled in return. “Now that looks like the Ginny I know,” he said.

Ginny gave an involuntary sniffle, whether it was due to her crying or the actual cold, Harry didn’t know. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Harry. Probably’d go mad,” she said.

“We’ll keep each other sane, how about that?” suggested Harry, smiling.

Ginny threw herself into his arms, and he returned the embrace, hoping that he had given her the reassurance that she had needed.

“Merry Christmas, bro. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, backing away slowly.

“Not if I see you first, sis. Good night,” he called, as she turned around and ran the rest of the way up the driveway to the Burrow.

He made sure she was at the door, waited for her to wave and enter the house before he turned and made his way back to his own house, his thoughts drifting on happy thoughts.

*

When Harry returned to his home, sleeping arrangements were made. Hermione would take Harry’s room, Remus would take Sirius’ room, and Draco would remain in the spare bedroom. Sirius and Harry, having no other choice, were perfectly content to camp out in the living room.

After everyone had gone to bed, Sirius cleared the floor and conjured mattresses and blankets for them to sleep on. After getting into their pajamas they laid down in their new beds, and as long and busy as Harry’s day was, he didn’t find himself the least bit tired. There were too many unsettled thoughts floating around in his brain. Most of them concerned his godfather.

A few more moments of silence passed, and then Sirius said, “Is there something bothering you?”

Harry smiled into the darkness. Sirius could be extremely perceptive when he wanted to be.

“With Draco being here, I still don’t know how you really feel about it. And even though you were really nice to him earlier, I still can’t help but worry that you’re going to curse me in my sleep,” Harry said, slightly joking.

Sirius laughed through his nose. “I won’t curse you, Harry. And to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have been nice to Draco if I didn’t want to be.”

“Oh. So you’re not angry with me? Wait a minute,” Harry said quickly, “why would you want to be nice to Draco?”

Sirius laughed even harder now, covering his mouth to muffle the sound so as not to wake everyone upstairs.

“I’m taking a page from your book,” Sirius told him, finally calming down enough to speak.

“My book? I don’t get it...” Harry puzzled.

His godfather looked at him in all seriousness. “You showed real integrity bringing Draco Malfoy here, Harry. And knowing that you did it for Ginny, and gave of yourself so willingly, it made me realise how truly proud of you I am.

“And not just because of your amazing magical abilities, but because of the kind of person you really are. You have a good heart, and while I’m always proud of you for everything that you do, whether it’s for your friends, family, the school, you manage to shock and surprise me every time I turn around.

“You may not see it now, Harry, but by letting Draco stay here, that’s going to lead your life down a very different path. You’ll see it someday, years from now. The goodness does triumph, and you’ve proven that to everyone here today.”

Harry felt too stunned to speak. He had never thought that he would gain anything from bringing Draco here. He was simply thinking of making Ginny happy. That was the one thing that was carrying him through with the plan.

“So tell me, Harry. I’m curious to know; you and Draco don’t seem to hate each other any more at all. Why?”

Harry didn’t hesitate in answering. It was as though he had been waiting for this question, and wanted nothing more than to answer it just to prove to Sirius that he had made the right decision.

“Like I said earlier, Draco’s not the same person he once was. Everyone deserves a second chance, and I think that Draco really wanted this second chance. He doesn’t have a good life at home. And everyone is always stuck on this idea that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. But Draco can break that cycle. He doesn’t need to follow in his father’s footsteps, he doesn’t want to. At first, I was worried that he was simply using Ginny. But after seeing them together, Sirius; I know perfectly well that he can’t possibly be pretending to love Ginny. That’s why I trust him now.”

Harry paused a moment, letting the words sink in. He wanted his guardian to take him seriously.

“Just because Lucius Malfoy was a Slytherin, a Death Eater, and Merlin knows what else, doesn’t mean that Draco has to be the same way. Blood doesn’t count for that much. Take you and me for example.”

“What about us?” Sirius wondered, incredulous.

Feeling embarrassed and flustered, Harry answered. “You’re the only father that I’ve ever truly known, and we’re not blood related. The Durselys are my only living relatives, and they hated me with a passion. You’ve cared for me more than any other adult, and that makes you my father in every sense of the word.”

More silence followed. Then Sirius spoke in a very choked voice. “You really feel that way?”

Feeling more relieved than foolish, Harry replied, “Yes. I’ve always felt that way.”

The two smiled at each other, and Harry was relieved to find that his mind wasn’t full of worries or bad thoughts any more. Knowing that his godfather was not upset with him was a relief all on its own.

A few minutes later, when Harry was sure that Sirius was asleep, he whispered, ‘Goodnight, dad.”

Another moment passed, the silence deafening in the darkness as Harry felt sleep taking over. But before he surrendered to it, he heard the voice of his godfather, blissfully comforting in the darkness, warming him to his very core.

“Goodnight, son.”

14. Friendly Advice, All Around

Circle's Close

Chapter 14: Friendly Advice...All Around
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Once everyone is back to Hogwarts, things appear to be back to normal. That is, until Harry and Hermione are faced with a brand new challenge...
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended. Leah York belongs to me, but I borrowed her name from the REAL Leah. And the REAL Leah does NOT belong to me.

Special Thanks: First and foremost, to Gary Skinner, for EVERYTHING he's EVER done for me. (Including putting up with my incessant ramblings). Next, to Leah, for reading the chapter a loooooooong time ago and giving me enough courage to go on with the story.

Author's Note: Mmm Hmm. They don't call me "slacker" for nothing. I meant to post this chapter (and a few more) over the weekend, since I had all this time off. And then I was like..."Whoa...why post when I can... watch Finding Nemo a hundred times?" And now that you know where my priorities lie (that was sarcasm, guys), I'll leave you with this one chapter, and I hope to post the next one within the next few days. Thanks for the very kind reviews. It's nice to feel appreciated! **Sniffle**

"I shall call him Squishy, and he shall be mine, and he shall be my squishy."
~Dory, Finding Nemo

***

Harry looked up from his copy of the Daily Prophet as Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast. Ginny sat to Harry's right side, oblivious to everyone in the hall (besides a certain blond Slytherin who was now sitting at his own table) and Ron sat across from Harry, grinning stupidly from ear to ear to himself. It was this Hermione noticed as she took her seat next to Ron.

"Don't we look cheerful this morning," Hermione observed to the youngest male Weasley.

"And why shouldn't I be?" Ron countered as he nibbled on a piece of toast, unable to contain the wide smile.

Harry smirked at Hermione as she helped herself to scrambled eggs and toast. She gave a shrug. "No reason," she replied just as quickly. She halted, then looked at Ron curiously again. "So...is there a specific reason for your obvious ... light-hearted mood?"

Ron merely grinned again, lowering his toast and finally turning to her. "We did win that match on Saturday," he reminded her, raising his voice an octave in hopes that the Slytherins would overhear him.

"Ron, that was two days ago!" Hermione hissed, rolling her eyes. "You can't seriously still be on a high."

"Oh... that's where you're wrong, my friend," Ron replied coolly. "I still haven't had a chance to rub it in Malfoy's stinking face that we won."

Ginny's fork slipped from her hand to the floor, the loud clanging sound mixing with the chatter and noises resounding in the Great Hall. Harry shot the youngest Weasley a short look, and bent down to retrieve the fork, handing it back to her. Ginny, grinning sheepishly, tapped her wand to the fork and muttered a simple cleaning Charm and then she continued eating her breakfast.

"And you really think he's going to care about anything you have to say?" Hermione pointed out to Ron.

"Maybe not..." Ron admitted. "But revenge is sweet! What comes around goes around! You know all the regular cliches. They all apply, Hermione dear."

"You could try being the bigger person, Ron. You know Malfoy...he's not going to care that he lost to you," Hermione said kindly, trying a new angle.

"I don't think he really got a good look at my Nimbus 3000," Ron continued while ignoring Hermione.

"Oh, I noticed it," said a cold voice. Draco Malfoy stood directly behind Ron, sharing a venemous glare with Harry. Harry observed a shiny glint coming from his left earlobe. Ginny's Christmas present to him, the diamond stud, and Draco wore it proudly. It was simply another small detail to add to the list of things which had once shocked Harry about the Slytherin boy.

"Did you, now?" Ron replied, just as coldly. "I believe it's ranked higher than the Nimbus 2001, am I correct?"

"What difference does it make if you can't even fly it?" Draco responded, his cold grey eyes glancing between Ron, Harry and Hermione.

"I wouldn't talk, Malfoy," Harry said softly. "You seem to have forgotten who lost the last game."

Draco's top lip curled and his eyes narrowed maliciously. "Well, I'm sure I'd be shown favoritism as well, if I had an ugly scar on my forehead. But as it is--"

"I wouldn't finish that thought if I were you, Malfoy," Ron interrupted, a threatening tone in his voice.

At this point they had gathered quite a bit of attention from the Gryffindor table. Anyone within earshot had stopped eating and talking, and watched keenly to see if anything interesting would transpire between Malfoy and his regular foes.

"What are you going to do about it?" Draco wondered, his eyes shooting from Harry to the red-head.

"Not him. Me," said a new voice. Sirius Black stood behind Draco, a stern look distorting his usually handsome and friendly face. Suddenly everyone at the table didn't seem to be interested in watching anymore. They knew now that nothing was going to happen.

"Hello, Professor Black," Draco greeted mockingly. "We were just discussing Saturday's game."

"Well, it's certainly good to see you all getting along," Sirius replied, shooting a glance at Harry and then returning his eyes to Draco. "Don't you have a class to attend, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco tossed Harry another dark look before sweeping out of the Great Hall. Sirius then turned to Ron.

"And as for you, Mr Weasley... "

"I know, I know. I started it," Ron muttered.

"Alright. But don't forget all those times Draco made you feel small to make himself look and feel better. It doesn't give you the right to do the same to him," Sirius said calmly, before leaving the Great Hall as well.

"Oh, that's swell," Ron muttered, spearing a sausage onto his fork. "I sure showed Malfoy. Well, at least things seem to be back to normal," he added thoughtfully.

"Normal?" Harry asked curiously.

"You know...You remember how odd Malfoy was acting before the holidays. He barely said two words to you, other than that one time in Trelawney's class. Heck, he barely said anything to me! I'm just saying... He's acting like the Malfoy we're used to," Ron explained.

"Oh...well...Maybe his father whipped him into shape over the holidays," Harry suggested, and felt Ginny's arm twitch next to him.

Ron shook his head and swallowed down his food. "He didn't go home, remember? We didn't even see him on the train."

"Well, that's odd," said Seamus Finnigan, who sat two seats from Harry, and had evidently been listening in on their conversation.

"What's odd?" asked Ron, and Harry felt that he knew what Seamus was going to say next.

"Malfoy wasn't here either, was he, Dean?" Seamus said, nodding to the darker skinned Gryffindor. "We both stayed behind this year. Mum and Dad went on their second honeymoon, and Dean stayed to keep me company. Anyway, we would have seen Malfoy if he had stayed behind."

"He's right," Dean added for emphasis. "We never saw him."

Ron frowned. "Well, he could have stayed locked up in his room," he offered.

Seamus and Dean both shook their heads. "Not a possibility," said Seamus. "Two weeks of staying locked up in his room? No...Malfoy's not that weird. He had to eat sometime, right?"

Ron sighed in annoyance. "Well, what do I care where he spent the holidays? It has nothing to do with me! Anyway, Harry," Ron said, changing the subject. "When's the next Quidditch practice?"

*

Later that night Harry and Hermione sat together in the semi-occupied common room, enjoying the freedom of not having to do Head Boy and Girl duties while the moment lingered. Since their return to Hogwarts three weeks ago, school had become painfully exhausting. Everything from classes, to Quidditch, to duties were enough to push Harry down into the ground. And now he not only had to keep Ginny's relationship with Draco a secret, but he had to put on the act of despising the Slytherin boy, when in fact, he could now call Draco a friend. He was no longer an enemy, no longer just a mere acquaintance. The holidays had drawn them both closer than either of them had anticipated.

It had been Sirius' and Remus' suggestion for Harry and Draco to go back to their original antics. The two adults seemed to realise that if they continued on in the direction they were heading, then Ron would most definitely get suspicious. And that was something Harry wanted to avoid at all costs, so he and Draco had both agreed to it. And Harry had to admit (now that he was just pretending to hate Draco), it was slightly amusing.

And now that the holidays were over, there were new things to seriously worry about. Harry and the rest of his fellow 7th years were now steadily preparing for their N.E.W.T.'s, which were to be taken at the end of the year. He knew that at least Ron hadn't started studying. And Hermione was the only one he knew for sure who had.

Presently, Hermione leaned into Harry's strong and comforting body, her head resting on his chest as he rested his chin on the top of her head. His hand was draped over her right one, his thumb lightly tracing the ring she wore on the finger next to her pinky. He felt the smooth, intricate design of the silver and gold band, and the three symbols of Trust, Loyalty and Love, which bonded their symbol of eternal love. Harry remembered the story of how Hermione had nearly lost the ring, and his heart leapt with anxiousness.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione wondered, feeling his body stiffen beneath her. His thumb rested protectively on her ring.

"I was just thinking about what you told me...about your ring...and how you couldn't find it..."

"And you were wondering how I could be so careless?" Hermione finished.

Harry kissed the top of her head as she craned her neck to look up at him. "I wouldn't put it that way, Hermione."

She laughed softly. "Well, it's how I put it. And you don't have to worry about it anymore. After I found my ring, I charmed it with the Impervius Charm, so now I don't have to take it off for any reason at all. I no longer have to worry about getting disgusting frog guts all over it, since all such things will forever be repelled!"

Harry stared into her eyes, amazed that she could surprise him at every turn. That was one of the things he loved so much about her.

"Clever little witch, aren't you?" Harry asked rhetorically.

Hermione grinned. "I feel so awful that I was so carefree with this ring, when it means the world to me. But I've taken the proper steps to ensure that I'll never lose it. So you have nothing to worry about."

Harry sighed with relief, running his hand through her thick, brown hair. "I love you so much," he told her. He kissed her softly on the mouth, concluding his thoughts on the matter.

Just then Ron came crawling through the portrait hole, looking haggard and flustered.

"Stupid library. Stupid Madam Pince," he grumbled. He eyed Harry and Hermione sitting on the sofa as they looked up towards the entrance, and he approached them.

"Having fun studying?" Harry asked delicately.

Ron's face suddenly flushed a deep crimson, and it took only a moment for Harry to figure out why, as Leah York came in a few seconds later, her face blotched, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth. She spotted Ron and amazingly enough, their faces turned an even deeper shade of red. There was definitely an air of awkwardness about them, and Harry instantly knew why.

"You have got to be kidding me!" he cried out in amusement.

Hermione's mouth dropped in realisation, as she sat up from Harry's arms instantly. "Is this what I think it is?" she asked.

"That depends on what you think it is," Leah said quietly; her blue eyes, normally a deep shade, were alarmingly bright and alert.

"Don't bother," Ron told the dark haired 5th year. "They can read me like a book."

"You and Leah..." Harry said in awe, staring from one embarrassed face to the other.

"Were in the library..." Hermione continued, as she perched herself on her knees.

"Doing a little quiet study time..." Harry added slyly as he mimicked Hermione behind her, wrapping his arms around her entire frame. She placed her two hands on his arms, still grinning from ear-to-ear at the horrified expression on Leah's face, and the knowing one on Ron's.

"And you both decided to take a stroll down one of the aisles, supposedly looking for a book..." she continued.

"But we all know that you would never deliberately go looking for a book," Harry pointed out logically, and Hermione nodded knowingly in agreement.

"So instead you pulled Leah to the back of the library..."

"And we got caught by Madam Pince for snogging our brains out, ALRIGHT?!" Ron exclaimed.

The light buzz floating around the common room died down instantly, as each curious head turned towards Ron.

"Oh, don't look so surprised," Ron snapped irritably, and everyone, no longer interested, returned to their conversations.

Harry and Hermione burst into laughter, amused by the expression of embarrassment crossing Ron's and Leah's faces.

"Oh, come on!" Leah exclaimed, quickly getting over the awkward moment. "I suppose you two are going to say you've never been caught doing anything you weren't supposed to be doing?"

Harry and Hermione paused their laughter, considering the question. They exchanged a thoughtful look, sharing a secret smile.

"That's for us to know," Hermione answered, turning back to Leah. Then she winked at the younger girl and whispered, "I'll tell you about it later."

"You will not!" Harry replied hotly, staring at the back of Hermione's head. He could preactically feel Hermione's mischievous grin.

"Of course not, sweety," she cooed, patting his leg gently. Leah grinned and smiled at Ron before leaving for her dorm.

Ron flopped down in the empty armchair, sighing. "You both are complete prats, you know that? By the way, McGonagall wants to see you."

Harry sighed deeply. "I suppose she didn't tell you why?"

Ron shook his head. "Not that she would need to. She probably needs you to sort out some detention. You know how it is."

"Well, looks like quiet time is over," Hermione said sadly, as she stood up, dragging Harry up with her.

"See you later!" Ron called after them.

*

"You wanted to see us, Professor?"

Harry and Hermione stood in the doorway of McGonagall's office.

"I was looking for you, but it's Professor Dumbledore who wants to have a word with you both. You know the way?"

"Of course, Professor. Thank you," Harry said, and they both left, hand-in-hand.

"What do you think Dumbledore wants with us that McGonagall can't tell us to do? Do you think we did something wrong?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"No, I don't think so. McGonagall would have dealt with us if that were the case. And more importantly, we didn't do anything wrong," Harry assured her.

They found the gargoyle leading to Dumbledore's office, gave the password, (Butter Tart), and found themselves on the circulating staircase that would take them straight to Dumbledore.

Harry knocked on the door in front of them, and heard Dumbledore's voice calling for them to come in.

"Hello, Headmaster. You wanted to see us?" Harry said.

Dumbledore smiled at them both, making them feel entirely welcome and at ease.

"To put your minds at rest, I can assure you that you are not in trouble," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with warmth and caring.

"Is it about a student?" Harry asked curiously.

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed it is. It concerns the both of you. Please, have a seat." Harry and Hermione both sat down in the cushy chairs Dumbledore motioned to which sat in front of the older wizard's desk. "Can I offer you a drink? Butter tarts? I fear I have grown quite fond of them."

Harry smiled. "We're fine, Professor."

"Suit yourselves," Dumbledore replied cheerfully, and he conjured a butter tart with a wave of his wand. He nibbled on it, while Harry and Hermione waited patiently.

"Oh, of course," Dumbledore said suddenly. "I suppose I should get to the point. I've taken the liberty to update myself on your current situation."

"Situation?" Hermione wondered, exchanging a baffled expression with Harry.

"Your class marks," Dumbledore emphasized with a smile. "But I was only concerned with your grades from your Defense Against the Dark Arts class," he said, clasping his hands together and peering at them with a long, penetrating look.

Harry suddenly felt very anxious. If Dumbledore was thinking of getting rid of Sirius because of their relationship, he wouldn't allow it. Sirius wasn't a distraction! If anything, Harry was doing well in that class. He had to be. Unless...maybe Dumbledore believed that Sirius was playing favorites? But that couldn't be right...

Dumbledore was looking very closely at Harry, watching him as his thoughts rambled on incoherently.

"Relax, Harry," he finally said. "It isn't what you think."

"May I ask what this is about?" Hermione wondered earnestly. Harry guessed the same thoughts were circling through her mind, too.

"You may," Dumbledore said, smiling. "You both are doing exceptionally well in that class. I know that Sirius isn't showing favoritism, Harry. You've always had top marks in the Defense class, higher than anyone else, in fact, over the past six and some years."

"I don't understand," Harry said quietly.

"Maybe I can clarify a few things," said Sirius Black. He stepped into the room from another entrance that Harry had never noticed before.

"Hullo, Sirius," Harry greeted, his confusion increasing.

"We've been thinking it over," Sirius said, standing next to Dumbledore. "And it's taken us a while to finally come to a decision, but in the end there's no other way. How would you two like to take on some extra-credit?"

Harry's head swam. "Extra-credit? What does it involve?" he wondered. He noticed a strange look in his godfather's eyes. It matched Dumbledore's expression, and this only fueled Harry's messed up, incoherent thoughts and questions.

"It involves a lot of hard work, and very little free time to yourselves, should you take this on," Sirius explained.

Harry stared hard at the dark-haired man, trying to see if he could read his mind. But nothing came.

"I would very much like to emphasize that we do not want you to feel obligated. If you choose not to go through with this, we will support you, one way or the other," Dumbledore added as an after-thought.

"What is it?" asked Harry calmly, not sure if he could handle taking on something extra, with everything else on his plate.

"We want to give you Auror Training," Sirius said.

Hermione's eyes widened, and Harry felt both a burst of excitement and a feeling of impending doom settling in his stomach. To be trained as an Auror! He hadn't seen that one coming, and there were many who believed he was cut out for it. But he knew what kind of training they went through. It wasn't exactly a picnic at the beach.

"Auror Training?" Harry repeated in amazement. "Isn't that a little...rash?"

"Maybe you could explain to us why we would need to be given Auror Training," Hermione suggested calmly. Her eyes met with Harry's and he instinctively reached for her hand, linking his fingers through hers.

Sirius smiled. "For one, you both have the highest marks in the Defense class, and you both show more potential to be trained than any other student in this school."

"But we're still students," Hermione pointed out. "Surely the Ministry wouldn't agree with it?"

"They have. Which is why it's taken us so long to bring it up to you. We wanted to make sure you'd be allowed before approaching you with the idea," Sirius told them.

"So that's the only reason for the training?" Harry wondered. "Because we have top marks?"

Dumbledore sighed, drawing the attention of the small company to himself. "In spite of all our efforts to protect this school, Harry...to protect you...we know our limits. There are some things we are powerless to prevent, as I'm sure you've realised. Even though Voldemort was defeated last year, there are Death Eaters who still remain very alive, and continue to blame you for their master's death."

Harry looked at Hermione, his mind drifting to the predictions, and how they seemed to be leading up to something. He and Hermione had spent many nights talking over Harry's visions, and they had both decided to keep them quiet for the time-being. And even so, Harry and Hermione had expressed their concern that the visions (and their clues), could mean the return of Voldemort. And now it seemed to Harry that Dumbledore and Sirius were fearing that exact possibility.

"The point of the Auror Training," Dumbledore continued, "is to prepare you for what might come. Anything can happen."

"Remember the Triwizard Tournament, Harry. Voldemort was working right under our noses, and no one caught onto anything," Sirius reminded them. "That should give you some insight to how he works. As his prime target, Harry, you need to be prepared. And you, Hermione, need to be just as equally prepared. When you consider that Harry is Voldemort's sworn enemy, and that you've associated yourself with him--"

"I understand," Hermione said, squeezing Harry's fingers gently.

"A part of the Auror training will include Apparation," Sirius added as he watched his godson closely, waiting for some sort of sign, whether it be positive or negative.

Hermione looked up at this statement. "The Ministry--"

"--Has agreed," Sirius cut in quickly. "They have agreed to all the terms, Hermione."

"But we're underage! I thought all students have to wait until after graduation to receive an Apparation license," Hermione pointed out.

"And that hasn't stopped them from allowing you to train to become Aurors," Sirius responded. "Just consider it to be a part of the whole package."

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what to think or what to feel, beyond confusion. Deep down he knew this was something he wanted to do, something he could do--if it helped to protect those around him.

"It would put my mind at ease to know that you both will be able to protect yourselves," Sirius added, dropping the professor act, and looking at them with fatherly kindness.

Harry exchanged a single look with Hermione in order to decipher how she felt about the situation, without verbally asking her. After a moment he nodded shortly and turned back to Dumbledore and Sirius.

"When do we start?"

*

"You--you're kidding me, right?"

After the meeting with Dumbledore and Sirius, Harry and Hermione had dragged Ron off to Hermione's private bedroom to tell him the news. And as always, there was a very dumbfounded look on his face. Harry and Hermione knew that the Auror Training would have to be kept a secret from the rest of the students. But they had requested one small exception, and that was to tell Ron. It was bad enough they had to keep Draco and Ginny a secret from him, they didn't want to have to make up more lies to tell their best friend. Dumbledore (thankfully) had agreed to it.

"It was Sirius' idea. You must have confirmed it for him when you told him that Mad-Eye (and here Harry did an air-quotation mark movement with his fingers) thought we'd make good Aurors," Harry said.

If at all possible, Ron's mouth dropped even further. "I--I--"

"You're the only person who can know, Ron," Hermione said, almost pleadingly. "That means you can't tell Ginny, or the rest of your family, or Leah. No one can know."

Ron's mouth snapped shut and he looked at them with the utmost sincerity. "I can't believe this...you guys...Aurors..."

"We can hardly believe it either, and I'm not too sure it's anything to brag about," said Harry. "Sirius and Dumbledore were sure to remind us how difficult the training is going to be."

Ron nodded slowly. "OK...You guys know you can trust me...but I still can't believe this. Will this take time out of your classes?"

Hermione sighed. "Sometimes. But apparently all the professors are aware, so they won't ask any questions."

"What makes you think the other kids won't notice their Head Boy and Girl missing from lessons, and both at the same time?" Ron asked them.

"Chances are they won't care that we're missing. And we can just use our N.E.W.T.'s as an excuse, right? We'll just say we're off studying," Harry said calmly.

"Any excuse will fly, really," Hermione pointed out.

"But there is an even more important reason why we wanted to tell you, Ron," Harry said, drawing a deep breath.

Ron stared at them expectantly.

"As for Quidditch--" Harry began.

"You're not leaving the team!" Ron exclaimed, jumping off Hermione's bed where he had been sitting.

Harry smiled warmly. "No...I'm not leaving the team. Sit down, Ron," he urged softly.

Ron did as he was told, looking at Harry curiously. "What is it?"

"I have a lot on my plate, with school, N.E.W.T.'s, Auror Training and Quidditch. I just don't have enough time for everything anymore. There's no way I can juggle all these things without at least one thing suffering. And as much as I love Quidditch, and our team, I feel that you guys deserve a Captain who can be there for the team, whenever they need him. Someone who can make the best possible decisions for the team... We need a true leader."

"But you are all those things!" Ron exclaimed.

Harry's face softened and he shook his head slowly. "No I'm not, Ron. Maybe I was at some point... Don't get me wrong. I love the team, and I love being Captain, but we need someone who can give everything the team needs. So... what do you say, Ron?"

Ron stared at Harry as though he had just suggested they should swap girl friends. He shook his head slowly, looking at Hermione for confirmation. But this was a decision that she had nothing to do with. As much as she didn't want Harry giving up his role on the team, a part of her knew that Harry truly had no choice.

"Why would you want me to take over? I'm just a Keeper... I --"

"You're the best person for the job. Of course, I alone can't make this decision. The whole team has to agree. I just wanted to toss the idea in the air. But I know for a fact that once I step down, everyone will turn to you," Harry insisted.

Ron shook his head again, this time with a little bit more urgency. "No... I--I thank you Harry, but you're wrong. There's only one person on the team fit to take over as Captain. The mother of our team."

Harry's eyes widened as realisation dawned on him. "The glue that holds us together," he said.

"Do you think Ginny would want to?" Ron asked.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but just as instantly a new thought came into his mind. Ginny was the mother of the team. She was the person whom everyone relied on to keep things cooled down. And she knew everyone on the team on a very personal level, and always knew how to make anyone new feel welcome on the team.

"As much as I appreciate the offer, Harry," Ron continued, "the Quidditch season is over in a few months, and graduation will be another month after that. What's the point in sticking me in the spot? Ginny, at least, will be here for another year. That gives her enough time to get used to it this term."

Harry found himself looking at Ron with renewed respect. "Are you sure about this, Ron?"

Ron smiled reassuringly. "'Course I'm sure. Besides, I have N.E.W.T.'s coming up, too. I'm gonna need all the time I can get if I'm going to scrape up some good marks."

Harry sighed with finality. "Alright. We'll hold a team meeting tomorrow, and...tell the team about the small change."

"It'll be OK, Harry," Hermione said sweetly. "Once they realise Ginny will be taking over, they'll find that change isn't so bad after all."

Harry grinned at her. "I'm not sure if that's supposed to make me feel better or not," he replied, feeling miserable on the inside.

*

Harry couldn't sleep. The end of the week was drawing to a close, and this weekend would be the last free weekend he'd have for a while. His and Hermione's Auror Training would begin on Monday. And though he was excited, he couldn't help but be a little bit nervous, anxious, even. He still had no idea who would be in charge of training them. And he had no idea where they would be trained. He had a thought that it would have to be outside of the school grounds, so they could keep the training hushed up from students in the school. It would also help for when they began their Apparation training, since it was impossible to Apparate inside the school grounds.

Harry found himself wandering the school halls late on a Friday night. The whole school was so silent and serene, Harry was tempted to curl up on a set of stairs and pass out then and there. But he'd never dare. Not when the staircases moved, and ghosts roamed the halls (luckily, Peeves the Poltergeist was nowhere to be seen). And Harry gave a start of surprise when his godfather turned a corner into the very corridor he was walking.

"Sirius?"

The dark-haired man stopped in his tracks and did a double take. "Harry? What are you doing up?"

Harry shrugged, making his way to the older wizard. "Couldn't sleep. What about you?"

They met and continued down a different corridor, walking side-by-side. "That's not important," Sirius answered, looking sidelong at his godson. "Are you nervous about Monday?"

Harry gave a short laugh. "I'm trying not to be...but I guess it's easy to get nervous over the unknown. Are you sure we're going to do OK?" Harry asked.

"I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise, would I?" said Sirius, grinning slightly.

"Yeah, you'd think so. But are you sure your faith in me isn't a little on the unrealistic side?" Harry wondered.

Sirius gave Harry a pointed look, his eyes narrowed with mild impatience. "You know, I placed my faith in Hermione, too. And have you ever known me to make a decision without a damn good reason?"

"I don't know," Harry mumbled, shrugging helplessly. "I know that you want to protect Hermione and me, but how can we protect ourselves from an invisible enemy?"

Sirius sighed. "For one, if I'm going to place my faith in you, you have to do the same for me and trust that I know what I'm doing. And for two, you need to stop worrying.”

“That’s not a good answer,” Harry pointed out.

“It’s an answer,” Sirius replied with a smile.

As they walked along, a silence fell, neither of them truly wanting to continue the conversation regarding Auror training or the enemy. Though Harry’s mind was alert with anxiousness over what was to come, he suddenly realised that he hadn’t truly thought of Sirius and his plight over the Claire White situation in quite some time. Taking Remus’ advice to heart, Harry had deliberately not asked his godfather about the letter, and he silently prayed that Sirius would come to him when he was ready. In the weeks that had proceeded since Christmas, neither the letter nor Claire had been brought up, and Harry was suddenly wrought with desperation to hear what Sirius thought of it all.

“I know it’s been a while since we talked..." Sirius began. "About Claire, I mean," he added, bringing up the topic as though by some sheer will of thought.

Harry looked sideways to the older man, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and expectancy. Now that Sirius had brought up the topic, did he truly want to hear what he had to say?

Harry mentally shook his head, reminding himself that Sirius’ thoughts and feelings were what mattered. Whether Harry liked what he had to say or not was irrelevant.

“Did you read the letter?” Harry asked, prompting Sirius to continue on with what he wanted to say.

Sirius nodded slowly, tilting his head as though trying to block Harry from seeing the expression on his face.

“What did she say?” Harry then asked, hoping against all hope that what Claire had to say would have a positive impact on Sirius’ decision.

“Well,” sighed Sirius, “she mainly talked about her life since--well since...she moved. And she mainly brought up small topics -- asking how everyone at Hogwarts was doing...She asked me questions about you--“

“Me? What could she possibly have asked about me that I haven’t already told her?”

Sirius shrugged. “She’s never met you, Harry. In all honesty, if you care to know, she’s just as curious about you as you are about her.”

Harry felt his face melt into an expression of awe. He was amazed that this woman actually wanted to get to know him. Sure, for months they had exchanged letters, but they were few and far between, the distance of their homes hindering the swift exchange of each letter by owl.

But Harry could think about that later. He was happy to hear that Claire, his own godmother, truly did care enough to ask about him. But right now he wanted to hear Sirius’ opinion on the matter.

“Is that all she said?” Harry asked, trying to sound casual.

Sirius turned his head slowly as he shrugged his shoulders again. “She might have said more,” he said quietly, so quietly that Harry had to strain his ears just to hear correctly.

“What did she say?” Harry wondered, feeling a warmth spreading through his chest. The way Sirius was acting... it was almost as though he was filled with sudden shyness. As though he’d rather keep the words Claire had written to him a deep secret, locked away in his heart forever. Well, whatever Claire had said, it had done the trick. But Harry was desperate to know what she had managed to tell Sirius. Privacy be damned.

“It’s not important what she said...” Sirius said calmly, though there was a small hint of a grin on his face that suggested otherwise.

Harry shook his head. "So -- what are you going to do about all of this?”

“I’m going to do nothing, Harry,” Sirius said casually. But Harry could see the light twinkle in his eye, and Harry knew that what Sirius really wanted to do was something.

“Nothing? Have you written back?” the young wizard asked.

Sirius smiled. “Yes, I’ve written back. But I want you to know, Harry... I don’t intend for anything to happen. I’m not looking for romance, or old friends. I’m happy with my work, and with you. Those are the two most important things to me, and I’m not going to sabotage the comfort I’ve found in my life just to patch things up with an old flame--“

“She was your fiancée!” Harry exclaimed in puzzlement. “That’s an entirely different situation--“

“You’re right,” Sirius agreed. “A situation which requires a fair amount of delicacy. Even if I wanted it, Harry...things will never be the same between us ever again.”

Harry stopped walking, prompting Sirius to stop as well. Something like anger rose slowly and heatedly through Harry's body.

“I guess that’s what makes us different,” he murmured, looking at Sirius.

“What do you mean?” asked his godfather, looking at him quizzically.

“If it were me, I’d never--“ Harry took a deep breath, trying to take control of his frustration, and also trying to piece together what he wanted to say. “If there ever came a day when Hermione was stripped from my life by circumstances beyond our control, I’d never give up on her -- on us.”

“But that is different. Don’t you see?” Sirius insisted, though he sounded quite unsure of himself.

“No, it’s not. Don’t you see? Hermione and I are as in love with each other as you and Claire once were. I’m going to marry her someday, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so certain of anything in my entire life. If something tore us apart and then one day I was given a chance to be with her again--I would take it in half a heartbeat, no questions asked. Our love will never die, and it’s the same with you and Claire.”

Sirius studied Harry for a moment, looking at him in a new light.

“And what makes you think that Claire and I are ‘meant to be,’ Harry? Things aren’t always the way they seem,” Sirius said.

“You wrote to her, didn’t you?” Harry pointed out, fighting off a knowing smile. “And she wrote to you. Sometimes, Sirius, you can’t fight fate. What is meant to be, will be. You can try to deny it all you want...but in the end... Destiny wins.“

After a moment of staring defiantly at each other, Sirius was the first to break down his defenses as he cracked a smile, his eyes lighting up.

“When did you get to be so wise in the affairs of fate and destiny?”

Harry found himself chuckling lightly, in spite of the very serious conversation they were having. “I suppose it helps being in love. Life is much more different when you have the love of your life by your side."

"You're telling me," Sirius said quietly. And then Harry didn't know what to say.

They started walking again.

"So..." Sirius said, heaving his shoulders and sighing. "Did...Claire ever mention me in her letters? Or talk about me at all?"

"Isn't there a godmother/godson confidentiality thing involved in my relationship with her?" Harry replied, grinning. "You wouldn't want to make me responsible for spilling all our private conversations to you, would you? Thanks for the chat, Sirius. I'll see you tomorrow." And he left before Sirius could open his mouth to reply.

Once Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, he discovered Ron was still wide awake, sitting by himself in the corner of the room in a chair.

"Hey, mate," Ron greeted, seeing Harry enter through the portrait hole.

"What are you doing awake? I thought I was the only one with the insane insomnia problem," Harry said, making his way to Ron.

"Nah," Ron replied. "You're not the only one with things on your mind."

Harry sat down across from the red-head, folding his arms on the table. He was starting to feel tired. The talk with Sirius had calmed and relaxed him, which was exactly what he needed. Sleep wouldn't come to him now though, until he learned what was bothering Ron.

"Is this about Leah?" Harry ventured a guess.

Ron grinned. "I'm so wide awake and excited ... I can't even explain it. Is it supposed to be like this?"

Harry returned the grin. "It's a great feeling, isn't it? So, is it official? Are you two together?"

Ron raised his eyebrows, though his eyes never left the table as he contemplated. "I don't know... We both know how we feel about each other, we just haven't really talked about it seriously, I guess."

Harry's eyes widened. "Exactly what are you waiting for, Ron?"

Ron stared at Harry a moment, his brows furrowed in utter confusion. "You think we should?"

Harry gave Ron an exaggerated pointed look. "You think she'll hang around forever, waiting for you to say something? You have to take action, Ron. You could end up regretting not approaching her sooner than later."

Ron said nothing for a moment, thinking about what Harry was talking about. "You're right," he finally said, nodding thoughtfully. "I should know by now that the only way to live is in the here and now... Who knows what could happen tomorrow?"

"Now you're just getting morbid," Harry said with a grin. "But it's good to see that you're getting the point. So what are you going to do first thing tomorrow?"

"I'm going to have a nice chat with Leah. Harry, I really, really care about her. I mean, it's not just a physical attraction...I really care about her. I worry when she's upset, and I'm happy when she's happy. It's such a different feeling from what I'm used to...compared to the other girls that I've been with. On top of that...I can't stop thinking about her. It's like... when I'm not with her, I want to be with her so bad."

"The hard part is pulling yourself away," Harry agreed. "But it gets easier with time. It's important, actually, to have time apart."

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder," Ron sighed wistfully, in a mocking tone.

"You have no idea. Just you wait, when you're separated from her this summer. Or next year even, when she's still in school and you're not. It's going to kill you."

Ron's earnest and shiny expression suddenly evaporated. "You're right...She's still going to be in school for the next two and a half years... Why would she want to be with me? She's still young... I mean, she'll still be surrounded by tons of guys she could be with..."

"She's surrounded by tons of guys she could be with now, isn't she? And she's with you. She knows what she wants. You have nothing to worry about," Harry assured his freckled friend.

"Maybe..." Ron said slowly, sounding as though he wanted to believe what Harry said, but actually too afraid to.

"Listen to me, mate," said Harry. "I know what I'm talking about. If you don't go for it tomorrow, I'll sic one of Hagrid's ugly--deadly-- creatures on you."

Ron shuddered, standing up. "Alright, you made your point. I'll see you tomorrow."

"That's right," Harry agreed. "Ginny's first Quidditch meeting as Captain!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't remind me. She's been rambling on about it for days now," he said as Harry stood up as well. Both of them made their way to the staircase.

"She's just nervous," Harry said. "Are you sure you're OK with her being Captain? I mean, I know you suggested it...but..."

"'Course I'm alright with it. My sister's happiness is all that matters to me," Ron replied.

Later as he lay in bed, Harry reflected on his conversation with Ron, and he silently prayed that Ron meant what he said. For Ginny's and Draco's sake.

To Be Continued...

***

15. Auror Training

Circle's Close

Chapter 15: Auror Training
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: This chapter takes place throughout the month of February, starting with Harry and Hermione's first A.T lesson, and ending with another sinister message.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended. Leah York belongs to me, but I borrowed her name from the REAL Leah. And the REAL Leah does NOT belong to me.

Special Thanks: Thanks Gary Skinner, for your encouragement and constant support! **huggles my beta**

Author's Note: OK, here's the deal. The first 14 chapters of this story were written before "Order of the Phoenix" was released. I wrote this chapter and the next few coming up after I read "Order." Which means that while the 5th HP book doesn't affect this story as a whole, I did include some things from the book--little things that you'll notice as you read along. Certain things (such as the little Sirius detail I'd rather not mention) I couldn't change. But I don't think I'll see any complaints! (Unless you've got a major hate-on for Sirius. And if you do, you shouldn't be reading this story). Now that I've said my piece, thank you all for reading! I really, really appreciate it!

Enjoy! (And review!)

***

"Wake up, Harry.”

Harry turned over in his sleep, believing the voice speaking to him was coming from his dreams. It took him a moment to realize that Hermione was actually leaning over his bed, shaking him awake. As he cracked open one eyelid, he found he was facing the window, and the curtains were drawn. The sun had not risen yet.

“I’m sleeping...” Harry murmured drowsily. He heard Hermione giggle softly, and felt her fingers brushing his hair back from his face.

“I know you are, sweetie. Don’t you remember? We start training this morning. We can’t be late,” Hermione reminded him.

Harry gave a loud groan as his dream-state floated away, and he came face-to-face with reality. Of course he hadn’t forgotten about the Auror training. In fact, he had stayed up most of the night full of anxiousness and excitement. He had finally passed out from exhaustion, and to him that felt like only an hour ago.

He turned over to face Hermione, who was still dressed in her nightdress. “I was having the most amazing dream,” he said before covering his mouth to stifle a long yawn.

“What was it about?” Hermione wondered, sitting on the edge of his bed and turning to face him.

Harry searched his mind for the details of his dream. This was the first good dream he’d had in a long time, and he didn’t want to forget it.

“You were in it,” he began. Hermione raised her brows interestedly. “And we lived in our own home.”

“We’re married?” Hermione asked, a delighted smile lighting up her face.

Harry nodded.

“And where were we living?” she wondered.

Harry shrugged at this. “I don’t know exactly. I just remember the surroundings... There weren’t a lot of buildings or anything. But there were a lot of trees and plants.”

“What were we doing in the dream?” Hermione asked.

“There was a huge party," he said, his eyes narrowing as he desperately tried grasping at the details which were quickly slipping away. "It was in our backyard. Everyone was there."

"Who's everyone?" Hermione wondered, tilting her head to the side.

"I'm not entirely sure," Harry said, looking at her sheepishly. "All the Weasleys were there, along with Sirius, Remus, and there were a lot of children I didn't recognize. Some of them were our own children," he said, nodding his head with conviction.

Hermione perked up at this. "Really, now?”

"I remember now -- why we were having the party. It was for our oldest son, Remy," Harry told her, looking into her eyes. They were wide and full of wonder. "He had just published his first novel."

"He was a writer?" Hermione exclaimed joyfully.

"A very talented one," Harry added with a smile. "And he had a twin, our daughter... Her name was Jamie."

"Twins? Oh my..." Hermione sighed. "Your dream sounds so magnificent."

"It was," Harry said, looking at her sadly. "It felt so real. You can imagine my surprise when I woke up...here."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "And I take it 'here' isn't nearly as exciting?" she demanded, looking at him sharply.

"It's not like how it sounds, love," Harry assured her, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "It's just..."

"What?"

"In my dream... we were all so happy," Harry explained. "There was no threat of darkness, there was no danger. We could go anywhere; do anything, without fear and the constant desire to look over our shoulders all the time. We were free, Hermione. And it felt so good."

Hermione's face softened. "Do you think it could have been a prediction?" Over time Hermione had learned to take Harry’s dreams seriously, whether they were happy or ominous.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I can only hope it was. And if not -- then I'll just have to do everything in my power to make sure it comes true."

*

"I wonder whose bright idea it was to start Auror training this early in the morning," Harry grumbled, as he and Hermione left the school grounds.

It was a very cold, early February morning, and the sun had just risen. As they chatted on the way, they could see their breath in front of them, puffing out like smoke with every exhalation. Before they had left, Hermione had charmed their winter cloaks with some sort of a Thermal Charm Harry had never heard of before. It kept the wearer warm and comfortable, from neck to toes. The face was the only part of the body the cloak couldn't cover, but there was nothing Hermione could have done about that. And Harry felt so warm (with the exception of his nose and ears), that he felt no desire or reason to complain.

"I believe it was yours, Harry," Hermione reminded him.

"And why didn't you smack me into sense?"

"Because that's not my style," answered Hermione. "And besides, I was in complete agreement with you. It's just easier this way. First -- we can leave the grounds before any students wake up, which means they won't even know we've left. We're supposed to remain discreet, remember? If we did the training after classes, then everyone would see us leave, and they'd always wonder where we're going. That's the last thing we need. Secondly -- no shops open this early in Hogsmeade, and no one is ever awake this early, so we won't have to face any inquiries as to where we're going."

"We never did before," Harry pointed out.

"That's because there were too many kids around on the Hogsmeade trips, so when we went to visit Sirius, no one ever missed us, because they never noticed we were gone. Two Hogwarts students, alone, walking to the outer-edges of Hogsmeade nearly every afternoon would look extremely suspicious." Hermione told Harry. "And besides, there's no harm in being cautious."

Harry sighed, but said nothing. Sirius had instructed the two of them to meet him at precisely 7 am, in the same caves just outside Hogsmeade, where Hermione, Ron and Harry had visited the innocent fugitive many times in their 4th and 5th years. Harry felt like he was 14 years old again, sneaking off to those same caves with Hermione to meet his godfather. The only difference was, Ron wasn't with them. And he wasn't carrying a large and heavy backpack full of food. The only thing Sirius had instructed them to bring was their wands.

They arrived in Hogsmeade, passed Dervish and Banges, and made their way to the edge of the small village, following the very familiar path which would lead them to the caves. Half an hour later, they came face to face with Sirius and --

"Remus!" both Harry and Hermione exclaimed, bright smiles lighting up their tired faces.

"Hello, you two," Remus greeted, smiling warmly.

"What's going on? Why are you here?" Harry asked suddenly, feeling very confused. As far as he knew, only Sirius would be training them.

"There's been a change of plans, Harry," Sirius said. Harry and Hermione looked at their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, waiting for him to explain what their former Defense teacher was doing there. "As it is, my schedule is very full. I'm sure you both know exactly what that feels like. So Remus has offered his services. Most of the time, he’ll be training you. During the days when he physically can’t—i.e the full moon—I’ll be training you."

Harry raised his brows in surprise. "That's great!" he said, and Hermione nodded enthusiastically beside him. Remus had always been one of Harry's favorite teachers, and he had no doubt that he and Hermione were in good hands.

“Just out of curiosity, Remus, who’s making the Wolfsbane potion for you now?” Hermione asked. “Chances are it isn’t Snape. He doesn’t know you’re back, does he?”

“We’re keeping my presence under wraps for now,” Remus told them. “But as for your original question, I managed to come across a wizard in Hogsmeade who has been more than accommodating to make the potion for me. It’s really quite convenient, since I’m now living in Hogsmeade. I have total access to the potion maker.”

“That’s good news,” Harry said.

"Are you two warm enough? We know it's a long walk," Sirius said.

Harry snorted with disdain. "That's easy for you to say, Padfoot," he said, knowing that his Animagus form was exactly how Sirius had traveled from the school to the caves.

Sirius smirked as Hermione answered, "We're fine, Sirius. We're perfectly warm. Are you two alright? I taught myself a Charm that will help keep you warm. I know how drafty these caves can get, especially in the winter."

"The Thermal Charm. We know that one, and it's impressive that you know it too," Remus said. "Though not the least bit surprising," he added with a grin.

"Then if everyone is good to go, why don't we get started," Sirius suggested.

“What do we do?” asked Harry with interest, suddenly not feeling as tired as he did a moment ago.

“Sirius and I will demonstrate for you both first, to give you an idea of how it’s done,” Remus explained, taking on the attitude of a professor once again.

Harry felt he should tell them both that he already knew how to duel, but he decided against it. Sirius and Remus obviously wanted to do a thorough job of training.

The two older wizards put some distance between them, wands held out in front of them.

There was no preparation, no countdown, before Sirius hurled the first Curse at his opponent.

“Stupefy!”

To Harry’s surprise, instead of dodging the oncoming Curse, Remus swirled his wand in a complicated fashion, which—to Harry’s absolute disbelief—actually repelled the Curse.

“Expelliarmus!” Remus exclaimed.

Sirius stepped back slightly just as Hermione gasped with realization. Harry couldn’t understand what conclusion she had come to that he hadn’t, but he did notice Sirius raise his wand in the air and it looked as though he drew an equally complicated symbol in the air. The Disarming Spell had failed, but before Harry could put much thought into the matter, Sirius advanced on Remus.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Remus began to walk backwards, but again—just like before, the Spell had been deflected as Remus drew another similar symbol in the air. It was then that Remus fell, tripping over a stone he hadn’t noticed in his wake.

Sirius raised his wand with finality. “Avada Kedavra!”

But Remus had vanished! He Apparated at Hermione’s side, panting slightly and testing out his ankle.

“Thanks for the warning, Sirius,” Remus said in a slight growl that was reminiscent of Sirius’ own voice when he was angry.

“Hey… It can happen just like that,” Sirius replied innocently, with the snap of his fingers. “And that—Harry and Hermione—is why you must learn how to Apparate. As there is no way to counter or block the Killing Curse.”

“What were you—How did you—“ Harry stuttered, unable to form the right words. He may have felt alert, but apparently his brain still had a lot of waking up to do.

“Why they made you Head Boy, I’ll never guess,” Sirius teased in a fatherly fashion.

“Did either of you notice what we were doing?” Remus asked, looking expectantly at Hermione.

“You were blocking the Curses with your wands,” she answered promptly.

“I noticed that,” Harry replied in his defense to Sirius’ comment. “But was it really safe for you to use the Killing Curse on Remus, Sirius?”

With a mischievous grin, Sirius aimed his wand at Remus again and called out, “Avada Kedavra!”

Remus gave a loud yelp and jumped as though he had been given a small electrical shot. Sirius, finding this highly amusing, doubled over in laughter.

“Really funny, Sirius,” Remus muttered, smiling in spite of himself as he recovered.

Sirius fiddled with his wand while talking. “These are Training wands,” he explained.

Hermione gave another noise of recognition, as though one of her more burning conclusions had just been confirmed. “I thought they looked different from your real wands!”

“Can either of you tell us how we blocked the Curses?” Remus asked them.

“You were drawing symbols in the air,” Hermione answered automatically.

“But—how?" asked Harry. "I mean—how does a symbol block a spell?”

“That’s a good question,” Remus said, “which gets an easy answer. You both should know by now that no two Curses sound alike. In which case, you must learn the sound of each spell.

“You start the counter-curse, or block, once you hear the first syllable of the Curse being hurled at you. You can block the Curse by drawing symbols in the air. Just as with the Curses, there are no two symbols alike.”

“That’s a lot of symbols!” Harry exclaimed, starting to feel like he wasn’t cut out for this at all. If this was just the beginning, he was toast.

“I know it’s overwhelming, Harry,” Sirius agreed, seeing the look on his godson’s face. “But just like with everything else, it comes with practice. If we didn’t believe you could handle this, you wouldn’t be here. Trust me on that one.”

“Don’t you remember Second year, Harry?” Hermione asked. When Harry frowned in bewilderment, she added, “In the Dueling Club. With Professor Lockhart?”

“I remember. But what does that have to do with this?” Harry asked her.

All eyes were on Hermione as she answered. “Do you not remember when Lockhart tried to do the exact same thing Sirius and Remus were doing just a moment ago?”

Harry laughed. “That git couldn’t block a spell if his life depended on it. In fact, I remember clearly that he had dropped his wand.”

“Well—yes,” Hermione agreed. “However, just before he dropped it, he did a sort of complicated wiggling with his wand. Right?”

“Yes…” Harry replied slowly.

“Anyway, it was years ago, but after that Dueling lesson, I went—“

“--To the library—“ grinned Harry.

“--To look up what Lockhart had been trying to do. And that’s when I discovered how Spells and Curses can be blocked by drawing symbols into the air,” Hermione finished.

“You are a teacher’s dream, Hermione,” Sirius said fondly.

“We have to match every spell to every symbol which would block it, right?” Hermione asked for confirmation.

“It’s as simple as that,” Remus replied, as impressed with Hermione as Sirius was. “Of course, you have to train your mind to be constantly on guard. What you saw with us wasn’t exactly real.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sirius muttered, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I was dead serious. Er—no pun intended…” he added with a grin.

Remus rolled his eyes in an exasperated way, vividly reminding Harry of the way Hermione reacted towards Ron and himself. “Always the joker, Padfoot. Anyway, as I was saying. In a real life situation, it’s always a difficult job to be prepared. Sirius, over here, showed me mercy,” he reminded them, while rolling his eyes again. Sirius grinned with satisfaction. “A Death Eater, however, would sooner end his own own life before showing you mercy. Therefore, the first rule of fighting a Death Eater is not to out-fight him, but to out-think him. Are you both following me?”

Harry and Hermione nodded. While they both realized how important their training was, they deeply appreciated how relaxed Sirius made them feel throughout the rest of the morning. Over the course of an hour, Sirius and Remus introduced them to the Training wands, which Sirius had obtained from the Ministry.

“They act as real wands, only with one small difference,” Sirius told them.

“Which is?” Harry asked, as Remus handed them each a Training wand. Harry ran his forefinger along it curiously.

“On the giving end of a Curse, they act the same as a normal wand. On the receiving end, however, you merely receive a minor shock. The idea is to block the curse. If say…I tried to hit you with the Cruciatus Curse, and you tried to block it, but used the wrong counter-curse, you’d receive nothing more than a shock. However, if you blocked it properly by using the right counter-curse—“

“I’d know it,” Harry finished for him.

“Exactly,” said Sirius with a short nod.

Harry, feeling ten times more attentive than half an hour ago, was eager to try out the wands. And by the time the lesson was over, he felt confident that the Auror training would be very successful.

*

Harry looked up from his textbook as Hermione slammed her own closed, her face twisted in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked her.

“Nothing,” Hermione muttered, sighing. “I’m just sick of studying.”

Harry raised his eyebrows disbelievingly while Ron, Leah and Ginny all looked at the Head Girl as though she had just sprouted two heads.

“Excuse me?” Ron squeaked.

Hermione grinned wryly, shrugging. “It was bound to happen, right?” she said to them.

“I’m speechless,” Ron said in a whisper, earning a reproving look from Leah.

“She’s entitled, you know!” the youngest of the five Gryffindors told him. Leah also had books spread out in front of her while she desperately worked at her Transfiguration assignment. Her O.W.L.’s were coming up, and Harry was reminded of his fifth year, and the many sleepless nights he spent trying to finish his schoolwork.

Shaking his head of the terrible memories, Harry instead chose to turn his head as he watched Hermione sink into her seat, watching the flickering flames in the fireplace as they gave the common room an eerie glow. He could tell she was exhausted. What she needed was a good night’s rest and some relaxation.

The past two weeks since their training had began were very busy, and even while they weren’t attending sessions, Sirius and Remus always made sure to hand them material to read at night whenever they had a chance. Secretly, Harry was beginning to worry about Hermione. She had become more irritable than normal lately, and he was sure it had a lot to do with her homework load, as well as everything else she had to cope with. He knew Hermione had a love for learning, and he knew she could handle almost anything. But he was positive that she was wishing she had a Time-Turner right about now. He couldn’t blame her at all.

Harry turned his attention to Ron and Leah, who sat bickering on the sofa. Ginny caught Harry’s eye and they both grinned, thinking the exact same thing: Ron strikes again.

“You can be so insensitive sometimes,” Leah breathed impatiently.

“And you can be so impatient sometimes,” was Ron’s heated reply.

“How can you expect me to be so tolerant of you all the time, when all you are is impossible?”

“She’s certainly opened up quite a bit since they got together, don’t you think?” Ginny asked Harry.

“I think they’re perfect together,” Harry said.

They spoke in hushed tones, that way Leah and Ron couldn’t hear their conversation.

“Sort of remind you of my parents, huh?” said Ginny.

“Which is why they’re perfect together,” Harry answered with a smile.

“I think it’s all so sweet,” Ginny continued quietly. “The way my brother asked Leah to be his girlfriend.”

“Ron told me—he asked her like it was a proposal, didn’t he? With a candlelit dinner and roses, and he got down on one knee…”

“Can you believe that?” Ginny said in a slightly shrill voice, full of admiration for her brother.

“I heard Leah was pretty surprised,” said Harry.

“She told me that she thought they already were boyfriend and girlfriend. Ron was horrified. He had gone through all that trouble…”

“Yeah, but now look at them,” said Harry, turning back to Ron and Leah, who were still both bickering back and forth. “Wasn’t it worth it?”

Ginny laughed just before Hermione sat up in her seat.

“Will you two stop? You’re giving me a migraine,” she moaned.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Leah apologized sincerely, glaring at Ron in a way that vividly reminded Harry of Mrs Weasley.

“I’m sorry, too,” Ron echoed, and Harry couldn’t help shaking his head as Leah smiled, reaching for Ron’s hand. They’re fingers linked, and they sat together in silence, while Leah flipped through her textbook with her free hand.

“Unbelievable, I know,” Ginny agreed, shaking her own head.

“Hermione?” Harry said, looking at his girlfriend.

“Yeah, Harry?”

“Maybe you should go to bed…get some sleep. You need it,” Harry told her.

Hermione’s eyes, which had been closed, opened slightly as she looked at Harry. His hand covered her own and he squeezed it gently.

“I don’t know…there’s still so much to do…”

“Hermione, you’re entitled to one nap. If I have to, I’ll enforce my Head Boy status and make you go upstairs.”

Hermione smiled gratefully at Harry. “Alright…I’m going. But make sure those two—“ and she pointed at Ron and Leah, “—don’t get out of hand.” She said the last few words with a smile and she stood up.

“That would be like trying to tame a Hungarian Horntail, Hermione!” Ginny exclaimed, as Hermione disappeared up the stairs to her room.

“Good one, Ginny,” Ron replied sarcastically, while Leah giggled.

*

“This is a first,” Ron said under his breath to Harry, as the Divination class made their way to the Greenhouses.

“This way class…to Greenhouse three. Excellent,” Professor Trelawney called to the students.

Professor Sprout was already inside, smiling jovially to the students as they entered the greenhouse.

“Thank you, Professor Sprout,” Trelawney said softly as the portly teacher made her way to the door. “And dear—do try to stay indoors.”

Professor Sprout frowned in a puzzled way at the Divination teacher. “What do you mean?” There was a distinct tone of skepticism in her voice that Harry understood all too well.

“I mustn’t say—“ Trelawney said, closing her eyes and sighing. “It is such a burden with the knowledge—“

“You can tell me, Professor, or you are more than welcome to keep the information to yourself. But I have another class to run. Good day, class.”

Professor Sprout turned on her heel and vacated the greenhouse.

“What was it, Professor?” Parvati Patil exclaimed fearfully.

Trelawney smoothed down her robes and began toying with the beads around her neck.

“She will catch a dreadful cold,” she said quietly, slowly shaking her head.

No one in the class commented. They all knew perfectly well that Sprout would catch a cold. She worked in the greenhouses all year round, and they were sitting in the middle of winter. It was perfectly natural. Even Parvati and Lavender looked remotely disappointed.

“You are all no doubt wondering why we are here today, as opposed to our more comfortable classroom in the castle,” Trelawney began. “After our study with Crystal Gazing and Smoke Divination, I would like to introduce you to another form of fortune-telling. Scrye Divination.” She allowed a moment for this to sink in while the class pondered what “scrying” was.

“It is the practice of seeing visions in the surface of any form of reflecting liquid, whether it is water, or even a tub of oil. The liquid merely reflects the vision, just as the glass of a crystal ball would.”

Harry felt butterflies of dread in his stomach. Each time Trelawney introduced a new unit to study, he always managed to have visions. Would today be the same?

“Professor Sprout has been kind enough to allow us to use her pool, here,”

Trelawney motioned with one hand to a large, round pool which sat at the far end of the greenhouse. Harry remembered from a previous year when Sprout had used the same pool to grow magical plants. It reminded him of the kid-sized pools Muggle children used in their backyards during the summer.

“So if you all would be gracious enough to gather around, there’s enough room for all of you…that’s it…”

Harry and his classmates made their way to the other end of the greenhouse. They all dropped to their knees, placing their hands on the side of the pool. Draco Malfoy had managed to squeeze his way next to Harry, as Ron took his right hand side. Every student looked at Trelawney expectantly.

“We’ve been practicing quite a bit at working our Inner eye. Focus your energy as you look into the water, and tell me if you see anything,” Trelawney instructed.

“We’ll be here forever,” Ron muttered miserably.

Harry felt his insides squirming. He could see Draco’s reflection in the water, and felt slightly better as the blond Slytherin winked encouragingly at him.

“Focus, children,” Trelawney said in her own encouraging manner. She walked around the pool, also keeping watch for any signs.

“Oh! Professor Trelawney! I think I see something!” Lavender shrieked excitedly, pointing down into the water.

Trelawney made her way to her. “What is it, dear? What did you see?” she asked.

But at this point Lavender’s face had fallen with disappointment. “Oh…never mind…it’s just a leaf…probably from Professor Sprout’s plants.”

Ron snorted, trying to hold back his laughter. Parvati glared at him from across the pool.

Harry’s knees were starting to throb. He tried to concentrate, but it was difficult being squished between two other people, while sitting in the most uncomfortable position possible.

At this point, when Harry was seriously starting to consider standing up and stretching, an eerie shadow passed over the reflected sunlight on the surface of the water. Harry jerked his head over his shoulder and squinted up into the steel-white February sky, expecting to see some large, dark creature with its wings outspread, blocking out the sun. He thought it might be one of the thestrals, which he knew lived in the Forbidden Forest. No one else in the class seemed to have noticed anything odd, but that was not surprising, as Harry was one of the few people at Hogwarts who could see the skeletal, black-winged horses that pulled the carriages which bore the students to and from Hogsmeade. Thestrals were visible only to someone who had seen Death, so it was only to be expected that Harry, alone of all the class, had seen.

But when he squinted in the direction of the pale sun, he saw that there was nothing there. The sky in every direction was as bright and featureless as an inverted pewter cauldron. Bewildered, Harry turned his attention back to the pool—and he gasped. The reflection of the sun on the water’s surface was still obscured, as if by a pair of great, black leathery wings. But—it couldn't be a reflection, for the sun shining feebly overhead was not blocked out.

But if it was not a reflection—and Harry experienced a sudden chill that was unrelated to the cold of the early winter’s morn—that could only mean…

“Black wings blocking out the sun,” Trelawney whispered over his shoulder.

Harry was pointedly avoiding looking into Professor Trelawney’s large, unblinking eyes, which he could feel boring into the back of his head like twin Incendio spells.

“My dear,” Trelawney whispered, looking at Harry in a new light. “You have the gift!”

The entire class was staring at Harry with a mixture of puzzlement and amazement.

“N-no I don’t,” Harry denied, as Ron shot him a look that told him he thought Trelawney was as batty as ever.

“You know what you saw, child. And you are aware that I have seen the same vision,” Trelawney persisted.

“I didn’t see anything.”

“The world covered in shadow,” Trelawney reminded him, and Harry felt ice slipping into his stomach. “The wings, my dear, the wings!”

“There were no wings…I was just—“

At that point the signal for the end of class rang, yet all of Harry’s classmates remained where they were, still staring at Harry.

“I have to go,” Harry said suddenly, and Ron stood up with him. He noticed Draco making his way up as well, as if to follow him. But he seemed to think better of it, as he sat back down.

“You may try to deny it, Mr Potter,” Trelawney called after him. “But the Seeing Eye knows all! And you have the gift!”

To Be Continued...

***

Thanks from Fae: Thanks again for the thoughtful reviews, and taking the time to read this story! It means so much to me. :) I'm not entirely sure when I'll be able to post again. The thing is...I took on a second job. So...yeah... I'm gonna be a busy girl.

Hmmm... So what's coming up next? More Auror Training? A Birthday celebration? Some guest appearances? Tune in next time to find out!

16. The Golden Eagle

Circle's Close

Chapter 16: The Golden Eagle
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G, R/OC and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Join Harry, Hermione, Ron and Leah as they celebrate Ron's birthday at the most distinguished restaurant in Hogsmeade. Ron? Distinguished? What's this world coming to?
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended. In addition: Anything you don't recognize belongs to me. Except for Leah... because I gave her to Ron. ^_^

Special Thanks: To my homefry, Gary Skinner. I don't know what I did to deserve such a cool beta, and I don't think now is the time to question it. I don't want to jinx it! But I'm having so much fun working on this story with him.

Fae's Quickie: Thanks for all your kind words, guys. I don't know what I'd do without you! I probably wouldn't post, actually. Anyway, I meant to post this weeks ago, but instead I ran out of time and patience, and I ended up...not posting it. I'm a lot busier these days, so bear with me, please! Christmas is coming up, and I'm working two jobs at the time. Those two things combined leave very little time for anything else (other than sleep, food...and sometimes a shower...) Enjoy the chapter! I have today and tomorrow off, so I hope to get the other chapters into shape so I can post them!

As for the chapter itself, you'll find that from Chapter 15 on involve things from OotP. The thing is...I wrote this story up until chapter 14 and that was before OotP was released. When I read the book, it almost became natural that I include some things from it as I continued to write the story. Small things. Things that don't affect the overall story or plot. (I really didn't want certain details from OotP to affect my story). Anyway, that's just a friendly little reminder!

And I'm not entirely sure if this is customary, but a really massive thanks and a great massive hug goes out to Talion. Thank you so very, VERY much! :D

Read and Enjoy!

***

“I still think you should go to Dumbledore,” said Hermione quietly as she flipped through the book sprawled open before her.

“And I still disagree with you,” Harry said defiantly.

Harry and Hermione sat across from each other in the library, doing research for their least favorite class, Potions. It was mandatory that every 7th year student in Potions find a draught that they had never studied or brewed before, learn it by heart, and teach the class how to mix it properly. It was worth 30% of their final mark, and Severus Snape, their Potions Master, had made it abundantly clear that the success of their potion depended greatly on how well the class performed in brewing the mixture given to them.

At the moment, however, Hermione was barely concentrating on her potions assignment. Two weeks had passed since Harry's prediction in the greenhouse, and once Harry had told Hermione about it, she immediately insisted that he go to Dumbledore. But Harry seriously doubted that this prediction was anything to worry about, and had disagreed with Hermione on the subject.

Harry clearly remembered having similar conversations with her long ago, when he had had his first vision. Even now, Hermione’s persistence was not wavering. Throughout the past two weeks, she would bring up the subject at odd moments, hoping to catch Harry at a weak point and convince him to see Dumbledore.

"Do you honestly believe that the predictions you've been having don't mean a thing?" Hermione demanded sharply.

Harry fought hard to control whatever remaining patience he had. It was times like these he wished Hermione hadn’t begun to believe in prophecies and visions.

"It's not that," Harry told her, very calmly. "I just don't believe there's anything Dumbledore can do."

As he stared hard at the book he was reading, Harry could see that Hermione was staring at him fixedly. He sighed and lifted his head so his eyes were level with hers, and what he saw lifted his sour mood and made him want to laugh. She was giving Harry a look that he knew she was using as a last resort. The "puppy-dog eyed" look, where she raised her eyebrows into a small arch above a pair of hopeful brown eyes, completing the picture with a protruding bottom lip.

“Don’t give me that look, Hermione,” Harry pleaded, melting inside against his iron will.

Hermione seemed to sense that he was finally relenting, too, because she increased the look ten-fold. Harry sighed, wondering how he could face off against the Darkest wizard ever known to mankind, and yet cave in almost instantly when it came to the woman he loved.

“Alright, alright,” Harry finally conceded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Hermione beamed at him. “Now that we’ve covered that problem, I was wondering--have you made reservations for dinner yet?”

“Absolutely,” said Harry. “Keep your calendar clear next Saturday. I’ll tell Ron and Leah to do the same.”

Just at that moment, Hagrid’s massive form emerged from the bookcases behind Harry and Hermione’s table. He was clutching a book to his chest, and when Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes landed on the witch and wizard, his large hand discreetly covered the title before either Harry or Hermione could see it.

“Hello!” he exclaimed jovially, at which Madam Pince hushed him immediately with a deadly glare.

“What’s that you’ve got, Hagrid?” asked Hermione curiously.

“I got me a book,” Hagrid replied vaguely.

Hermione laughed. “You’re not getting secretive on us again, are you? Haven’t you learnt by now that it’s impossible to keep anything from us?”

“’S no harm in tryin’, ain’t there?” he asked in return, and Harry grinned at Hagrid’s innocent reply.

Hermione sighed.

“What’re you both up ter?” asked Hagrid curiously.

“Potions,” said Harry, his nose crinkling in disgust, and he told Hagrid about the assignment.

Hagrid made a noise of sympathy and nodded. “Well--best ter get it o’er with, I always say. Ye’d do good ter go firs’, maybe.”

“He is going first. In two weeks,” Hermione told the half-giant. “But I keep insisting that he has nothing to worry about. Harry's a wonderful teacher.”

Harry smiled at Hermione appreciatively while Hagrid cleared his throat loudly. “Well--got a lotta work ter catch up on. I’ll see yeh two later.”

When he left, Hermione looked at Harry sharply. “Did you notice what I noticed?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Er--“

“He was coming from the Restricted section, Harry!” Hermione hissed.

Harry’s stomach dropped with a heavy feeling of dread. “This isn’t good...”

“Well of course that all depends on what book he picked out...” Hermione replied with a thoughtful expression on her face. “I mean--he’s not introducing us to some new and dangerous creature. We already know the general outline for our Creatures class.” She paused, looking deep in thought for a moment. Then: “It’s not...that likely, is it? You don't think he'd spring something up on us? Like a...a...Manticore or something?” she asked worriedly.

This time it was Harry’s turn to give Hermione a pointed look. “We know Hagrid better than that,” he told her.

Hermione heaved another sigh. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

*

The following week-end Ron was staring at Harry with a mixture of horror and awe on his face. He then turned his bright blue eyes back to the restaurant they were standing directly in front of.

“You’re joking, right?” he said to Harry, utterly dumbfounded.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked him innocently.

“This is the Golden Eagle,” Ron said in a hollow voice.

“I know it is,” Harry said, smiling.

“The most prestigious--expensive restaurant in Hogsmeade,” Ron added.

“That’s right,” Harry agreed. “Happy Birthday, mate,” he added as Hermione linked her arm through Harry’s.

“Shall we go inside?” she asked, shivering against him.

Leah slipped her hand into Ron’s, and the two followed Harry and Hermione into the restaurant.

“Welcome to the Golden Eagle. How can I help you?”

A young man wearing a fancy, forest green set of robes, stood at a podium which was located to Harry’s left. He was smiling at them in a welcoming way.

“We have reservations for Potter, please,” Harry told the man.

The wizard consulted the list laid out before him, at which point Harry whispered into Hermione’s ear, “You look beautiful.” And before she could reply, the host looked up at them again and nodded.

“Follow me, please, Mr. Potter and company,” he instructed.

Hermione and Harry grinned at each other and obeyed the host, while behind them Ron and Leah gasped with delight. Harry attempted to keep a straight, nonchalant face as they walked through the restaurant, as though he dined richly all the time. But he couldn’t stop himself from feeling an overwhelming sense of awe as he glanced all around him, taking in his surroundings.

The restaurant was shrouded in furniture as deep a shade of blue as the walls. There wasn’t a single window anywhere to be seen, and no lamps to give light. Instead, the restaurant was illuminated by hovering candles lit with soft, blue flames. Gentle music echoed through the restaurant, which left the atmosphere calm, giving the customers a feeling of peace and serenity. Harry could instantly see why this place was so expensive and such a success.

They passed many tables and booths occupied by elegantly dressed witches and wizards, some sipping wine from crystal goblets, others using utensils Harry had never seen before. Harry spotted the source of the music to their far right. A beautiful witch garbed in shimmering silver robes strummed her slender fingers along a large, golden harp. The body of the harp was shaped like a giant eagle, complete with a set of golden wings which spread out at either side.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she,” Hermione whispered at Harry’s elbow as they continued to follow the host.

Harry nodded as he looked at the harp-playing witch. He felt enchanted just by being in the same room with her. “Is she a Veela?” he asked Hermione.

“No, she’s an Eternal. An immortal witch,” she added before Harry could ask. “They’re as rare as a true Seer, and a hundred times more useful.”

“An Eternal? Here?” Ron gasped with delight, his head swinging in the same direction where Harry was looking. “Wait until Mum hears about this.”

“How do you know she’s an Eternal?” Harry asked Hermione curiously.

Hermione smiled at him, but it wasn’t with her usual knowledgeable grin. Her eyes seemed to light up, as though drawn from a power within her. “You know that feeling you’re experiencing right now?” she asked softly. “Eternals fill you with hope and tranquility. They take away all your bad feelings and thoughts, and leave you with nothing but your best memories. Basically, they’re the total opposite of Dementors.”

Just as they passed the Eternal, she looked up and met Harry’s eyes. The emotional sensations that followed were instantaneous. Harry felt the joy of life and love as he had never experienced it before. And something in him began to rise, filling every dark corner of his being -- a feeling of peace and prosperity. He felt blessed for everything he had, and grateful for being alive. Harry remembered the Cheering Charm he had learnt in Third year, but what he was feeling now was far more intense.

The witch smiled serenely at Harry and inclined her head in acknowledgment. She then turned back to her harp and continued to entrance the restaurant as she played.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, looking at Harry with concern.

He turned and looked directly into her eyes, feeling so happy he could cry.

“I have never been better,” he told her, his voice thick.

The host finally brought them to a plush booth at the far end of the restaurant which seemed isolated from all the other tables.

“The best seat in the house, sir,” said the host with a bow. “Your waitress will be with you in one moment. I sincerely hope you enjoy your meal, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said sweetly, taking her seat before everyone else. As the host left, Leah followed Hermione’s lead by sitting across from her, and Harry and Ron took their seats next to their partners.

“Harry--“ Ron said in the same tentative tone he had adopted outside the Golden Eagle.

“I’m paying, Ron. I don’t want to hear any more arguments on the matter,” Harry said shortly.

“You can’t pay!” Ron hissed, suddenly indignant.

“Oh believe me, mate, I wouldn’t be paying in any normal circumstances. What am I? Made of gold?” Harry joked. “But it’s your birthday, and as we didn’t get to celebrate it properly on your birthday, this was literally the best thing I could do.”

“You can’t pay,” Ron repeated, but with less fervor than before.

“What are you planning to order, love?” Harry asked Hermione, ignoring Ron with a smile.

“I’m not sure...” Hermione replied thoughtfully as she opened the menu in front of her.

“How did you know about this place, Harry?” Leah wondered, still staring around in awe.

“Sirius told me about it,” he said without hesitating. “He told me that this was the first place my father took my mother when they started dating.”

Hermione looked from her menu to Harry, her eyes wide in mild shock. “You never told me that.”

Harry shrugged, feeling uneasy. He found himself staring at the other tables where other witches and wizards were dining peacefully. And a familiar ache pierced his heart as he wondered where, all those years ago, his parents had sat on their first date.

“It didn’t come up,” Harry finally told her as he turned his attention back to the present.

“Good evening,” greeted their waitress. She was young, and wore plain, black dressing robes. She was a pretty blonde, with stunning blue eyes and a smile to match. In addition, her wand was tucked behind her ear and she looked very familiar. “My name is Natty. I’ll be your waitress for the evening.”

“Hello,” the others greeted, returning the smile.

“Did you need a few more minutes to order? Could I get any of you anything to drink to start?”

The four exchanged glances until Hermione piped up. “Just a tea for me, thank you.”

Natty promptly pulled out her wand and waved it into the air. A shimmering silver number 1 with the letter T appeared in the air before disappearing completely.

“That’s marvelous!” Hermione exclaimed joyfully. “Is that new?”

“Actually, it is,” Natty replied, flashing Hermione another brilliant smile. “It’s a new development we’ve been testing out for the past couple of weeks, and it seems to work amazingly well. It makes our jobs much easier, and the service is much faster,” she confided.

“How does it work?” she asked with polite eagerness.

When Natty hesitated, Harry nodded his encouragement. “Indulge her,” he said, just as Hermione swatted him playfully.

Natty giggled. “Alright. The number 1 you saw represents the table number, and the letter T represents the order--for instance, you ordered a tea. If you had ordered coffee, I would have drawn a C in the air.”

“Wouldn’t that get confusing with food orders?” Hermione asked interestedly.

“Food orders are slightly different,” Natty explained with the same enthusiasm Harry recognized in Hermione. “We don’t use letters, we use code-numbers. For instance, if you ordered a roasted chicken which comes with any salad of your choice, the code would be 147. Each number symbolizes something about the order. The number 1, obviously, symbolizes your table number. The 4 represents the food group, which would be chicken. And the number 7 tells us which dish you ordered.”

“And what happens then?” Hermione asked.

“It goes directly to the kitchens, where the Taker receives the orders, and informs the chefs.”

Hermione suddenly frowned. “And who are the chefs, may I ask?”

Harry and Ron both closed their eyes, fighting the urge to groan. If Hermione discovered that there were house-elves in the kitchens…no more Golden Eagle.

But Natty was grinning as though she had read Hermione’s mind. “Don’t worry, honey. Only wizards and witches cook here. My parents never supported house-elf slavery.”

Harry and Ron both opened their eyes and looked at Natty in shock. “Your parents?” they both said in unison.

But Hermione was positively glowing.

“You’re JOKING!” she exclaimed. After she realized that she had raised her voice unbecomingly, she regained her composure. “I mean--that’s fantastic. Good for you--and your parents!”

“Your parents?” Ron repeated.

“My father is the owner of this restaurant,” Natty explained with a wry smile.

“Hang on--“ said Harry, frowning up at Natty. “Do we know you? I feel like I…recognize you, somehow.”

“I do, too,” Ron agreed.

“Well you would, wouldn’t you?” said Hermione in her usual know-it-all manner. “She’s Natalie Lovegood. She was Head Girl the same year Percy was Head Boy, remember?”

“Ah, I remember,” Ron said, nodding.

“LOVEGOOD?” Harry exclaimed. “As in--Luna Lovegood?”

“She’s my cousin. You know Luna?” Natty asked.

Ron snorted rudely and yelped when Leah poked him roughly in the ribs.

“Yeah, we know Luna,” Harry answered. “I can’t believe you’re related. And come to think of it...you do sort of...look like her.”

Natty giggled appreciatively. “We tend to act alike, which is probably why you notice a resemblance. Our fathers are brothers.”

“Are you two very close? You and Luna?” Hermione asked.

“She’s the best person I know,” said Natty forcefully. “She’s the little sister I never had.” She looked at her watch. “And listen to me--chatting away when you’re all getting hungry. Anything else to drink?”

A minute later, Natty left, leaving the four to sort out what they wanted to order, and also to discuss the interesting coincidence of meeting another Lovegood.

When Hermione finished reading through her menu, she passed away the time by toying around with the condiments on the smooth, polished mahogany table in an absent-minded way. As she moved the salt shaker, she gave a loud gasp.

“What is it?” Harry asked worriedly.

“Harry!” Hermione hissed, desperately trying to keep her voice down. “Look!”

She pointed to where the salt shaker had been and Harry leaned over, squinting down at the polished table.

And then he saw it. ‘J.P + L.E.’ The initials were small and barely visible upon first glance. But then again, Hermione always did have a keen sense of sight.

“They were here!” Hermione said, a noise escaping her lips like a short sob of joy. “Harry--your parents. They were here.”

A slow warmth cascaded through Harry from head to toe at these words. He felt lighter than air. And he knew this feeling had nothing to do with the Eternal witch.

“How romantic,” Leah sighed dreamily, glancing at Ron shyly.

“I was always told my dad didn’t have very much respect for rules,” Harry said, thinking of the reckless damage his father had done to the smooth, expensive table-top. “But I had no idea he was a sentimentalist.”

Hermione’s hand touched his gently. “Well now the mystery is solved.”

“What mystery?” Harry asked her quizzically.

Hermione smiled warmly at him. “I finally know where you got it from.”

Ron was shaking his head in wonderment. “Now there's a coincidence if there ever was one,” he said, referring to the carved initials.

When Natty returned with drinks for them, she was looking at Ron curiously.

“You’re Percy’s youngest brother,” she said.

“I am,” Ron said, receiving his coffee from her.

“And you have a younger sister as well, don’t you?” she said.

“Ginny,” Ron told her. “Why?”

Natty shrugged as she handed Leah her glass of iced sugar-lemon. “I saw her here a little while ago. With a--“

“I am starved,” Harry exclaimed suddenly. “Are we ready to order yet?”

At the thought of eating, Ron immediately forgot about what Natty was talking about. When Ron wasn’t looking, Harry shot Natty a wide-eyed look, suggesting that it would be better if she didn’t mention Ginny again. And surprisingly enough, Natty seemed to understand the look, and she gave Harry a discreet nod.

“Speaking of Ginny,” Ron said casually as Natty (after taking their orders) traveled to another table, “Tell them what you told me, Leah.”

Harry fought off a groan as Leah sighed. “It’s not a big deal, Ron. I told you I never believed it.”

“Harry and Hermione will get a kick out of it. Trust me,” said Ron.

“Well...” Leah started hesitantly. “According to my friend Justice from Ravenclaw, Ginny has a secret admirer.”

Harry frowned at Leah while alarm bells were ringing loudly in his head. “And how exactly would Justice--“

Hermione gently pressed her foot against Harry’s toes beneath the table, cutting him off mid-sentence, and she shot him a silent look of warning. It then occurred to him that if he pursued the matter, Ron could possibly become even more suspicious than he already seemed.

“That’s a little far-fetched,” Harry finally said, instantly changing the direction of the conversation.

“That’s what I keep telling Ron, but he refuses to drop it,” Leah said in her defense.

“It’s not that necessarily,” said Ron. “I just keep getting this feeling that Ginny is hiding something from us.”

“Paranoid,” Leah muttered with a smile in Ron’s direction.

Ron didn’t say anything to this, and Harry found himself holding his breath, wondering if he was going to continue with the topic about Ginny. Would he remember that Natty had mentioned Ginny, and would he ask her about what she had wanted to tell him?

“I guess so,” Ron finally admitted.

Harry let out a slow sigh of relief.

A few minutes later, Natty returned with four gleaming silver plates. “Food is ready!” she chirped cheerfully. After setting down their plates in front of them, she withdrew her wand from behind her ear once again and tapped each of their plates in order. Their orders magically appeared with each tap of her wand.

“There you are,” she said. “Enjoy!”

They all thanked her, and she left to tend to another table.

It wasn’t until they were half-way through their meal when Ron gave a straggled cough, as though he was choking on his steak. He was looking directly behind Harry, and it took him a moment to get the words out of his mouth. But when he finally did speak, it was in a voice filled with shock and hesitation.

“Hey Harry--isn’t that--Cho?”

Harry and Hermione both twisted around in their seats, and sure enough, Cho Chang was gliding smoothly past the rows and tables. And while Cho was still very pretty, with her long, smooth black hair and cherry-red lips, Harry distinctly noticed the shadows under her eyes, as though she hadn’t slept decently in ages. Her usual gliding walk was more brisk than graceful. She resembled a once flourishing flower which had wilted over a short period of time.

But what mostly caught Harry’s attention was not Cho herself, but the tall man her arm was linked to. Harry recognized the dark hair, the stooped shoulders, and his duck-footed walk.

“And isn’t that--KRUM?” Ron gasped.

Harry and Hermione turned back in their seats to face Ron and Leah. Harry knew Hermione didn’t want to have the evening spoiled by seeing Cho, as her feelings towards the former Ravenclaw were only slightly less than hostile. Harry had his own reasons for not wanting to talk to Cho, and when Ron’s eyes suddenly lowered to his plate, Harry knew that Cho Chang and Viktor Krum had spotted them and were now making their way to Harry’s table.

“Harry?”

Harry looked up at Cho and Viktor with a genuine smile. “Hello, Cho. Hi, Viktor,” he added, nodding to the Bulgarian Seeker.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” said Cho, smiling brilliantly at him. “What brings you all here?”

“We’re celebrating Ron’s birthday. He turned 18 last week,” said Harry. “And how are you both?”

Cho tossed Harry a devilish smile and thrust out her left hand right under his nose. A massive diamond was perched atop a thin, gold band which circled her wedding finger.

“Married?” said Hermione, looking at Viktor with an odd look in her eye.

“We got married just last month,” Cho gushed, her cheeks flushing with excitement.

“Congratulations,” Harry said sincerely. Hermione nodded next to him.

“Thanks!” Cho beamed.

“I see ve vere right za whole time, Harry,” said Viktor, looking from him to Hermione.

It was Hermione’s turn to blush.

“I should have listened to you the first time you hauled me to the side,” Harry agreed.

Cho gave a short laugh. “You make it sound like he was the only one who pointed out your feelings for Hermione.”

“What can I say?” said Harry with an innocent shrug. “I was a mindless git.”

“Yes...” Hermione agreed with a sweet smile. “But a very cute git.”

Cho narrowed her eyes slightly at Hermione, and swept her long, dark hair back over her shoulder with her left hand. “Well, it was nice to see you all,” said Cho in a falsely cheerful tone.

“Congratulations to you both,” Harry repeated with a sincere smile. “You deserve to be happy.” He said the last part to Cho.

She looked at Harry in surprise, as though a part of her believed she didn’t deserve such kind words.

“Thank you,” she said. She turned to Ron. “Happy birthday.” And the next thing Harry knew, they were gone.

A moment later, Harry could see Hermione shaking her head through the corner of his eye. She gave a soft, impatient cluck of her tongue.

“What’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“She’s pregnant,” Hermione said without preamble. She didn’t look up as she said it, but continued to eat as Ron and Harry stared at her searchingly. Leah, on the other hand, nodded her head.

“Who's pregnant?” Ron finally asked.

“Cho! She’s pregnant,” Hermione hissed.

“How can you tell?” asked Harry, feeling as confused as Ron looked.

“Never, ever doubt a woman’s instinct,” said Leah.

“And how is it that girls can tell and guys can’t?” Ron asked, slightly annoyed.

Leah shrugged, unperturbed. “I guess it takes a girl to know one, Ron.”

But Harry was looking at Hermione with a slight frown, finally understanding what she was insinuating. “You’re not saying he married her because--“

“He got her pregnant? Yes, yes I am,” Hermione replied cynically.

“Hermione!” Harry said in an exasperated tone. “Did it ever occur to you that she could have gotten pregnant after they were married?”

“They’ve only been married a month. Cho has been pregnant longer than that. Six weeks,” Hermione predicted. “At least.”

“Hermione...” Harry murmured gently.

“If you don’t believe me, then don’t take my word for it. In seven months we’ll look through the paper and watch for birth announcements. Alright?”

“You just--you sound upset,” said Harry, more gently still.

“Viktor never wanted to get married!” Hermione hissed. “Never. It’s true...we haven’t talked since our 6th year, and maybe he did change his mind about his values. But I doubt that,” Hermione said, speaking very fast and heatedly. “And it’s perfect isn’t it? Cho gets pregnant, traps Viktor into a marriage, because if he didn’t marry her, it’d be all over the national news that Viktor is nothing but a scumbag. And she and her child will always live under his support, and never have to do without anything ever again.”

More silence fell at their table after Hermione’s speech.

“Hermione,” Harry said calmly, reaching for her hand which was clenched tightly in a fist. “There’s a chance he married her because he loves her.”

“Viktor didn’t want marriage or a family. He wanted to focus on his career and she deprived him of that!” Hermione whispered shrilly. “I’m sorry, but I know Viktor, and I know he deserves better than that sneaking, conniving--“

“One would get the impression you don’t like Mrs. Viktor Krum,” said Ron.

“I’ve never liked her,” Hermione admitted with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Harry. I know she was your first--“

“It wasn’t much of a relationship, if you ask me,” Harry assured her. And then he added for good measure, “Any time we were alone was time well spent talking about you.”

Hermione tossed him an appreciative glance and gently squeezed his hand.

Ron shook his head, cutting off another piece of steak with his knife and fork.

“The Golden Eagle isn’t just the most prestigious or expensive restaurant in Hogsmeade. It’s also one happening place.”

Harry smiled, thinking of their evening thus far. And he silently agreed.

***

To Be Continued...

17. Auror Training: Apparation

Chapter 17: Auror Training: Apparation
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G, R/OC and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: As Harry and Hermione's Auror Training continues to progress they dive into Apparation with Remus's aid.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Special Thanks: To Gary Skinner!

Author's Note: This chapter originally was a part of the last chapter. At least...I intended for them to be together. But apparently that wasn't meant to be. Because for some bizarre reason, I can't upload them together. I had the same problem at FF.net, so I know it's not the site. Anyway, I'm posting them back-to-back for ya's. Enjoy!

***

As the month of March was drawing to a close, so was winter. Every passing day brought sun and warmth, along with fresh patches of grass throughout the Hogwarts grounds as the snow melted away.

The walks to the caves on the outskirts of Hogsmeade became increasingly easier, although muddier. Harry and Hermione spent five minutes before each Auror lesson zapping their robes free of mud so they could practice their training properly. Harry couldn’t wait until the sun became hot enough so that it melted the rest of the snow, and dried all the mud.

When they arrived for their latest Auror lesson, Harry and Hermione both discovered that their instructor still had yet to arrive.

“While we’re waiting, did you want to put our lessons and hard studying to use?”

“Are you challenging me to a duel, Potter?” Hermione asked with a smirk.

“That’s if you’re not too worried that I’ll win,” Harry added playfully. “Do you accept?”

“What do I get if I win?” she asked, approaching him.

Harry grinned. “The knowledge of knowing that you actually beat me,” he told her.

“And that’s supposed to be a prize?” Hermione demanded.

Harry laughed. “Come on--this is me we’re talking about,” he said with an air of smugness. “And what are the chances that you’ll beat me, anyway?”

Hermione laughed in return, stepping back and whipping out her Training wand.

“Famous last words, Potter.”

Harry pulled out his own wand and they took their positions.

A moment later they were shooting out spells, jinxes and curses, each in turn deflecting them and putting all their practicing and long hours of studying to use. They went on for over 15 minutes, and it wasn’t until Harry caught Remus entering the caves that he stopped.

At which point Hermione shouted, “STUPEFY!” And Harry squealed as he received an electrical shock.

“Funny, Granger!” Harry exclaimed.

“Does that mean I win?” Hermione asked him sweetly.

“Excellent work, you two,” Remus said, interrupting them. “I watched you from outside,” he added. “I was thinking we can dive straight into Apparation. Did you read the passages I marked for you both?”

When Harry and Hermione both nodded, Remus smiled at them and clasped his hands behind his back, standing tall.

“Alright--Apparation. We’re going to start today by doing small exercises with our minds. Because initially, it’s with our focused minds that we are able to travel from one place to the other.

“You both know that basic Apparation is a matter of stretching out your mind to another destination, and pulling your body after it,” said Remus. “So what I want you to do is start by slowly casting out your mind and then I want you to snap it back. Sort of like a Muggle yo-yo. And I want you to use me as your focus point.”

Hermione nodded while Harry thought back to the lesson he had read on Apparation. He closed his eyes and opened his mind. It took a moment, but soon enough Remus began to take shape in his mind. His instructor looked the same in his mind’s eye as he did standing before him: hands clasped behind his back, his feet spread apart by a few inches, his eyes traveling from Harry to Hermione.

Harry cleared his head of all thoughts and images and concentrated solely on the man in front of him. He could feel his mind expanding and stretching out to Remus. And as instructed, he banished Remus’s image from his mind and he opened his eyes to find that Hermione had just opened hers.

“That was the strangest sensation,” Harry said aloud, rubbing his forehead.

“I don’t expect either of you to learn how to Apparate this very second. Apparation is tricky, sometimes even dangerous. You need to concentrate, and you need practice. You also will need a lot of patience,” Remus told them encouragingly. “Try again.”

They practiced some more, and after more than half an hour of casting out their minds to Remus, Harry was starting to feel more invigorated than tired--which was strange, because after using his mind this way for such a long period of time, he thought his brain would be mulch by now.

When he voiced this opinion, Remus merely smiled. “This is a way of freeing your mind. While Apparation does require a fair amount of concentration, Harry, this is a lot different from bombarding your mind with other things, like school lessons, or everyday life.

“Now--this time I want you to do the same thing as you did before. Stretch out your mind, use me as your focus point, but this time we’re going to play a little game. When you see me, I want you to tell me how many fingers I’m holding up. Remember: the key is to tell me what you see as quickly as possible. This will help speed up your mind. We’ll do a total of eleven rounds, and the person who gets the most answers correct can go back to the castle early.”

Ten minutes later, Hermione was grinning broadly as she waved good-bye to Remus and Harry.

“You know she’ll never let me live that one down,” Harry muttered with a faint smile.

“The score was close,” Remus said, with laughter in his hazel eyes. “We’ll practice some more...Twenty minutes should do it.”

After another ten minutes of practicing, Harry closed his eyes yet again. He stripped his mind blank, and found Remus behind his closed eyelids. The older wizard stood with arms clasped in front of him, regarding Harry with a thoughtful look. He was inches away from him in reality, all he had to do was stretch out his hand and he could touch Remus. But something in him fought that impulse. Somewhere he could hear a voice—his voice—telling him to follow his mind.

I can't, Harry told his mental self.

His mind debated, telling him that he could do it if he really wanted to.

He felt a curious sensation as though he had just touched a portkey, and was now hurtling through a portal of some kind. But just as quickly as it occurred, it stopped. When he opened his eyes, he found Remus smiling brilliantly at him.

“You nearly did it, Harry,” he said happily.

“I felt like--I had done it,” Harry said in awe. “But then--I pulled back. It was like I chickened out.”

“Let me guess--one part of your mind was telling you to follow, and the other argued with you?”

“That’s exactly what happened,” said Harry, rubbing his forehead as though hoping to massage some sense into his brain.

“That is bound to happen,” Remus told Harry. “Are you ready to have another go?”

Harry agreed and after another ten minutes, he heard Remus clap loudly. Harry knew he had just half-way Apparated again.

“This is your first try at it, Harry,” Remus reminded him. “That is a major accomplishment by any standards. I think that’s it for today. Same time on Friday?”

When they said their good-byes, Harry made the slow march back to Hogwarts castle, all the while practicing at Apparation. He continually cast out his mind ahead of him, finding a spot he knew existed just beyond his vision, and when his mind found it, he could see exactly what was happening.

In his mind he could see Dervish and Banges, and watched as an old wizard sat outside the music shop, carving a stylish flute out of wood. He snapped his mind back, and sure enough when he physically passed the shop, the same old wizard was still there, still carving the same flute.

As he kept practicing, he soon came to realize that he was approaching the Hogwarts gates. He knew he would no longer be able to practice once he was back on the Hogwarts grounds. He stood outside the gates for a moment, curiosity nipping at the back of his mind as it so often did.

Was it possible that he could Apparate around the school grounds? The lake, perhaps? Or even the Forbidden Forest? He closed his eyes and envisioned the school grounds, from the lake to the forest, to the Quidditch pitch. He searched and searched, realizing that he could not see the Quidditch stadium, or even the lake where the giant squid lived. His mind was open to only one part of the grounds. One man appeared in his mind, his towering, overgrown form making his way towards the Forbidden Forest, carrying what appeared to be three large burlap sacks in his arms.

Harry’s mind followed Hagrid into the Forest, and he watched with keen wonder until Hagrid suddenly disappeared. For a short and disappointing instant, Harry thought the reason he could no longer see Hagrid was because he had traveled too far into the woods, and perhaps there were certain parts of the Forest where one couldn’t Apparate to. But then his logic kicked in. His mind couldn’t possibly have been blocked, because he could still see the trees and plants where Hagrid had once been standing. Another thought occurred to him--one that made even less sense than his first assumption. It was as though Hagrid had literally vanished into thin air. Could he have Apparated?

Harry’s question remained unanswered as he decisively made his way past the gates and towards the Forbidden Forest. And again, the logical voice in his head reminded him that Hagrid was not a fully trained wizard, and therefore was unable to Apparate. What other explanation could there be?

Even with the brilliant sun shining down on Hogwarts’ grounds, the Forest had a terrifying aspect to it that still made Harry feel uneasy to that very day, no matter how many other times he had entered the foreboding woods. He had seen far too much in these woods not to know better. He kept his hand steady on his wand, which was hidden in his robes.

He was approaching the clearing where Hagrid had vanished, and Harry slowed his pace, peeling his eyes for any clue as to where Hagrid had disappeared. He stepped forward, his left hand slightly stretched out, and to his amazement and horror, the hand vanished! Yet he felt a strange familiarity at this revelation, and he stretched out his other hand, which also vanished. Taking a daring plunge-- his heart pounding-- he took two full steps and watched his whole body miraculously disappear, before pulling his head afterwards.

And what he saw then made him lose his voice and any coherent thought. He saw Hagrid, whose back was turned to him. The half-giant seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Harry had discovered his hideout. The large burlap sacks Harry had seen Hagrid carrying into the forest now sat to the side on the grassy ground, while Hagrid stood in front of a giant-sized cage humming jovially to--

Harry stumbled backwards, hardly able to believe it! It just couldn't be, he thought frantically. Harry reappeared in the forest. He raced through the trees, jumping over jutting roots and strewn about rocks, and up to the castle, through the oaken doors and before he had reached Gryffindor tower, he heard two familiar voices shouting for his attention.

He spun around and saw Ron and Hermione approaching him. Hermione had a pile of books in her hands and an empty-looking book bag thrown over her shoulder.

“Hey, mate,” greeted Ron, frowning curiously.

Harry stopped for a moment to catch his breath, all thoughts of what he had seen in the forest dwindling away for the time being.

“Why are you carrying your books?” he asked Hermione, not realizing the complete unimportance of this question.

“It’s easier this way,” Hermione told him, brushing away the observation with the wave of her free hand. “Did you run all the way here from Hogsmeade, Harry?”

“Then why are you carrying a book bag?” Harry asked.

“To look cool, of course,” Hermione replied. “Now--what’s happened? You’re all sweaty--“

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione, turning sober. “I need you both to come with me now. There’s something I have got to show you.”

***

Author's Note: Well, what exactly did Harry see in the Forbidden Forest? What is Hagrid up to now? Answers and more are to follow in the next chapter. And I hope you enjoyed this one. Later, peeps!

18. Bulgarian Devil

Circle's Close

Chapter 18: Bulgarian Devil's Bane
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, and other pairings on the way. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Hagrid's secret is revealed, some questions are asked, some are answered.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended. Anything you don't recognize in this chapter belongs to me and/or Gary Skinner.

Special Thanks: A great, big Thank you goes to Gary Skinner, who is more than just a beta--he's a great friend. And I would love to thank the readers and reviewers for sticking around for this long. Someday, I'll finish this story. Someday...

Enjoy!

***

Harry sped across the muddy Hogwarts grounds, followed closely by Hermione and a suddenly very reluctant Ron.

It took a moment for Harry and Hermione to realize that Ron was no longer with them. They both turned around to find their red-headed friend staring open-mouthed and silent at the Forbidden Forest, which now stood mere feet in front of them.

"Ron, come on," Harry insisted.

"You are not going to convince me to go in there," Ron said with wide, angry-looking eyes.

"We're not going in that far," Harry told him. "What I have to show you, it's...it's not that bad," he said hesitantly, knowing deep down that it was pretty bad. It didn't matter, though. Hermione and Ron just had to see what he had seen.

Ron shook his head forcefully. "I'm perfectly content standing here, thanks. In fact, I just remembered I have to meet Leah--" He made to turn back to the castle, but Hermione grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Ron, you have to come with us," she said in a gentle tone. Ron looked back at her. "Because we're a team--and what Harry wants to show us...it just wouldn't be the same without you."

"Hermione's right," Harry agreed. "And I promise—this is the last time I’ll ever drag you in here."

Ron looked at Harry and then Hermione again, thinking deeply. He nodded and they took long strides, closing the distance between them and the dark trees.

“And don’t expect me to hold you to that promise,” Ron said bitterly.

Harry looked over his shoulder. “Why not?”

“Because I know you’ll break it,” Ron answered dryly just as they entered the woods. They each closed a hand on their wands and shortened their steps, staying close to each other.

"I think...it was just over here," Harry whispered, turning off the path and turning diagonally. "Follow me, and keep your eyes peeled."

Hermione and Ron obeyed without further complaints or questions. A moment later, Harry found the exact spot where he had seen Hagrid disappear, and where Harry, himself, had vanished only moments before. He reached out his hand, which automatically dematerialized. He heard Hermione gasp behind him.

"This is it. Follow me directly afterwards, alright?" Harry instructed. He turned his head in time to see Hermione and Ron nodding, their eyes trained on Harry's invisible hand.

Harry stepped through the barrier, his whole body vanishing. His eyes landed on Hagrid, who still had yet to notice his visitor. A moment later, Hermione appeared at his side, followed closely by Ron.

"Harry--what?" Hermione whispered, but Harry pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her.

He turned to see Ron's face, which seemed to be frozen in a silent scream. His face was pale and shiny with sweat. His eyes had landed on the cage.

Harry turned back to the half-giant. "Hagrid?"

Hagrid jumped and turned at the same time, his large hand covering the spot where his heart was.

"Blimey, Harry! I ain't as young as I once was, yeh know! Give a bloke a great 'eart attack!"

Harry stepped forward, the creatures in the cage coming into his view. Hermione was busy trying to shake Ron out of his stupor.

"Hagrid--what are you doing?" Harry asked.

Hagrid shifted from one foot to the other, looking uneasy and slightly put-off. "Oh, so yeh found out what I've bin up ter, have yeh?"

"I only just found out...I saw you walking into the woods and then I watched you vanish into thin air," Harry explained quickly. "Are you shielded by some sort of Invisibility barrier?"

"That's righ'," Hagrid replied gruffly. "It was all I could do ter take care of these little fellers." His giant-sized hand pointed to the cage.

Four small creatures were sleeping peacefully in the large cage. They were black, with small horns coming out of their spines, scaly wings, and long, pointed faces. Even as hideous as they appeared to be, it was still easy for Harry to recognize them as dragons. Four very well fed and exhausted dragons.

"Hagrid," Hermione said softly, taking a brave step forward until she was standing next to Harry. "You're not allowed to use magic. How have you been able to use an Invisibility Charm to shield these ... dragons?"

Hagrid, still looking apprehensive, looked back at the cage of sleeping dragons as he spoke. "Ter tell yeh the truth, I've bin practisin' magic with Professor Dumbledore. He...he said tha' since I was proven innocen', my magical privileges shoulda bin restored."

"Hagrid! That's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed.

Hagrid looked back at Harry and Hermione, his cheeks slightly flushing at such praise.

"I'm hopin' I can stop usin' this ole' thin'," he said, narrowing slightly at the pink umbrella laying on the ground at his feet. "If the Ministry will allow me ter buy a new wan'."

"I'm sure they will," Harry said encouragingly.

"But I have to say, Hagrid," Hermione continued, "Bringing a nest full of dragons to Hogwarts is extremely dangerous. Not to mention careless."

Behind them, Ron gave a strangled sound. Harry ignored him.

"I had ter, Hermione!" Hagrid exclaimed, his voice booming. He cleared his throat and continued to talk more softly. "These poor babies were left fer dead. Someone had ter look after 'em."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "But not you, Hagrid. This is a school."

"Well, Hermione, this is the Ferbidden Fores'," Hagrid corrected her. "And any studen' who feels the need ter come in 'ere migh' deserve wha' they get."

"Hagrid!" Hermione gasped. "You don't mean that!"

Hagrid looked slightly abashed. "Yer righ', I don'. But on the brigh' side, these fellers are in a cage."

"You're right, Hagrid," Harry suddenly realized. "They are still babies. Where is their mother?"

"Gone, ain't she?" said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious answer in the world. When Harry and Hermione didn't say anything, Hagrid gave a weary sigh. He clearly did not want to discuss these dragons with them. "I gotta friend who...breeds dragons illegally."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something against this, but Harry grasped her hand and squeezed it gently--a silent plea, telling her not to speak.

Hagrid continued as though he hadn't noticed any of this. "A while ago, me mate was found nearly dead an’ the mother-dragon gone. These poor babies were lef' ter die. I got an owl from Mikey--me mate--beggin' me fer 'elp. So...I gotta hold of ole' Mundungus Fletcher...yeh know he'd do anythin' illegal fer gold," he added with a smirk. "And 'e brought 'em over. I bin takin' care of 'em e'er since."

Ron gave another choked sound.

"There were more dragon eggs," Hagrid continued in a quiet tone. "Most o' them were crushed, an' th' others tha' hatched died, bein' the smallest o' the nest. These four were th' on'y ones who survived, bein' the stronges'. If Mikey hadn' owled me in time, these babies also would've died."

"But who would take the mother-dragon and leave the babies to die?" Hermione asked a moment later. "Are you sure she was taken at all? Is it possible that she simply left?"

Hagrid looked furious at the question, making Hermione take a step backwards. "O' course not! Mother dragons...leave their babies!? Tha's the most ludicrous thin' I e'er 'eard!"

"It's not in their nature," Ron finally said, his voice raspy. "It's the mothers' first instinct to care for their children. Leaving of their free will is never an option."

"But maybe...maybe with this breed it is," Hermione suggested timidly, not looking at Hagrid, but trying to appeal to Ron.

Ron shook his head just as Hagrid gently thrust a book into Hermione's arms, knocking her over. Harry caught her in time and put her back on her feet.

"Ye'll learn all yeh need to know about this breed in tha' book," Hagrid told Hermione.

Hermione looked down at the book. "Is this the same book we saw you with in the library, Hagrid?"

Hagrid nodded as Hermione began to flip through the book.

"I can tell you all you'll need to know about this breed," Ron said, his face still pale. "The Bulgarian Devil's Bane. The most dangerous breed that exists--that ever existed."

"Tha's righ'," Hagrid agreed.

"They become very large when they reach adult-size. They're extremely mean, with a terrible temper. And they have the hottest fire in the wizarding world," Ron continued, as though in a trance. "Dark wizards favored them...because only Dark magic could control the Devil's Bane. Do you remember learning that dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlock's Convention of 1709?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered, as she flipped absent-mindedly through the book Hagrid had given her.

"Now you know why," Ron told them. "Because of this breed. And now Hagrid has brought them here." He said the last part weakly, as though this was nothing more than a bad dream and he was expecting to wake up at any moment.

Harry looked at the dragons again, a sense of familiarity overwhelming him. It only took him a moment to realize that he had seen these dragons before. Or at least one of them -- in his vision at the end of February in Trelawney's class. 'Black wings blocking out the sun.' At the time, he had been convinced that he had seen nothing more than a thestral. But now...

"Here's something interesting," said Hermione, drawing Harry's attention away from his vision. Unable to stay put, she walked around as she read from the book. "It says here that dragons have a homing-sense linking them to their mother, enabling them to fly straight to her when they're old enough to fly." She stopped walking as she looked at Hagrid. "There you go! You can let them go soon enough, and they'll be able to find their mother."

Hagrid looked away, his beetle-black eyes flashing with disappointment.

"Hagrid..." Hermione said pleadingly. "You know you can't keep them. They belong with their mother. And besides, if someone else discovered you were keeping such a dangerous breed of dragons, you could get into a lot of trouble."

Hagrid shook his great, shaggy head. "I know tha'," he said gruffly.

Hermione looked at the half-giant apologetically. "Will you promise us you'll let them go when they're old enough? That still gives you a couple of months."

Hagrid didn't say anything. He merely shrugged and gave a short nod.

"I think that's the most you'll get out of him," Harry told Hermione, turning to her.

He realized she was standing alarmingly close to the dragon cage, and it seemed that one of the baby dragons had just come to the same conclusion. The dragon closest to Hermione reared its pointed face at her, its eyes flashing menacingly. It quickly pounced at Hermione as a long breath of fire came out of its flaring nostrils.

"Get away from her!" Harry shouted, lunging forward, grasping Hermione and pulling her out of harm's way. To everyone's surprise, the dragon stared at Harry as though seriously considering his words. And without another thought, it obeyed as it settled back down and closed its eyes.

Harry checked Hermione over, making sure she hadn't been scorched by the dragon's fire.

"I'm OK, Harry," she breathed, her eyes wide.

Harry looked up to see Ron and Hagrid regarding him with the same look.

"What is it?" he asked, turning back to the dragons, who were all sleeping peacefully. His eyes returned to his three friends who continued to look at him in shock.

"OK..." Ron finally said, seemingly unsure of what to say or do.

"Harry?" said Hermione, scrutinizing Harry. "Did you deliberately speak in Parseltongue to that dragon?"

Harry stared at Hermione, her words sinking in very slowly. "I...just spoke...in Parseltongue?"

Hermione nodded, her worst thoughts confirmed. "What did you tell it to do?"

Harry felt numb all over. Suddenly, flashes of his Second year were spinning through his head--none of them good memories.

"I...told it to get away from you," Harry whispered, his arms falling to his side as feelings of helplessness washed over him. It was difficult to remind himself that he was nearly an adult and far from helpless.

Hermione's arms went around him instinctively. She squeezed him, trying to wash away all the bad memories. Her touch seemed to warm his very heart, driving his past far away where it couldn’t haunt him anymore.

"But how?" Harry asked weakly as Hermione stepped back. "How did I speak to the dragon...in Parseltongue?"

"Well--yer a Parselmouth, ain't yeh?" Hagrid spoke up.

"Yes..." Harry replied slowly. "But these are not snakes, Hagrid."

"Dragons are kin ter snakes, Harry. They're both reptiles," Hagrid replied knowledgeably. "And because they're so young and ain't as violen'... they'll listen ter yeh."

"Wait a second," Ron said, suddenly skeptical. "If that's the case--then why didn't we discover that Harry was a Parselmouth in First year, when you had Norbert?"

"Because Harry never addressed Norbert," Hermione said softly. "There would be no reason for the dragon to respond."

"Tha's righ'," Hagrid agreed, his eyes going soft at the mention of his beloved pet dragon, Norbert.

"Do you think I could borrow this book, Hagrid?" Hermione asked the older wizard, holding the large book up. "Can I take it home with me and return it after Easter break?"

"O' course yeh can, Hermione," Hagrid replied cheerily. "I've read it from co'er to co'er. It's all up 'ere," he told them, tapping the side of his head and winking at the trio.

Harry, Hermione and Ron left then, saying good-bye and glancing one last time at the sleeping dragons.

"Unbelievable," Ron gasped, once they were out of the forest.

"Which part?" asked Harry wryly. "The fact that Hagrid is keeping the most dangerous breed of dragons that ever existed locked up in the Forbidden Forest, or the fact that I can talk to them?"

Ron laughed. "Both."

"This will make a good read for when we go home for Easter, Harry," said Hermione, nodding to the book clutched in her arms.

Harry felt a sudden rush of emotion as Hermione referred to his home as her home. Suddenly the fact that Hagrid was caring for a clutch of dragons no longer seemed to matter.

"Speaking of Easter," said Ron. "Will you two continue your Apparation training there?"

Hermione and Harry both shrugged. "That depends... Remus will be too tired to train us, as that weekend is a full moon," Hermione reminded them both. "I suppose if Sirius wanted to, he could continue training us in Remus's place."

"Lucky kids," Ron muttered enviously. "I won't be able to get my Apparation license until this summer."

"Why is that?" Hermione asked him, as though she had thought of this question before but had never bothered to ask it. "You could have earned your license last summer, easily."

"Didn't have the money, did I?" Ron told her. "But it's alright. Ginny will be old enough this summer to get her Apparation license. We're going to get it together. And we'll both be able to afford it."

"Good," Hermione said. Sensing Ron's moodiness, she added, "Apparation isn't that great, Ron. It's really difficult to learn. Right, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"Is that how you found out about the dragons?" Ron asked Harry, suddenly inspired by a thought.

"Yeah--how'd you know?" Harry asked.

"You just got back from your first Apparation lesson," Ron pointed out logically. "And I know at least this much: According to my brothers, in order to Apparate, you need to 'see' ahead before you actually Apparate. I simply guessed that that’s what you were doing when you discovered Hagrid and the dragons."

Harry and Hermione stared at Ron as they continued to make their way to the castle. It was extremely rare and out-of-character for Ron to sound so... insightful.

"But I never understood why you needed to ‘see’ ahead. Never made much sense to me," Ron added. Harry laughed through his nose.

"Think about it this way," Hermione said, getting ready to recite her knowledge as though she was reading the text straight from a book. "If we didn't see where we were going before Apparating, we could appear in a very dangerous situation! Do you remember the Quidditch World Cup? When Barty Crouch Apparated straight into our campsite? If he hadn't 'seen' where he was going, he could have landed in our fire!"

"That's right," Ron agreed. "But if that's the case--couldn't you simply spy on others as you're ‘seeing’ ahead?"

Hermione shook her head. "Your father Apparates to and from work every day, right? Haven't you considered why perfect strangers can't Apparate into your home?"

"No," said Ron.

Hermione sighed, her tone roughened by exasperation. "Because there are blocking spells around the Burrow," she explained. "Protective spells. Only certain people can enter or exit your home via Apparation. I believe it's limited to your family and close friends. In that case, others who can't Apparate into your home can't 'see' into it, either."

"This applies to...every wizarding building and house?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"Of course it does," said Hermione with a logical air about her. "Otherwise, thieves could just as easily 'see' into any wizarding building and break in. Or worse--they could break into wizarding homes and kidnap children, or act out in violence." Hermione shuddered. "How could you sleep at night, knowing you aren't protected?"

Harry rubbed Hermione’s back reassuringly.

"In actuality," Hermione continued, shooting a grateful look at Harry, "We wizards have about as much privacy as Muggles. We can spy on each other outside, by means of telescopes or binoculars--Omnioculars. But we cannot see through walls."

"Well that makes a load of sense," said Ron. "Don't know why I never thought of it."

"Because your mind is on a certain 5th year Gryffindor," Harry quickly replied.

Ron laughed. "Oh, that's right. Which brings me back to the topic of Easter weekend. I take it you two are going back?"

"Of course," said Hermione. "You're coming, too, right?"

Ron didn't say anything at first.

"Ron?" Harry prompted, peering at the red-head.

"Well--I was thinking of staying back," Ron finally told them. "To keep Leah company."

"You could just as easily keep her company at the Burrow," suggested Harry.

"I could, if Mum and Dad were staying there for the holidays," Ron told them.

"Where are they going?" Hermione asked.

They continued talking as they walked into the castle, through the Entrance Hall and up the marble staircase.

"They've just sent me an owl telling me and Ginny that they're going to visit Charlie and his girlfriend for Easter. So we're going to stay here."

"But you could stay with us," Harry insisted. "With me, Sirius, Hermione and Remus. You, Ginny and Leah are more than welcome--"

"We know that," said Ron. "But Leah and I have decided...well..." Ron's ears went slightly pink. "We'd like to have the weekend alone..." He didn't look at Harry or Hermione as he spoke.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, laughing. "If that's how you feel, then of course we're OK with it! There's nothing to be worried about."

Ron glanced at her hopefully. "Really? You two aren't angry?"

Harry laughed with Hermione. "We'll manage to survive without you this Easter," he said.

"We'll find some way!" Hermione exclaimed, sighing dramatically. Ron smiled, looking very relieved.

They reached the portrait of the fat lady. "Not a word to anyone about what we just saw, alright?" Harry reminded them.

They both nodded and Harry gave the password before entering their common room. They ran into Leah, who was just about to step through the portrait hole from the opposite side.

"Ron, I was looking for you! Hey, guys!" she added to Harry and Hermione.

Ron's ears went slightly pink again. "Everything's set," he told her.

Leah smiled brightly. "Wonderful!"

"Did you want to go to Hogsmeade on Easter weekend?" Ron asked her.

"I'd love to!" Leah gushed. Ron led Leah out of the portrait hole as they discussed their Easter plans.

"I am so grateful that they found each other," said Hermione once the portrait hole was closed off once again.

Harry pulled her into his embrace, holding her lovingly.

"And I'm so glad we found each other," he told her. "Thank Merlin for that Mountain troll all those years ago."

Hermione giggled. "That's easy for you to say, Harry." She looked up at him with a happy grin on her face.

"Actually, a couple of years ago...it was the most difficult thing for me to say," he admitted. "But now I can say it all the time! I love you, Hermione."

Hermione smiled coyly up at him. "What did you just say? I didn't quite hear you."

"I love you," Harry said, raising his voice an octave.

"Pardon me?" said Hermione, inclining her head.

"I, Harry James Potter, am in love--Oh, bugger hell!" He smothered her lips with his own, kissing her with all the passion he possessed.

"Bugger hell, indeed," came Seamus Finnigan's voice from the boys' stairs. "A hundred points from Gryffindor for indecent exposure!"

"We can't take points from our own Head Boy and Girl, mate," Dean Thomas said lightly.

Seamus shrugged. "It's just as well. We never had the power to take away points from anyone, let alone our Head Boy and Girl."

"And if we wanted to see that," Dean added to Harry and a flustered Hermione, "We'd pay a visit to that dance club in Knockturn Alley."

Hermione gave a horrified gasp. "That's not a dancing bar! It's the most distasteful, disgusting--"

"Exactly," said Seamus with a wink.

Hermione goggled at the two of them as they exited the common room, laughing at their own cleverness.

*

Rain pounded down from the dark skies above. It was raining so badly that it became difficult to see out of the car windows as Remus drove Harry, Hermione and Ginny to Sirius and Harry's home.

"I'm just glad Mum and Dad didn't mind me coming here with you," Ginny told her companions as she stared pointlessly out the window through the passenger's seat window.

"Which reminds me, Ginny. There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about," Harry told her, leaning forward so he she could hear him more clearly.

"Yes?" Ginny wondered, tilting her head back.

Harry paused a moment, then took an imaginary brave step forward. "You need to tell your family about Draco."

Ginny didn't say anything. She returned her gaze to the outside world, where the rain pounded even harder than before.

"Ron is getting dangerously close to the truth," Harry continued. "And if he finds out the wrong way--"

"I'm well aware of what will happen," Ginny replied coolly.

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do," Harry reminded her, his tone soft. "I'm trying to warn you."

Ginny didn't say anything for the rest of the ride, and Harry was smart enough to know not to push it.

"Sirius is already inside," Remus told them as they approached the house. "He said he'd be upstairs. Would it be better to leave your trunks in the car until the rain slows down?"

They all agreed to Remus's suggestion and they all ran from the car to the veranda, while Harry fumbled in his pocket for the house key. Once he managed to insert the silver key into the key hole, he pushed the door open, grabbed Hermione and pulled her over the threshold.

"We're safe, my love," he whispered in her ear, bringing her into his arms as he and Hermione blocked the doorway. Hermione giggled as Harry kissed her softly on the lips.

"Oh--don't worry about us!" Ginny exclaimed sarcastically. "I don't mind spending my Easter weekend with pneumonia."

Harry and Hermione moved out of the way, allowing a soaked Ginny and Remus to enter the house. Remus closed the door behind him as he shook his head forcefully, reminding Harry of a wet dog just in from the rain. Ginny grabbed her strands by the fistful and squeezed the rain from her fiery hair.

"Sorry for making you angry, Ginny," Harry said, referring to their short conversation in the car and shooting her a cautious glance.

The younger girl sighed. "Don't worry about it," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "I guess I just don't like thinking about it. And this is the first weekend I get to spend without...fear."

"I understand," Harry told her, smiling. "And to show my sincerity, I promise not to mention it the rest of the weekend!"

Ginny laughed. "Thanks..."

After taking off their coats and shoes, the four of them made their way upstairs to the attic, where Sirius supposedly was hanging out. Sure enough, the attic door had been left open. Harry climbed the steps first, his head entering the floor of a spacious room which had been lit with numerous lamps. Up here, the rain sounded much louder to his ears.

"Wow," he whispered. He had never been in the attic before. In fact, this didn't seem like an attic at all. It looked more like a loft. And it appeared to Harry that it had been used as a flat before. To his left, there was another room which—to Harry’s best guess-- had been used as a bedroom. The rest of the attic was filled with sheet-covered furniture and boxes. The hardwood floor Harry and the others were now standing on was covered in a sheet of dust. Only Sirius's footprints were visible, leading to the far end of the attic.

"Glad you made it here alive," Sirius's voice echoed back at them. He appeared amongst the many boxes piled in a far corner. His handsome face split into a grin as his eyes landed on Harry and his guests.

"What is this, Sirius?" said Harry, glancing around.

Ginny and Hermione made their way around the room, examining small details and interesting objects they came across.

"This--" Sirius said, spreading his arms out wide, "--Is my new hobby. I'm planning to clean this place out and turn it into a flat--which won't be so difficult, as it was clearly used as an apartment years before we bought this place."

"Why?" Harry wondered. "Are you planning to turn this place into a motel after I move out?" he suggested, laughing.

Sirius scratched his head in a thoughtful manner just as Hermione exclaimed, "This place is amazing!"

"Well...I've been thinking," said Sirius, dropping his arm to his side.

"Uh oh," Remus said softly, grinning.

Sirius glared at his old friend. "This time it's a good idea," he replied indignantly. His eyes went to Harry again. "Since you and Hermione are graduating in a few months, it's my best guess that you two will want to find your own flat to rent?"

At the mention of her name, Hermione immediately returned to Harry's side with a curious frown on her face.

"That seems to be the plan," said Harry, glancing at Hermione for confirmation. She nodded.

"Well...what if you stayed here?" Sirius suggested lightly. "You'll have all the privacy you need."

Harry felt his heart catch in his throat. The idea seemed too perfect to be true. But how would Hermione feel about it? He looked at her glowing face. It looked as though she wanted to accept the proposal on the spot.

"I know it doesn't look like much now," Sirius continued. "But there's a fireplace! And look--all the furniture you'll need! And of course I won't be charging you for rent."

"We want it," Harry said quickly.

"Well, of course I didn't really expect you two to--what?" Sirius said, his mouth dropping.

"We'll take it," Hermione replied, practically bursting with excitement.

Sirius looked from Harry's face to Hermione's, the smile on his face widening. "Really? You--you want it?"

"We want it," Harry and Hermione said together, returning the smile.

"You just made Sirius's year," said Remus, jumping in. "He thought this idea up ages ago."

"I never actually thought you'd...want to..." Sirius admitted.

"We couldn't ask for better," Hermione assured him. "It's a great area, just outside of town. We can remain in close contact with the Weasleys, you, and Remus."

"But we insist on paying rent. It's not like we won't be able to afford it," Harry said. "I've still got some money saved up, and I intend to find a job as soon as I graduate."

"I knew you'd say that," said Sirius, grinning. "And I've already got a plan."

Harry stared at Sirius suspiciously. "What's your plan?"

"To turn a deaf ear to you whenever you mention paying rent," Sirius replied shortly, before turning his back on them.

Hermione laughed just as Ginny gave a great shout. "Look at this, guys!" She removed a large, dusty sheet from what appeared to be a beautiful, mahogany piano.

Harry and Hermione made their way to the large instrument, awe painted on their faces. "Who would leave this here?" Hermione wondered, her fingers trailing across the black and white keys.

Harry looked back at Sirius, who had suddenly lost the smile on his face. Harry glanced at Remus and noticed the same expression on his face as well. They both looked so...sad.

"What's wrong?" he asked them.

It took a moment for Sirius to snap out of his very depressing mood, and he flashed everyone a brilliant, but fake, smile. "I need to go into town and get some groceries. Would you girls like to join me?"

Ginny and Hermione agreed enthusiastically.
"But I'm driving," Hermione insisted while holding out her hand, where Remus promptly dropped the car keys into her palm.

"Fine by me," said Sirius with a nonchalant shrug. "I hate driving in this weather."

They all made their way downstairs, Sirius closing the attic door with a wave of his wand after everyone was out.

"We'll greet and entertain Draco until you get back," Harry told Ginny at the front door, as Hermione, Ginny and Sirius slipped on their coats and shoes.

"Which should be any moment now," Ginny said, casually flipping her still-wet hair behind her.

"Good luck shopping with Sirius," Remus said to Ginny and Hermione. "He's an impossible shopper sometimes."

"Hey!" Sirius shot Remus another indignant look.

"Why do you think he wants you two to go with him?" Remus told the girls. "It's because he knows he'll only come back with junk food. He needs you two to keep him in line."

"Ha-ha," Ginny laughed, rolling her eyes.

Hermione opened the door and they all watched the rain continue to pound down into the earth. Ginny and Hermione instinctively lifted the hoods to their coats over their heads.

"Have fun!" Harry said brightly.

Hermione grumbled something about the rain making her hair frizz up into a rat's nest before she led the way outside, followed by Sirius and Ginny. Harry waited until all three of them were in the car before he closed the door and turned to Remus.

"I don't think this rain is going to let up anytime soon," said the werewolf, leading the way into the living room.

The room looked exactly the same as they had left it the previous Christmas. The only difference was that the tree was gone and the decorations were put away into storage. Harry felt privately relieved that he wouldn't have to leave this house anytime soon after graduation. He still had a place to live, and he could live with Hermione as planned. But mostly...he wasn't exactly ready to leave Sirius. And knowing he didn't have to, and thinking of his new situation, made him feel like he had just entered a room full of Eternals.

Harry glanced at the mantle, looking at each framed photo as he did by habit every time he was in this room. Something caught his eye then, something he had never noticed before. He frowned, completely puzzled, as he approached the fireplace to get a closer look at the photo which had left him feeling bewildered.

It was the one of Lily, James, Sirius and Remus, all smiling and giggling in the photo. Harry had always assumed that it was Peter who had taken the photo. But now there was a new face in the picture. A pretty face, framed by long, black hair. Her deep sapphire eyes twinkled at the camera, topped with a very radiant smile. Her creamy skin was slightly flushed as her body was pressed into Sirius, his arm thrown around her as he pulled her even closer.

Harry had seen this face once before, in the black and white photo he had found in Sirius's top dresser drawer. He knew the girl in the photo as Claire White, his godmother. But why hadn't he noticed her in this photograph before? Had she always been there? And if not, then why was she there now? He was about to ask Remus these questions just as the fireplace burst with green flames and the shape of Draco Malfoy appeared. The blond Slytherin stumbled out of the fireplace and Harry instinctively grabbed his trunk before Draco could trip over it.

"Safe trip?" Harry asked, managing to stifle a laugh at Draco's sooty appearance.

"It could have been better," Draco replied, smoothing down his cloak and wiping the soot from his grey eyes.

"It could have been worse, too," Harry reminded him, having traveled by Floo powder before. The first time he had ever tried it, he had ended up in Knockturn Alley, where he had seen Lucius Malfoy for the first time.

Ridding himself of dark thoughts of the past, Harry busied himself by enlisting Draco’s help with the trunk on the floor. They both carried it upstairs to the spare bedroom, and when they returned to the main floor, they entered the kitchen to find Remus starting a fresh pot of coffee. The two young wizards sat at the kitchen table after re-discovering Harry’s game of Wizards Chess which had been collecting dust in the pantry on the top shelf.

"Tsk, tsk," Draco murmured, moments later into the game. Remus set a mug of coffee in front of him and Harry, placing the sugar and cream next to them, along with two spoons. "You really are the best chess player I've ever seen, Harry," Draco said, his voice laced with sarcasm, his grey eyes never leaving the board.

"Yeah..." Harry replied slowly as he moved his castle into the line of fire. "But in all honesty, I'm not nearly as good at playing chess as you are at playing Quidditch," he said with just as much acrimony, a smile on his face.

Remus laughed as Draco said, "That's below the belt, Potter."

A knock suddenly interrupted their game. Harry sighed, pretending to be disappointed that he had to delay the game. "I'll get it," he volunteered, as Remus finally sat down at the table. "I'm about to lose anyway."

"Dammit!" Draco cursed as Harry stood up and stepped out of the kitchen. He could still hear Draco's voice carry as he added, "He does that all the time!"

Harry made his way to the front door as the knocking became louder and more urgent.

"I'm coming!" Harry called, secretly pondering who could be knocking at the door and in this type of weather. It couldn't be any of the Weasleys, because none of them were even at the Burrow. He yanked open the door.

A young-looking woman stood on the veranda, her long, elbow-length black hair clinging to her face as the rain soaked her from head to toe. Her sapphire eyes shone at Harry, her pretty face glowing as she smiled apprehensively at Harry.

"Merlin!" Harry gasped. He felt the blood drain from his face. He instinctively clutched the door handle for support.

The woman giggled. "Well, I didn't actually believe introductions would be necessary. But I can see that you are clearly confused." Harry noticed the strength in her voice, and how it carried over the pounding of the rain. He vaguely noted that her unfamiliar accent was smooth and warm.

"My name is not Merlin," the young woman continued in a sweet tone, her shy grin turning into a brilliant smile. She thrust out her hand to shake Harry's. "You are more than welcome to call me by my name. I'm Claire."

***

Author's Note: Thanks for reading, everyone! I hope you tune in for the next chapter, where we finally get to learn a few things about Claire. See you then!

19. The Past Returns

Chapter 19: The Past Returns
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G and others. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Claire White has returned to the wizarding world. Or has she? Discover what happens when she comes face-to-face with those she left all those years ago. And what it might mean if she leaves them again.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended. Anything else you see that you don't recognize (i.e Claire White) belongs to me.

Special Thanks: I would love to thank my beta, Gary Skinner, for all our wonderful HP chats, from crazy theories to things of lesser importance. (i.e when I tell him my life story). And I want to thank him for the amazing things he's done for this story--a story which wouldn't be the same without him. Also, I want to thank him for bringing me up when I'm down. (Which happens more than I care to admit at the moment).

Finally, I would like to thank the readers and reviewers who have expressed their interest in this story with extremely kind words. I hope you continue to enjoy the story as I continue to post. Thanks again, everyone. Read on! (And enjoy!)

***

"Claire!" Harry gasped. His hand automatically gripped the door handle, his knuckles turning white with the effort. He stared at the woman before him in silent disbelief, his knees shaking violently as he strove not to collapse onto his godmother’s sandal-clad feet.

Claire White tilted her head to the side, grinning at him. "You weren’t expecting the Easter bunny, were you?” She giggled softly at her attempted joke as she anxiously tucked a long lock of black hair behind her ear, her other hand casually holding the strap to her purse, which was slung over her shoulder.

Harry stared at Claire, knowing that the word ‘confused’ was an understatement as to how he felt at the moment. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Could his godmother really be standing there in front of him? Or had he simply imagined her, wanting to meet her so badly that his mind had simply conjured an image for him? His rational mind told him that even that was a far stretch. But again, the thought of her being here, at his house, didn’t make much sense, either.

When Harry’s voice continued to fail him, Claire's smiling face slowly faded into an expression of worry. "Harry?"

The floor creaked softly behind him before he could gather the presence of mind to finally speak, and he watched Claire’s dark eyes move past his face to the one responsible for making the sound. "Harry -- who's at...the..." Remus's footsteps fell silent along with his voice. Harry didn't bother to turn around. He could only continue gawking at Claire, too stunned to blink.

"Oh...my..." Remus whispered behind him.

Claire's eyes suddenly welled up with tears as she stared past Harry and into Remus’s young face. Her bottom lip trembled slightly as she spoke. "Hey, R.J," she greeted softly, her voice deep with affection.

Remus didn't say anything at first. And when he finally did speak, his voice was filled with disbelief and wariness. "This isn't real.” His doubt-filled voice came out no louder than a whisper.

Claire placed her hand over her heart as a tear fell. "I...I think I'm real," she said, daring to attempt more humor. "I...feel real." The smile had returned to her face, her eyes shining. Harry had the distinct impression that her smile had lit up plenty of rooms on many occasions before now.

He felt Remus brush past him as he approached Claire, who still stood outside in the pouring rain, looking more wary than ever. The older man searched her face, his disbelieving eyes scrutinizing every detail. Without another word, he gently pulled her inside by tugging on the sleeve of her black trench coat. Claire hesitated, clearly surprised by Remus’s actions.

But she quickly grew out of her anxiety as Remus threw himself onto her, squeezing her tightly in a bone-crushing embrace. But that didn’t seem to matter to her, because she was hugging him back with equal fervor, tears freely streaming down her pretty face.

It was a while before they pulled back slightly as Claire wiped her tears away with her fingers. "I promised myself I wouldn't cry," she said brokenly, looking up into Remus's face as he looked down at her fondly.

"I can't believe it's you!" Remus gasped in response, wrapping his arms around her again. Claire's relieved laugh was deep and rich as she continued to cling to him. Remus pulled back again. "It is you, right? I'm not...imagining things?"

"Now when did the logical, sensible R.J Lupin I knew ever seek entertainment by deluding himself?" Claire teased with her hands on her slender hips, her eyebrows quirked as a knowing smile lit up her face. "I'm as real as you are."

Remus smiled at her, his hazel eyes glowing with repressed tears. "You haven't aged at all!"

"Thank God," Claire replied, rolling her eyes Heaven-ward. "It's bad enough I'm approaching 40 years old. The last thing I need is to look it."

"Thanks," Remus said with a sarcastic smile, glancing upwards.

Without the hesitancy she had adopted when she had first arrived, Claire ran her long, slender fingers across Remus’s hair. "What...this?" she said, referring to the few grey hairs on his head. "R.J, you don't look a day over 20. I swear it."

"You haven't changed a bit," Remus replied with a chuckle. "Still sweeter than honey."

Claire gave a modest laugh and glanced at Harry, who had finally removed himself from his stunned stupor. He closed the door gently, shutting out the rain, and turned to find Remus regarding him with a suspicious look in his eye.

"It wasn't me this time!" Harry exclaimed, understanding the look and feeling slightly annoyed by it. "I swear!”

Remus took a deep breath and sighed as Claire looked from one face to the other.

"Don’t mind him, Claire,” Remus finally explained with a wry smile. “Harry has a habit of keeping secrets and then springing them on us at the last possible moment.”

"Ah," said Claire as she nodded understandingly. "Just like his mother. And he didn't have anything to do with this, R.J. I came on my own. Sirius doesn't even know I'm here."

"He's not here right now," Remus told her. "He went into town to buy some food."

Claire nodded, lowering her face. "It's probably better this way. I can't imagine how he'll react when he finds me here." She paused as she seemed to be considering something, and then she added with a nervous laugh: "I don’t really know what I’m doing here. I should leave."

"No!" Harry and Remus both exclaimed. And Claire, startled by the volume and the vehemence in their voices, gave a small jump backwards.

Harry looked at his godmother apologetically, which soon transformed into a warm smile. "I'm a little in shock. I think,” he added as an afterthought.

Tears welled up in Claire's eyes once more as she looked up at Harry, slowly approaching him, her hand slowly reaching out, yet not touching him. "You look just like him," she whispered. "Sirius always told me -- in his letters – but I never dreamed the resemblance was this strong. Except for your -- "

"Eyes. I know," Harry interrupted her with another smile. "I have my mother's eyes."

A quiet sob escaped Claire. "Yes, but that's not what I was going to say," she said softly, her onyx eyes searching his green ones. “You have her smile." Tears fell down her cheeks once again, yet she didn't bother to wipe them away this time. "You are so handsome!" she suddenly exclaimed, laughing at her own enthusiasm.

Harry laughed with her, feeling himself going red. Claire turned back to Remus. "Can I hug him?"

Remus shrugged his shoulders. "He's your godson," he reminded her.

Harry felt tears burning his eyes and was thankful they didn’t fall as Claire wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him with all the strength her slender body possessed. As they pulled apart, Harry realized, upon closer inspection, that Remus had been right. There were no lines of age on Claire’s face, nor any grey hairs in her black mane to betray her true age. She looked as young and vibrant as the girl in the photograph on the fireplace mantle.

"Why don't we all go back into the kitchen," Remus suddenly suggested. "You look like you could use some coffee, Claire. And a nice Drying Charm, as well."

The older wizard helped Claire out of her coat and he hung it up in the closet as Claire slid out of her shoes. They migrated into the kitchen, where Draco had been waiting patiently. His eyes landed on Claire and he slowly stood up, his eyes shadowed with curiosity.

Claire stopped short. And she stared at Draco for a moment, her eyes slowly registering to the sight in front of her.

"Harry," she said slowly, not taking her eyes off of Draco. "You do realize that there is a Malfoy sitting in your kitchen, right?"

"Er — " Harry replied, acutely aware that nothing good was going to come out of this situation. He had never explained to Claire about Draco while they had owled each other over the past few months. He only just realized that he probably should have. A realization that came far too late.

"In which case you must know what the Malfoys did to help destroy your parents. Right?"

"Yes, but -- Draco didn’t have anything to do with that," Harry interjected quickly. “He was only a baby, remember?”

"Yes..." said Claire, very slowly and carefully. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Harry?"

"Claire--" Remus began pleadingly, but Draco's voice interrupted him.

"I know who my father is," he said with quiet control. "And in spite of the animosity you feel towards him, I am Harry's friend."

Claire rolled her eyes, her tone as sharp as the edge of a kitchen knife. "Oh, and you know the saying, I believe? Keep your friends close...keep your enemies closer?"

Remus, who now stood between Claire and Draco, closed his eyes with a soft groan. Harry had the distinct impression that his former professor was very familiar with this side of his godmother.

"You are entitled to believe whatever you want," Draco said calmly and coolly, a smirk on his lips suggesting he didn’t feel the least bit intimidated by Claire’s sudden attack. “I can’t exactly blame you. Furthermore, you aren’t the only one in this house who despises my father. My suggestion would be for you to step in line. Take a number, if you will.”

“Draco!” Harry said, a warning edge to his voice. He had stepped between Draco and Remus to build a stronger barrier in case things got out of control.

Claire had changed her tone though, one much more condescending than before. “You can’t fool your way into Harry’s life. And once a Malfoy...always a Malfoy.”

“Claire — that’s enough,” Remus interrupted her. “You don’t know the whole story.”

"Claire," Harry cut in, desperate for her to understand. "The name 'Malfoy' is just a name! It's not who he is!"

"You of all people should know that, Claire," said a new voice. All four people in the kitchen turned towards the doorway. Sirius, Hermione and Ginny had returned, their arms full of groceries.

The girls entered the kitchen, carefully dropping the groceries onto the counter. Sirius did the same without another glance at the four grouped together, looking as though they were all ready to duel each other — and not necessarily with wands.

"Ginny," said Sirius in a light tone, turning to the red-head. "Would you take Draco upstairs, please?"

Ginny glanced at Claire, curiosity filling her brown orbs. She reluctantly agreed and led Draco upstairs to the spare bedroom without another word.

Hermione walked over to Harry’s side.

“What’s going on?” she asked quietly, tactfully avoiding the urge to stare at the pretty stranger. Harry could tell, though, that she had already deciphered who she was. “Is that--?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied shortly as Hermione fell into an amazed silence next to him.

And now Harry couldn’t tell who the real Claire was. Was she the friendly, giggling woman he had met at the door? Or was she the quick-tempered, vociferous woman who had just verbally attacked Draco?

Harry watched as Sirius grabbed a mug from the cupboard, filled it halfway with coffee and placed it on the table, where he promptly filled the rest of the cup with cream and countless scoops of sugar. He then crossed the room, gently took Claire by the elbow and sat her down in front of the coffee mug.

"You still take it the same? Good. Drink," he commanded gently.

Claire narrowed her eyes up at him in a threatening manner. "Stop treating me like a child, Sirius."

"I will when you stop acting like one," Sirius quipped in a low voice, his eyes meeting hers briefly and warningly.

He stood up to his full height and made his way back to the counter. And when he turned back to Claire, he noticed she still hadn’t touched her coffee.

"That coffee isn't going to drink itself," he told her in a calm voice. Claire glared at him through her wet hair.

"Oh, right," Sirius suddenly realized. He withdrew his wand and made his way over to her again, where he swiftly touched his wand to her head and whispered a word or two. Claire jerked her head slightly as though she had just been electrocuted. Her wet hair instantly dried, her clothes no longer clung to her skin. Even her tear-streaked face became clear and dry. "Better?"

Harry realized there was the merest trace of a smile on his godfather’s face. He seemed to be enjoying himself. And it appeared to Harry that Claire knew this as well, and was greatly annoyed by it. He found it strange to be watching them interact together. After nearly 17 years, he thought they’d each be on opposite ends of the house, desperate to avoid each other.

But here they were, acting as though this was nothing more than a simple disagreement of sorts, as though they hadn’t been on separate ends of the world for nearly two decades. Neither of them seemed to be truly angry with each other, and even the bitterness which Draco had inspired in Claire seemed to have completely evaporated with Sirius’s arrival.

But the thing that Harry found most bewildering was the fact that no one — not Remus, not Sirius, not even Harry himself — had bothered to ask Claire why she had shown up at the house. If no one had been expecting her arrival (as it appeared to be), then what had made her decide to come back?

But then another thought occurred to Harry — a fairly reasonable explanation for that one prodding question. The ‘why’ didn’t matter to anyone. The ‘why’ was as unimportant to them as Draco being a Malfoy was. The fact remained that Claire was here. And the truth was she simply belonged here with them. Could Claire really be that missing piece of the puzzle that figuratively (and literally) completed the picture?

Right now, though, Claire appeared to be fighting the urge to look grateful for Sirius’s help. Against her will, her face softened and she whispered, "Thank you," before taking a small sip of her coffee.

"Now that that's settled," Sirius said more loudly, turning back to everyone in the kitchen. "Now for the introductions. Hermione -- this is Claire White. Claire, I'd like you to meet Hermione Granger. Harry's girlfriend," he added unnecessarily.

Claire looked up at Hermione, who slowly approached her. Rain still dripped from her hair and onto the floor.

"It's really nice to meet you," Hermione said.

Claire flashed Hermione a warm smile, extending her hand and shaking Hermione's.

"I have heard so much about you," said Claire. "Please, sit down with me."

While Hermione obliged, Harry looked around to find that Sirius had vanished from the room. He looked at Remus, who rolled his eyes in exasperation. Claire cast her eyes around the room and caught the looks Remus and Harry were exchanging. She heaved a great sigh.

"He hasn't changed a bit."

"He's in shock," said Remus. "You can't blame him, C.J."

"You're right. I can't. And I don't," Claire added softly, looking down into her mug.

Harry shot Remus and Claire a very dumbfounded look, at which point Remus shrugged his shoulders. "Sirius has this fixation about not fighting with Claire."

"Really?" said Harry, surprised.

"Yes..." Claire agreed. "It's really enough to drive me crazy. Instead of fighting with me, he'll leave the room -- hide out until he's cooled down."

"That was Sirius being angry?" said Harry, puzzled. He had seen Sirius angry before. But the Sirius who had entered the kitchen to find his ex-fiancée there seemed very cool and calm.

"That was him being angry with me," said Claire, chagrined.

"What did you do wrong?" Harry asked. "It's perfectly understandable that you'd jump down Draco's throat!"

"There's more to it than that..." Claire said, twirling a piece of dark hair around her finger absent-mindedly. "I was in the wrong." She gave a bitter laugh. "Do you see what I mean? Sirius doesn't need to shout or yell at me. He can make me see what I've done wrong without even sparing me another glance."

"Claire has a habit of jumping to conclusions. It's rare," Remus added as he sat down at the table, diagonal from Hermione, "And when it happens, you do not want to be in the line of fire."

"Bite me, Remus," Claire muttered without preamble.

"Don't tempt me, Claire," Remus replied without looking at her, earning soft laughs from Hermione and Claire in response.

"I'll go talk to Sirius," Harry suggested. "Talk some sense into him."

"There's no point," Claire said with another sigh, all traces of humor fading from her face. “He’ll come down when he’s ready.” And it shocked Harry to hear her say that with such confidence.

Claire’s eyes landed on Hermione's right hand, third finger. All thoughts of Sirius seemed to vanish from her mind. The silver and gold ring shimmered under the light of the kitchen chandelier. "Is that what I think it is? Is that -- the Friendship Ring?”

Hermione glanced down at her ring fondly. "It is," Hermione said, looking back at Claire. "Do you know anything about this ring?"

The sad expression on Claire's face suddenly vanished, to be replaced by a soft glow, her smile widening. "Know about it? I wrote a paper on it in my last year at Hogwarts. Do you remember the assignment, R.J? History of Magic. We did a unit on myths and legends and I chose to write about the Friendship Ring. How did you get your hands on it?" Her voice was not condescending at all, but filled with wonder and awe.

"Harry gave it to me two Christmas’s ago," Hermione said, glancing at Harry as she spoke.

"And -- is the myth true?" Claire asked eagerly.

"Yes," said Harry. "We met the Ring-Spirit last Spring. Sirius and Remus were there as well."

"My...God..." Claire whispered slowly. "May I?" Hermione removed the ring and carefully dropped it into Claire's hand. "It's more beautiful than I ever imagined," she sighed, running her finger across the ancient symbols of truth, loyalty and love.

"What did you learn about the ring when you did that assignment?" Hermione asked, as eager to hear all she knew about the ring as Claire was to hear Hermione’s version.

Harry took this opportunity to go find Sirius, believing Hermione to be in good hands. He left the room without another word and made his way upstairs, feeling that Sirius would be probably be in the attic. He then pulled open the ceiling door and climbed the attic stairs that had promptly slid out.

Two lamps were lit at the far end, where he discovered Sirius sitting at the piano, leaning over the keys, his index finger hitting the same key over and over again.

"What are you doing, Sirius?" Harry said, sitting next to his godfather on the bench as the one note droned on and on.

"Playing the piano," Sirius said quietly, without looking up.

"You can play?" Harry asked skeptically.

Sirius brought both hands to the black and white keys and pressed down. A series of horrible notes blasted irritatingly throughout the attic. Sirius lifted his shoulders and then dropped them.

"Nope."

"You need to go back downstairs," Harry said to Sirius without warning. "You're not exactly being...courteous...to Claire by hiding."

"Who said I’m hiding?" Sirius muttered, not looking at Harry. A moment of silence stretched between them. Harry didn’t want to pressure his godfather. Yet at the very same time, he felt very frustrated and couldn’t exactly explain why.

"So you met the wonderful, multiple-personality Claire White, huh?" Sirius eventually said, finally looking side-long at Harry.

"Honey one second, fire the next?" Harry clarified with a smirk.

Sirius chuckled. "That's her. Like a volcano. You never could tell when she'd erupt. She has the power to make you feel like you're the only person in the room -- like you're on top of the world. And she has the power to strip that feeling away. Merlin,” he sighed reminiscently. “I missed that about her."

"Then why aren't you down there?" Harry prodded. "She came to see you."

"She came to see you," Sirius corrected him calmly. "Claire and I are a thing of the past. We tried and we failed. It’s a fact of life we both have spent many years getting used to."

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Harry said, feeling angry now. "You 'tried' and 'failed.' You didn't fail. You were pulled apart by circumstances way beyond your control!"

"Clearly someone didn't want us together," Sirius said with a patience that was beginning to annoy Harry. "At one point, I remember thinking that I couldn't possibly live without her. She was it for me -- my reason for being alive. When I met her for the first time, I simply knew. I knew we belonged together."

Harry didn't know what to say. He personally knew what it felt like to have that one person in his life he couldn't live without. Therefore a part of him understood just how Sirius had once felt. But Harry sensed another, deeper reason for his godfather’s desire to remain hidden and invisible in the attic. But it was difficult to be sure.

"Listen, Sirius," Harry began, trying to appeal to the older wizard in a logical way. "No one expects you to marry her. You're allowed to be her friend, right?"

Sirius didn't say anything to this.

"She doesn't hate Draco," Sirius explained, changing the subject abruptly as Harry tried to ignore the sudden sharp pang of irritation which stabbed him in that instant. "She really despises his parents. Lucius and Narcissa were two years ahead of us when we all attended Hogwarts. They tormented Claire because she was Muggle-born. And Narcissa loathed the very ground she walked on. Both Claire and Lily. The two of them together -- " Sirius paused in remembrance. "They made the darkest and coldest dungeons in Hogwarts glow with warmth."

“Did my mum hate them just as much?” Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“She hated them,” Sirius answered matter-of-factly. “But for different reasons. You see — Lily was a very strong individual. And when Narcissa tried to make life difficult for her...well...it never worked out as planned. Narcissa would then make Claire her target. And Claire was the shy type, who typically spent most of her time trying to stay and remain invisible to others around her. She was timid and naturally had no idea how to defend herself when it came to Narcissa.

“Lily’s vendetta against them stemmed from the fact that they made Claire’s life miserable,” Sirius continued. “It wasn’t until Narcissa and Lucius finally graduated that Claire finally came out of her shell.”

"Do you think she'll get over the fact that Draco is a Malfoy?" Harry wondered, after a thoughtful pause.

"Yes," Sirius said. "She has this very strong theory that blood holds no importance whatsoever when it comes to family. Take a look at me and my family. She never would have been with me if she didn't believe that there was something good in me worth caring about. And even she comes from a very hard background. Her mother and father were as strict and unfeeling as your Aunt and Uncle. She swore she would never be like them.

“But luckily for you, that’s a whole other story,” Sirius added to Harry with a small smile. “And maybe someday Claire will tell you all about it.”

*

When Harry returned to the kitchen, he found that Ginny and Draco were sitting at the kitchen table with Hermione and Remus. Harry might have been surprised to see Claire working in such evident harmony with Draco had it not been for his piano bench chat with Sirius. As Sirius had predicted, Claire had obviously made a peace overture of sorts to Draco by including him in what was by all appearances a “family” project of some sort. And though Draco appeared to be in something less than a state of ease (accepting, perhaps, more to please Ginny than for any other reason), Harry could sense that he was pleased nonetheless to have been asked.

Claire stood at the counter mixing something that resembled dough in a large plastic bowl. Hermione, Remus and Draco were buried in their task of peeling potatoes as Ginny sat next to Draco, her brows furrowed as she concentrated on the large block of cheddar cheese she was grating.

Claire looked over her shoulder at Harry as he entered, and she grinned knowingly. "Thanks for the effort, Harry. But eventually Sirius will come down. Whether he wants to or not."

"How do you know that?" Draco and Harry asked together.

"The man has to eat sometime, right?" Claire replied, turning back to her plastic bowl.

"What are you making?" asked Harry curiously, as he sat across from Hermione. She promptly handed him a potato and knife, silently instructing him to help them peel the potatoes. He grinned at her and obliged.

"Pirogies," Claire replied brightly. "It's a non-meat recipe for a non-meat holiday, and this has always been a tradition for me. Don't worry," she added, confusing Harry’s curious look for wariness. "You'll love them."

"And if Sirius ever had a weakness," said Remus, running his knife across a potato mindlessly, "it was Claire's irresistible cooking."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Harry jokingly.

Claire laughed. "There were times when I wondered if my cooking was the only reason he stayed with me."

"It wasn't."

The voice came from the kitchen doorway, where Sirius leaned casually against the frame, his light eyes solely on Claire. She turned to look at him and their eyes met briefly. A very pregnant pause followed as they stared at each other, broken only by Claire's voice as she turned to Harry and said in a very Hermione-like voice, "I told you so."

Sirius glanced around the kitchen, his eyes widening as realization dawned on him.

“You’re not!”

“I am,” Claire responded with a grin.

”You’re really making pirogies?!”

Claire laughed softly at Sirius’s enthusiasm as she added water to her mixture. “Harry’s never had them before, according to Hermione. So I’m teaching her the ways.”

“Teaching her your ways,” Sirius corrected her, smirking knowingly. “You know...I could have all of this done within two minutes. Potatoes, cheese and the dough,” Sirius offered. “Just a little flick of my wand...”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you...” Remus said under his breath as he continued to run his knife across the potato he was working on.

“Hermione, dear?” Claire said sweetly, turning to the brunette. “Would you be kind enough to hand Sirius a knife?”

“Grab a chair, Sirius,” Hermione suggested, fishing for a knife on the table. Sirius did as told and took the knife from her.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked Claire as Remus laughed through his nose.

“Hermione?” Claire barely turned her head, her tone suggesting the merest trace of an order.

Hermione swiftly pulled out a small bag from beneath her chair and pushed it across the table to Sirius. Three large onions fell out.

Sirius’s face fell. “Oh.”

“That’s for getting cute with me,” Claire said, flashing him one of her sweet smiles.

“Onions,” Sirius whispered bitterly. “I hate onions.” He grinned, though, as he began to peel away the outer layers of the onions.

“You’d think you’d know better...” Remus said quietly to Sirius as he continued to peel his potatoes.

“I’ve got it covered, old friend,” Sirius mumbled, fishing for his wand. He withdrew it, a proud smile on his face as he aimed it at one of the onions.

“Ahem!”

Sirius looked up to find Claire smirking self-righteously at him, a wand pointed straight at his chest.

His face fell again, before realization dawned on him. “Hey — you’re not supposed to have a wand!”

“She doesn’t,” Remus replied. “She’s confiscated mine. Apparently the woman has trust issues.”

“Honestly...boys...” Claire reprimanded gently as Sirius reluctantly handed over his wand. Harry was surprised to find him so accommodating. “You make it sound like being a Muggle is the worst possible thing in the world — the way you two act.”

“She’s got a nice point, though,” Hermione added thoughtfully as Claire placed both wands onto the counter next to the bag of flour. “If Muggle-Borns can learn magic, then I’m sure pure-bloods can learn the Muggle ways. Am I right, Draco?”

Everyone laughed as they watched the blond wizard struggling with his potato and knife. He looked up, slightly red in the face from embarrassment.

“I’ll have to disagree with you on that one, Hermione,” he replied shortly before returning to his potato.

“Well, at least he’s trying,” Ginny said in her boyfriend’s defense. Laughter rang around the kitchen table and Claire was mildly surprised to see Draco laughing as hard as anyone.

“Do you know,” Claire said, her eyes not leaving her pirogie mixture, “in all my years at Hogwarts, I don’t think I ever heard Lucius Malfoy laugh. I mean real, honest laughter. Maybe the apple does fall far from the tree.” Claire’s eyes flickered in Sirius’s direction as she added with a smirk: “Every now and then.”

Another chorus of laughter followed as everyone – Draco included – renewed their culinary efforts. Claire looked over her shoulder and caught Sirius’s eye again. They smiled at each other over their respective tasks, as if this very scenario had triggered many happy memories between the two.

And Harry couldn’t help but feel that, in spite of the impending darkness which still loomed ominously over their heads, this weekend would provide them all with enough happy memories to last them a lifetime.

*

The rain that had drenched the small town of Ottery St. Catchpole continued well into the night. Harry was finding it difficult to sleep with everything that had happened that day: Claire White being the very unexpected surprise of the century. And because of this, his mind was too full to sleep.

Ginny and Hermione were sharing Harry's room, while Claire took the spare bedroom. Harry remembered the shocked look on her face when Sirius had promptly put his foot down and insisted that she stay. Harry assumed that that was Sirius's way of showing her that he wanted her there. And the rest of the evening was filled with plenty of laughter as Sirius, Remus and Claire reminisced about old times by telling the younger witches and wizards stories of their past.

Remus was sleeping on Harry's one side while Draco slept peacefully on his other side. Was he, Harry, the only one who couldn't sleep? He lifted himself from his mattress and fumbled for his glasses. Once he had them on, he made his way to the kitchen in the dark, carefully trying not bump into anything so as not to wake up Draco or Remus.

"Sleeping draught...I know we have it here somewhere," Harry murmured. He opened the kitchen pantry and turned the knob on the overhead lamp, blinding himself for a moment or two. Boxes and containers of food came into view. The pantry was very deep, and could easily fit two people. "Where is that sleeping draught? I know I saw it here," he whispered, stepping into the pantry and pulling the door closed behind him.

He continued searching until he realized he was no longer the only one in the kitchen. He had kept the pantry door open just a crack, fearing he would lock himself in if he closed it all the way, and now he could see Sirius as he stood with his hands behind his back, staring out the kitchen window. The older wizard seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his godson was in the pantry. Harry was about to announce his presence when another figure appeared within his view. Claire had tied her long, dark hair into a low braid and wore a pair of pink, flannel pajamas.

Suddenly realizing that he might be a witness to something he didn’t want to see, Harry wished he had stayed in bed.

Sirius turned to face Claire, and it was difficult for Harry to decipher the expression on his godfather’s face from his viewpoint. Sirius and Claire were no more than a foot a part as they continued to stare at each other.

Do something, Harry mentally urged. He wanted to get out of the pantry, with or without his sleeping draught.

Without saying a word -- as though words were not necessary -- Claire went into Sirius's outstretched arms and they clung to each other.

"I missed you so much," Sirius whispered into her hair as they continued to hold onto each other.

Claire pulled back slightly, and Harry could see tears streaming down her face. "It's so difficult...There's so much I want to say," she said softly.

"We have all the time in the world," he told her, his thumb wiping away the tears which coursed down her cheeks.

"I shouldn't even be here!" Claire whispered desperately. "I don't know what possessed me...but it's not fair to you -- to any of you."

"It's OK!" Sirius insisted, smiling warmly at her.

But Claire didn't seem to want to hear it. She kept shaking her head, trying to convince herself of something. "My mind...is having trouble accepting the fact that you're here," she confessed. "That I'm here. That I can..." To convey her thought, she raised her hand to touch the side of his face and she automatically pulled back, fear lighting up her sapphire eyes.

"Don't be afraid to touch me," Sirius said, staring into her eyes intently, his hands now gripping her upper-arms. “Not now...after so long.”

"I saw you today..." she said. "I saw that look in your eye you successfully managed to hide from everyone else. You can't hide it from me, Sirius."

"Claire -- don't -- “

"You need to talk to me," she persisted. "You need to. Because I need to know where I stand."

"I already told you -- I'm glad you're here. I want you here."

"Yes...But you're holding back," she told him. "You're holding back because you're afraid." She paused as Sirius lowered his face, as though ashamed. "I told you that you can't hide from me, Sirius."

Sirius raised his head so his eyes were looking straight into hers. "How?" he asked weakly.

Claire smiled serenely at him, her eyes shining. "Do you really believe 17 years of being apart from each other has changed the fact that I know your heart?" she asked rhetorically. "Have you forgotten that you can read mine just as easily?"

Sirius gave a dry laugh. "What do you want me to say? Having you here has only made me realize that I have everything I could ever possibly want under this roof. And I can't stand the idea of losing it -- even though I know I'm not entitled to it.”

Claire looked up into his face with sympathy in her eyes. But she didn’t interrupt him.

"I don't deserve all this happiness, Claire. Because if I start thinking for one second that I'm happy -- then that indicates I'm glad I'm in James and Lily's place. Which implies that I'm glad they're dead."

Harry's mouth fell open in shock. Was this how Sirius really felt? Had he felt this way all along?

"Sirius, has anyone ever told you that you think too much?” Claire asked him gently. "If you're not allowed to be happy, then you've taken away Harry's right to be. And when I saw Harry today, he looked genuinely happy. I know I haven't been a part of his life. I have myself to blame for that -- and no one else. But I know this much: He has you to thank. You've given him more than I think he even realizes."

"Claire --"

"If it was left up to me to choose one man who deserved all the happiness and goodness this world has to offer, I would pick you, Sirius," Claire told him. Her hand caressed the side of his face without hesitation this time as she continued to look at him lovingly. "You're the best man I've ever known."

Sirius brought her into his arms again, and this time Harry could see silent tears traveling down his face. They held onto each other as though fearing if one let go, the other would disappear. Harry felt a sudden pang in his chest...one of pity. He couldn't bear it if he and Hermione were separated for nearly two decades. He suddenly decided how relieved he was that Claire had returned. Not for himself. For Sirius.

Things had to be different now. Things would be different.

"Not to ruin a picture-perfect moment, and not to sound ungrateful — “ Claire said, breaking the comfortable silence. “But why have you allowed me to stay?”

When Sirius didn’t say anything, Claire continued speaking in an increasingly heated way.

“Why don't you hate me for what I've done?" she whispered as Sirius took her hand in his, lightly brushing his lips across her knuckles.

"You haven't done anything, Claire," Sirius told her in bewilderment.

"I left!" Claire reminded him in a hiss. "I left you, Harry, R.J --"

"Trust me, I have my share of guilt in what happened all those years ago," Sirius said to her. He gave a slow swallow, his eyes shadowing with memories of the past. "The last person in the world I would ever blame is you. Because if it were me in your shoes, I would have done the same. Knowing that you were powerless to stop Dumbledore from giving Harry to his miserable relatives. Unable to do anything but watch me rot in prison --"

"You don't blame yourself!" Claire gasped in realization.

"Of course I do. Who else is there to blame?"

"How about those responsible? That rat you called a friend -- and Voldemort!" Claire reminded him.

"I was nothing more than a fool, honey," Sirius replied quietly. "My place was not chasing after Pettigrew. It was with you. I should have listened to you. You told me it was pointless --"

"I admit, you were foolish by not thinking with your head," said Claire, her eyes shimmering with tears. "But you were thinking with your heart. You loved James, Lily and Harry. And when you went after -- him -- I knew I had never been so proud of you. I knew...as upset as I was...that I couldn't possibly love you more than I did at that moment."

His hand touched the side of her face, curiously, tentatively. “I guess we’ll always have our share of the guilt. Mine comes from my recklessness — “

“And mine comes from my cowardice,” Claire finished, pushing down the lump in her throat as she swallowed.

“I’ve never blamed you, Claire,” Sirius insisted, the intensity of his gaze leaving Claire breathless and dazed.

“And I never blamed you,” Claire whispered as Sirius’s fingers continued to slowly graze her jaw line.

He let his fingers fall to her throat, where he then pulled out a fine gold chain that hung around her neck. A small, gold heart-shaped pendant dangled from the chain, alongside a small gold band with a tiny pink jewel perched on top of it.

"You still--"

"I never took it off," Claire said immediately, as though she needed him to know this fact. "Do you remember what you said when you gave this to me?" She fingered the heart-shaped pendant.

Sirius smiled reminiscently, his fingers gently touching the gold heart. "I said...that it was my heart... filled with my love for you."

"And whenever you couldn’t be with me...or whenever I felt alone," she continued, another tear coursing down her cheek, "All I had to do was wrap my fist around it and squeeze tightly. And your love would do the rest." She looked into his eyes, smiling through her tears. "There hasn't been a day that has gone by that I've never held your heart in my hand, love. Never."

Their gazes locked, Sirius slowly lowered his face to hers. "I want to kiss you so much," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Claire raised her face to his, their eyes clashing with a burning desire. "I'm not stopping you."

Sirius didn’t hesitate as he lowered his lips to hers softly and timidly. She opened her mouth beneath his lips and Sirius deepened the kiss, his hands on the swell of her hips as he pulled her quivering form closer to his body. The very air around them crackled with passion, need and urgency.

They pulled apart from each other only when their breath finally ran out. Claire rested her forehead on Sirius's chest, her eyes closed as she fought for air. Sirius's arms encircled her as he rested his chin on her head, his eyes closed as well.

"I need you, Claire," he whispered a moment later, no longer interested in keeping his longing for her a secret.

Claire didn't say anything at first. She allowed a few moments for the meaning of his words to sink in before she lifted her forehead from his chest and looked into his eyes. To Harry's bewilderment, she turned away from him, her eyes falling to the floor.

"I can't," she whispered back.

Sirius stepped behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "You can't? Or you won't?" His lips brushed the back of her neck as he spoke and she shivered beneath his touch.

"Is there a difference?" she wondered.

"If you won't, that implies that you need and want me just as much, but you won't allow yourself. If you can’t...then there may be something you’re not telling me," Sirius explained, his hands now resting on her hips.

Claire closed her eyes again as Sirius placed gentle kisses down the back of her neck. Her eyes snapped open suddenly.

"Stop doing that!" She spun around to face him. "You're doing that on purpose, Black."

"I'm not doing anything," Sirius retorted, an innocent grin lighting up his face.

Claire glared at him suspiciously. "I told you I can't," she continued. "Because there's no point."

"No point?" Sirius echoed incredulously. "Dammit, Claire -- you really haven't changed, have you?"

"And listen to you!" Claire shot back. "I've been here for no longer than 12 hours and you're already trying to get me into bed?"

Sirius flinched as though Claire had just slapped him. "You know that's not it, Claire," he said quietly.

They didn't say anything for a moment. Claire chewed on her bottom lip, looking guilty and apologetic while Sirius turned back to the window, effectively turning his back on her.

"I know...Sirius," Claire finally said. "I didn't mean what I said."

"I know," Sirius said, his hands folded across his chest. He didn't bother to look at her as Claire continued to speak.

"I'm...scared," she confessed.

This got Sirius's attention. He turned around to face her, confusion, pain and frustration shining through the icy blue of his eyes.

"Scared of me?" he shot at her.

Claire looked appalled at the idea. "Of course not!" she insisted.

"Then what?" he demanded heatedly. "What are you so scared of?"

Claire fumbled with the ring and heart-shaped pendant looped around her chain as she thought carefully about her answer.

"It's been so long, Sirius," she whispered. "It terrifies me to think...you could still..."

"Want you?" he supplied.

Claire didn't say anything. She nodded without meeting his eyes.

They didn't say anything for a while. They simply stood there, both consumed by thoughts and words they wanted to say to each other. Both too hesitant and shy to voice them.

"I don't want to mislead you, Sirius," Claire finally said, still not looking at him. "I have plans to return back to Canada." When Sirius didn't say anything, she added, "I'm not staying...Sirius."

"What?" Sirius said, his voice quiet and full of pain.

Claire didn't repeat herself. She stared down at the floor.

"You came all this way for one weekend to see Harry, is that it? And then you plan to leave? Just like that? Walk in, walk out?" Sirius wondered disbelievingly.

"How could you expect me to stay?" Claire asked as she finally looked at him, her eyes pleading for him to understand. "My home is in Canada...I have a job there..."

"A husband?" Sirius wondered, his eyes flashing with cruelty.

Claire looked at him sharply, her eyes filled with fire. She looked like she was ready to commit murder as she thrust her left hand up to his face. "Does it look like I'm wearing a ring, you fool?"

Sirius had the decency to look ashamed.

"Then why can't you stay?" he pleaded with her. "You have nothing tying you to Canada -- the Muggle life -- which, by the way, you always claimed you hated."

"It was my punishment to myself," Claire said, her voice suddenly quiet and sad, without the anger that had once shown clear in her words.

"It's time to let go of that guilt, Claire," Sirius begged as he took her hand in his. "Let it go...and stay here. With me."

Claire was clearly struggling with the desire to do exactly as Sirius wanted. Harry could see it in her face.

"I can't," she finally said, though there was less conviction in her voice now. Sirius seemed to sense that her strength was wavering.

"Then why are you here?" he asked.

The question seemed to confuse Claire. "I'm here to see Harry...and R.J -- and you, of course."

"No, Claire," Sirius said, his voice strong and clear. "Why are you here? With me. Right now?"

The clarification of the question definitely had the effect Sirius wanted. Claire gawked at him, at a loss for words.

"You don't want to leave," Sirius told her. "It's just like you said: I know your heart. You can't hide from me."

Claire looked furious with herself. She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowed at the floor. She clearly hadn’t expected Sirius to use her words against her.

"Look at me, Claire," Sirius instructed, lifting her chin upwards so she was left with no choice but to oblige. "Don't leave," he insisted. "Stay here. Stay for me -- for us. I know it's complicated for you. It's been too long, and I don't expect anything from you. We can be friends. That's how we started out, right?"

He smiled at her reassuringly.

"Sirius --"

"I just don't want you to leave," Sirius added desperately. "I'll do anything.”

Claire giggled in a way that suggested he had already won her over. "Anything, eh? Would you name a star after me?"

"In a heartbeat.”

"Would you climb the highest mountain for me?"

"You know I would," Sirius told her as she allowed him to pull her closer to him.

Harry had the unmistakable impression that this was a private game between them, one they had played many, many times.

"And would you father my children?" Claire asked him coyly, peering up at him with a teasing smile on her face.

"With pleasure," Sirius growled into her ear.

"And would you become Severus Snape's best friend for me?" she asked.

Sirius pulled back, his face screwed up in disgust as Claire burst into laughter, hugging him close.

"You don't have to answer that," she said, her laughter dissolving into quiet giggles.

Sirius laughed. "So...is that a yes?" he asked her.

She looked up at him with a frown on her pretty face. "Is what a yes?"

"Will you stay?"

Claire didn't answer at first. She looked down at their interlocked fingers, her eyes shining, her creamy skin flushed with happiness.

"Take me upstairs, Sirius," she whispered just as he said, "You don't have to give me an answer straight away."

They both looked at each other, Sirius frowning in confusion, Claire giggling more than ever.

"What?" Sirius asked her in disbelief.

Claire squeezed his hand and without letting go, she took a few steps toward the kitchen doorway, which would lead them to the stairs. Sirius remained planted firmly where he was standing as he gawked at Claire. She turned back to him.

"I said...take me upstairs, Sirius," she repeated, grinning.

Without another word, they left the kitchen together. Harry waited until he was sure they were upstairs before leaving the pantry. He made his way back to the living room, his mind reeling from everything he had heard and seen. A part of him knew he had just violated his godparents' privacy. He knew that had been wrong. But another, quieter part of him was glad that he had witnessed the exchange between Claire and Sirius.

Claire was staying. Harry suddenly felt lighter than air. As he lay down back in his make-shift bed, he realized just how content he really felt. He also realized he didn't need his sleeping draught anymore. He felt exhausted.

But just before he fell asleep, one thought permeated his brain: He sincerely hoped Sirius had placed a Soundproofing Charm around his room. For Hermione's and Ginny's sake, at least.

To Be Continued...

20. Daughter of Prophecy

Circle's Close

Chapter 20: Daughter of Prophecy
Author:Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary:Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G and other pairings. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Chapter Summary: It's a casual Easter weekend as Harry finds himself adjusting to the idea of having his godmother back in his life. Meanwhile, Sirius and Ginny serve up a couple of surprises, both of which have everything to do with Draco.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended. Claire White, however, does not belong to J.K. (I gave Claire life, and I can take it back, too! MWHAHAHA).

Special Thanks: To Gary Skinner, and the list goes ever on and on for the things he's done for this story AND for me as well. Behind every writer, there's a fantastic beta. (Or something like that).

Author's Note: Wow, the majority of you actually like Claire! That's exciting! Thank you, SweetSolitude137, for saying that she's not the Mary-Sue type. That made me feel REALLY good. :) And for everyone else, thank you for your awesome and kind words. Love makes the world go round, but your encouragement makes MY world go round. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

***

Harry woke up the following morning to the smell and sound of bacon sizzling in the kitchen. He lazily turned over onto his side, waiting for the disorientation of sleep to dissipate before he eventually decided to get up. He didn’t know how late it was, but he couldn’t help feeling slightly surprised when he opened his eyes and found that Draco and Remus were not still sleeping next to him. The blankets and mattresses they had used the night before had already been cleared from the floor.

With a small groan, he reluctantly picked himself up off the floor, placed his glasses over his eyes and began to fold his blankets into a neat pile. After sleep faded away and he became more alert, he decided that the house was unusually quiet at this time of morning. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the apparent absence of Draco and Remus, he would have thought he was the only one awake.

Waking fully, Harry could only assume that Draco and Remus were in the kitchen, along with Hermione and Ginny, (who had to be awake by this time as well). Who else could be cooking breakfast? Perhaps it was the thought of someone cooking in the kitchen, but it wasn’t until this thought occurred to him that the full memory of last night’s events struck him hard. He remembered being trapped in the pantry, and witnessing a conversation he never should have.

But at least he had learned one vital thing from the discussion between his godparents. Claire White had decided to stay with them after all. He wondered how difficult it would be for her to make the transition from Muggle to witch again. It had been so long ... would she be able to? Then again, maybe being a witch was a lot like riding a bicycle. Once you learn, it’s impossible to forget. He didn’t really know how these things worked, and wasn’t really sure what to expect. But, on the other hand, at least she was willing to try! It was possibly this thought that spurred him on to tidy even faster, so he could dash into the kitchen and tell everyone the great news.

The moment he entered the kitchen, he not only found that Hermione, Ginny, Draco and Remus were not at all present, but he discovered Claire supervising the pan which the bacon and eggs were frying in. As happy as he was to see her, he couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that he couldn’t tell his friends the news.

Claire, seeming oblivious to the fact that Harry had entered the room, was whistling to an old Muggle song Harry recognized, which was playing softly on the small radio near the coffee maker. Her long, black hair had been thrown into a lazy ponytail, and she looked very comfortable in her jeans and hooded sweatshirt, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. He glanced quickly at the kitchen table, noticing a Muggle newspaper spread open to the sports page, and he grinned to himself. It might just take his godmother a while to ease back into the wizarding world, after all.

“Good morning, Harry!” Claire suddenly greeted as she reached into a top cupboard to pull out a coffee mug. “Or should I say ‘good afternoon’?” she added, looking at him over her shoulder, smiling teasingly.

Harry raised his brows in disbelief. “It’s -- "

Claire giggled as she filled the mug with coffee from the machine that gurgled softly on the kitchen counter. “It’s only ten minutes past noon,” she informed him, still smiling as she placed the mug on the table. “Breakfast -- or lunch, I should say -- will be ready in a few minutes.”

Harry, taking his cue, sat down at the table where Claire had placed his coffee. As he stirred some sugar into the cup, listening to his stomach growl with hunger, he looked back up at Claire, who had gone back to whistling along with the radio. “Where is everyone?”

Claire shrugged her shoulders, poking at the bacon before turning around and leaning against the counter as she folded her arms across her chest, the spatula in one hand. “Remus, Hermione, Ginny and Draco left a couple hours ago to run a few errands.”

“Where did they go?” asked Harry, not expecting this kind of an answer. He felt awkward that he had slept so late, and privately wished that someone would have woken him up.

“They went into town -- but they didn’t tell me what they were doing,” said Claire with a thoughtful air about her. “And I didn’t ask.”

“I guess Sirius is still sleeping, right?” Harry guessed as he reached to the middle of the table for the fruit bowl, pulling off a few grapes from the vine and popping them one-by-one into his mouth.

Claire shook her head. “Sirius left only a few moments ago. He said he had something he needed to do, and told me he’d be back shortly.”

Harry frowned, reaching for a few more grapes. “Oh.”

Claire didn’t say anything more until she had filled his plate with eggs and bacon. After setting down the plate in front of him, she took her seat across the table from him, propped both elbows on the table, rested her chin on her folded hands, and looked at him as though he was a wonder to behold.

“You have no idea what it’s like to see you,” she said, shaking her head in awe. “I keep picturing you as this little, happy baby.”

Harry stared back at her in amazement, feeling his throat closing in. Even if he wanted to speak, it would be impossible.

“You never cried,” Claire elaborated. “You were the best baby. You would sleep through the whole night and eat whatever was given to you. You loved being held more than anything in the world. And you never fussed over anything.” She giggled softly as she said the last part, before sighing reminiscently. “Needless to say -- everyone adored you.”

“Did you and Sirius -- “ Harry started, finally finding his voice and at the same time, wholly unable to stop his morbid curiosity. “Were you and Sirius around a lot?”

Claire nodded emphatically. “All the time,” she said, stressing each word. She lowered her eyes for a moment, her ruby lips curving slowly as though his question had prompted another recall of a memory from long ago. She looked back at Harry, tilting her head to the side. “I wish you could have seen your parents with you. They loved you so much.”

Harry instantly warmed at her words, once again finding it difficult to speak. He knew, of course, that his parents had loved him. He had heard it so many times from various people who had known them. And yet, he never got tired of hearing it. And the fact that he was hearing it from his mother’s best friend certainly added more appeal and truth to her statement.

“I remember when your father learned that Lily was pregnant with you,” Claire said, her eyes full of memory and amusement as Harry stared at her, completely transfixed as she spoke about his parents. “James came over to our house one night in complete hysterics. He couldn’t seem to understand why Lily was being ... overly nice to him. She was cooking him his favorite meals, baking him his favorite deserts ... And she was giving him money to do whatever he wanted with. Needless to say, after three days of this, he was beginning to suspect that something was up.”

Harry thought he felt his stomach slip a couple of feet. He didn’t like the sound of this story at all anymore. He forced the lump in his throat down. “Did he not ... want ... to have a baby?”

Claire looked at him suddenly. “He wanted a child more than anything! And Lily knew it, which was why she spent days teasing him ruthlessly. If memory serves me correctly, I think she was trying to get even with your father over something he had done to her a few weeks before. Lily knew it was a mean prank. We all did -- especially when James came over to our house thinking that Lily was having an affair. But he got over it pretty quickly when he learned the truth.”

Harry didn’t realize he had just let out a sigh of relief. In fact, now that he thought of it, the whole idea of his mother and father playing pranks on each other made him feel a lot better. He laughed at that moment, knowing that if Hermione had done that to him, he would have come to the exact same conclusion.

“And if you haven’t guessed already, Harry,” Claire continued, the tenderness in her voice switching to amusement. “The others left to run errands so we could spend some quality time together.”

Harry gave a small sound of understanding. “That thought crossed my mind. I just don’t understand why they would all leave without waking me first.”

Claire waved this thought away with her slender hand. “That was because you were sleeping so peacefully, that we didn’t want to disturb you. You must have had a late one last night.”

Harry paled slightly at this comment, wondering what the cool and perceptive look in her eye meant. If she knew that he had overheard everything, wouldn’t she make it clear to him that she did, in fact, know?

“So!” Claire said brightly, clapping her hands together. “I don’t know about you, Harry, but I intend to take full advantage of this opportunity while I still can. Is there anything in particular you want to ask me? I’ll answer any questions as best as I possibly can.” She said all of this with an eager, energetic expression on her face, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“There are a few,” Harry admitted slowly, suddenly feeling painfully shy around this person who wasn’t supposed to be a stranger to him. Yet, being left alone with her for this length of time didn’t make him feel as awkward as he normally would have felt. He felt relieved that this was the case, and glad that he had this time to spend with her.

Claire looked at him intently as he hesitated to speak. “Harry, I don’t want you to feel you have to walk on eggshells around me,” she said quietly. “I know how awkward this must be for you -- but I don’t want you to bite back any questions for fear of upsetting me.”

Harry looked at her uncertainly. “Yeah ... but ... ”

Claire laughed suddenly, having realized what his apprehensive look meant. “I guess first impressions really are everything,” she said regretfully. “How I reacted towards Draco yesterday had absolutely nothing to do with him. It was immature of me to act that way.”

“Sirius explained some of it to me,” Harry told her. “And I don’t blame you. I probably would have done the same thing had I been in your shoes.”

Claire reached across the table and took his hands in hers, as though he was still the infant she remembered. “Please,” she said firmly. “Ask me or tell me whatever you want to. I insist. And I can promise you that there won’t be another repeat of yesterday.”

Harry seemed to just realize that he had a plate of food in front of him. And this only occurred to him when his stomach gave another loud wail of protest as his brain finally registered the delicious aroma of bacon and eggs. He withdrew his hands from Claire’s, picked up his fork and started on his eggs, allowing himself a moment or two to think of what he wanted to ask her. It just didn’t seem natural to blurt out any random question. But how else was he going to learn anything about her?

As he ate what was possibly the best tasting breakfast he had ever eaten in his entire life (doubting whether even Molly Weasley had served a more delicious breakfast), his eyes traveled from her face to where the heart-shaped pendant hung from the fine, gold chain around her neck. Hanging next to the pendant was the engagement ring Sirius had given her long before Harry had even been born. And he suddenly knew what he wanted to ask her.

“When I asked Remus about you all those months ago, he told me that you and Sirius were going to be married,” he said, his eyes meeting hers.

“Yes,” said Claire, seeming unsure of where he was going with this thought.

“Remus ... told me that ... you and Sirius were engaged long before my parents became engaged to each other,” Harry elaborated.

Claire sighed, nodding slowly. “That’s very true,” she said in a strong voice, though her eyes had a tender look in them.

“I don’t understand ... ” Harry continued with a look of bewilderment, “ ... why you never married Sirius. What stopped you?”

Claire, whose eyes were resting on the reflected surface of the wooden table, shot her eyes back to Harry’s. “Remus never told you?” she asked curiously.

Harry shrugged half-heartedly at this question. “He told me about as much as he could. He felt it wasn’t really his place to ... reveal things to me that didn’t really have anything to do with him.”

Claire smiled fondly. “That’s R.J.” She looked at Harry again, this time more resignedly. “We wanted to get married, Sirius and I. But it wasn’t me who kept postponing it,” she answered calmly.

“Sirius?” asked Harry, and when Claire nodded, he felt even more confused than before. “Why would he -- “

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about Sirius, Harry,” Claire said quickly, trying to ease his confusion. “I knew he loved me. He wanted to wait until we had my parents’ blessing before getting married. I spent years trying to convince him that it was a hopeless cause. At one point, Remus even intervened and took my side. But ... Sirius wouldn’t listen. He had so much faith -- too much faith -- in them. He strongly believed that they would come around.”

“Sirius told me what your parents were like,” said Harry. “But what I don’t understand was why he held out hope. I’m sure that there was a part of him that ... ”

“Knew better?” Claire finished as Harry’s question trailed off. She nodded. “I think the reason he was so optimistic was because he wanted to do the right thing with me,” she answered. “He felt he had done so many wrong things in his life. He didn’t want our marriage to be one of them. And, strangely enough, I loved him even more for it.”

“But your parents didn’t come around. Did they?” Harry said in a flat, rhetorical tone, unable to contain the bitterness he felt at this thought. It unhinged him to think that something he had absolutely no control over could affect him so deeply.

“And they never did,” Claire answered quietly. “But then ... after three years, just after you were born, Sirius finally caved. And I knew it was because of you. I saw the change in him the moment he picked you up and held you in his arms.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at this. “Why would he change his mind? It couldn’t have been because of me.”

“Pretty close,” Claire insisted, slowly nodding her head as she ran her finger around the rim of her mug dreamily. “I think, eventually, he would have given up hope on my parents. But seeing you, holding you, made him come to that conclusion a lot sooner. And sure enough -- a week after you had been born -- he surprised me by picking a date.”

“When was it?” asked Harry curiously.

“November 11th of the following year,” answered Claire, more quietly still. “We wanted to wait, because Sirius had just started a new job, fresh from Auror Training. We both decided that it was an excellent opportunity, and we didn’t want anything getting in the way of that. With Voldemort at the height of his power, I knew that the team needed Sirius.

“But I was thrilled; make no mistake about that, Harry,” she added, her voice rapidly increasing with excitement. “We had set an official date. That was all that mattered at the moment. We were young and careless. Literally and foolishly believing that we had all the time in the world to do the things we wanted to do.”

Suddenly, Harry felt like something had just walloped him in the gut. The pain was so intense he had to grip the table to keep from doubling over. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that the date of their wedding had been after --

Claire reached out for his hand again, barely noticing how cold it was to her own skin. She squeezed his hand affectionately. “Don’t blame yourself,” she pleaded, her eyes soft and warm.

Harry looked at her questioningly.

“I know that look, Harry,” Claire continued, unnerving him with her uncanny perceptiveness. “It’s that look of raw guilt, and I don’t want to see it flash through your eyes ever again.”

Harry could hardly speak, so he nodded, hoping that that would suffice as an answer.

“Good,” Claire said determinedly, taking a sip of coffee from her mug. “Now -- I want to know more about you and Hermione.”

Harry frowned at this. “I told you so much already! In fact, I think I told you everything I possibly could.”

Claire shook her head, a look of disagreement on her face. “You told me all about Hermione, yes,” she agreed. “But I still don’t know how you met or fell in love. From your letters, it was easy to discern that Hermione is one-of-a-kind. But knowing that the Ring-Spirit helped you to destroy Voldemort last Spring, that calls for a very special kind of relationship. And personally, I want to know everything.”

Harry gave a resigned sigh while Claire smiled with satisfaction. Over the course of an hour he told her how he had met Hermione, and their slow journey from ‘just friends’ to ‘more-than-friends.’ Claire listened raptly, sighing and laughing in all the right places, and offering her opinion when there was a thoughtful pause.

Harry knew he could go on and on about Hermione for hours on any given day. But what really surprised him was how comfortable he felt around Claire, and how much he enjoyed her input. Every few minutes he had to remind himself that this woman sitting in front of him had been best friends with his mother. He wondered what they had been like together in their school days. Thinking of this made him speculate about her friendship with Remus, and her relationship with Sirius as well. He wanted to know everything.

“When did you become friends with Remus?” he asked her once their previous conversation had faded somewhat. “I know it was before you met Sirius. But what I don’t know is how.”

Claire raised her brows at this. “Remus never told you?” At the shake of Harry’s head, she grinned. “We’ve known each other almost since the day we were born,” she revealed. “Our fathers, who went to school together, were best friends. And remained best friends until -- “

Harry leaned forward slightly, eager to hear the rest of the story. But Claire seemed to have come to a stop, her eyes darkening slightly.

“Claire?” Harry prompted. His godmother shook herself from her reverie and smiled at him reassuringly.

“Well, that was how Remus and I grew up together,” she continued. “I, of course, was a full-fledged Muggle until I got my Hogwarts letter. Remus’s father was a Muggle who married a witch -- which would make R.J half and half. And neither of us had the courage to tell one another that we were going to Hogwarts until the day we arrived there.”

Harry nodded, sensing that there was a lot more to this story than she was willing to talk about at the time. Not wanting to push it, he said, “Did you meet Sirius through Remus? I’m interested to learn how you two met. And how you ... fell in love and got engaged.”

Suddenly realizing he might have overstepped his bounds, he lowered his eyes, expecting Claire to snap on him for asking her such a personal question. But when his eyes met hers again, she was smiling softly, her eyes gazing back into the past. She shook her head as though to rid herself of those memories and brought herself back to the present.

“That’s a long and complicated story,” Claire admitted. “Too long.”

“That’s exactly what Remus said when I asked him to tell me,” Harry said, somewhat bitterly. “And then I asked Sirius to tell me -- and he adamantly refused.”

Claire sighed. “I don’t mind telling you. Maybe someday when Sirius and Remus are around, we can sit down and tell you how it happened,” she promised. “But for the record -- it’s not an interesting story. I can tell you one thing; it doesn’t involve a mountain troll, a hippogriff ... a Friendship ring or a princess.”

“Anything that involves my godparents -- and ultimately the friends of my parents -- is of interest to me,” Harry assured her. “But I understand if you don’t want to tell me right now. And don’t expect me to forget your promise. I will hold you to it.”

Claire laughed. “I won’t forget. And Sirius will help me with the story whether he likes it or not.”

“Not.”

Harry turned to the kitchen doorway, discovering that Sirius had just arrived back from wherever he was, and whatever he had been doing. He looked clean-shaven and fresh, and more cheerful than Harry could ever remember seeing him. Although, at the very moment, there was a defiant glint in his eye as he stared at Claire, who looked back at him innocently.

“You don’t even know what I was talking about!” she said innocently as he approached her at the table, shaking his head in a reprimanding way.

“Like hell, I don’t,” he retorted as he reached her, slowly pulling Claire up to her feet and gliding his hands from her own down to her waist, where they rested comfortably. Harry watched them raptly, glad that it didn’t feel forbidden to him that he was in the same room, unlike last night.

Claire slid her hands up his arms, looking up into his handsome face. “I don’t see why you don’t like talking about it,” she teased. “From what I remember, our Hogwarts years were good ones, for the most part.”

Sirius’s eyes darkened, his lips fighting the urge to smile. “It’s not you I refuse to talk about. It’s me and -- “

“Our past?” Claire emphasized, cutting Sirius off. “Would you deny Harry this one simple request? Your only godson?”

Sirius threw his head back and gave a loud bark of laughter. “Manipulation,” he muttered, shaking his head at her. “I don’t even want to know where you learned that.”

Harry laughed, and Sirius’s eyes crinkled with mirth as they met his godson’s. “You laugh now, Harry. But wait until Claire manages to influence Hermione. Then we’ll see who’ll be laughing last.”

Claire swatted at Sirius playfully. “I don’t think I like the sound of that!” she exclaimed, while Sirius laughed heartily, his hold tightening around her slender waist.

“The thing is, Harry,” Claire resumed, turning to her godson who regarded his godparents with amusement. “Sirius can be extremely ... flexible ... providing you give him the right attention.”

“Kind of reminds me of a dog,” said a new, though familiar voice from the kitchen doorway. “Is it just me, or is that too much of a coincidence?”

“It slipped my mind that I was the only one in this house with four legs and a tail, Moony,” Sirius retorted, turning to the four grouped together at the doorway, their faces smudged with soot.

Claire laughed, extracting herself from Sirius’s arms as the other girls giggled with her. Ginny, Draco and Hermione pushed their way through the kitchen, the latter of whom dropped down next to Harry and kissed him affectionately on the cheek.

“Been playing in the fireplace?” asked Harry, smirking at his friends’ appearance.

“We traveled by Floo today,” Ginny told him. “How many times, again?” she asked as she turned to her boyfriend.

“Lost count,” Draco said as he, along with Ginny and Hermione, narrowed his eyes at Remus, who shrugged innocently.

“You wanted to come with me,” he reminded them simply.

“Where did you all go?” interrupted Harry, looking to each sooty face for an answer.

“Everywhere,” Ginny answered quickly and with a touch of cynicism.

“Hey,” Remus said with mock impatience as he pulled up a chair and sat down. “If you knew how to Apparate, we wouldn’t have had this problem now, would we?”

Ginny’s mouth dropped as she feigned indignation. “I think I liked you better as our professor,” she said sourly. “This ... ’you being friends with Sirius’ thing, isn’t working out.”

“Ha!” Remus said triumphantly. “Hear that, Sirius? Ginny thinks I’m a better professor than you.”

“I don’t think that’s what she meant, mate,” Sirius answered in a placating tone. “But you’re entitled to think what you want. Whatever makes you happy.”

Everyone laughed as Remus answered Harry’s original question.

“We went into town,” he said as he slid the bowl of fruit towards him, pulling a few grapes from the vine. “We had to go to Hogsmeade for -- “

His voice was cut off by the startling, yet familiar tapping of a beak against the kitchen window, pleading for someone to open it. Claire, being the closest, pushed the window open, and a regular barn owl swooped in, dropped a letter into Claire’s palm, and soared off back into the afternoon sky. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence as everyone looked expectantly at Claire -- who continued to stare down at the letter in her hand.

“Who’s it for?” asked Ginny, leaning over in her seat to see if she could catch a glimpse of the name on the envelope.

Claire looked up from the letter as though waking from a dream. “It’s addressed to me,” she answered dazedly. “But this has to be some mistake. No one knows I’m here. Right?”

“Maybe,” Sirius said as Claire handed him the envelope in puzzlement. He turned it over and a sudden look of understanding entered his light eyes. “It’s from Hogwarts, honey.”

“Hogwarts!” Ginny and Hermione exclaimed together. Harry stared at the two girls, thinking that their excitement over this fact sounded TOO exaggerated for his ears. Hermione saw the look on his face and quickly lowered her eyes.

“Maybe it’s from Professor Dumbledore,” she suggested quietly. Was that a smirk on her face?

Claire looked alarmed at this thought. “Sirius -- why would he be writing to me?” she asked, all her confusion melting into something resembling fear. “If he’s writing to me to ... tell me to go home ... ”

“Don’t be absurd, love,” Sirius said quickly, squeezing her arm reassuringly as his other hand still clutched the letter. “But the only way you’ll find out is if you read it.” He handed the letter back to her.

Claire bit her lower lip anxiously. “I don’t want to read it if it’s only going to be bad news. You read it.” And she pushed the letter back into his hands.

“It’s your letter,” Sirius argued exasperatedly. “You should open it,” he insisted, shoving the letter back to her.

“Sirius -- “

“Claire -- “

Remus glanced at Harry. “Get used to this,” he suggested lightly, before swooping in and taking the letter from Claire’s hands. “I'll read it,” he said.

Claire clutched at hear heart-shaped pendant in a habitual way, continually chewing on her lower lip as foolish thoughts crept along her mind. She simply nodded at Remus, looking grateful that he had volunteered.

There was a long pause as Remus opened the envelope, extracted a small piece of parchment and read the note to himself. When he finished, he looked at Claire, handing her the note.

“It’s from Albus,” he said, confirming Hermione’s guess. “And for what it’s worth -- he’s not unwelcoming you back.”

“What does he want?” Sirius inquired with curiosity.

Claire scanned the letter herself, looking far less apprehensive than she had a moment ago. For a brief moment, her dark eyes shone with relief, before smoothing over into a look of bewilderment. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had sent her a strange riddle, asking her to solve it and send him back the answer. He couldn’t really think of any other reason to explain why she looked so stumped.

“He’s requesting my presence at Hogwarts,” Claire informed everyone in the room. She waved the letter at Remus, shaking her head disbelievingly. “Why would he want me there?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” answered Harry confidently. “He hasn’t seen you in almost twenty years. Wouldn’t it be like him to personally welcome you back into the wizarding world?”

“That’s a likely possibility,” Sirius agreed, smiling thoughtfully at Claire. “Aww -- now you have to stay,” he teased.

“And at least you’ll have this when you return,” said Remus, producing a long, thin-shaped box from the recesses of his jacket. He handed her the box, exchanging a knowing smile with Sirius.

Claire took the box, touching it tentatively at first, her eyes round with disbelief. “This isn’t what I think it is ... is it?”

“The one and same,” answered Remus, as the others in the room watched her keenly, waiting for some kind of a reaction. But it seemed that Claire had been rendered completely speechless as she gingerly held the box in her hands, seemingly afraid to either drop or open it.

Everyone in the room held a collective breath, waiting for her to open the box. When she finally did, there was a unified exaltation, and Claire giggled at each of them, before pulling out the wooden wand she had abandoned nearly 17 years ago. She held it tenderly, her eyes soft with wonder and memory.

And then, almost just as suddenly, her eyes hardened dangerously and she pointed her wand threateningly at Remus, who jerked back instantaneously.

“I think I remember telling you to have this wand destroyed, R.J,” Claire reminded him.

Remus calmly looked up into her face, and without the briefest hesitation he said, “I knew you’d be back.”

With trembling lips, Claire threw her arms around her oldest friend, rocking him backwards from her own strength. “Thank you,” she said softly, pulling back so he could see the sincerity in her dark eyes.

“Great,” said Sirius sarcastically, his hand resting on Claire’s hip once again as he looked at Remus. “You just armed her with a weapon.” He finally turned to Harry. “If you thought she was terrifying before -- just you wait.”

Even Claire joined in on the laughter as Sirius dropped an affectionate kiss just above her temple, smiling warmly down on her as she looked up at him, her dark eyes glowing.

*

“It worries me when you disappear like that.”

Sirius turned to find Harry approaching him, past the boxes and across the dusty floors of the attic.

“I wasn’t planning to stay up here for long,” Sirius assured him, running his hand across something Harry couldn’t see as he stumbled across the attic towards him.

“What are you doing up here?” Harry asked him, shielding his eyes from the beam of light that seeped through the long, dingy window.

Sirius motioned him over with his one hand. “I never told you where I went this morning,” he said.

“And?”

Sirius nodded to the article of black fabric he had laid over a pile of boxes. It was quite large and moldy, with gold embroidering along the edges. Harry touched his fingers to the cloth, guessing that it had once been a very beautiful piece of fabric, long before it became ignored by those who were supposed to keep it intact.

“A tapestry?” Harry guessed.

Sirius nodded confirmation. “Look closer,” he suggested, pointing to the top of the tapestry.

“The Noble and Ancient House of Black—Toujour pur,” Harry recited. His eyes scanned names he didn’t recognize, which branched off into other names. The only name he seemed to recognize was ‘Black.’ He looked back at Sirius, realization dawning on him. “Your family tree! Where did this come from?”

Sirius sat down on one of the boxes, spreading his knees apart as he rested his forearms on them, casually looking up at Harry. “My house. Or rather, the house I grew up in.”

Harry frowned a little at this statement. “You should have taken me with you. Why didn’t you -- “

“I wasn’t planning to make a family trip out of it,” Sirius said shortly. “I wanted to grab the family tree and leave. You wouldn’t have liked it there. Trust me,” he added.

“You shouldn’t have gone there alone,” Harry argued, knowing what Sirius must have gone through just to enter that place. It would be like himself having to return to the Dursleys. And that was something he knew he could never do, even with his closest friends by his side. But to do it alone?

“I wanted you to see this,” Sirius pointed to the tapestry. “And as much as I adore Grimmauld place ... sadly, there will never be another return trip.”

Harry stared closely at the golden embroidered names, searching towards the bottom of the tree for Sirius’s name.

“You won’t find me there,” Sirius informed him quickly. “Look -- see that burn mark? That was where my name was. Before I ran away.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Harry distractedly, remembering the story Sirius had told him of how and when he had left home. Harry’s eyes quickly caught another burn mark, squeezed between two other names: Bellatrix and Narcissa Black.

“Yeah, that was my cousin Andromeda,” Sirius told Harry, referring to the burn mark. “She married a Muggle -- so naturally -- “

“Narcissa ... ” Harry said, interrupting Sirius as he concentrated on that name. Narcissa had a branch tied to Lucius Malfoy -- and just below their two names --

“Draco!” Harry exclaimed, suddenly realizing what Sirius had wanted to show him. “You never told me you were related to him!”

“We’re second cousins,” Sirius said. “And I didn’t tell you about it because I thought it might change how you feel about him. And I didn’t want to ruin that.”

“Change how I feel? What are you talking about?”

“You know all about my family,” Sirius pointed out. “How they favored pure-bloods and how they were quite pleased with what Voldemort was trying to accomplish. I thought if I told you that Draco’s family was even more involved in it than you thought -- then you would have been convinced that Draco really couldn’t have changed after all. Believe it or not, that was something I was trying to avoid.”

Harry thought that this was a strange statement. After all, how much more involved could a son of a Death Eater get?

“I admit -- even I was a little hesitant about him,” Sirius continued. “And it wasn’t until yesterday that I finally let go of my own opinions and truly gave Draco a chance. I thought it would help you to know that if I can break free of the pure-blood mania, then so can he.”

“But what made you decide that about him?” asked Harry. “Why so suddenly?”

“Draco has the love of the right woman,” Sirius answered simply. “And believe it or not, it’s the key. I didn’t see it until yesterday, but it’s there.”

“You mean -- if Claire hadn’t been here -- you wouldn’t have seen it?” Harry teased.

“Yes, well,” Sirius replied, smirking as he stood up. “I suppose it’s not nearly as easy as eavesdropping in a pantry, you know.”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, unable to look Sirius in the eye as the older wizard gave a loud bark of laughter.

“Come on, Harry,” Sirius said, clapping his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Knowing Claire, she’s probably started dinner. And knowing her as well as I think I do, she’ll want our help in the kitchen.”

*

Hermione kicked off her shoes and rested her bare feet on the opposite lawn chair, leaning into Harry’s body as he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“This weekend has been so amazing,” Hermione said softly, looking up at the starlit sky and the full moon. “I almost don’t want to go back to Hogwarts. I feel like we’re on this deserted island and nothing can hurt us here.”

“We’ll have the opportunity to enjoy it this summer,” Harry promised her. “We’re going to live together like a real married couple.”

Hermione jerked her head upwards at this, smiling at him as her fingers pressed into his side affectionately. “You know ... we’ve always talked about having children and living together. But not once have you ever mentioned marriage.”

Harry grinned at her. “Well, you can’t have one without the other, love.”

Hermione swatted at him playfully. “I know that, Harry,” she said, chagrined. “I just can’t help but acknowledge it, is all.”

“And ... do you ... have different views on it?” Harry asked, wishing he didn’t sound like a child as he said it.

Hermione squeezed his hand lovingly, turning her head so she could look up into his troubled eyes. “I would marry you right now, if I could.”

Harry, feeling less apprehensive, kissed her softly on the lips. “I think Ron might have a problem with that, love. Especially if he couldn’t get here in time to be my best man.”

“Your loss,” Hermione sighed with disappointment.

Harry laughed, lifting her chin up and meeting her lips with his own in a deeper, more loving kiss. It was a kiss that only lasted a few seconds, before Harry sensed another presence, and he looked up towards the patio doorway to see Ginny standing there, giving him and Hermione a slow, shy wave.

“Ginny -- we thought you went to bed,” Harry said as Hermione extracted herself from his tender embrace.

“I just came down to say goodnight,” Ginny said. Harry thought she looked a little bit more troubled than usual. Hermione seemed to sense it, too.

“Are you alright, Ginny?” she asked attentively.

Ginny nodded, twisting the hem of her pajama top with her fingers as she stared down at the stone patio deck. Her nod slowly turned into a shrug, which eventually faded into the action of shaking her head.

“Sit down,” suggested Hermione kindly. “You’ll never fall asleep looking and feeling as anxious as you do.”

Ginny silently obeyed Hermione, looking grateful, though still very distressed over what was on her mind. After a long pause, during which time Harry seriously doubted whether Ginny was going to say anything at all, the youngest Weasley finally spoke.

“Yesterday, when I snapped at you, Harry, it wasn’t just because you were trying to warn me,” Ginny told him.

“I shouldn’t have put that pressure on you -- “ Harry started, but was quickly silenced by Ginny’s pleading look.

“You were right to say what you said,” Ginny continued. “But the truth is -- the fear behind telling my family about Draco isn’t just because he’s a Malfoy. It’s not because my father hates his father ... or because they have more money ... or because they believe in the purity of witches and wizards. Yes, all of those are factors. But there’s something more to it. And it’s something I’ve never told anyone -- aside from Draco.”

“Ginny, you can tell us anything,” Hermione said with compassion.

“I know,” smiled Ginny. “That’s the reason I’m here, because I want to tell you two. You’ve both been so supportive ever since you found out about Draco. I wish I could tell Ron. I wish I could tell my whole family ... but I’m so confused ... ”

“Whatever it is, we can help you work through it,” Harry promised confidently.

Ginny nodded, taking a deep breath. “You see, it started with my mum. But she didn’t actually tell me the story until the day before I started Hogwarts,” Ginny began, and already she could see Harry and Hermione looking more interested by the second. “She told me that during her last year at Hogwarts, she visited a Seer in Hogsmeade. Mum only assumed she was a traveling Seer -- because she never saw her again after that one meeting."

“Your mum went to a Seer?” Hermione asked in mild disbelief.

Ginny grinned in spite of herself. “She didn’t want to,” she said. “According to Mum, her friends dared her into it. They were days from graduating, and they just wanted to have a really good laugh. So Mum agreed.

“And during that visit, the Seer told my mum that she had very strong feelings about her -- almost like an intuition. And so she sold Mum some magical Dream Powder, which she promised would show her a vision of her future. When Mum used the Dream Powder, she dreamt of a daughter. And that daughter was represented as a courageous lioness -- so she knew, at least, that her daughter would be in Gryffindor, like herself.

“And then her dream shifted, and the lioness was standing next to a great, powerful lion. The lion ... was crushing a snake under its front paw.”

Hermione gave a small sound of awareness, while Harry stared at Ginny.

“Which means your mum interpreted that dream to mean -- “ Harry started.

“She took it to mean that her daughter -- me -- would be paired with another Gryffindor,” Ginny elaborated. “And then ... that certain Gryffindor would take out a serpent -- a Slytherin.”

“But more to the point,” Hermione added. “Your mum believed Harry to be that certain lion, right?”

“Right,” Ginny said anxiously, biting her lower lip as she looked at Harry. “That’s the reason -- I mean -- I guess it’s pretty fair to admit that I fancied you at one point, Harry. But that was ages ago. And yet, for years Mum harbored this secret fantasy that you and I would end up together. I think that’s because of the vision. But when she saw how happy you were with Hermione, she relented. She didn’t say as much -- but she knew that you two belonged together.”

Harry remembered the tiny Easter egg Mrs. Weasley had given Hermione in Fourth year. Even though it had happened years ago, he felt a lot better now that he knew the actual reason behind it.

“And the snake?” asked Hermione quietly.

“Who else could the snake be?” asked Ginny helplessly. “For years Harry and Draco had been enemies. Back then, I’d believe in a heartbeat that Harry would be the one who would defeat Draco -- if it ever came down to that. But things are different now. They’re friends. And there’s no need for them to -- “

“Not all visions have to come true, Ginny,” Harry said calmly, attempting to pacify her uneasiness.

“But Mum believes that this one will,” Ginny insisted. “She placed so much faith in that vision. Why do you think she kept having children? It’s a bit of a coincidence that she stopped only after she had a girl, don’t you think?”

“She’ll have to realize that the vision won’t come true,” Hermione said logically. “She’s already accepted that Harry isn’t the Gryffindor you’re destined to be with.”

Ginny groaned. “You just nailed it, Hermione,” she said miserably. “The vision is clear in one thing: I’m supposed to be with another Gryffindor. Not a Slytherin. Which means ... not Draco.”

“Visions can change,” Harry said. “Have another fortune re-told! I’m telling you, Ginny, your worries are baseless. You shouldn’t have to follow a path that has already been laid out for you. You should be able to make your own choices. It’s your destiny. Not your mother’s.”

“Is that how you feel about the prophecy that has already been foretold about you?” asked Ginny, staring at him.

Harry drew back slightly, not expecting this response from her. “How do you know about that?”

Ginny lowered her head. “Never mind,” she mumbled.

“No ... ” Harry persisted. “Who told you about the prophecy?”

“Draco,” Ginny answered flatly, looking at him.

“Draco!” Hermione exclaimed. “How did he find out?”

Ginny looked like she wished she hadn’t said anything at all. She twirled a lock of hair around her index finger, looking anxious all over again. “I don’t know ... how he found out, or for how long he’s known. But I know he discovered it from his father.”

“Of course,” Harry muttered, looking at Hermione. “Lucius would know, wouldn’t he?”

“What else has Draco learned from his father?” asked Hermione calmly.

Ginny shook her head. “Hermione -- I can’t -- “ She broke her sentence off, looking desperately at Harry.

“We’re not going to force you to tell us,” Harry sighed, running his hand across his forehead and over his jagged scar. “We’ll find out from him later, one way or another. It’s not a big shocker that he knows, anyway. Ever since our first day at Hogwarts, he’s always been one step ahead of me when it came to the wizarding world. And I think that’s because of his father.”

“I’m sorry,” Ginny quickly apologized. “I really wish I knew how to keep my big mouth shut.”

“Harry’s right,” Hermione said. “We’ll eventually find out what Draco knows when he feels he can talk to us about it. We’re sure he knows more than he’s letting on. And he probably has his reasons for keeping that information to himself.”

“You’re not angry?” asked Ginny, as though this thought was too good to be true.

“There’s not much sense in getting angry over this,” said Harry. “The thing is, Ginny, you need to stop worrying that we don’t trust Draco. We’ve both invested a lot of time trying to get to know the Draco that you know and love, and we see it. We see what you see. There are too many good qualities stacked up in his favor that actually outweigh the bad qualities.”

“He’s with you, after all,” Hermione added. “That has to say something about his character.”

Ginny laughed.

“And the only thing you can do about this ‘Daughter of Prophecy’ business is wait it out,” Hermione concluded for her friend. “You love Draco. Do not let anything get in the way of that. Harry is right. Visions don’t always have to come true. You already know Trelawney was the one who predicted that Harry would be Voldemort’s downfall, right?”

“Right,” Ginny agreed, resisting the urge to flinch as Hermione said the name of the most feared wizard that ever existed.

“And we know that Voldemort was vanquished last Spring, right?” asked Hermione.

“Of course,” said Ginny, wondering where Hermione was going with this thought. Harry could sense that Hermione was getting straight to the point, and could also see exactly what she was trying to say.

“Harry didn’t defeat Voldemort, Ginny,” Hermione reminded her gently. “It was the Ring-spirit who initially destroyed Him.”

Ginny’s mouth formed into a small ‘o’ as she realized what Hermione was getting at.

“See?” Hermione said with a kind, reassuring smile. “If Trelawney’s prediction was inaccurate -- which it clearly was -- then your mother’s Dream Prediction can be false, as well.”

“And your mum can change her mind, too,” Harry added. “But the longer you wait to tell them ... ”

Ginny giggled. “I know, I know. Consider myself warned. I get it,” she complied, standing up to go back inside. She turned back to them slowly, a sly look in her eye. “Is it just me -- or does it feel like Claire never left all those years ago?”

“It’s definitely not just you,” Hermione insisted, smiling. “Has she already gone to bed?”

“If by ‘bed’ ... you mean with Sirius, then yes,” answered Ginny, smirking more than ever as Harry shifted uneasily in his chair.

“You should have seen them this morning, Harry,” Hermione said sweetly. She and Ginny both giggled at this, while Harry looked on in bewilderment.

“They were dancing and singing around the kitchen, as though they were born to,” Ginny explained, her eyes twinkling at the memory. “They were really adorable together. And speaking of adorable -- I had better say goodnight to Draco, before he gets impatient. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

“Night, Ginny,” Hermione and Harry said together.

Hermione nuzzled into Harry as Ginny went inside the house, sliding the patio door shut behind her before disappearing through the kitchen and up the stairs.

“I can’t seem to remember what we were doing before Ginny interrupted us,” Harry sighed with a deep frown on his face.

Hermione looked up at him exasperatedly. “You’re hopeless.”

Harry tilted her chin upwards, smiling at her. “If by ‘hopeless’ you mean absolutely, one hundred percent, hopelessly in love with you, then yes. Guilty.” And their lips met in a long and tender kiss.

To Be Continued...

***

Author's Note: Well, there you all have it! I don't know when there will be another update. I haven't exactly started the next chapter yet. But I can promise you this: I intend to eventually post a Sirius/Claire story. I've already started on it, and in fact, I already have the entire story planned from beginning to end. It'll be a story taking place in their Hogwarts days, basically showing how they met, fell in love, and all those nice things in between. Moony will be a major part of the story, as well as Lily, James, and many others. The only problem is: I'm not even sure if I'll be able to post it here at Portkey. Lily and James WILL be in it, and I DO plan to write some of their romance into the story, but they're not the center of it. (Maybe if a Mod is reading this, he/she can tell me?) Anyway, thank you all for your amazing support. I hope I see you next time around!

~Fae

21. A New Beginning

Circle's Close

Chapter 21: A New Beginning
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G and other pairings. This is a sequel to my first ever Harry Potter fanfic, "Snow".
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer:Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: I wish I could say that this is a fresh new chapter, but unfortunately, it isn't. I'm re-posting my last chapter because something really messed up, which is odd, because the chapter was working just fine before I left for B.C. Anyway, thanks to all those people who alerted me to the problem! I would have done something sooner, but I've been away! And now I'm back and working hard at completing the next chapter. See you soon! (And thanks for all the wonderful comments! Ya'll rock my world).

***

“Look who's back!”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a smile as they heard Ron’s welcoming greeting echo back at them from the Entrance Hall, being the first two people to enter the school out of the small company of students who had returned with them from Easter break. Darkness had already descended over the Hogwarts grounds, as well as an early spring chill which managed to successfully dampen the students’ spirits. As the last few wizards and witches-in-training entered the castle, the oak door closed discreetly behind them, shutting out the light from the full moon and the twinkling stars above.

“Give me a hand, would you, Ron?” Hermione asked as she struggled with the small stack of books in her arms and her nearly full book bag, while narrowly avoiding being pushed forward by other schoolmates.

Ron grinned as he swooped in, swiftly taking the books from her arms. “Not that I’m complaining, Hermione, but isn’t that what boyfriends are for?”

The boyfriend in question raised up his arms, which were holding a large, though quite light, stack of books. “Does this answer your question?” he asked as Ron chuckled.

“I’ll never get it, Hermione,” Ron said, shaking his head as they moved forward through the Entrance Hall and up the grand staircase. “Exactly why would you need to take all of these books with you on the train? You could have packed them into your trunk, you know. It certainly would have made this a lot easier,” he added, referring to their journey up the stairs.

“Do you know what your problem is, Ron?” Hermione asked, and before he could respond, she cut across and answered for him. “You underestimate the value of education.”

“That may be so,” Ron agreed half-heartedly, while Harry smiled keenly. “But at least I can say that I won’t be bedridden for the last half of my life due to a broken back, caused by carrying around a hippogriff’s weight in textbooks!”

Hermione looked sidelong at him. “You have a wild imagination, Ron,” she told him appreciatively. “You’ll make a great father someday.”

Ron sniggered at this comment. “Where did you get all of these books, anyway?” he asked. “I can’t seem to recall you leaving for Harry’s house with the entire Hogwarts library in your backpack.”

“I borrowed some of them from Sirius and the rest from Remus during the visit,” answered Hermione in a dignified voice. “And yes,” she added, catching Ron’s pointed look. “It would have been easier if I had just packed them into my trunk – but I wanted to do a bit of reading during the train ride.”

“Which means that Harry spent the entire journey catnapping?” Ron grinned knowingly. “And how did Sirius find the time to wangle such a bizarre collection of, er – literature? These titles look a little too cryptic even for Sirius’s taste, in my opinion.”

“Those are all about the days before the Ministry even existed,” Hermione explained, nodding her head towards the books in Ron’s arms.

“Oh, like what Sirius told us about during the Christmas holidays?” asked Ron with mild interest.

“Precisely,” answered Hermione with a small smile. “He made some very interesting points during that conversation, and though he told us quite a bit – I’m also aware that he overlooked a few things. And instead of putting him through the grueling task of answering my questions, I simply asked him if he had any solid information on that particular topic. And that’s how it started.”

“What do you mean? How what started?” asked Ron.

“Sirius went to Grimmauld Place over the weekend,” Harry told him.

Ron’s eyes widened. “What? Why?” he gasped, horrified. “I mean – didn’t he swear he’d never return to that – what did he call it? Hell hole?”

“He made one last trip,” Harry explained. “He picked up a few things – these books included – and he told me that that was the end of it. Grimmauld Place is officially a thing of the past now.”

Ron frowned at him accusingly. “Did he go alone?”

Harry personally understood Ron’s aggravation at the thought of Sirius returning -- without any additional support -- to the house he grew up in. His godfather had always been honest and upfront about his upbringing and how much he had loathed every second of it. The idea of going back to a house like that would be enough to make anyone cringe.

“It’s what he wanted to do,” Hermione told Ron simply. “And stop acting like Sirius is made of porcelain. He’s not going to break into a thousand pieces just because he has to confront a bit of his past.”

“That would be nothing, if he hadn’t faced the worst part,” Ron countered. “Was he alright when he got back?”

“He actually seemed perfectly fine,” Harry said honestly, thinking back to his conversation with Sirius in the attic. “But then again, he might have had more pressing things on his mind at the time.”

“Yeah ... right,” Ron said with a derisive snort. “What could be bigger than Sirius visiting his beloved home?”

Rather than blurt out the truth to Ron, Harry shared a playful smile with Hermione and said, “You’ll see.”

Ron rolled his eyes while hoisting the books in his arms into a more comfortable position as they ambled along the corridors. “Are you taking these straight to your room?” he asked them both, signaling the books with his eyes. “If you are, you’ll need to make it quick. Dumbledore wants to see you in his office.”

“Oh?” asked Harry, sharing a surreptitious look with his girlfriend, who grinned in return. Ron, knowing them better than anyone, caught its meaning straight away.

“You already knew that?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Harry shrugged his shoulders lazily as they reached the next set of stairs. “We didn’t know for sure that Dumbledore would want to talk to us. We only assumed he would.”

“Ah,” Ron said, nodding. “Head Boy and Girl stuff?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” said Hermione, shifting her book bag from one shoulder to the other. “You’ll see when we get there.”

“We?” asked Ron, growing more bewildered by the second.

“You’ll see,” Harry echoed, smiling more broadly as Ron rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“What’s with the constant 'you’ll see'? Why can’t you just tell me?”

“It’s more fun this way,” Hermione teased. Harry laughed with her as he walked straight into a wall – or what he thought was a wall, but was surprised when it produced a deep ‘oomph’ sound. He looked up into Hagrid’s face as the half-giant graced them with a smile which was mostly hidden behind his thick, rough beard, his beetle-black eyes twinkling merrily down at them.

“Hello!” he boomed jovially as he rubbed his large belly. “Back at school, I see.”

“Sorry, Hagrid,” Harry quickly apologized. “I didn’t exactly see you.”

“There’s a first,” Ron said, looking quickly at Hermione with narrowed eyes. “You know – these books are heavy.”

“Oh!” Thinking hurriedly, Hermione dropped her book bag onto the stair she was standing on and reached into it to withdraw a large, thick book. “Thank you for letting me borrow this, Hagrid,” she said, standing and reaching up to hand the book back to him.

“Yer welcome, Hermione!” Hagrid beamed, taking the book from her. “Fascinatin’ creatures, dragons are. Wouldn’t yeh agree?”

“It was an excellent book,” Hermione admitted earnestly. Something in her voice made Hagrid frown slightly. But Hermione plowed on bravely, regardless of the fact that she knew how he might react. “But if anything ... it’s only convinced me even more that ... they ... can't stay here. Hagrid, this is the most dangerous breed of dragon in the world. The sooner you're shut of them, the better."

“Jeez, Hermione,” Ron muttered, shifting the books in his arms. “You don’t need to sound so secretive about it. No one is around to overhear us.”

Hermione shot him a dark look. “These walls have ears. I’m only trying to be careful.”

“Hermione’s right, Hagrid,” said Harry. “Are they ready to go home yet?”

“Home?” Hagrid muttered, his eyes suddenly dark. “What home? How d'yer know they've even got a mum left ter fly off ter? You know wha' them Dark wizards use dragons fer -- cut up their heartstrings fer wands, use their scales ter make magic armor -- an' there's all manner a' uses fer their blood. Nah, I been thinkin'...the safest place fer 'em is right where they are."

Hermione flashed Harry and Ron a look as if to say, "I was afraid this might happen." Drawing a slow breath, she turned back to Hagrid and regarded him with soft, compassionate eyes.

"You're right," she said, which was the last thing Hagrid (or, in fact, Harry or Ron) expected. Hagrid's surprised silence allowed Hermione to press on. "We don't know if the mother is still alive -- and if she is, if she's in any state to care for her babies. But can you care for them as well as -- what's your friend's name again?"

"Mikey," Hagrid said mechanically.

"How is Mikey coming along?" Hermione asked with genuine concern.

"Smashin'," Hagrid said as his dark eyes began to twinkle. "Th' blokes at St. Mungo's say he'll be good as new -- quick as they get his arm fixed back on proper," he added. "He ain't as young as he used ter be, an' the healin' potions're takin' a mite longer'n they reckoned."

"So, Mikey will be able to take the babies back without any trouble?" Hermione said pleasantly. (Was it Harry's imagination, or was there the hint of a devilish gleam in Hermione's eyes as she asked this seemingly innocuous question?)

"Well...no," Hagrid said, fidgeting slightly. "Come ter tha', he tol' me he's givin' up on raisin' dragons. Too dang'rous. Thinkin a' switchin' ter nifflers, matter a' fact. Says they ain't as likely ter take a bite outta yer backside when yer turns yer back on 'em."

"Well, then," Hermione said in the familiar voice of quiet persuasion which Harry and Ron had come to know all too well, "if Mikey isn't up to handling something as dangerous as dragons, what makes you think you can?"

Hermione's challenge came so placidly that, rather than putting Hagrid on the defensive, it cowed him like a First-Year caught sneaking food from the Hogwarts kitchens. "I -- I dunno what ter do," he said meekly.

"I think you do," Hermione said. "What did we do the last time we were in a fix like this one?"

Hagrid's shaggy head rose slowly. "Yeh want ter call Charlie again?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "But not for the same reasons as last time."

The look of confusion that passed across Hagrid's face was mirrored by Harry and Ron.

"If the mother is alive and well," Hermione said, "the babies are better off with her. But if she isn't, Charlie will know how best to care for them."

"And how will we know one way or the other?" Ron said in the same peevish voice he used whenever Hermione tried to explain a knotty homework problem to him or Harry. "Send us a post-owl, will she? With a dragon paw-print so we'll know it's from her?"

"The babies will tell us," she said, arching an eyebrow at Ron.

"O' course!" Hagrid said brightly. "It's all in tha' book! Quick as they're old enough to fly off, they'll sense exac'ly where their mum is an' head off straight as an arrow. An'...an' if they don't fly off..." Hagrid's voice faded into a soft, sad silence.

"It means their mother is dead," Harry said, feeling Hagrid's sadness.

"But even if she is alive," Hermione said, "we'll still need Charlie."

"We will?" Ron said.

"Of course!" Hermione responded. "If the mother dragon is still alive, chances are she's still with the ones who carried her off."

"I never thought a' that," Hagrid said, shaking off his lethargy like a heavy woolen cloak. His black eyes narrowed as he muttered, "Blimey, but I'd like ter get me hands on the blokes what did me mate."

"And Charlie can do that for you," Hermione said.

"He can?" Ron said in surprise.

Hermione heaved an exasperated sigh. "Charlie is a duly appointed agent of the Ministry of Magic. He has full authority in all matters pertaining to dragons, including apprehending anyone who transgresses dragon-related laws. It's no different than when a forest ranger arrests someone who accosts a bear in a national park or a game preserve."

"A forest what?"

"I'll fill you in later," Harry said with a smile.

"Keep watching the babies," Hermione told Hagrid with an encouraging smile. "When they show signs of trying to spread their wings and fly, I'll send an owl to Charlie and he'll do what needs to be done."

"You can use Pig," Ron said with a placating glance at Hermione. "He's an annoying little git, but he's never missed delivering one of my letters to Charlie."

Hagrid continued to look doubtful, and Harry thought he knew why. Apparently, so did Hermione.

"Don't worry, Hagrid," she said reassuringly. "You won't be punished for taking the babies in. Charlie loves dragons as much as you do. He'll understand that you were only trying to do the right thing."

Looking greatly relieved, Hagrid said, "I appreciate all a' yer wantin' ter help. An' yer right. It'll all work out fer the best."

"Hey," Harry said suddenly, lowering his voice. "How's your training coming along? You know -- with Professor Dumbledore?"

"Middlin'," Hagrid said with a smile carefully hidden in the tangle of his beard. "He reckons I migh' jus' make a fair wizard one a' these days."

"If you learn to Apparate," Ron put in, "you'll be able to pop over to Romania to see Charlie whenever you want. He might even let you help him with the dragons -- " Ron cut himself off, fearing he might have said the wrong thing. But when Hagrid's face began to glow as brightly as the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, his fears evaporated.

"Blimey," Hagrid said with a dreamy look in his eyes, "wou'n't tha' be summat!" Harry wasn't sure whether Hagrid was referring to his becoming a certified wizard after so long, or to the prospect of working alongside Charlie. Either way, the smile on Hagrid's face was warm enough to melt the last of the winter snow from the highest tower of Hogwarts castle.

After they told Hagrid all about their Easter holiday (Hagrid nodded every now and then, but they were never certain he was actually listening as he continued to smile and sigh longingly), Harry, Hermione and Ron said their goodbyes and resumed their interrupted journey to Gryffindor Tower.

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron said as he struggled to maintain his hold on his armload of books. "You played Hagrid like a ruddy violin, you did."

"I've had lots of practice on you two over the past seven years, haven't I?," she said, accepting Ron's compliment in the spirit in which it was obviously intended. Harry laughed at this, but Ron's smile suddenly transformed into a questioning scowl.

"How did you know that Hagrid's mate had gone off dragons? And don't wind me up, either, I saw it on your face even if Hagrid didn't."

"Well," Hermione said slyly, "it might have had something to do with a visitor he had last weekend -- you know, the day we all went Floo-hopping the length and breadth of Britain?"

"You watch your back with this one, mate," Ron grinned at Harry over his armload of books. "She's a force to be reckoned with, she is."

Harry laughed louder than ever, and Ron fell in good-naturedly as Hermione smiled through cheeks glowing even more brightly than they had outside in the brisk April breeze.

Once they made sure that Hermione’s new collection of books were safe in her bedroom, the trio eagerly made their way from their floor down to Dumbledore’s office, where Hermione gave the password, prompting the gargoyle to spring to action and jump out of their way, allowing them to pass and hop the escalator which would carry them to Dumbledore’s office door.

Harry was impressed that Ron hadn’t asked any questions regarding their excursion to the Headmaster’s office. The red-head seemed beyond the point of perplexity, but as they arrived at Dumbledore’s office, a look of relief flashed through his eyes, knowing as he did that whatever questions he had would soon be answered.

Hermione knocked on the door twice, and waited until they heard Dumbledore’s greeting for them to enter, before they pushed open the door and stepped into his round office. The moment Harry entered; the first thing he noticed was the thickness of the air around him. McGonagall, looking extremely severe, beckoned with her hand for them to come forward.

He watched as the Headmaster closed the door to the cabinet housing his pensieve (Harry wondered briefly what new thoughts Dumbledore might have just added to the magical repository) and turned to them with smiling eyes as he folded his hands together.

“Good evening,” he greeted warmly, his eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles.

As McGonagall stepped around Dumbledore’s desk, standing rigorously next to the Headmaster, Harry’s eyes went from the much older witch and wizard to the two younger occupants sitting in the cushioned armchairs in front of the desk.

Each had a set of jet black hair, though one head of hair was considerably longer than the other. Sirius turned to smile warmly at them, while Claire looked as though she was struggling with her own feelings at the moment. The smile on her face looked forced, and the usual glimmer in her eyes which Harry was so used to had faded substantially.

Thinking quickly, Harry wondered what words had been exchanged between Claire and McGonagall before he had arrived. The fact that Dumbledore looked completely peaceful could only lead Harry to believe that the tension in the room was strictly between the two women.

“I see that Mr. Weasley has delivered my message to you both,” Dumbledore said to Harry and Hermione before smiling serenely at Ron. His twinkling blue eyes returned to Harry. “Sirius informs me that you spent a pleasurable holiday acquainting yourself with your godmother.”

Harry ignored the start of surprise Ron gave as Dumbledore stressed the word ‘godmother.’ “Is that all Sirius said?” asked Harry, shooting a grin at his godfather in hopes of lightening the mood before he looked back at the Headmaster. “In that case, he must have given you the condensed version of how incredible our weekend was.”

Sirius smiled appreciatively at his godson while Dumbledore unclasped his hands and sat down in the seat behind his desk as he continued to look at Harry. “I am profoundly delighted to hear it, Harry,” he said with a sincere smile. “In addition, I feel inclined to apologize for requesting your presence, when you have barely set foot into the school. I can certify that there is a very good reason for it.”

“We already had a feeling you would want to see us, Professor,” said Hermione. “Is everyone here? May we begin?”

Dumbledore frowned slightly at his watch (and Harry again briefly speculated as to how the Headmaster could make sense of the tiny planets moving around the edge of the watch) before looking at his three students. “There is another individual who has yet to present herself. If there are no objections, we shall wait for her arrival before we begin.”

“I believe, Headmaster, that there is one thing Harry is very anxious to do,” Sirius announced, glancing meaningfully between Claire and Ron.

“The floor is yours, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled, sweeping his hand over his desk in a leisurely fashion. Harry couldn’t fight back a grin at Ron’s perplexed expression.

“Ron, this is Claire White, my godmother,” Harry told him, motioning to the woman on their right, who looked slightly more relaxed now. He fought the urge to laugh openly as Ron’s blue eyes widened considerably. “I’ve told you about her before, remember?”

Ron nodded numbly, glancing at Claire and back to Harry as he continued with the introduction. “And Claire, this is my best mate, Ron Weasley.”

Though Claire didn’t look nearly as surprised as Ron did at the moment, she looked at him in a new light as she stood up and extended her hand. Ron, as though jerking himself from a trance, unstuck his brain and reached out his own hand to shake hers.

“I have to tell you, Ron,” Claire said, genuinely smiling for the first time since Harry had stepped into the room. “I’ve not only heard enough about you from Harry to last me a lifetime, but I’ve learned quite a bit from your spirited sister as well.”

“Oh,” Ron said, dazed. “I had no idea...that you were even ... here. I mean, no one told me that you were planning to, er – return. Don’t get me wrong!” Ron quickly added, realizing how impolite he must have sounded. “I think it’s absolutely smashing that you’ve come back!”

Claire laughed musically at Ron’s exclamation, the glow slowly returning to her eyes. “In that case, I’m relieved that I have your approval, even though I haven’t exactly done anything to gain it.” She looked as though she wanted to say more, but stopped herself as she glanced at Dumbledore while avoiding McGonagall’s shrewd eyes.

“Claire returned all on her own,” Sirius added for Ron’s benefit as Claire bowed her head. “Originally, it was supposed to be a short visit. As for her being here at Hogwarts – well that still proves to be a mystery in itself.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, smiling guiltily. “I’m sorry, Claire,” she said, drawing the older woman’s eyes onto herself. “To be fair, I promised to take full responsibility. I mean – it was all my idea. And since Remus isn’t here to defend himself, I’ll take it upon myself to speak for him as well. That was the deal, anyway.”

This time, it was Harry’s turn to look utterly perplexed as Hermione, filled with self-reproach, looked at him. It took him a moment to figure out what she was blaming herself for, and his mouth dropped involuntarily as the realization hit him squarely between the eyes.

“You arranged for Professor Dumbledore to owl Claire?” he said with a mixture of amusement, wonder and bewilderment as Hermione slowly nodded. “But how? When? Why?”

“Well,” Hermione said shortly. “Do you remember when Remus took us to Hogsmeade for a few hours on Saturday?” At Harry’s brief nod, she took a deep breath and plowed on. “Then you remember how we complained about having to use the Floo Network as many times as we did?” Harry nodded again, though at this point, Hermione knew that she was now talking to the entire room. She spoke rapidly as she explained everything to them.

“We owled Professor Dumbledore from Ottery St. Catchpole and told him that Claire had returned. Shortly after we arrived in Hogsmeade, Professor Dumbledore contacted us, and asked us to come straight to his office. We were at Remus’s house at that point – so he and I used his fireplace and we came straight here ... to the Headmaster’s office ... to talk about what we could do for Claire,” she added without the usual confidence she typically expressed when she was doing something she felt sure about.

“But whose idea was it to write to Professor Dumbledore?” asked Harry, thankful that Hermione was quick enough to not let Draco’s name slip through her entire explanation, and knowing how difficult it must have been, considering that Draco had actually been there during that time.

“That’s why I’m guilty,” Hermione admitted, chagrined. “That Saturday morning, when Sirius announced that Claire was staying permanently, they gave me the idea to see Professor Dumbledore. I remembered that Claire told us how she used to be a Healer at St. Mungo’s before she moved back to Canada. I thought ... maybe he could offer her a job as a teacher or get her old job back -- “

Hermione was cut off by the sound of abrupt knocking at the office entranceway. Claire looked up suddenly, appearing as though she wished she could vanish right on the spot. Harry, personally wondering who this last addition could be, had a feeling that Claire already knew.

“Enter!” Dumbledore called.

Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, rushed into the room, her face flushed from making her way quickly from the infirmary to the Headmaster’s office in a very short span of time.

“I’m terribly sorry for being late, Headmaster,” Madam Pomfrey said in a rush. “Just as I was leaving the hospital wing, young Mr. Johnston came in with the flu, and I had to stay with him for a few minutes. But he’ll be alright. I just hope I caught it in time. He’s the fifth one this weekend, and the last thing I need is a full-scale epidemic,” she admitted. “It’s one thing to treat one patient – but twenty to thirty –“

“I take it you administered a strong dose of ginger extract for the boy?” Claire asked teasingly and almost with a sense of timidity.

Harry knew that Madam Pomfrey had been Claire’s mentor when she had attended Hogwarts, and by looking at his godmother, he sensed that she was extremely nervous by being in the same room with the woman who had given her a deeper appreciation and understanding of what it meant to be a Healer. Even over the weekend, when Claire had enlightened Harry and the others concerning her career path, she had spoken about Madam Pomfrey with the deepest respect and admiration imaginable.

“Of course I did!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed indignantly, scanning the room for the source of the voice. Hermione, who had been standing in front of Claire, moved out of the matron’s path. Her sharp eyes landed on Claire, and in that brief instant her whole face took on the swiftest transformation. Her hands automatically went to her mouth, where she barely managed to stifle a short cry of surprise.

Claire smiled shyly, wiggling her fingers at Madam Pomfrey in a short, nervous wave.

“Good Heavens!” Madam Pomfrey gasped, bringing her fingers down from her mouth to clutch at the material surrounding her midsection. “How is this possible?”

Claire gave a slow, helpless shrug. “Judging by the way everyone has reacted so far ...” she said listlessly, “it’s almost as though everyone thinks I’ve just come back from beyond the grave ...”

“And it’s no WONDER!” Madam Pomfrey exploded. Harry jumped slightly, not expecting this kind of a reaction from the elderly woman. Claire, on the other hand, looked more prepared for it than anyone else in the room. “What was in your head disappearing like that, girl?” she continued in the same incensed tone. “You didn’t even say goodbye! And what on God’s green earth kept you from coming back? Do you have any idea what you put us through?”

Claire’s fingers sought her heart-shaped pendant as she chewed her bottom lip anxiously. She looked at Madam Pomfrey, her eyes deep and full of regret. “I don’t know what to say,” she humbly admitted. “There is no reason or excuse big enough to condone what I did. I – I really don’t blame you for being angry.”

“’Angry’ is the understatement of this century, you ignorant, foolish girl!” Madam Pomfrey lashed out, and Harry was surprised to find her eyes glossing slightly as she stubbornly looked away from Claire, a dark frown on her face which matched McGonagall’s expression exactly. “And you’re right, Claire,” she added a moment later in a tremulous whisper. “There is absolutely no excuse.”

Harry stared at Madam Pomfrey in complete awe and horror as an awkward silence fell over the room. Even Sirius, who looked positively livid with Madam Pomfrey, couldn’t find any words to bring rationale to the matron’s attack. Harry had a feeling that his godfather had exhausted all possible reasoning in Claire’s defense with McGonagall, before he, Hermione and Ron had arrived. Perhaps this was the reason McGonagall had said nothing to support the school matron, or argued against her. At any rate, the hard look on the Deputy Headmistress’s face softened slightly as she cast Claire a pitying look.

How could Madam Pomfrey treat Claire this way? How could she possibly stay angry with her after all these years? If Sirius, Remus, and even Dumbledore had forgiven her almost instantly, then why couldn’t she or McGonagall find it in their hearts to do so as well? Why didn’t they understand that Claire had done what any human would have under the same circumstances?

“Professor Dumbledore?” Hermione inquired softly, and the old wizard looked up at her, giving her an inviting smile, silently encouraging her to continue. “I was only wondering ... now that we’re all here ...”

“Of course” said Dumbledore, smiling at everyone in the room before his light blue eyes landed warmly on Claire, who struggled to mask her misery. “When I learned that you had returned, Claire, only one possible solution came to mind. Poppy came to me on Friday last, expressing a deep desire to visit her very ill sister, who is bedridden at home. Unfortunately for us, Claire; that would leave me without my school Healer.”

“I see,” Claire said slowly after a short pause, glancing quickly at Sirius and then back to Dumbledore. “Headmaster, not to sound ungrateful, but I haven’t practiced medicine in over 16 years. As much as I appreciate the suggested offer – I can’t possibly accept.”

“That’s not true!” Harry exclaimed suddenly. “I thought you told me you worked as a nurse while you lived in Canada?”

“Oh, yes,” Claire agreed emphatically. “I mean to say that I haven’t brewed the simplest of potions in that length of time. I haven’t even used my wand yet, Harry.”

“No one said that this would be an easy transition,” Sirius told Claire, his warm eyes meeting hers. “But it’s a start, nonetheless.”

“Headmaster,” Madam Pomfrey looked at the old wizard, speaking with an edge to her voice. “Are you sure about your decision? The last thing I want to do is to put an unnecessary burden on you ... or on anyone else.”

“I have seldom been more certain,” Dumbledore assured Madam Pomfrey. “As a matter of fact, I have already arranged to have a ‘help wanted’ ad placed in the Daily Prophet for a replacement until your sister has returned to full vigor. If Miss White chooses to accept the offer, I will have the advertisement removed before it appears in tomorrow morning’s paper.”

“In that case,” Madam Pomfrey said while looking at Claire shrewdly. “I could not have asked for a better replacement.”

Claire opened her mouth to speak, but closed it almost immediately. She looked beyond startled at this strange turn in the conversation. She blinked, searching for something – anything – to say. But she could only stare up at her former mentor, with hope burning in her obsidian eyes.

“I would not take this as a sign that I have excused your ridiculous, childish behavior,” Madam Pomfrey continued in the same hard voice as she drew herself up to her full height. “It’s very simple. You’re the right person for the job, Claire. And I was the one who trained you, after all, which means I know you can handle it.”

Claire shook her head, looking down at her lap as she spoke. “I can’t accept,” she repeated firmly. “I’m not looking for forgiveness, contrary to what you both might believe,” she said, sounding increasingly confident by the second as she looked from the matron to the Transfiguration teacher. “I never expected any of this to happen. This was supposed to be a short visit. I wanted to see my godson. It’s as simple as that. I never thought I’d be back here at Hogwarts – I never even entertained the notion. But I can’t stay here.” Her pleading eyes finally landed on Sirius, her voice breaking as she spoke. “I can’t, Sirius. I just – I can’t.”

“I can’t exactly blame you,” Sirius said darkly, shooting furious looks at Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall, while Dumbledore slowly closed his eyes as though bracing himself for an oncoming burst of anger from his Defense teacher. “I would feel the exact same way if I were in your shoes. Evidently, Snape isn’t the only one in this school who has the ability to hold grudges,” he said to Claire before his steely eyes settled on Madam Pomfrey. “The difference is: you both adored and respected Claire before she left.”

“I never said that I refused to forgive her,” Madam Pomfrey said defensively. “It will take time for us to adjust to her presence. Or have you forgotten that you are not the only one she left all those years ago? She left behind much more than you realize.”

“And she is in the room,” Sirius snarled, pointing a finger at Claire. “If you have anything to say, I suggest saying it to her.”

“I’ve heard all I’ve needed to hear,” Claire said heavily, glancing apologetically at Dumbledore’s saddened face. “Thank you for your generous offer, Headmaster, and I apologize for feeling the necessity to decline. But I believe that my visit here has come to an end.”

“Hold on,” Harry said, panic squeezing his chest as Claire quickly stood up. “You can’t just leave!”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Claire said with a resolute smile as she touched his arm lightly. “At least I can say that I tried, right?”

“You promised you’d stay,” Hermione challenged. “Even Madam Pomfrey agrees that you’re the best person for the job!”

“I wish I could agree with her,” Claire said, glancing at Sirius as he slowly stood. “As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. It would be too much for me to expect forgiveness. And it’s too much for me to stay here, knowing that I’ll never earn it.”

McGonagall cleared her throat. “And I would strongly recommend that you do not – under any circumstances – leave again. 16 years ago you ran, Claire. Do not repeat the same mistake.”

Claire looked at the older witch and shook her head stubbornly. “I don’t know what you expect of me,” she said. “I’m not condemning you for resenting me, because I would feel the exact same way. Hate me all you want, but I, myself, don’t have what it takes to deal with it. It’s too much – too soon. It’ll be –“

“Easier if you leave?” Dumbledore finished quietly, bringing his clasped hands down from his chin and resting them on the desk as he looked at Claire calmly and patiently. Claire looked back at him and gave a shaky sigh, dropping her shoulders.

“I wasn’t planning on using those words ... but ... yes,” she agreed softly, turning back to Harry with regret in her eyes.

“And it’s a wonder that the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor,” McGonagall snapped aggressively.

“I’m not that same girl anymore!” Claire shouted sobbingly, wheeling on her. Harry remembered how easily she had lost control of her temper back at home. But even now, Claire seemed on the brink of desperation rather than fury. It was clear that the only thing Claire desired right now was their understanding. And that was something that they were not willing to give up very easily.

“You’re right,” McGonagall agreed evenly. “You’re the girl I came to visit when you received your Hogwarts letter. You’ve reverted back into the submissive, scared little girl who allowed herself to be controlled by her mother.”

Claire made a soft sound deep in her throat, looking as though McGonagall had just slapped her. Her creamy complexion suddenly seemed too pale, as though McGonagall’s words had caused all the blood in her face to drain.

“Minerva, that’s quite enough,” Sirius ordered calmly, though Harry could see that it was a strain for Sirius to contain the rage which was dangerously close to the surface.

“She needs to hear it,” McGonagall told him with apology in her beady eyes, before she directed her attention to Claire once again. “Would you like to know what I thought when the Headmaster first told me that you had returned?”

Claire said nothing, but looked all the more attentive nonetheless, as did everyone else.

“I thought of Harry,” McGonagall continued, giving Claire a small, sincere smile. “I felt joyful and relieved to know that he would have one more person in his life – another friend, another ally, someone who could give him something no one else could: his mother.”

Harry felt a strange, large lump in his throat as he swallowed, wondering if Hermione had arranged for Claire to stay at Hogwarts for the exact same reasons: to give Harry an intimate knowledge of the mother he never knew. As though thinking of her had triggered an automatic reaction, Hermione instantly moved next to him, linking her arm through his. The lump in his throat vanished, only to be replaced by a flourishing warmth, circulating where his heart thumped beneath his ribcage.

“The truth is,” McGonagall continued, “you cannot keep running from your problems, Claire. You know better than anyone that issues simply don’t vanish because you want them to. You have allowed your fear to control you and dictate how you live your life. What you need to do is confront your obstacles head-on. You need to do this for yourself, Claire. Not for Harry, nor Sirius, nor anyone else.”

“I’m not exactly prepared to work alongside people who loathe me, Minerva,” Claire said shakily, the blood slowly returning to her face as she regained her composure. “Some people might have the courage to subject themselves to that kind of torture. And I’ve already admitted that I am not the same Gryffindor you knew 20 years ago. What else do you want from me?”

“Firstly, stop using our dissatisfaction with you as a scapegoat,” McGonagall answered curtly, and almost with a sense of exasperation. “And secondly, accept the Headmaster’s proposal, for heavens sake. Poppy is entirely correct in saying that you are the right person for the job. I wouldn’t be saying that if I did not want you here – and neither would Poppy.”

Claire opened her mouth to protest. But Sirius, sensing this before she could even get a word out, placed his finger over her lips, shooting her a pointed look which didn’t go unnoticed by anyone in the room.

“You’re deliberately being stubborn, Claire,” he countered. “And now you’re outvoted six to one, seven including Ron.”

Claire narrowed her eyes at him, forcing his hand away as he grinned at her. “I was going to say that I still think that there’s a problem with the fact that I haven’t done magic in almost two decades.”

“That is easy enough,” Madam Pomfrey said, the edge fading slightly from her voice as she looked at Claire. “I can spend the next day or two re-introducing you to everything you’ll need to know. Most things, I’m sure, will come to you naturally. You don’t simply forget, Claire. You can’t shut your powers off, no matter how hard you try. Am I right?”

Claire nodded. “Even after I ... supposedly ... had my wand destroyed, I still felt the magic in me. There were times when I would automatically use magic without the benefit of a wand. Even after all these years, it still happens every now and then.”

“Then you should be able to pick things up rather quickly,” Madam Pomfrey continued. “You were always quick in Potions – we’ll need to get you started on that straightaway, as there are many new antidotes for you to learn. I’m sure Sirius won’t mind helping you pick up everything else.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Sirius accepted with a courteous nod to the matron, who smiled sardonically in return.

“It is a joy to have you back with us, my dear,” Dumbledore told Claire. “Tomorrow morning, you shall meet Poppy in the hospital wing – “ He stopped talking as Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat loudly, drawing his attention, as well as everyone else’s, onto herself.

“I would prefer if we start immediately,” she said briskly. Claire looked sidelong at her, her eyes growing slightly wider.

“You know what they say, Claire,” Sirius grinned. And he and Claire spoke at the exact same time, in the same knowing voice.

“There’s no time like the present.”

“Precisely,” Madam Pomfrey agreed as Dumbledore laughed softly, McGonagall looking at Claire and Sirius rather fondly.

“Then I would ask you three,” Dumbledore nodded in Harry, Hermione, and Ron’s direction, “to direct Claire to her lodgings. You know the way, Hermione. After you settle in, Claire, you shall meet Poppy in the hospital wing. Is an hour satisfactory, Poppy?”

“Very much so,” said Madam Pomfrey.

A moment later, they said good-bye. Harry, Hermione and Ron led the way out of the office, down the escalator and through the entranceway, Sirius and Claire deliberately lagging behind as they spoke together in low voices.

“How convenient is that?” Ron asked to no one in particular. “If Madam Pomfrey didn’t need to go home to visit her sister, Claire wouldn’t have a job. And then she wouldn’t be able to stay here.”

“Dumbledore would have thought of something,” Hermione said confidently. “But you’re right. It is convenient.”

Harry’s mind wasn’t exactly concerned with whether Claire would work at Hogwarts or not. His mind was still buzzing from the way McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had treated her. Did they truly have a right to be as upset with Claire as much as they were? He knew that they were entitled to feel that way. But were they too harsh in their judgment? He supposed, in the end, it had worked out alright. McGonagall and the school Healer had acted more civil towards Claire by the end of the conversation, and Harry supposed that that had to count for something.

“I mean,” Ron continued in a low voice, looking at Harry now. “How are you supposed to react when your godmother surfaces after so many years?”

“About the same way I reacted when I found out Sirius was my godfather,” Harry replied wryly. “Sure, I didn’t take it too well, but under the circumstances, it’s no wonder. In any case, I was still pretty amazed when Claire appeared on our doorstep. We all were.”

Ron looked over his shoulder and watched Sirius and Claire for a brief moment before turning back to Harry and Hermione as they continued walking along, making their way to the teachers' wing. “Why do I have the feeling I missed a good show?”

“Speaking of being missed – where’s Leah?” asked Hermione suddenly.

“In the library,” Ron told her, grinning sheepishly in spite of himself. “She’s studying for her O.W.L.’s.”

“Smart girl,” Hermione said approvingly. “Would I be asking too much if I suggested that you should do the same? You know, our N.E.W.T.’s are coming up,” she reminded both boys.

“You don’t say!” Ron scoffed. “I had no idea, Hermione! I mean, our teachers have only been talking about them ever since ... Fifth year...” he added slowly as Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

“Fine,” she said critically. “I would really like to see you write up your own revision sheets this time.”

“Aw, Hermione,” Ron said in a placating tone, latching onto her elbow with both of his hands as he pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “You don’t mean that!”

Hermione rolled her eyes upwards at him.

“I won’t pull through my N.E.W.T.’s without your help, Hermione!” Ron insisted mournfully. “Just like every other year.”

Hermione smiled at him, laughing slightly. “Don’t give me that,” she said in a more sincere tone. “If it hadn’t been for your dedication, you wouldn’t have pulled through. You did it all on your own. And as soon as we get back to the common room, I’ll start on those timetables immediately,” she told both Ron and Harry.

“I’m sure your Defense teacher will be extremely relieved to hear that,” said Sirius behind them. Harry turned to find that his godparents had caught up with them.

“Why do I have the very sinking sensation that you’re going to make our N.E.W.T.’s a living nightmare?” Ron asked Sirius.

Sirius laughed heartily at this. “Who do I look like? Sna—“

“Don’t make me use a Silencing Charm on you, Snuffles,” Claire cut across, looking at Sirius warningly. “There are some spells that I mastered ages ago, and I wouldn’t want you to expect that I’ve forgotten everything.”

He glowered at her. “Woof,” he muttered defiantly.

“You know about Snuffles?” Ron asked Claire after their laughter had died down. “We thought he came up with that name ... more recently,” he added, looking sidelong at Harry.

“Recently? No, no, no,” Claire answered somberly, glancing at Sirius and catching the melancholy expression on his face. All of a sudden, a light of awareness came into her dark eyes as she looked sharply at Ron. “Wait a second – it’s understandable that you would know about Padfoot. But how in the world do you know about Snuffles?”

In two minutes flat, Harry and Ron readily told Claire all about how Sirius had used the name “Snuffles” during his fugitive days while he kept in contact with Harry. Once they filled her in, she looked at Sirius, something stirring deeply behind her sapphire eyes. In that moment, she looked as though Sirius had moved her beyond words.

“Are you saying that you're the one who gave Sirius that pet name?” asked Hermione, hardly daring to believe that Sirius could possess the capacity to act on such a sentimental level.

Claire nodded, a slow blush blossoming along the apples of her cheeks as she averted her eyes from Sirius self-consciously. Sirius, seeming to act more out of habit than anything else, brushed her hair back tenderly with his hand, and she turned her eyes back to him. Even though it seemed that she couldn’t find adequate enough words to describe what she was feeling at the moment, it appeared that Sirius didn’t need them. The powerful tenderness in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

As they descended the last staircase which would lead them to Claire’s room, Harry watched their Potions Master, Severus Snape, walk swiftly from one of the rooms beyond, towards them. Realizing that there was a group of students making their way into an unauthorized section of the school, he opened his mouth to tell Ron, Harry and Hermione as much, but before he got a word out his eyes fell on Sirius. And then his black eyes moved from his old school enemy to the young woman by his side.

To Harry’s surprise, Snape kept looking back and forth between Sirius and Claire, almost as though he was trying to comprehend what he was seeing, and possibly trying to convince himself that he was hallucinating. Harry personally wondered what was going on behind Snape’s emotionless eyes. Remembering how much Snape loathed Harry’s own mother, it was only logical that he would feel the same way about Claire.

“It looks like the rumors are true,” Snape said smoothly, successfully masking any kind of an outward reaction as he approached them, looking at Claire – and seemingly avoiding Harry’s eyes.

“Severus,” Claire said, mockingly regretful. “You sound almost disappointed to see me.”

Snape raised his dark brows at this. “I apologize if I refrain from jumping with glee,” he replied sardonically. “And I suppose it was only a matter of time until you returned, once you discovered that Black was no longer running from the law. How very ... what’s the word I’m looking for? Ah yes, that’s right: typical.”

Ignoring the barb, Claire forced a smile to her ruby lips. Sirius, on the other hand, instinctively made a motion towards Snape’s throat as though to physically choke the very life from him. Claire and Hermione both grabbed an arm, pulling Sirius back while Snape watched with mild amusement mingled with satisfaction.

After a moment of commanding Sirius to calm down, Claire finally turned back to Snape, pasting another brilliant smile to her lips. “It’s nice to see you, too, Severus. And I see you’re a teacher, no less! The Potions Master,” she added in an impressed tone. “I guess the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was taken, was it?” she asked with deceptive innocence.

Snape stopped smiling.

“I take it you’re back permanently?” he asked her icily. Sirius, who seemed slightly calmer, remained on his guard, half-expecting Snape to say or do something incredibly wrong – or exceedingly stupid. Harry privately hoped that he would. And one glance at Ron told him that he was thinking along the same lines.

“You know,” said Claire, tilting her head to the side. “It wouldn’t hurt you to sound a little bit more enthusiastic. And yes, Severus, I’m back.”

“She’s the new school Healer,” Harry explained, and Snape shot his cold eyes at him as he spoke.

“Of course she is,” Snape replied coolly, his top lip curling slightly as though this thought disgusted him. “Only Claire White could disappear for nearly two decades and return with the assumption that she still owns this school.”

“Oh, stop your whining, Severus,” Claire said exasperatedly. “I’m only here until Poppy returns. And then I’ll be out of your – um – hair for good.” Harry personally thought it said a lot for Claire’s character that she hadn’t used the word “greasy” when referring to Snape’s hair. Then again, the small smile on her face said that she was thinking it, even if she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Splendid,” Snape replied, sneering nastily. “Black and White, together again. It’s just like old times, is it not? We have Potter here, a mere duplicate of his father and nothing more. We have Miss Granger, who is all-too-much like Evans. What does that make you, Weasley? The weasel? I wonder who that reminds me of.”

If it hadn’t been for Hermione’s hand resting on his arm as a silent, warning gesture, Harry was sure he would have done something drastic that would most likely get him expelled from Hogwarts. He hated that Snape could make such a casual insinuation without feeling the slightest remorse. Hadn’t he, himself, been a Death Eater?

“Keep it up, you hypocritical son of a bitch, and I will report you,” Sirius growled venomously while Claire pulled back on Sirius’s arm, even though she knew that his strength completely outweighed her own. “I will not stand here and listen to you insult my family.”

A twisted smile graced Snape’s lips as he looked at Sirius, his eyes glowing with triumph. “I believe you just did.”

It took Harry, Ron, Hermione and Claire to hold Sirius back as Snape passed by them, his head held high with a sense of achievement emanating from him. Sirius wrenched his arm from Hermione’s grasp, reaching for his wand --

“Sirius Black, PUT THAT WAND AWAY!” Claire shouted, drawing Snape’s attention back to the small group behind him. His own hand closed around his barely hidden wand as he turned to face them. “Put it back, Sirius, or so help me God –“

“Taking orders from your woman, Black?” asked Snape, a challenging look in his otherwise cold and empty eyes, while Sirius hesitated to put his wand away. “It’s nice to see that some things haven’t changed.”

“You know,” Claire said to Snape conversationally as she let go of Sirius. “Sirius has his wand pointed at you. Even the most asinine person in the world would have enough sense to know when to shut the hell up.”

“I’ll consider myself warned, then,” Snape returned coldly and added to Sirius, “Before you know it, she’ll be telling you what you can’t wear or what you’re allowed to eat. I’d watch out, if I were you.”

“Just go!” Claire exclaimed heatedly as Sirius growled, moving forward. He was stopped again by Harry, Ron and Hermione as they held firmly onto his robes and arms as they pulled him back. “Severus, I won’t tell you again,” Claire added firmly. “If you don’t leave, Sirius will not be held accountable for his actions. There are four witnesses who will vouch for him. I can’t exactly say the same thing for you.”

Snape gave a curt nod, made to turn away from them, but turned back almost instantly. “White?” he inquired. Harry turned his head just as Claire and the others did, wondering what else Snape possibly had to say. Sirius had never looked as imposing as he did in that moment while Claire looked at Snape with mild surprise.

“I do hope you’re up to the challenge of being the new Healer. I’ve just heard that there’s a flu bug making its way around. And we all know how difficult it is stamping out that kind of a virus. It would be dreadful if you lost control of the situation.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when you come down with the same bug,” Claire returned hotly.

“Right,” Snape sneered. “In that case, welcome back.” And the last they heard from him was the swooshing of his black robes as he turned and disappeared down the hallway, leaving everyone in a sort of stunned, aggravated silence.

“You should have let me Curse him,” Sirius growled, running his hand roughly through his hair as he stared at the spot where Snape had been standing, his other hand still clutching his wand as he lowered it slightly.

“You’re not 15 anymore, Sirius,” Claire reminded him. “And neither is he.”

“He still acts it!” Sirius bellowed, pointing after Snape with his wand. Claire heaved a sigh, giving Sirius a pointed look.

“Don’t let him get to you, Sirius,” she said in a pacifying tone. “You know he said all of those things just to prove that he could provoke you. Hell, I haven’t seen him in over 16 years and even I know that.”

Sirius did not take this as a consolation of any kind. If anything, the scowl on his face deepened considerably, which made the concerned look on Claire’s face intensify.

“He’s just jealous,” Claire added in a soft whisper as she touched his arm tentatively. “You have everything he could only dream of. After the world turned against you, they welcomed you back with open arms. You were offered a position he has had his eye on for years now. But more importantly -- you are surrounded by people who love and respect you. What does he have?”

The scowl on Sirius’s face faded slightly at her words of assuagement, though he stubbornly continued to clutch his wand. He looked at her, but said nothing.

“Exactly,” Claire continued, smiling. “He has nothing, and he knows it. That’s how it’s always been, remember?”

“I’m still finding it incredibly difficult to swallow that he welcomed you back,” Ron spluttered, looking completely perplexed. “Why would he say that?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “He was just terrified that Sirius would actually hex him if he didn’t act the least bit apologetic. And would you take your hand off of that thing – “ she ordered Sirius. “Besides,” she added to the three wizards-in-training as Sirius reluctantly tucked his wand away. “He was only nice – if you call that being nice – because he knows if he falls ill, his precious health will be in my hands.”

“He’s a potion brewer himself,” Ron argued. “Couldn’t he just heal himself?”

Claire grinned knowingly at him. “Have you ever tried to brew a potion while hugging a toilet? And let’s not forget the scorching fever that leaves you feeling so disoriented you can’t even tell reality from fantasy. And it’s not as though Snape is foolish enough to wait it out until the virus fades from his system. It’s common knowledge that the longer you wait, the worse it gets.”

“Good point,” Ron agreed as Hermione motioned for them to keep walking, with promises that they were nearly there.

“I think he was actually welcoming you back into the wizarding world,” Sirius told Claire. “He obviously isn’t too keen on the idea of you being back at Hogwarts. But --” and here Sirius sighed wearily, as though this was too much for him to admit. “-- I know he respects you as a witch.”

“It’s only because I was good at Potions,” Claire reminded him. “Otherwise, I would have been at the very top of his hit list.”

“You’re good at what you do, Claire,” Sirius told her matter-of-factly. “And Snape isn’t that much of a bastard to ignore that fact. Thank heavens for small favors,” he muttered before his attention was drawn back to a previous topic. “And what was going on with you in Albus’s chamber?”

Claire’s fingers played with her locket as she shrugged. “I was fine,” she told Sirius. “I mean – it certainly helped having your support ...“

“That’s not what I meant, and you bloody well know it,” Sirius said in a low, impatient rumble. “I think Minerva said it best when she accused you of running away.”

“Oh ... like I really had a choice in the matter,” Claire said with mock bitterness as she glared up at him. “You would have tied me up hog-style and locked me in a closet somewhere if I dared to walk away, I’d wager. In fact, why am I surprised to find that there are no manacles dangling from your pockets?”

“Because you’re still thinking like a Muggle,” answered Sirius, grinning mischievously, all former irritability having faded, almost as though Claire’s playfulness had won him over. “Who needs chains or rope when using a standard Stunning spell works just as effectively?”

“Oh?” Claire said with a devious smile. “Who was it that said rope had certain incomparable benefits? I could have sworn that that was you, Snuffles.”

Ron and Harry choked on their laughter, while Hermione, unable to decide whether to cluck her tongue in her usual critical manner or laugh with the boys, settled on shaking her head with a small smile on her face instead.

“What?” Sirius said, grinning innocently at Claire. “I think you’ve mixed me up with someone else, my dear. I would never dream of suggesting – “

“You never suggested, innocently hinted or insinuated, Sirius,” Claire admonished, wagging an accusing finger at him. “You blatantly expressed your opinions -- quite articulately, I might add – for every single girl at Hogwarts to see and hear.”

“Oh, as I recall it – James had quite a bit to do with that as well,” Sirius retorted laughingly.

“And you’ll also recall how unimpressed we all were?” Claire returned, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I never really could understand why you put up with us as much as you did,” Sirius admitted. “I mean, honestly. What did you see in me?”

Claire shrugged, giving Harry a small wink before turning back to Sirius. “You were popular, rich and very handsome. What more could I possibly want?”

Harry and Ron shared an appreciative laugh while Sirius merely frowned.

“Wait a second,” he said. “I had good looks? As in past tense? After all those nice things I said about you in Albus’s office – that’s all you have to say in return?”

Claire giggled, her face slowly growing red. She quickly turned to Hermione, deliberately ignoring Sirius’s indignant question. “Are we almost there?”

“We’ve been here for about two minutes now,” Hermione said, smiling apologetically. “You and Sirius have been – er -- bickering the whole time.” Hermione withdrew a silver key from her pants pocket and inserted it into the keyhole while Claire and Sirius exchanged a grin behind her. Hermione pushed the door open, stepping out of the way, allowing the two adults to enter first.

The moment Claire stepped into the dim room, Sirius waved his wand towards the lamps on the far end, and they automatically lit up, placing the room under a cozy atmosphere. The burgundy room itself was larger than Harry’s own Head Boy room, complete with its own sitting area in front of a glowing fireplace.

“Blimey,” Ron gasped as he looked around the room, impressed. “Well, that’s settled. I’m going to be a teacher after I’m finished school. Are all the rooms like this one?”

“Talk about motivation,” Sirius taunted. “I’m sure your mother will be pleased to hear that you’re finally making a career move.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, regardless of what the rooms look like,” Hermione said reprovingly to Ron, who grinned in reply. “And here you are, Claire,” she added, handing the woman the key to her room. “Ron, Harry and I have a lot to catch up on, so we’ll leave you two be for now.”

Harry and Ron shared a groan, reluctant to get started on schoolwork. But Harry knew that Hermione was right, and Ron seemed to think so, too, especially once Hermione shot a very narrow look at him.

“I should get going, too,” Sirius added slowly, suddenly looking awkward as he stood in the middle of Claire’s room while the others made their way to the door. Claire, looking panic-stricken all of a sudden, stared at Sirius.

“But then I’ll be alone,” she said softly.

“Ah, well ...” Sirius said uncomfortably, looking at her. “We just figured you might want some time alone – I mean; I know how you like your space. And I –“

“You know what?” said Hermione, interrupting Sirius and his tirade of excuses. “We’re going to go now.” And without another word, she grabbed Ron and Harry by their arms, led them out of the room, closed the door behind them and started down the corridor.

“Merlin’s beard,” said Ron, once they had made their way up the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room. “Talk about awkward.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry curiously.

“Claire and Sirius!” Ron exclaimed. “One minute they’re acting like they’re joined to the hip, and the next, they have no idea what to even say to each other.”

“Oh,” said Harry blankly, remembering how comfortable they had been with each other over the weekend. What had changed?

But Hermione was shaking her head at Ron. “You are incredibly tactless sometimes, you know that?”

“What did I do this time?” Ron asked exasperatedly. “If I was being tactless, I wouldn’t have waited until we were out of earshot to speak my mind. I would have said it right there in front of them, wouldn’t I?”

Hermione shook her head stubbornly. “You could try to put yourself in Sirius’s shoes – or even Claire’s.”

“And how do you expect me to do that?” asked Ron, nettled.

“I don’t mean literally!” Hermione lectured. “Just think about what they’ve been through. Before everything happened all those years ago, they were going to be married. That indicates that they knew each other pretty well – each other’s habits, each other’s thoughts and feelings. They’re linked, Ron. I’m sure you’ve heard the term ‘soul mate.’”

“Right,” said Ron. “Like Mum and Dad. Or you and Harry.”

“Exactly!” Hermione said, relieved to hear that Ron was getting the idea. “So you can imagine how Sirius and Claire might feel when ... after so many years ... they’re reunited by the bonds of fate itself. Their thoughts might have changed over the course of years, but their habits and feelings have not. They can still read each other – as only a pair of soul mates could. And so they automatically fall into old habits with each other, as though they never were divided for that length of time. Do you see?”

“Sure, I do,” said Ron. “But that still doesn’t explain the awkwardness between those two.”

“That’s OK, I wasn’t finished,” Hermione said impatiently. “Now -- it would be pretty difficult to live in a completely different atmosphere and not have changed your thoughts somewhat, right? Claire lived in Canada with her parents, which, according to Harry, was her own private prison – her punishment.”

“What?” Ron said, incredulous, looking to Harry for answers.

“I’ll explain it to you later,” Harry promised, nodding to Hermione for her to continue.

“And Sirius spent 12 years in Azkaban, and you can add an extra three years to that for the time he spent as a fugitive,” Hermione pressed on. “You try living that life and tell me you wouldn’t change your thoughts at all. Your thoughts on how you look at people – at the world. No matter what, you’re of a different view point. You’re not a different person, exactly – though that would strongly depend on the circumstances. You just look at things differently. Sirius was lucky enough to have a happy ending by having his name cleared – and now, presently, he’s working on building his life, and in doing that, he’s found joy and contentment again. Had it been different ... if he didn’t have Dumbledore’s support, or Harry, or Remus, we would be dealing with a very different Sirius Black than the one we know.

“And then there’s Claire, who spent the better part of 16 years hating the wizarding world. And after all these years, she’s back, with the same internal struggle, only now it’s worse, because she hates herself even more than ever for leaving Harry. In her eyes, she acted selfishly. And in her mind, she hasn’t yet found that same happiness which Sirius has rightfully claimed. She still has a deep hatred for the Ministry and what they did to Sirius. The chances of her feelings changing are very slim, indeed.

“And so, when Sirius and Claire are together, they’re overcome with everything that they’ve been through – they don’t know what to do or say. On one hand, they’re struggling to accept the reality which they’ve found themselves in. It doesn’t seem logical to them that they can suddenly be with each other whenever they want to. It’s almost as though they’re expecting the worst to happen. They’re on their guard – which is why you see that ‘awkwardness’ between them. And on the other hand, they automatically reach out to each other – almost mindlessly – as though it’s the most natural thing in the world for them to do, because it is the most natural thing in the world for them to do.

“What they need to do is figure out where they stand – really stand – and then they can go from there. But there will be those painful moments between them, where all they can remember is the anguish and their grief. Because of that, they’re afraid of saying the wrong thing, thinking that one will hurt the other by dredging up the past that they’re both trying so hard to work through.

“But this time, they have each other,” Hermione added, smiling reassuringly as she caught Harry’s eye. “And, God willing, they can truly begin to heal."

*

“Oi!” Seamus exclaimed. “And how did Easter go for our favorite Head Boy and Girl?”

Harry, Ron and Hermione entered Ron’s dormitory room, where Seamus and Dean were lounging together on Seamus’s bed, flipping through a few packs of International Quidditch player cards. During the walk from the Teachers' wing to their common room, Ron had explained that he had a couple of Easter packages from Molly Weasley for Harry and Hermione, which prompted them to follow Ron into his room.

“Very ... interesting,” Harry answered Seamus. “What did you guys do while we were gone?”

Dean shrugged lazily. “Same old. Hey – Ron, could you maybe do something with your robes? I think the smell is getting to me. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“Thanks for sharing,” Hermione said dryly, narrowing her eyes at Ron’s pile of dirty laundry. “Actually, it does smell pretty rotten – what’s that smell, Ron?”

“He soiled himself,” Seamus sniggered, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, prompting him to stop.

“It was all Dean’s idea,” Ron said defensively. “And the smell is of eggs,” he added heatedly, shooting a dark look at Seamus, who in turn burst into a fresh fit of laughter.

“Don’t tell me,” Hermione said, shaking her head at Ron, her eyes uncannily perceptive. “Dean told you all about the two Equinoxes, did he?”

“What he didn't tell me was that it wouldn’t work,” Ron said, shooting another dark look at his roommates.

“Hey,” Seamus said simply. “Just because it didn’t work for you, doesn’t mean that the world was unbalanced. It merely signifies that you were.”

“Very funny,” Ron muttered, as Dean and Seamus shared another chuckle at Ron’s expense.

“It’s just a theory, Harry,” Hermione said, reading her boyfriend’s puzzled expression. “People say that on the Equinoxes, when day and night are exactly 12 hours long, you can balance an egg on its end. Each Equinox happens around Easter and again around fall. The gravity, because the world is perfectly balanced during this time, is supposed to pull the yolk down, making the egg balance on its tip – but I guess Ron was a little unsuccessful.”

“And it naturally took me a dozen eggs for me to realize this,” Ron muttered, Dean and Seamus still sniggering on the bed.

“Of course, there are the two counterparts, which are the solstices,” Hermione continued. “The summer solstice – also known as Midsummer -- typically lands on June 21st. In the days of lore, it was not at all uncommon for women to gather nine different types of flowers and place them under their pillow – in hopes that the person they were meant to wed would be revealed to them in their dreams. As for the winter solstice, which occurs on December 21st -- “

Hermione abruptly stopped, her brown eyes slowly widening with every passing second. Ron, Dean and Seamus looked at Hermione, expecting her to continue on with her explanation. But Harry knew that she had automatically stopped for a reason. He could practically hear the wheels in her mind spinning.

“We have to go!” Hermione suddenly exclaimed, throwing open Ron’s dormitory door and rushing down the hall towards Harry’s dorm room. She pulled out her wand impatiently. “Alohomora!” The door burst open and she entered the dark room, waving her wand over the lamps, showering the room in dazzling light. Ron and Harry finally entered, watching her as Ron kicked the door closed behind them.

“What was that all about?” he asked incredulously.

“The winter solstice!” Hermione blurted. “Do you guys not see? Don’t you get it?” She groaned in frustration at their persistent silence. “Do either of you not realize when the winter solstice occurred last year? Last December?”

“Er – December 21st?” Ron supplied as he and Harry both looked at her, each with expressions of mingled guilt and helplessness. Harry was trying to figure out what she was getting at – but a lot of things had happened in December –

Wait. Only one thing would make Hermione as rattled as she was. But the idea was so ludicrous – and yet – could it be possible?

“Are you saying,” Harry started, unsure of himself as Hermione stared up at him pleadingly. “OK, Hermione,” he started freshly. “You’re referring to the Hanging Tree, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Hermione exclaimed, her eyes oddly bright.

“And the Hanging Tree was blasted on December 21st, if my memory serves me correctly,” Harry continued contemplatively.

“And the winter solstice was on December 21st, Harry!” she exclaimed. "To be precise, it occured at 8:07 p.m., Greenwich Mean Time. I looked it up -- "

"In a book," Harry said at the same moment as Hermione. He tried to smile when he said it, but the effort was never fully realized.

“Alright,” Ron said, trying to keep some semblance of calm in the room. “I don’t even see why there’s a cause for alarm. Both of them happened on the same day. So what?”

“Because, Ron,” Hermione said logically, her voice slightly calmer. “It’s too much of a coincidence to think that the Hanging Tree was destroyed on the shortest day of the year without a reason. Sirius explained to us how the Tree was pure evil – or need I remind you of the details from that unpleasant conversation?”

Ron shook his head, paling slightly while Hermione, suddenly inspired by a thought, crossed the room and threw open Harry’s side door which led to her bedroom. Harry barely had a moment to wonder why she had left so abruptly, when she returned just as quickly, this time clutching a thick, black book in her arms and a square piece of parchment in her hand.

“Do you remember this?” Hermione said, waving the piece of parchment.

Harry scanned the page while looking over her shoulder, instantly recognizing the picture of the charred stump in the town square of Ottery St. Catchpole which had appeared in the Daily Prophet on December 22nd.

“Shortly after 8 p.m., a freak bolt of lightning struck and destroyed the infamous Hanging Tree in town square,” Harry read out loud. He and Hermione exchanged a look as he moved around to face her again. Harry then looked to Ron, whose face seemed to be struggling like a mouse with its tail caught in a trap. He thought he knew what Ron was thinking. The Hanging Tree was destroyed "shortly after 8 p.m." That did not automatically mean that it was destroyed at precisely 8:07. But Harry had a sick feeling in his stomach, like he was falling through the air without a broomstick to hang onto.

"Let me see that clipping," he said suddenly, extending his hand to receive the scrap of parchment from Hermione. He stared at the Daily Prophet photo for a moment. The blackened stump that had been the Hanging Tree dominated the foreground. The background was less defined, hampered as it was by the grainy black-and-gray ink, and the much-folded paper on which it was printed. Harry drew his wand and touched the clipping. "Engorgio." The photo expanded until the background grew more distinct. Harry caught his breath. The clock tower overlooking the village square was now visible as a soft blur. The hands on the clock face were fuzzy, but the time they described was unmistakable.

"Ron," Harry said distantly. "Didn't you tell me once that that old clock in the village keeps stopping all the time?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "Every time one of those great aeroplanes comes roaring over, the shock wave makes the clock stop dead. They have to send an old bloke up there to give it a prod to get it going again. That clock tower is to Big Ben what Pigwidgeon is to a proper post-owl."

Nodding, Harry handed the clipping to Hermione, who glanced at it before passing it to Ron. Ron's eyes widened as they saw the time frozen on the clock face by the booming impact of the lightning strike the night before: 8:07.

“Now do you understand?” Hermione pleaded, looking from Ron’s pale face to Harry’s contemplative one. “That Tree was destroyed for a reason – a purpose. Whoever was behind it chose the winter solstice as the exact day -- the precise moment -- to demolish the Hanging Tree.”

“But why?” asked Harry, privately wishing he could read his girlfriend’s mind as she looked down at the book clutched in her arms before returning her eyes to the two boys in front of her.

"If the two of you didn't spend so much time in History of Magic kipping on your desks," she said shortly, "you'd know that some of the most terrible incidents of Dark magic have taken place on certain key dates and times throughout history."

"What makes one day different from any other?" Ron challenged impatiently, his manner indicating no small amount of guilt in regard to Hermione's all-too-truthful accusation (though he and Harry were far from the only students to nod off to the mind-numbing drone of Professor Binns' boring lectures).

Following a thoughtful pause, Hermione said in slow, professorial tones, "The universe isn't just a sky filled with stars and planets. It's -- well -- in simple terms, it's a bit like an enormous pocket watch -- like Professor Dumbledore's," she added, remembering the Headmaster's curious watch from their morning visit to his office. "And though it may not seem so from a glance up at the sky, all of those billions of parts are working together, so that when a when a gear turns in one place, it causes other gears to turn, from one end of the universe to the other."

"Professor Sinistra says you can tell time by the stars," Harry offered, feeling it was better to say something that at least sounded intelligent than maintain a silence more likely to be interpreted as stupidity.

"Yes," Hermione said. "And the seasons, and latitude, and so on. But more than that, the changing state of the cosmos can affect magic."

"Now you're starting to sound like Trelawney," Ron said with ill-disguised contempt for the dotty Divination teacher.

Momentarily stung, Hermione replied, "We've long since learned that just because she is an old fraud, that doesn't mean there are no such things as genuine prophesies." She spared an apologetic glance at Harry, whose own visions had proven both real and disturbing all this year. "But I'm not talking about Divination. I'm talking about the universe influencing magic by its constantly fluxuating state."

"How?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity.

"The 'how' and the 'why' remain a mystery," Hermione said. "But it's no less real for that. Why does the full moon trigger the werewolf transformation? No one knows for sure -- but that ignorance doesn't stop Remus from transforming every month. Every time the heavens shift, it affects the way magic works. Sometimes the effect is so small it goes unnoticed. But other times..."

"And this is one of those times?" Harry said.

"The druids recognized the power and influence of the changing seasons," Hermione said. "Spring -- the Vernal Equinox -- exerts a great power over the world, a power for good. But for every light, there's a corresponding darkness. The longest night of the year is a time when darkness exerts its greatest power over the earth -- and over magic."

"But that's just...rubbish," Ron said weakly. "Magic is the most powerful thing there is. How can a little thing like a few minutes' less daylight make a difference?"

Smiling indulgently, Hermione said, "It's not surprising that you'd think that way, being born into a wizarding family. But the truth is, magic is nothing more nor less than a force of nature...like the ocean tides, and the rising and setting of the sun. Things that Muggles used to regard with wonder are dismissed now because they've been explained away. But magic? Well, ask Harry's aunt and uncle about that."

"To hear them tell it," Harry said, "magic is the foulest thing there is -- not to mention those who practice it."

"And why do they think that?" Hermione said distastefully. "They aren't alone in that thinking, you know. The answer is all too simple. Muggles don't understand magic, and whatever they don't understand they automatically regard with suspicion and mistrust. Even fear. They can't accept the truth that magic is simply a natural part of our world. And being a part of the world, it can be influenced by the world."

Ron looked as if he had just swallowed a vomit-flavored Bertie Botts' bean. "So, the Hanging Tree being destroyed on that particular day means -- what, exactly?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "But I do know that it wasn't an accident. That tree was destroyed for a purpose -- and you can bet all the Galleons you're saving up for Leah's birthday present that it isn't good."

“We should go to Dumbledore,” Harry suggested suddenly. “If you’re right about this – which I think you are -- I’m sure he’ll want to know all about it.”

“I’m sure Dumbledore already knows what we’ve just discovered,” Hermione pointed out, sighing heavily. “We already know that Sirius knows more than he’s letting on. We’d only be giving them useless facts.”

Not wanting to be outdone, Harry persisted. If Sirius had all rights to fight for the Order, then Harry certainly did! If nothing else, he wanted to do his part. “We don’t know what they know,” he said. “We could try – “

“Playing the hero?” asked Ron, and blanched slightly when Harry turned his blazing emerald eyes onto him.

“Don’t give me that!” he said heatedly. “I’m only trying to do what is right!”

“No,” Hermione said, not willing to give in to Harry’s anger. “What you’re trying to do is get yourself involved again. And I would like to kindly point out that the Order is doing quite fine without you. More to the point, I’m not going to encourage you to act recklessly just so you feel you’re doing something – anything -- useful. You have enough on your plate as it is. And need I remind you that the Order will still be there when we graduate?”

A soft knock came from the outside of his room. Ron, looking somewhat relieved at the break in the argument, crossed the room and pulled open the door. Harry reigned in his temper. Interruption or no interruption, this conversation was far from over.

“Hey, Ron,” Leah greeted, her eyes full of exhaustion. She looked past her boyfriend. “Hey, Harry – Hermione,” she greeted. As though sensing that something was wrong, her dark brows furrowed with concern. “Is ... everything alright?”

“We’re fine,” Ron assured her, glancing over his shoulder and sharing a clandestine look with Harry and Hermione. He turned back to Leah. “Finished studying?”

“For now,” Leah nodded. “I think I’ll do really well in Charms when it comes to Exam time,” she added confidently.

“If you need any help, Leah, you know you have two very willing and able friends to help,” Hermione said, and Harry looked away, trying to hide the furious expression on his face from Leah. “What did you guys do over the weekend?” Hermione asked, determinedly ignoring Harry.

“We went to Hogsmeade,” answered Leah, smiling up at Ron. “Ron was so sweet.”

“Oh?” asked Hermione, smiling. “How so?”

Leah grinned enthusiastically. “Just as we were waiting for our meal at Madam Puddifoot’s, he pretended that he was going to use the washroom – but instead he left the restaurant altogether! And ten minutes later, he returned with a beautiful set of Easter chocolates – all of which were my favorite kinds. Naturally, I’ve eaten them all already,” she added, looking slightly ashamed of the fact.

“Listen – are you tired yet?” Ron asked Leah, his face glowing red from embarrassment.

“A little,” admitted Leah. “But I was hoping I could have a chat with you before I go off to bed. What do you say?”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, looking back at his two friends. Hermione nodded as though to say that she could handle Harry. Ron nodded back and took Leah by the elbow, leading her out of the room and closing the door behind him, leaving Harry and Hermione in complete silence. There was a long pause, during which time Harry stared at his feet, his hand gripping one of the four posts of his bed while Hermione stared determinedly at him.

“I will not watch you put yourself in needless danger,” Hermione continued in a quiet whisper. Though Harry was desperately trying to look as though he wasn’t listening, he knew that Hermione could tell that he was. “There will come a day when you’ll get the chance to prove yourself to the entire world – both wizard and Muggle.” She approached him tentatively, touching his upper arm gently. “But today isn’t that day, Harry.”

There was another long stretch of silence while Harry fought the inner struggle that was in him. He didn’t want to give in, but through and through, he recognized that Hermione was right.

“I’m just sick of it all, Hermione,” he finally admitted, feeling a hot, sick sensation in his stomach as shame washed over him. “I hate the visions that come to me – I dread going into Divination class, because every day I keep thinking I’m going to have another one. I despise not knowing what the visions mean. I can’t stand not being able to do anything about anything. I hate watching Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore and everyone else fight while I sit on the side – waiting to graduate so I can join them, when I know I should be there with them now.”

“And what could you do if they let you join right now?” asked Hermione, and Harry was relieved to hear that there was no mocking tone in her voice. If anything, she sounded extremely sincere. He thought deeply about her question, and realized that he didn’t really have an answer.

“I know what you’re capable of,” Hermione said in a pacifying tone. “You’re a powerful wizard, Harry. More powerful than I could ever hope to be.”

“You're more powerful, Hermione. You’re the most powerful witch I’ve ever known,” Harry told her truthfully.

“I’m who I am right now because of you,” Hermione told him, looking up into his face, her eyes shiny. “You – of all the people in the world – showed me what friendship was. You showed me what love was. And out of all the most potent, powerful magic in the world – love is the strongest. You know it’s true. You would know that truth even if the Princess hadn’t pointed it out to us.”

Harry hadn’t realized that his arm had slinked around her waist, drawing her closer. But he abruptly found himself looking into the depths of her glossy brown eyes – into her very soul. His throat suddenly felt too tight to speak as the intense beauty of her love washed over him in warm, soothing waves, chasing away his inner demons.

His eyes traveled from her own down to her mouth, and without another thought to steer him, he softly pressed his lips to hers, gently and tentatively. She closed her eyes, her arms traveling from his arms to his shoulders, hugging his neck as she pulled him closer. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the warm recesses of her mouth, her own tongue seeking his.

They broke away from the kiss, Harry pressing his forehead against hers as he breathed in deeply.

“And when that time comes…when you’re called to fight,” Hermione breathed in a feathery whisper, “I’ll be standing right next to you, mind, body and soul.” She pressed a chaste, reassuring kiss to his lips, both of them keen on savoring the moment.

“I don’t want you to leave me tonight,” Harry choked, touching the base of her throat as he stared deeply into her eyes in hopes that she would see just how much he didn’t want to be alone.

“That’s alright,” Hermione finally replied, her eyes fluttering shut as she brushed her lips against his. “I don’t intend to leave.”

Almost instantly, they both heard the soft ‘click’ of the bedroom door locking. They both looked startled at this as they turned their attentions to the door. Hermione slowly looked back at Harry, raising a skeptical brow.

“Did you just – lock that door?”

Harry shot her a chagrined look. “I didn’t mean to,” he replied honestly. “One minute I was thinking about it – and the next – “

The mist gone from her voice, Hermione stared at him with surprise. “Something tells me that this isn’t the first time this has happened to you.”

Harry grinned sheepishly, bringing her back into his arms. “I’ve been practicing. I suppose it helps, what with the Auror Training and all. Remus told me it would come in handy someday if I trained myself to use wandless spells.”

His lips found hers again, this time more eagerly, and Hermione responded with equal fervor, moaning into the kiss as his hands traveled up and down her back, sending small, thrilling shivers up and down her spine.

“What…else…you…do?” she panted as Harry’s lips went from her mouth to her earlobe, down her next to the base of her throat. Without a word, Harry made a quick motion with his hand towards his bed. The sheets and comforter folded down neatly. Another quick motion towards his window, and the curtains fell back into place, blocking out the light from the full moon. Hermione gave a small gasp, completely awed.

“As for the rest,” Harry said enticingly into her ear. “You’ll just have to discover for yourself.”

“I told you that you were a powerful wizard,” Hermione whispered back, looking up into his radiant face.

“If I’m powerful because I have love in me, then that power comes from you,” Harry murmured, “because you are my love, Hermione Granger. Essentially, you are my power.”

And with those final words, he waved his hand toward his lamps, showering the two of them in darkness.

***

To Be Continued...

22. The Stubbornness of Weasleys

Circle's Close

Chapter 22: The Stubbornness of Weasleys
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: Fae_Child@hotmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G. This is a sequel to "Snow".
Chapter Summary: With N.E.W.T.'s coming up and the Dark Threat that continues to loom overhead, Harry is finding it increasingly difficult playing referee between Ron and Ginny as Ron's suspicions grow more pronounced than ever.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended. In addition: Anything you don't recognize belongs to me. Except for Leah... She's Ron's girl.

Author's Note: I'm going to make this as quick and painless as possible. I want thank the readers for their unfaltering patience and their constant support! And Second, to Gary Skinner. But it might be better to scroll down to the bottom to see a more detailed thank you.

Enjoy!

***

Harry glanced around his Potions classroom, privately amused at the looks of mingled boredom and confusion on the faces of his classmates. A few seats behind him and over in the next aisle, Lavender and Parvati were keeping each other occupied by reading each other’s palms and trying to predict each other’s love lives. Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff were having a mature debate over wizarding politics – not the most fascinating subject in Harry’s opinion, and he felt somewhat relieved that they weren’t sitting close enough to engage him in their conversation.

Dean and Seamus, sitting directly behind Ron and Neville in the next aisle beside Harry and Hermione, were talking about past girlfriends. And it was no wonder, when Ginny’s name came up, that Ron’s head snapped up and he slowly turned around to face his two roommates, a lethal look on his face that clearly said, ‘I double-dog dare you to say one word about my sister.’

But luckily for Ron (or rather, for Dean), Dean had no intention of speaking about his relationship with Ginny which had taken place two years ago. Instead, he chose to bring up an even touchier subject.

“It’s a bit dodgy, I’ll admit to that,” Dean was saying. “I mean – we find her wandering the corridor late at night – and she won’t even admit to the reason she’s there!”

“Suspicious,” agreed Seamus with a frown. “She was definitely lying to us – that’s for certain. Hey, Ron -- “ he added, seeing that Ron was listening and choosing to ignore the threatening look in his eyes. “What’s your sister up to, anyway?”

“She’s not up to anything,” Ron said through visibly clenched teeth.

Harry knew that Ron was only trying to convince himself of that now more than ever before. He couldn’t explain his sister’s odd behavior, and he couldn’t ignore it, either. Over the past month he had tried ‘investigating’, but had been quite unsuccessful. Ginny was just too good at covering her tracks.

Talking to her about it was no help, either. Ron had tried on a multitude of occasions to ask her what she was up to, which resulted in a heated argument between the two siblings every single time. From what Harry understood, Ginny was not ready to tell Ron about Draco, and Ron wasn’t willing to drop the subject ... which only frustrated both parties to the point where a row between the two stubborn Weasleys had become a regular occurrence in the common room.

After Ron’s forceful comment, Dean and Seamus dropped the subject immediately. They were not willing to do or say anything that might unleash Ron’s fiery temper. It was bad enough that their Potions Master would be showing up at any moment. The last thing they needed were two versions of Snape.

“Good afternoon, class,” said a pleasant voice from the doorway.

With shock and alarm, each head swiveled around to face the doorway. Whispers and low murmurs rippled across the classroom as Claire made her way from the back of the class to Snape’s desk, not wearing a set of wizards’ robes like the rest of Hogwarts’ staff, but resplendent in stylish Muggle clothing. A few pairs of curious eyes followed her as she moved. The rest looked positively gleeful, comprehension dawning on them.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Claire continued, reaching Snape’s desk as she slowly circled around it, facing the class. “Apparently, it’s extremely difficult to be in two places at once.”

By now, most of the students knew who Claire was and why she was at Hogwarts. A couple of weeks had passed since she had arrived at the school, and thanks to the flu virus which had spread, touching nearly every single student over the span of two weeks, almost everyone had gotten a chance to meet her.

“For those who were lucky enough to avoid the virus which has finally -- thank heavens – finished circling the school,” Claire began with an ironic smile, “you probably don’t know who I am. My name is Claire White, and if you haven’t guessed already, I’ll be standing in for Professor Snape today. He’s feeling a little under the weather, and should be better by tomorrow.”

There was a collective groan of disappointment at this statement while Dean said, “Are you absolutely sure?”

Claire nodded, biting back a laugh. “I should hope so,” she replied with an apprehensive smile. “Or my reputation as a semi-decent Healer will be forever corrupted in the eyes of the wizarding world,” she pointed out logically, while the class sniggered in reply. “And I truly have no intention of giving Professor Dumbledore any reason to regret offering me a job here.”

After discovering a note which Snape had left for her, Claire brought herself around the desk and sat on top of it, casually crossing one leg over the other as she perused the short piece of parchment. Unaware that every single student in the classroom was watching her, she snickered softly as she read the letter, and clucked her tongue impatiently after she had finished.

“It says here that you have been working on an Oculus serum, is that correct?” Claire asked, finally addressing the class.

Hermione immediately lifted up her hand, making Claire laugh lightly. “Please don’t raise your hand, Hermione,” she insisted. “I’m not really one for extreme organization. Speak your mind when you feel like it. That goes for all of you,” she added to the class, who looked at her in surprise.

Hermione, looking more amazed and relieved than anyone, hesitantly lowered her hand. “I don’t know if Professor Snape had a chance to tell you – but we’re supposed to work on our point-form assignment today.”

“That’s right, Hermione,” Claire said, looking back down at the piece of parchment. “It says here that you’re all to work quietly while reading through your textbooks, and write down the ingredients and the how-to formula. He also reminded me here that it would be wise for me not to change his method of teaching. Of course,” she added matter-of-factly while smiling benignly at the students, “Professor Snape also states that he doesn’t want me to completely annihilate his class. And to be perfectly truthful, I’m finding it difficult taking orders from someone who once called me ‘Mudblood’ twenty years ago. So, who’s up for a game of Exploding Snap?”

There was a round of cheering among the students while Dean and Seamus chorused together, “Strip Chess!” Laughter followed this suggestion, and even Hermione and Claire joined in with the rest of the class.

“Alright, I have a better idea,” Claire suggested, sobering as she gained the class’s attention once again. “Close your books; pull out some parchment and your quills.”

“What are we doing?” asked Ron as the class hesitated. “You’re not actually letting us off the hook, are you?”

Claire sighed apologetically. “Unfortunately not, Ron. What I thought we could do is work together on the assignment ... kind of like a group effort. And then we’ll use our spare time for something else ... something your Potions Master would most definitely not approve of.”

“But you told us to put the books away!” Neville said worriedly. “How are we expected to work together when we don’t know what to write?”

Claire’s dark eyes landed on Neville and she smiled tenderly down at him. “You might surprise yourself today, Neville, with how much you all actually know without having to consult a textbook. And if you work together as a class – I can guarantee that you will come up with an essay which will surpass even Professor Snape’s expectations.”

“Er – are we talking about the same professor?” asked Ron uncertainly.

Claire laughed softly before encouraging the class to trust her on the matter. The students quickly obeyed with enthusiasm and Claire waited until she could see that everyone was ready to take notes. Harry glanced at his girlfriend, who seemed surprisingly pleased with Claire’s approach to working with the class.

“Can anyone start by telling me the purpose of the Oculus serum?” she asked. She pointed at Dean, who looked slightly alarmed at being the first student called upon.

“Er – It’s a remedy for eye problems, such as conjunctivitis, puffiness and any kind of pain related to the eye area,” he answered nervously. He sighed with relief when Claire nodded, smiling brilliantly.

“Perfect,” she replied. “Make sure you write that down, class. Harry – can you tell me what the serum is made out of?”

“The main ingredient is cornflower,” Harry answered automatically, while the class scribbled madly. “And a bit of thyme and lavender to ease the headaches. which are usually caused by pain in the eyes.”

“Very right,” Claire replied. Her eyes returned to Neville, who was too busy writing down the information in point form to notice that she was looking at him.

“What is very interesting about most healing potions,” Claire told the class in a conversational tone, “is that there’s usually something about them that most people aren’t aware of. For example: sometimes, one potion will have two or more purposes, or in other cases, a potion will have certain side-affects which most people don’t take into consideration. Neville, I was wondering if you can tell me something about the Oculus serum that most people in this class might not know.”

Neville’s head shot up and he looked up at Claire in horror. But after a short pause, his fear seemed to slowly evaporate as she looked at him encouragingly. He took a deep breath and nodded. “It’s simple to make,” he said nervously. “M-most people don’t realize that. And – it can be used for cuts and scrapes. It’s not recommended ... of course. There are many other – and better – Healing potions suited for physical wounds. I just mean ... it can be used in desperate situations.”

Claire smiled brilliantly at him. “Very nice, Neville, very nice indeed. I hope everyone wrote that all down,” Claire added in an amused voice before winking down at Neville affectionately. “Because I don’t believe that Neville wishes to repeat himself. Now – can anyone tell me the negatives for the serum?”

“It’s highly addictive?” Justin suggested.

Claire looked over at him with mild curiosity. “And your name is?”

“Justin, ma’am. Justin Finch-Fletchley,” he answered eagerly.

“Good,” Claire replied. “And I wouldn’t use the words ‘highly addictive’, in response to your suggestion, Justin. However, if you use it more often than your body requires it – your system can develop an immunity to its effectiveness – rendering the serum completely useless. It’s just like any other drug on the market, people. Don’t abuse it – and it won’t abuse you in return. Can anyone else tell me another con? Hermione?”

“It doesn’t work the first time you take it,” Hermione answered. “You have to take regular doses until the condition clears up. The recommended quantity is twice a day for three days – one shot in the morning and one in the evening.”

“Very nice,” Claire said, sounding impressed. The class continued on in this vein over the following half hour, each student contributing to their assignment with a motivation and confidence which their regular Potions teacher would never care to coax from them.

"I thought that the Oculus serum cured astigmatism," Parvati said halfway through their lesson.

"That is absolutely correct," Claire said, beaming. "Which is the exact reason why this particular potion -- as simple as it is to brew -- isn't taught until Seventh year. The Ministry has always felt that for an underage witch or wizard to brew this for selfish motives is quite inappropriate."

Harry grinned, wondering if it would be more beneficial to him if he brewed a batch of the serum, so he would never have to wear glasses again. On the other hand, he had grown rather attached to them over the years, and had no real desire to dispose of them.

“And the taste is awful,” Ron piped up in conclusion. “At least – that’s what my brother, Charlie, told me when he had to take it after he nearly got his eyes poked out by a temperamental mother dragon.”

Claire was about to reply when their class was suddenly interrupted by a soft tapping sound coming from the fireplace. Not a moment later, Dobby the house-elf appeared in the classroom, dusting off his vibrantly colored socks and wiping away the soot from his tennis-ball sized eyes.

“Dobby!” Harry greeted enthusiastically alongside Hermione, who was smiling affectionately.

“Dobby apologizes, Miss Clarissa White, for interruptin’ her class,” Dobby squeaked, bowing so low that his long, thin nose touched the floor beneath his feet.

“Not at all, Dobby,” Claire greeted warmly, motioning with her hand for him to come closer. “And please, for the last time, call me Claire.”

Dobby’s round eyes widened to saucers as he shook his head slowly from side to side, timidly approaching her. “Ooooh, no,” he said, looking mortified. “Dobby has been told to treat Miss Clarissa White with the utmost respect due to her, and so Dobby shall. Dobby does not want to disappoint Mr. Sirius Black, Miss.”

Claire looked over at Harry, who smirked slightly at Dobby’s determined expression. Claire kneeled down and touched the house-elf on the shoulder very lightly. “Yes, well, it seems that Sirius needs to be shown a few things about respect, himself,” she replied with slight disapproval for the man she was once engaged to. “Does someone need me in the hospital wing? Is that why you’ve come here?”

“Yes, Miss,” Dobby said brightly, bobbing his head up and down. “Dobby hopes that he has not interrupted Clarissa White’s class ... But even so, Dobby hopes that she will follow him to the hospital wing – where her great skill as a Healer is also needed.”

“Of course I will,” Claire assured him, winking sidelong at Harry. “And thank you for coming to fetch me, Dobby. Professor Dumbledore was very right in suggesting that I ask you to act as my messenger. I doubt anyone else could do as marvelously as you are.”

Dobby’s large green eyes lit up with pride and Harry knew just how much Claire’s compliment meant to him. His godmother turned to the rest of the class. “I shouldn’t be longer than ten minutes. I think we’ve finished up with the essay. There’s just one more thing in order. Five points to each person who pitched in with the assignment -- I think that includes everyone, doesn't it? And now that we still have half the class to go – I want you to do something for me.”

“Another essay?” groaned Ron, and Claire couldn’t bite back a smile at the worried expressions on the faces in front of her.

“No – not exactly,” Claire told the class. “Now that you’re graduating in two months – I want you to think about and discuss amongst yourselves your fondest memory here at Hogwarts.”

The class looked at her in bewilderment, half expecting some kind of a catch. But Hermione had a different concern on her mind, and had no qualms about voicing it.

“But what has that got to do with Potions?”

Claire smiled, her eyes twinkling with the kind of mischief Sirius had a tendency to express when he was feeling particularly playful. “That’s the beauty of it – absolutely nothing.” And as the class erupted into appreciative laughter, Claire followed Dobby through the fireplace, leaving Harry and his class alone for the time being.

Justin leaned back in his chair, looking particularly smug about something. He wiggled his eyebrows. “Can you believe that she called me Justin?”

“She calls us all by our first names, you halfwit,” said Hannah. “Besides ... she’s not going to be interested in a schoolboy. She obviously prefers a real man.”

“You’re just bitter because that real man is Professor Black,” Justin returned, smirking. “Isn’t that right, Harry?”

“Yeah, tell us something, Harry,” Dean said, speaking loud enough for the entire class to hear. “What’s really going on between Miss White and Professor Black?”

All eyes swiveled onto Harry, who suddenly found himself under the spotlight. It was the first opportunity his classmates had had to ask him what had been on their minds almost since the day Claire arrived at Hogwarts.

Sirius and Claire had told Harry that what went on between them was strictly between them – and they had done a pretty decent job of keeping their relationship under lock and key. However, there had been at least one or two slip-ups, and the rumors were flying, as was Hogwarts’ custom.

While Harry searched for an answer, Hermione came to his rescue, looking at Dean coolly. “What do you think is going on?”

Seamus and Dean looked taken aback by this approach. Dean couldn’t seem to come up with an appropriate answer without sounding disrespectful.

“I saw them,” said Parvati to Hermione and Harry. “I saw the two of them just last week. If they aren’t together, well ... there’s always the term “friends with benefits” to fall back on. If that’s what they’re doing.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite,” Seamus teased Parvati, who blushed crimson.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” she replied defensively. “I’m just trying to understand the nature of Professor Black’s relationship with her, is all. There’s nothing wrong with that!”

“You’re trying to figure out whether you should scratch him off your list of obtainable men, is what you’re trying to do,” Ron said laughingly, and Lavender giggled while Parvati blushed even more.

“What about you, Neville?” Seamus asked curiously. “Why does she seem to favor you more than anyone else? I wasn’t even aware that you knew her – or that you caught the flu bug.”

“I didn’t,” Neville said quietly.

“Well?” persisted Dean. “You’re not going to tell us what’s going on after all these years of knowing each other?”

“She knew ..." Neville looked at Harry for a moment before shrugging his shoulders in a helpless manner. “She knew my parents.”

There was a small pause. Though it wasn’t common knowledge among their class that Neville’s parents had spent nearly half their lives in St. Mungo’s, it was certainly known among his own roommates by now. Dean and Seamus looked at Neville apologetically, but Neville wasn’t finished.

“She ... was my mother’s midwife,” he said, “when I was born.”

“Blimey!” Ron gasped. “I never knew that!”

“Sorry we pushed you, mate,” Dean said sincerely. “It’s none of our business.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be figuring out our fondest memories?” asked Hannah pointedly, and Neville looked very relieved that the attention was off of him as the class readily agreed.

“I wonder why Miss White wants us to,” Justin added. “There just doesn’t seem to be any point.”

“There doesn’t need to be,” Harry said. “Not a logical one, anyway. It’s like she said just before she left – we’re graduating in two months. In two months, we’re going to be living completely different lives – finding our path in the real world. I think that she wants us to relive the good times we spent here. We’ve been spending the past year studying and preparing for the rest of our lives non-stop, haven’t we? This is her way of telling us to take a deep breath, slow down, relax, and enjoy life. That’s all.”

“Yeah?” Dean said, nodding shortly with comprehension. “What is your fondest memory, Harry?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, paused a moment, and then closed it. He shook his head. “I know it sounds cliché – but there are too many to pick from.”

“Allow me to refresh your memory,” Hermione said, leaning towards him and kissing him behind his ear. The class howled and cheered at this while Harry’s face glowed brilliant red.

“I suppose it’s difficult to compete with that,” Ron agreed, laughing as well. “What about you, Hermione?”

Hermione paused a moment, looking deep in thought. “My best memory ..."

“Do I have to refresh your memory, too?” Harry teased, while Hermione blushed.

“Blimey,” Ron said, shaking his head at his two best friends with a teasing smirk on his face. “And usually it’s Hermione accusing me of getting side-tracked. I’m surrounded by hypocrites.”

After a few more minutes of reminiscing, the conversation was followed by the familiar whooshing noise coming from the fireplace. Claire stepped through into the classroom, trying to brush any excess ashes from her dark strands. She seemed to give up, deciding that no one could possibly tell the difference between her hair and any clinging charcoal.

“Is everything alright?” asked Harry with mingled concern and curiosity. He smiled as Claire rolled her eyes, advancing into the classroom and taking her seat back on the top of Snape’s desk.

“That depends on your version of ‘alright,’” Claire replied hesitantly. “I apparently have a new patient on my hands, and I’m thanking God that I’m here right now, instead of in the hospital wing.”

“It can’t possibly be worse than having Professor Snape as a patient, can it?” asked Ron, incredulous over the matter.

“Oh, it’s much worse,” Claire said with a small, ironic smile. “I not only have Professor Snape to take care of – but Professor Black as well. And I have the vomit on my shoes to prove it,” she added, sticking her foot out for the class to see.

A few girls shouted “gross!” while the boys cheered with approval.

“Hermione, my dear,” Claire said with a pleasant smile, trying not to laugh at the mixed reaction she had received. “Would you do the honors? Charms never have been my strong suit.”

Hermione swiftly pointed her wand at Claire’s shoes and exclaimed, “Scourgify!” The vomit and the sickening odor vanished instantly and Claire wiggled her feet happily.

“Have you ever lost a patient before?” asked Ron, returning back to the subject at hand. “Because I think your spotless record is going down the loo as we speak.”

“Well, if it does,” Claire said, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands on her lap, “and if Sirius manages to make vapor out of your Potions Master, then it looks like there might be another job opening for me to consider.”

Dean raised his hand. “Er – Miss White? Is the option of vaporizing our teacher exclusive to Professor Black only? Because I’m pretty sure that I can find some very willing volunteers.”

“Yourself included, Dean?” asked Claire with a smile, while the class sniggered softly. When Dean hesitated to reply, wondering what Claire would do to him if she heard him speak ill of his professor, she added, “You only have a few more weeks with him. If you’ve lasted this long – you’ve got it made.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Ron said with a bitter, forced smile. “He doesn’t hold your fate in his hands – with N.E.W.T.’s coming up and all.”

“You’re absolutely correct,” Claire agreed, looking at him. “But if I remember correctly – your N.E.W.T.’s are the most important scores of your entire Magical training. Do you honestly believe that Professor Snape is the only one responsible for grading you? Trust me – there will be other very unbiased Testers on the panel.”

The class didn’t look convinced, which prompted Claire to add in a lighthearted tone, “Stop worrying. Believe me when I say that there are worse things than the Severus Snapes of this world.”

“And that’s supposed to make us feel better?” Ron asked, incredulous.

Claire sighed, smiling apologetically at the class, who continued to look at her apprehensively. “I can see that I’ve only made things worse. Let’s forget about Snape – and let’s move onto the assignment that I left you all with.”

The class readily agreed; eager to follow Claire’s advice and forget all about their Potions Master.

*

The Gryffindor common room was silent while Hermione and Leah sat together on the scarlet sofa, studying for their N.E.W.T.’s and O.W.L.’s respectively. The only sound that broke the persistent silence was the occasional groan of frustration that emanated from Harry and the occasional chuckle from Ron every time one of his chess pieces took out one of Harry’s.

After more than twenty minutes of this, it was Leah who eventually spoke, looking up from her Transfiguration notes to look at Harry in a speculative manner.

“If you’re so terrible at chess,” she said with a bewildered frown, “then why do you persist in challenging Ron?”

Harry shrugged, and after commanding his knight to move toward Ron’s bishop, he glanced over at Leah.

“I always manage to convince myself that I’ll catch Ron on a really bad day and finally beat him.”

“But he never does,” Hermione added, her face stuck in her Charms book. She giggled softly as Harry gave another loud groan, having lost his last castle.

“What you should have done,” Ron told Harry in professorial tones, and Harry had the suspicious feeling that his best mate was thoroughly enjoying himself, “is moved your bishop instead. That would have saved your castle and you would have taken out my knight in two moves, because I would have had to get my queen out of harm's way. Do you see?”

“I don’t understand,” Leah said, frowning slightly as Harry shook his head, berating himself for being such a blind prat. “You don’t mind helping Harry during the game?”

Ron shrugged, waiting for Harry to make his next move while the latter stared contemplatively down at the nearly empty board. “To be honest, it’s more challenging for me if I help him along.”

Harry muttered something unintelligible that could have been an insult to Ron, while still pondering over his next move.

“Because as you can see, Leah,” Ron added in a louder voice, glancing over at his girlfriend, “I could have won a very long time ago. And where’s the fun in that, eh?”

Leah dropped her book onto the table and moved from her seat next to Ron, where she watched the game with open curiosity. Harry commanded his knight to move and when it did, a satisfactory smile slowly crossed Ron’s lips.

“I can’t believe you’re not watching this, Hermione,” Leah said, turning to her. “It almost looks like Harry’s going to win, after all.”

Hermione let out a low sigh, flipping to the next page of her book without looking up. “As to your first comment, I’m not watching because I’ve seen them go at it a thousand times before. Especially when they should be pulling out their books to study.”

Harry and Ron took a moment to exchange a guilty smirk at this slight remark of disapproval.

“As for your second comment,” Hermione continued in lighter tones, “it always looks like Harry’s going to win. But he never does.”

“That’s cold,” Harry said, shooting an indignant look at his girlfriend. “And I think I resent that.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Hermione said with sweet smile as she finally looked up from her book. “But we all know who’s going to win this game. Ron isn’t the best chess player Hogwarts has seen in over a century for nothing. And don't argue, Ron -- you heard Dumbledore in First year after you played us across McGonagall's giant chess set.”

“You’re not that bad, are you, Harry?” Leah asked him while they both waited for Ron to make his move.

“It’s not that Harry is terrible,” Hermione cut in. “The truth is; Ron is just that good. He’s more of a strategic player, if you get my meaning. While Harry tends to act on instinct – without really thinking first – Ron likes to plan and consider every option from every possible angle. Those skills are what make him such a great leader.”

“Leader,” Ron scoffed distractedly, still staring avidly at the chessboard.

“You may not possess the confidence or determination that most leaders do,” Hermione added in agreement. “But you have the kind of mind that plans battles better than fighting them. And that’s not a bad thing,” she hastened to add, seeing Ron’s back stiffen slightly with resentment. “It’s those kinds of qualities that will see you rising above others. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if you became Minister for Magic someday.”

Ron snorted with disbelief, but Harry, who was facing him, could see that Hermione’s words had greatly comforted him. He suddenly felt a rush of gratitude towards Ron. After months of watching his two best friends training to become Aurors, Ron had never once shown an ounce of jealousy or envy. And yet Harry knew that deep down, somewhere, he wished he had been included. But Harry had to agree with Hermione on this one. Ron was destined for great things that even he couldn’t foresee. The same talent he possessed for being a great chess player was going to see him do great things for years and years to come.

Ron made his move, and while they all waited for Harry to make the next one, the portrait door swung open and they were soon joined by Ginny, who quickly sat next to Leah.

“You haven’t lost yet?” she asked Harry; looking slightly alarmed by this fact as she stared down at the chessboard and the very few remaining pieces.

“Your confidence in me is overwhelming,” Harry muttered, earning apologetic giggles from the three girls.

“At least Ron helps you along,” Ginny returned smoothly. “He’s merciless when he plays against a Weasley. Just ask Fred and George. Haven’t you ever wondered why they always gave Ron a hard time during their years here at Hogwarts?”

“Then what was their excuse for the way they treated Percy?” asked Hermione from behind her book.

“Because he was a pompous git. Still is, come to that,” Ron muttered, waiting patiently for Harry to take his turn. He looked over Leah’s head to his sister. “Where’ve you been?”

“I had a meeting with Snape,” Ginny told him, scrunching up her nose. “According to him, I have one of the best Potions marks in my class – which actually means that my Potions mark is my highest overall grade. He wanted to talk to me about taking the advanced class next term.”

“Wow ... advanced potions with Snape ... I can’t say that I envy you,” Ron said before another thought struck him. “Hey, Harry – didn’t Claire have the highest mark in Potions when she went to Hogwarts?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, still pondering over his next move. “It was even higher than Snape’s, according to Sirius.”

Ginny groaned softly. “I wish Claire hadn’t left all those years ago – then she could have been our Potions teacher.” She gasped, instantly slapping her hand across her mouth as Harry’s eyes met hers. “Oh – Harry – I didn’t mean it like that. Ugh, I’m such an idiot! My mouth just – runs away and – Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Harry said with the shake of his head.

In reality, he wasn’t going to lie to himself. Ginny’s words had immediately reminded him of how his classmates – either close friends or otherwise – had constantly asked him questions about his godmother over the first few weeks she had been at Hogwarts. Where had Claire been all this time? Why had she suddenly returned? And why had she left in the first place?

Hermione had been his savior on more than one occasion, threatening to take points away from their classmates’ Houses if they didn’t leave Harry alone. They had heeded Hermione’s warnings, and let Harry be. He had asked Claire these exact same questions before, and had accepted her vague answers instantaneously. He knew that there was more to the entire story, and also knew that one day, he would learn all there was to know.

“When are they leaving again?” Hermione asked Harry, interrupting his train of thought.

“Who?”

“Sirius and Claire,” Hermione elaborated, knowing he had tuned out and was smiling in spite of it. “You told me that they were leaving towards the end of May – a weekend vacation, right?”

“A romantic getaway,” Leah sighed. “It’s like a story from a novel – how enchanting! Where are they going, do you know, Harry?”

“Er – “ Harry slowly shook his head. “I think that they said something about France. But ... I’m not even sure if they’re positive about that. They might go to Australia.”

“The options are there,” Hermione added. “Since Claire just had her Apparation license renewed, they can go almost anywhere they want to.”

“Does it weird you out that both of your godparents are working at Hogwarts?” Leah asked Harry. “That would be like ... my mum and dad working here. That would be too strange.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, appearing to be thinking deeply about his next move, when in actuality he was considering Leah’s question. Without another thought, he moved his remaining bishop across the board.

“I kind of like it,” Harry finally replied. “At first, I thought Sirius would be constantly on my back about school and always trying to advise me about staying out of trouble. But he never did that – well – at least not as often as I thought he would,” he added with a wry smile.

“But he’s always shown interest in your studies,” Hermione gently corrected Harry, finally putting down her book for a moment.

“Of course,” Harry agreed. “He’s always encouraged and advised me on what my options for the future are – and I’m not saying he doesn’t care about my well-being. I think it’s a good balance. He doesn’t infringe on my personal space, and he doesn’t favor me above everyone else, either.”

“Oh, alright, Harry,” Ginny replied, rolling her eyes disbelievingly. “Of course he favors you. You are his godson,” she added pointedly.

“But he treats me like everyone else,” Harry told Ginny. “He’s there for me when I need him – like your parents are there for you when you need them. But he doesn’t make the arrangement uncomfortable – like some parents might in the same situation.”

“There’s no ‘might’ about it, Harry,” Ron put in. “I know for a fact that I wouldn’t want my mum or dad teaching here.”

“I second that,” Ginny said with a smile. “We love our parents – but they can be quite overbearing at times. They’re worriers, whereas Sirius and Claire are not. Your godparents take it day by day – and Sirius is at the point where he knows you can take care of yourself. Mum and Dad will never reach that point.”

“Maybe not with you,” Ron pointed out, and paused a moment to command his queen to move, effectively taking out Harry’s last bishop. “But you’re their only girl. Lucky you.”

“Ha! Lucky!” Ginny said scornfully, while Harry gave a groan of despair at losing another chess piece. “I’d gladly trade places with you. You think it’s the worst thing – being the youngest boy in the family with five older brothers’ accomplishments to live up to. Try having two overprotective parents and six older brothers who are always trying to advise you about life, love and sex.”

“Ginny!”

“Do you see what I mean?” Ginny asked, turning to Hermione exasperatedly. “I can’t even say the word ‘sex’ without making Ron blush as red as the sofa we’re sitting on.”

“I’m not blushing!” Ron retorted, but it was clear as day that he was. Harry tried to bite back a smile at Ron’s flustered state. “And what advice could we possibly give you about love? You don’t have a love life to speak of.”

“How the hell do you know?” Ginny returned hotly. “Just because I don’t tell you about every little detail that goes on in my life – “

“Are we really going to get into this again?” Ron exclaimed, turning his attention away from the game for a moment to glare at her. “If you have something to say to me – just say it, and be done with it!”

It was difficult to say which Weasley was more livid at the moment. They stared at each other, neither one willing to back down and admit defeat. It was this exact situation that had made Hermione lose her temper a handful of times, leaving Harry to intervene, forcing Ron and Ginny to cool down by separating them. Harry knew that that was the only option left to him at the moment, and would have no choice but to carry it out.

“Er – Ginny – do you remember asking me for the Marauder’s Map?” Harry suddenly asked, after commanding his queen to move across the board. “Why don’t I grab that for you as soon as the game is over?”

“You’re not going to have to wait long,” Ron muttered before Ginny could answer. “Checkmate.”

Harry stared, dumbfounded, at the chessboard. “Well – I guess that’s that. Come along, Ginny. I need to show you how to use the Map.”

“What map?” asked Leah as Ginny silently followed Harry up the boys’ stairs. Harry could hear Ron quietly explaining to Leah all about the Marauder’s Map as they disappeared from view.

“I know how to use the Map, Harry,” Ginny finally muttered, entering Harry’s room as he reached upwards and the room flooded in light as he waved his wand over the lamp, (remembering only too late that he could do wandless spells now).

“Good,” Harry replied, taking a few quick strides across the room to his desk where he pulled out an old blank piece of parchment. “Does Ron know why you want to use it?”

Ginny gave a dirisive snort. "If he actually knows that I'm using it to keep tabs on him so he doesn't catch me with Draco -- I'll eat a bucket full of Flobberworms. Besides, does he even care about what I'm up to?" Ginny added, folding her arms across her chest as she regarded Harry with a cool look. “You heard him downstairs. He’s so incredibly thick, he doesn’t even realize or care that I’m hiding my relationship with Draco from him.”

Harry breathed heavily through his nose, handing her the Map. “That’s what you think, Ginny,” he replied. “He, more than anyone else, knows that something is going on.”

“What’s the big deal?” Ginny asked defensively, spreading her arms out wide in a helpless gesture and flapping the Map around in the air. “You, Hermione, Sirius and Remus and everyone have been hassling me to tell my family. And just as I’m actually getting around to doing it – you stop me. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I still think you should tell Ron and the rest of your family,” Harry persisted in a patient tone. “I just don’t think you’re going about it the right way. You need to sit down with him calmly. You know how Ron can get sometimes. Yes, I agree that he’s matured greatly over the past year or two. I truly believe that Ron will be able to handle this relationship if you calmly tell him how serious you are about it. If you jump to the defensive automatically, he’s going to get very defensive in return – and that’s what you should try to avoid.”

Ginny quickly tucked the Map into her robes, nodding at Harry. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll wait for the perfect moment to tell him. It seems that he’s always distracted with something, so I may have to wait until after his N.E.W.T. exams.”

“I actually agree with that,” Harry replied. “You’ll need his complete undivided attention to tell him the news – and you won’t get that with Hermione pushing him to study all the time. Listen, Ginny. I know that the stress-level is high with exams coming up – it’s easy to lose control of your temper. But you have to try ...”

“I know, Harry,” Ginny said with an edge to her voice. “We’ve had this conversation more times than I can count. I’ve practically memorized it by now. I promise I’ll be more careful.”

There was a short pause while Ginny seemed to be considering something. She apparently came to a conclusion of some kind, because she gave a firm nod.

“Thanks for the Map,” she said. “I’ll have it back to you by the end of the year. Unless you need it sooner than that?”

Harry shook his head. “Keep it," he told her.

She raised her brows doubtfully at this. "What?"

"Keep it," Harry repeated firmly. "I'm certainly not going to need it after I graduate. It's only going to collect dust in my nightstand drawer. You still have another year to go. Keep it."

"B-but, Harry! This ... this was your father's, wasn't it?" Ginny asked, not quite willing to accept this amazing, unexpected act of generosity. "I can't possibly --"

"Keep it. It's what the Marauders would want," Harry persisted, grinning now. "You can give it back to me when you graduate – but be careful, too. That Map has helped me quite a bit over the years, but it’s also given me a lot of trouble.”

“I’ve been warned,” Ginny smirked. She smiled up at him. "Thank you, Harry." She turned and left the room, leaving Harry with an almost ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't quite explain.

*

“Clear your mind, children ... and let your Divining Spirit guide you.”

Harry and Ron stared at their purple saucers which were scattered with broken eggshells – a new way to interpret the ‘Signs’, according to Trelawney. At the beginning of their lesson, she had instructed them to break a few eggshells and gaze into their jagged edges; informing them that no two eggshells looked the same – just like no two snowflakes looked the same. Their Divination teacher was busy circling the classroom, making herself available to anyone who required her aid. But Harry had decided long ago that he would not put himself in the precarious position of having another vision.

“And how do you expect to accomplish that?” Ron whispered once Harry had told him this.

Harry leaned forward, scanning the classroom with one sweeping glance to make sure that no one was listening. Satisfied, he turned back to Ron. “Hermione and I have been practicing Occlumency as part of our Training,” he whispered. “I’m going to focus at blocking out anything that might come my way. I’m not going to go through with it again,” he added.

Ron clearly didn’t approve with Harry’s decision, giving him a look of supreme doubt. “Why would you want to do that?” he asked quietly. “You’re the only one in this entire class who has, so far, been able to predict anything worthwhile.”

“And a lot of good those predictions have done me,” Harry replied in a low, angry voice. “If I could have stopped them from coming a long time ago, I would have. I finally have the chance to prevent them from coming to me – and I’m definitely going to take full advantage.”

He recalled the heated argument he had had with Hermione over a month ago; remembering that he had told her just how much he hated the predictions. He was more serious about that now than he had been then. He was grateful that he had been re-learning Occlumency for the sake of their Auror Training. This would give him the perfect opportunity to test it out – and see if he had been practicing hard enough.

Ron had given up the attempt to convince Harry that his visions were useful as he sat back in his seat, staring at the broken pieces of eggshells on his saucer with a frown of disapproval on his face.

“I can’t see anything,” Ron muttered. “This is pointless.”

Harry sniggered sympathetically, growing silent as he began to focus on blocking out anything that might be forcing its way to him. He closed his eyes, clearing his mind of thought and emotion. When he opened his eyes, he found he was in a complete state of control and could even allow himself to stare down at the eggshells, which did not appear to be a threat to him in the least.

“Have you seen anything, my dears?” Trelawney asked in a fluttery whisper, kneeling between Harry and Ron. “Any ... visions? No, Mr. Weasley? Well, perhaps you should focus more intently. And what about you, Mr. Potter?”

Keeping his mind completely focused on not seeing anything, Harry shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Professor.”

Trelawney looked somewhat alarmed with Harry’s answer. “Nothing at all? Try harder, dear – please.”

Harry could feel her magnified eyes boring into his skull as he leaned forward over the saucer, staring down at it and giving his teacher the impression that he was really trying to focus on receiving a signal of any kind. He felt a jab of guilt in the general region of his stomach, but decided in the end that he was doing the right thing.

“I can’t see anything, Professor,” Harry told her after a minute of pretending to focus.

“Try again,” Trelawny urged, sounding desperate. “I know you can do this, Harry.”

Harry “tried” again, and a moment later, with an air of giving up on seeing anything, Harry sat back in his seat, pretending to look thoroughly distressed over the fact that nothing had come to him. Trelawney gave him a look of utter disappointment.

“Well ... It’s no real wonder, I suppose ... it’s very easy to get distracted knowing that N.E.W.T.’s are around the corner,” she replied sadly, standing up. She smoothed down her beads as she looked at her students. “The Inner Eye cannot be manipulated into functioning whenever you desire,” she added, as though trying to remind herself of this fact as she addressed the entire class. “You can only attempt to stimulate It. Now class,” she added. “I will ask you to throw out the eggshells and put the saucers back onto the shelf. Then I will ask you to turn to chapter 34, page 387 in your textbooks.”

There was a collective movement around the class as every student withdrew their wands and exclaimed, “Scourgify!” while pointing at their eggshells. Once the saucers were clean, Harry’s classmates did as Trelawney asked and returned the saucers to where they had procured them. A moment later, everyone had their books out and Harry found that they would be studying the Star Charts.

After five minutes of listening to Trelawney ramble on about the mysteries of the constellations, the bell rang and she reminded the class that they would be studying Star charts for the remainder of the school year, until it was time to take their N.E.W.T.’s, and she then assigned them homework for the next few evenings.

“Lovely,” Ron muttered, gathering his things and standing up. “Who even cares about the sodding stars these days?”

Harry didn’t answer as he and Ron made their way to the exit behind their other classmates. Harry turned and caught Draco through his peripheral vision. Harry gave a nod of acknowledgment, which he returned.

“Potter ...“ Trelawney’s misty voice called out. “Potter, may I take a moment of your time and exchange a word with you?”

“Go ahead,” Harry told Ron, nudging him forward as the class thinned out by exiting through the trapdoor. “I’ll meet you in the common room.”

Ron shot a look at their teacher and decided that he didn’t want to hang around to wait anymore than Harry wanted to have a conversation with Trelawney. He nodded and left the classroom, and was soon followed by Draco.

“Have a seat, my dear,” Trelawney said, motioning with her hand to a chair which was seated in front of her desk. “I would like to discuss a serious matter with you ... and I am hoping that you will be completely truthful with me.”

“What is it, Professor?”

Trelawney sat down behind her desk, looking Harry square in the eyes with her magnified ones. “I was wondering if you could tell me something about your visions ... Have ... any of them ... come to pass?”

“No, Professor,” Harry quickly lied, wishing he could just forget about them. They hadn’t done him any good so far ... why would he want to dredge it all up again? Especially with someone as batty as Trelawney?

“Are you sure?” Trelawney pressed, sounding relatively unconvinced.

“Absolutely,” Harry lied again.

Trelawney sighed heavily with a slow nod. “Alright, my dear,” she said, with a disappointed look on her face. “You may –“

But what Harry “may”, he never found out. In that moment, Trelawney’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, which fell forward so Harry could see the top of it. He stood up and peered closely at his professor, wondering if she had dozed off.

“Professor?”

Instantly, Trelawney’s head snapped upwards and her eyes looked straight into Harry – turning his heart to ice with her dreadfully cold stare. And when she spoke, Harry’s entire body froze along with his heart, as though her voice was speaking from the deepest pit of Hell.

“By blood, by wood, by dragon fire;
The darkness wakes, the lamps expire.
The stars look down from deepest night
As darkness swallows up the light.

Unseen, the endless circle turns
Its face upon the earth it spurns.
And when the circle closes, all
Before the night will prostrate fall.

With no beginning, nor an end
The circle turns o'er foe and friend.
The spirit in its prison cries
The voiceless sings, the deathless dies.

The midnight hour strikes; the key
Unlocks the door to set Death free.
The heavens quail before the One;
The circle closes...all is done.”

Just like she had done four years ago, Trelawney’s voice ceased altogether and her head fell forward onto her chest while Harry stood there, wondering if he should wait for her to wake up or if he should just leave, knowing that she would be fine once she awakened. But before he could make a decision, Trelawney’s head snapped up and she looked at Harry with a curious frown.

“My dear boy,” she said in her regular, dreamy voice. “Are you still here?”

“I – I’m sorry,” Harry said. “You … you just … “

“Have you something important to tell me?” Trelawney asked eagerly. “Do go on, my dear.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but he knew that she would not recall what she had said. He could argue with her until he was blue in the face, but she would remain completely ignorant of the incident.

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry finally answered as he firmly shook his head, his heart thumping madly with leftover terror from watching her in her trance.

“Well, my dear, go on then!” Trelawney insisted, waving him away with her hand. “You’ll be late for your next class.”

Harry sighed heavily and departed, making his way to his Defense classroom, knowing that Ron and Hermione would have already started to make their way there.

The circle closes ... all is done, Harry thought to himself, reciting the words in his mind. But what circle? What is done? What did it all mean?

Maybe it wasn’t a prediction after all, he thought reasonably. The information was too vague ...

But ironically enough, it was his logic that disagreed with this argument. He had seen Trelawney go into a similar trance before. At the age of 13, he had no way of knowing what it had been until Dumbledore had explained to him what it meant. But he was older now. And he realized that he didn’t need Dumbledore this time to tell him that Trelawney had just made her third official prediction to date.

***

Special Thanks: Credit for Trelawney's Prophecy goes directly to Gary Skinner. I couldn't take credit for that if I TRIED. (What do you MEAN apple doesn't rhyme with pear?) Anyway -- more to the point -- he's a genius and a wonderful friend. (I just turned a year older yesterday and he wrote me a wonderful, amazing story as a birthday present. You'll see it posted here at Portkey in a month or two). Thanks again to everyone! And just so you know, there won't be as long of a wait for the next chapter. At this point, it's very close to being finished. See you soon!

23. Secrets and Lies

Circle's Close

Chapter 23:Secrets and Lies
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: fae.princess@gmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G. This is a sequel to "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Harry and Hermione discuss the finer points of Trelawney's prediction while reminiscing about the past ...
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended. In addition: Anything you don't recognize belongs to me. Except for Leah... She's Ron's girl.

Special Thanks: As always, to Gary Skinner for his excellent, top-notch beta skills, and for making this story as much fun as it is to write. And I'd also like to thank him for being there to chase away my doubts -- with just about everything.

And second, though certainly not least, to the people still reading and reviewing this story. Hope you like this chapter! (Though I imagine I'll get a few complaints. Read on and find out why).

***

"Knut for your thoughts?"

There was a small pause as Harry tightened his hold around Hermione's abdomen, pulling her closer to him and nuzzling her bushy hair with his nose. His back was pressed uncomfortably against a beech tree which stood near the edge of the lake, but this didn't concern him in the least.

"The only thing on my mind right now is just how much I love you," Harry finally answered, and he felt, rather than saw, her smile at his response.

"Is that all?" asked Hermione, and there was a distinct note of apprehension in her tone that didn't go unnoticed to Harry, though he was sure that she didn't want him to see how concerned she actually was.

"You're thinking about the prediction," Harry automatically guessed, and her back involuntarily stiffened against him. He kissed her behind her ear at an attempt to ease her anxiety over the issue, and was rewarded when she slowly relaxed in his arms.

Yesterday afternoon, Trelawney had made her eerie prediction in the classroom, and Harry had told Hermione and Ron about it immediately after their Defense lesson with Sirius. And while they hadn't had the opportunity to discuss the prediction since then, Harry had a feeling that Hermione was anxious to talk about it and perhaps dig beneath the surface of the words in the prediction.

"What do you reckon?" Harry asked Hermione.

"The first words of the prediction included a mention of ... blood, dragon fire and wood, didn't it?" Hermione said, and continued on once Harry nodded. "I've been doing a bit of thinking about the wood ... and the dragon fire."

"Me, too," Harry said. "Dragon fire -- could that be Hagrid's dragons?"

"Or the mother," Hermione suggested darkly. "Hagrid has been adamant from the beginning that the mother was kidnapped, and now we have actual reason to believe that that's the truth."

"Who would steal a full-grown Bulgarian Devil Bane?" asked Harry. "And -- more importantly -- why?"

"Well, that's what I asked myself a couple days ago, too," Hermione admitted slowly. "And then it hit me: Death Eaters."

An unexpected light of awareness lit up inside Harry's mind as realization dawned on him. "And with Voldemort vanquished," he said, thinking deeply, "that means that the Death Eaters are more than likely planning to rally together -- they're probably doing it right now -- as we speak."

"Except that the majority of them are locked up in Azkaban," Hermione reminded him. "Before they can unite and return to their old tricks -- murder, torture --"

"Killing me --" added Harry wryly.

"-- they need one, very important thing," Hermione continued as though Harry hadn't spoken. "The very same thing which was taken from them upon their conviction."

"Their wands," Harry concluded. "They had their wands snapped before they were chucked to the Dementors -- and if they do escape -- "

"They'll need new wands. And I don't think that they'll be returning to Mr. Ollivander to supply them with what they need."

"You think that they're going to make their own wands," Harry told her, finding this assumption more believable than he cared for.

"The mother-dragon must play a major role in this," Hermione told Harry. "Dark wizards, I find, seem to favor dragon heartstrings in their wands more than any other core. And the Bulgarian Devil's Bane is the darkest breed of dragons that exist. Dark dragon equals dark magic. And then ..." she added in a dramatic whisper, "there's the wood which they intend to use to make the wands."

"From the sound of that," Harry said with a pale smile, "I take it you don't think they'll just cut down the first tree they find swarming with bowtruckles and carve it up into wands?"

Hermione shook her head, craning her neck to look up at him. "The Hanging Tree," she told him. Harry nodded gravely, agreeing with her logic, because it just made too much sense to dismiss it. "We already know that the Tree has been destroyed by powerful, dark magic," Hermione resumed. "But we never knew for what purpose. It's like the wizard in the Christmas article said: where has all the wood gone? But if you combine the potency of the mother-dragon and the darkness of the Hanging Tree -- imagine what their wands could do once they were completed."

"They'll have a power more foul than anyone has yet faced," Harry told her. "One Death Eater would be easy enough to take care of, providing the one facing him was a highly-skilled Auror. But a legion of Death Eaters, bent on destruction, murder, and vengeance?"

"There has been no recent news about any major break-out from Azkaban," Hermione added. "But it's only a matter of time. It's just like the line from the prediction: The midnight hour strikes; the key unlocks the door to set death free. We don't know when it's going to happen. But even if we did, we'd have to let the Order and the Aurors handle it, because your fight is over, Harry. Voldemort is gone."

Hermione paused and seemed to sense his agitation, because in that moment she turned to face him and she cupped his face in her palm, soothing out the wrinkles of worry across forehead. "I'm not naïve enough to believe that the Death Eaters won't come looking for you. The Princess may have stripped them of their master, but they will blame you. And when the time comes ... we'll stand and fight -- together. We've been training for five solid months now, and even Remus says that if anything happened right now, we'd be ready. And I believe him."

Harry turned his face and kissed her palm in answer, before she let it drop back into her lap, a silent indication that dropping the topic of the prediction was probably best for the moment. And Harry was glad for it. He pushed the prediction to the back of his mind and focused entirely on the woman in his arms.

Silence fell over the two lovers as they stared up at the velvet night sky, tiny diamonds winking down at them from above. There was a nagging feeling in the back of Harry's mind as he watched the multiple patterns of stars, and he laughed to himself as he realized that he had become much more attentive to the stars ever since Trelawney had assigned them their homework the day before.

"Did you know that a year ago today, these stars were in the exact same position as they are now?" Harry asked Hermione. She smiled, craning her neck to look lovingly into his face.

"I hadn't the faintest idea," she said, trying her best to conceal a teasing grin.

Harry frowned with mocking displeasure. "Liar," he accused lightheartedly. "Here I am ... trying to impress you with my incredible knowledge -- "

Hermione cut him off, turning completely in his arms and kissing him full on the lips. She pulled back, gazing into his eyes. "You should know by now, love, that it takes much, much more than that to impress me."

"Oh?" asked Harry, and after kissing her back he licked his lips, quirked a brow and added, "Flowers, then?"

"Well, I suppose it would be rather difficult to top this," she admitted, holding up her right hand and wiggling her third finger. The Promise ring gleamed under the light of the moon and stars, showing off the three symbols of trust, loyalty and love.

"You still like that thing, huh?" Harry teased and Hermione drew back in mock horror, cradling her ring as though he had just insulted her newborn child. He laughed, drawing her back into her arms and rubbing her right hand affectionately.

"This thing," Hermione said, sounding affronted, "saved my life a year ago."

"A year ago," Harry said disbelievingly, his hands sliding back down to her abdomen as she leaned back into him. "Has a year gone by already?"

"You tell me, star-gazer," Hermione said with a soft smile as she looked up at the cloudless, star-filled sky. "This Sunday will mark the one year anniversary of Voldemort's destruction -- and our contribution to freeing Princess Amara."

Harry gave a start, peering down into Hermione's face, which was still staring up at the sky, fixed in a dreamy expression that looked all too familiar.

"Princess Amara?" he asked, and her eyes slid over to meet his. "Since when does she have a name? And how do you know what it is?"

"Of course she has a name!" Hermione laughed. "Exactly how do you think her subjects addressed her when she was alive? As for how I learned of it -- you'd get a more satisfactory answer out of your godmother."

Harry made a sound of dawning comprehension. He remembered, from over a month ago when Claire had re-entered their lives, that she had appeared positively elated upon seeing Hermione's Promise ring (which Claire still referred to as the Friendship ring). And he remembered, too, when Claire had mentioned writing a research paper in her 7th year about myths -- focusing mostly on the legend of the Friendship ring, and the Spirit which had once inhabited it.

"She's a fountain of knowledge, your godmother," Hermione continued with approval.

"Just like you," Harry said proudly. "It's odd to think of the Princess as something more than just a nameless spirit. It makes her feel more real, somehow." He paused and sighed, thinking about that fateful night that had taken place almost one year ago. "I hope she realizes just how grateful we are to her. A whole year without Voldemort -- it doesn't get any better than that."

"How about our whole lives?" Hermione said with a smile. "Just as Princess Amara once said ... his reign of terror has ended. We may have his loyal followers to face, but soon they will be no more. Personally, I wish there was a way that we could repay the Princess. I did have this one thought ..."

Harry frowned. "What kind of thought?" he asked uncertainly, wondering what ideas were working themselves out behind her brown eyes.

"Well -- I was thinking about the Eternal from the Golden Eagle," Hermione said in a sort of dreamy whisper. "Maybe ... if we passed a message to her ... she could ... I don't know ... pass it along to the Princess," she finished lamely.

Harry continued to stare at her and only when she blinked up innocently at him did he say, "What has the Eternal got to do with the Princess?"

Hermione's twinkling laughter put him in such a state of bewilderment that his mind fogged over and he missed her answer. After he asked her to repeat herself, she sighed, looking up at him apologetically.

"Sometimes, I forget to tell you the simplest things," she said, sounding amused. "Often, I just assume that Claire will fill you in where I have not. Princess Amara is an Eternal -- or she was when she was alive."

Harry's mouth dropped. "She was a -- since when?" Seeing the light twinkle of mirth in her eyes, Harry passed his hand over his forehead, skimming his lightning bolt scar while he continued to look at her, finding it difficult to accept this new information.

"Claire only gave me a brief history of the Eternals," Hermione answered matter-of-factly. "Her report did not involve Eternals -- but she had to research them nonetheless, to understand the legend of the Ring better. She told me that Princess Amara was the last of the Royal Family in the Final War that took place over a thousand years ago, effectively destroying nearly the entire Eternal race. I can't remember the name of the Dark Sorcerer who initially led the opposing side and Cursed the Princess -- you'll have to ask Claire when you get the chance."

Harry shook his head. "They're immortal -- how could that war wipe out the entire race?"

"They can die in battle," Hermione informed him, and he nodded, deciding that this made perfect sense. "Or if they choose to become mortal -- which had never happened in their time because they were all content to be immortal. It wasn't until after the Final War that the few remaining Eternals gave up their immortality. If you'll recall, I mentioned that Eternals are as rare as a true Seer. I meant what I said. As far as we know, there are only three who exist to this day."

"There's the one who works at the Golden Eagle," Harry said.

"She doesn't work there," Hermione corrected him gently. "Meaning, she doesn't get paid to be there. She just is there ... she enjoys being surrounded by people. She was also present when the Princess had the Curse placed on her -- and her ring."

"Her ring?" asked Harry -- staring down at the Promise ring. "I thought the Dark wizard was the one who created it."

"It was Amara's ring -- a family legacy," Hermione elaborated. "There was a ritual of a sort to protect Amara's spirit ... but no one really knows how or what the three Eternals did. I suppose that the only way to find out for sure is to ask Cytheria."

"Who?"

"The Eternal from the Golden Eagle," Hermione quickly replied. "Yes, she has a name, too. She's the Eternal of Love." Seeing the puzzled look on Harry's face, she smiled and continued. "During the time of the Final War, there were three significant Eternals who were close to the royal family -- the same Eternals who are alive to this day. I don't know the names of the other two, nor does Claire. We only know, from occasional reports, that one currently lives in South America. As for the other Eternal, we're uncertain.

"In the Peaceful days, before the War, each Eternal represented a special, very powerful spiritual emotion -- for lack of better words. It seems that each Eternal represents a symbol on this Ring --" she lifted up her right hand. "The heart, obviously, represents love -- which is Cytheria's domain."

"What about the other two?" asked Harry, running his finger across a golden star and a simple flower with five petals, which sat on either side of the golden heart.

"The flower symbolizes loyalty, that's my best guess," Hermione said. "And the star represents trust. But -- like I said before -- no one really knows for certain where the other two Representing Eternals are. Their names have never been recorded by any hand, witch, wizard or Muggle."

"What if they're ... not around anymore?"

"They haven't passed on," Hermione said determinedly. "And they haven't given up their immortality. They're around ... somewhere. They're still connected to this ring, you know. Just as the Princess is. I sometimes wonder if they're all connected to each other because of this Ring."

Harry thought about the Eternal at the Golden Eagle and considered Hermione's suggestion about speaking with her. "Why don't we go tomorrow to visit her?"

Hermione looked up at him. "Well, tomorrow is our last Hogsmeade trip of the year, and I already promised Claire I'd watch over the hospital wing for her during that day. So we can't go along with everyone else."

"Fair enough," Harry replied. "We'll go on Sunday. We can make a special trip -- just you and me. I think it would be rather fitting, don't you? We can celebrate Voldemort's destruction by honoring the memory of the person who vanquished him."

Hermione nodded, smiling happily as she leaned back into him. "I can't think of a better way to spend that day. I'm sure Dumbledore will give his Head Boy and Girl permission to go. But we'll have to ask by tomorrow -- since both Dumbledore and McGonagall are spending the weekend in London."

Harry's eyes widened. "What? Since when?"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "It's almost amusing the way you slip in and out of consciousness whenever Dumbledore is speaking with us."

"Why are they going to London?" asked Harry, ignoring Hermione's remark. "And why are they going for the whole weekend?"

"They have to, don't they?" asked Hermione. "They have about ten meetings to attend concerning Hogwarts' curriculum for next year -- and since all the meetings are spread out over the span of two days to accommodate other work schedules, Dumbledore and McGonagall plan to stay overnight."

"I don't seem to recall previous London trips where Dumbledore and McGonagall both had to leave," Harry said. "I take it that this doesn't happen every year?"

"Every decade," Hermione answered with a small smile. "Typically, the meetings go by rather smoothly, from what Dumbledore explained to us. Of course, this also means that they'll be leaving --"

"-- Snape in charge," Harry finished bitterly. He suddenly remembered a small mention of the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress departing for one weekend. He hadn't realized that it was this particular weekend, however.

"Well, they have to do this before exams begin," Hermione explained, smiling with sympathy. "I'm sure Snape won't be that bad."

Realization hit Harry squarely between the eyes. "Sirius and Claire won't be here, either! This is bloody fantastic," he muttered sarcastically.

"Have they made a decision on where they want to go already?" Hermione asked delicately, her sympathy for Harry growing more pronounced.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, resting his head on the back of the beech tree and staring up at the night sky. "They're going to Canada ..."

"To visit Claire's parents, I presume?" asked Hermione. "I thought they ... didn't exactly like ... Sirius," she hesitated to say.

"They don't," Harry confirmed. "Claire and Sirius are not staying with them. They're taking up a motel and they'll be spending the whole weekend picking up the last of Claire's things and sending them randomly to Hogwarts via Knight Bus. She has a few loose ends to tie up before she moves here permanently. She didn't exactly give everyone a proper goodbye when she left, because she didn't know she wouldn't be going back."

"I'm glad she didn't," Hermione admitted softly. "But I wonder ..."

"What?" asked Harry.

Hermione smiled up at him. "They were engaged twenty years ago. They didn't technically break up, you know. They were just on an involuntary separation."

"Yeah," Harry said.

"I'm just curious about whether that still makes them an engaged couple is all," Hermione said, her smile wider than ever.

"I've thought of that," Harry admitted with a small smile. "I wouldn't mind it if they informed me about their current status. But I imagine that they're still adapting."

"Are you certain about that?" Hermione asked skeptically.

Harry laughed softly. "I'm rarely certain about anything," he told her. "Except for this." Harry lifted her chin up and kissed her deeply on the lips. "I love you."

Hermione smiled, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Though she didn't voice the words out loud, Harry was pleased to discover Hermione's heart echo his exact sentiments.

*

Early Saturday morning, Harry made his way to Sirius's private chambers to spend a few moments with him before his two godparents left for Hogsmeade, where they would directly Apparate to a small town in the Canadian prairies, where Claire's family lived. He thought about Snape taking over as Headmaster during the weekend and cringed, privately wishing that Claire and Sirius had decided to leave the following weekend instead. And then he took the wish back. His godparents needed this time alone.

He knocked on the door and waited patiently for a response. When there wasn't an answer, he frowned, knocked again and then opened the door, wondering what was keeping Sirius from asking him to enter. When his eyes scanned the shadowy room, he gave a slight start as his eyes landed on Sirius's bed.

"Er -- Remus?"

Remus looked up from the latest edition of the Quibbler he was reading, the upper half of his body propped against pillows while his legs were stretched out along the length of the bed. The older wizard pressed a finger to his lips and pointed at his lap, and Harry noticed for the first time the small figure curled up in a fetal position, the dark head resting comfortably on Remus's lap, a slender arm slinked around his waist.

Claire was obviously sleeping, as was indicated by her slow, steady breathing and the fact that Remus was silently requesting Harry to not make any kind of noise that would startle his godmother from her nap. Remus then pointed to the same direction where Sirius's bathroom lay beyond the main sitting area. Harry nodded his thanks, gave one last look at Claire and Remus, and silently moved past the sofa and into the small hallway.

Harry found Sirius shaving in the bathroom. The older wizard rinsed his razor in the sink in front of him just as Harry entered.

"Just getting myself cleaned up before we go," Sirius told him. "It's been nearly twenty years since Claire's parents last saw me. How much do you want to bet that this won't make a difference in the least?"

"Aren't Claire's parents teachers?" asked Harry. "That's something you have in common with them. I'm sure that they'll find it somewhere in their hearts to find respect for you -- if nothing else."

Sirius snorted but didn't answer, running the razor across his jaw. "I would have used magic to do this," Sirius finally said. "It's certainly quicker, but much too difficult an art to master. Claire usually helps me, anyhow -- but as you saw when you walked in, she's unavailable at the moment."

Harry frowned. "Yeah ... about that ... Why's Remus here? Not that I'm complaining, of course," he hastened to add.

"Albus invited him over breakfast," Sirius answered. "He's technically not due for his visit for another half hour, so he's keeping us company until we depart."

After Sirius had finished shaving, they made their way from the bathroom back to the bedroom, where Remus was still scanning the Quibbler with a crooked smile on his face, as though he had come across something particularly amusing. Claire was still comatose on his lap.

Remus looked up at Sirius and nodded approvingly at his clean-shaven face.

"Think it'll impress her parents?" Sirius whispered while running his hand across his smooth chin and nodding at Claire.

Remus chuckled lightly and shook his head. Sirius gave a helpless shrug, looking down at Claire with tender eyes.

"Poor girl," he murmured to Harry. "She doesn't sleep well at night when she's feeling anxious, so it's good that she's getting that extra hour right now. She needs her rest. She'll need to be fully alert for the trip," he said and added after seeing Harry's puzzled expression, "The wider the distance, the trickier Apparation becomes. She'll need all her strength. But you already knew that," he added with a grin.

"Why is she anxious?" Harry whispered back. "I would think she'd be excited to go back -- to see all her old friends after all these weeks."

"She is," Sirius replied, motioning for him to follow as he walked across the room and sat on the sofa, which was positioned directly in front of the fireplace. "She's just worried about her parents."

"Why would she be?" Harry asked, somewhat perplexed.

Sirius glanced at Claire's sleeping form before turning back to Harry and replying. "She knows that no matter what, her parents are going to be livid about her getting back together with me. They consider me old news -- a part of Claire's past which they believe she would never want to revisit. The good news is -- your godmother doesn't care. She never really did, as you know. I was the one who was insistent on receiving the Whites' approval before marrying her."

"I hope you're not going to make that mistake twice," Harry said, and wondered if he had just overstepped his bounds. He reluctantly stood up, preparing to make his return back to the common room. "I just wanted to tell you both to have a good trip -- and -- I --"

"What is it?" asked Sirius, looking up at his godson. "Are you feeling alright?" He stood up and peered closely into his face.

"I'm fine," Harry insisted, brushing off his concern. He felt a slow blush creeping up from his neck and spreading across his cheeks. He had had an initial reason for coming here, but now, he couldn't even bring himself to voice it.

"You're not fine," Sirius said, the whisper vanishing from his voice as he began to talk in low, strong tones. "What's on your mind, son?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. How could he ask Sirius what he wanted to ask him? He had come here for advice -- and maybe even some support. But he felt more like a child now than he ever had before. And here he was, trying to approach his godfather with one of the most mature subjects he had ever been faced with.

"Son of a hippogriff," Sirius breathed, looking at him with his wide, gray eyes as realization dawned on him. "You're going to propose!"

A startled cry rent the air and before Harry knew it; his godmother had practically flown across the room and knocked him over with a strength that was uncannily like Hagrid's as she squeezed the life out of him. Sirius and Remus (the latter of whom was standing up from the bed) both chuckled while Harry struggled to stay on his feet. Claire pulled herself away, cradling Harry's face in her palms as she stared adoringly up into his face.

Harry's eyes widened. "You cut your hair! It looks great!" he exclaimed.

Claire beamed up at him. "Almost eight solid inches from the bottom -- but never mind that!" she exclaimed suddenly, immediately realizing Harry's intent to throw her off-track. "I only have one piece of advice, Harry: don't let anything get in the way of your marriage to Hermione. In fact, do everything in your power to make sure it happens. Sirius and I learned the hard way. Don't repeat our mistakes."

"We make them so you can learn from them," Sirius told Harry, placing a gentle hand on Claire's shoulder while Remus stood on her other side, smiling.

"Congratulations, Harry," Remus said kindly. "We knew you'd get there someday ... it was simply a question of time."

Harry fought the onrush of emotion that spread from head to toe, finding it almost impossible to say what was in his mind and heart. All he knew was how grateful he felt to have such a strong support system nearby; and how deeply he wished that his godparents weren't leaving this weekend.

"Do ... do you think it's a good idea?" Harry asked uncertainly, half expecting them to change their minds and tell him that he was too young, too inexperienced, or whatever else they could come up with.

"Harry, it's the best idea you've ever had," Sirius told him, grinning more broadly than ever. "If you're searching for discouragement, then you're in the wrong place. I'm sure Snape would be more than accommodating, however."

"Not now, Snuffles," Claire said reprovingly, looking up at him. He grinned back before she returned her eyes to Harry. "But he is right, sweetheart. You love Hermione. There isn't much more to it than that."

Harry smiled, feeling a rush of relief he couldn't even begin to measure.

"When's the big day?" asked Remus.

Harry swallowed. "I ... I was thinking that tomorrow might be a good day. We have a date that evening at the Golden Eagle."

"Sunday evening," Sirius mused. "We're planning to return shortly before midnight -- so we'll be here to congratulate you properly. And listen to your godmother, Harry. Don't be an ignorant prat like I was by convincing yourself that you have all the time in the world."

Over the course of half an hour, while Sirius packed the rest of his belongings, they all discussed possible wedding plans -- and what Harry and Hermione's future held in store for them. After their conversation, Claire gave both Harry and Remus a goodbye kiss on the cheek while Sirius pulled Harry into a one-armed hug, wishing him good luck (though admitting that he wouldn't need it) and clapping Remus on the shoulder in farewell.

"Do you really think it's safe for Sirius to re-introduce himself to the Whites so soon?" Harry asked Remus after his godparents had left.

"Oh, yes," Remus assured him with a knowing nod. "Claire's father is alright most of the time -- it's her mother Sirius has to worry about. But I can assure you that your godparents will be fine."

Harry nodded, feeling slightly better about the situation his godfather was putting himself in. "Well, since Hermione and I are going to be in Hogsmeade on Sunday," he reminded Remus, "maybe we could pop on by after dinner. I'm sure Hermione, providing she accepts my proposal, will want you to be one of the first to hear the official news."

"First, she's going to accept," Remus replied as he moved around the room, randomly tidying things, including making the bed with the wave of his hand. "And secondly, I would be delighted to welcome your visit."

"Excellent," Harry said. They exited the room together, Remus locking the door with his wand, and they parted ways as Remus made his way to Dumbledore's office, Harry returning to his common room.

Harry felt relieved that Sirius, Claire and Remus were extremely supportive of his intention to propose to Hermione. All he had to do now was to wait patiently for Sunday evening to arrive. If the year before was any indication, then Sunday in Hogsmeade would be -- quite possibly -- even more promising than the day he and Hermione had voiced their love to each other.

*

Sunday morning, while Hermione slept on (no doubt from staying up so late the night before to study) Harry went into his trunk and moved aside his Invisibility Cloak to take out his Firebolt. He spent a good portion of an hour flying over the grounds, trying to chase away the butterflies in his stomach. He had never felt more anxious over anything in his entire life.

You would think, Harry, that you'd feel a little bit more confident. After all, Hermione loves you and you've been talking about marriage for almost a year now.

Yes, Harry agreed with the voice in his head. There was no real reason to feel nervous. But there was always the chance that Hermione could have changed her mind. He would know, one way or another, that same evening.

After flying a bit more, and taking a quick shower, Harry ascended the stairs leading to Gryffindor tower. He gave the password to the Fat Lady and climbed through the portrait hole, straightening as he made his way to the sofa where Leah was sitting -- talking with Ron in docile tones.

Almost everywhere Harry looked, he could see groups of students either playing games to de-stress and pass away the time, or he could see that some were studying for their finals. The Creevey brothers were among the former students and even Parvati and Lavender were testing each other on Charms in a secluded corner of the common room.

Harry dropped into the armchair opposite them, hardly noticing that Ron was trying to get his attention, as his mind was preoccupied with how he was officially going to ask Hermione to marry him. He felt something hit his face, and realized that Leah had rolled up her cardigan and tossed it at him. When he looked up, Leah was holding a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror and apology.

"I ran into Snape just after breakfast," Ron repeated with a knowing grin on his face, as though he knew the exact reason why Harry's mind had drifted (and since Ron had been the first person Harry had told about the proposal, this was very possible). "He wanted you and Hermione to have this." He pulled out a small, crisp envelope which read "Mr. Head Boy." Harry could practically hear the sarcasm calling out to him from the envelope and he smiled in spite of it.

He opened the letter and scanned it, shaking his head and shrugging with finality. "Fine with me -- if that's the way he wants it."

"Wants what?" asked Ron and Leah together.

"Oh ... nothing really important," Harry said sarcastically. "At least -- it's not important to him. He just wants me to know that I'm not to bother him this weekend." He glanced at the letter and said, "Snape claims that he -- being in charge of Hogwarts for the whole weekend -- has high expectancies from both me and Hermione and he doesn't want us go to him with trivial matters that can be handled by one of us."

"That lazy git," Ron snarled. "He just doesn't want to do any of the work!"

"Yeah, well," Harry said with another shrug. "I'm surprised he waited until today to inform us of his little rule. What difference does it make when Dumbledore will be back around midnight? Anyway, where is Hermione? Is she awake yet?"

"Yeah," Ron muttered. "She's in a right state. Said something about her ring -- didn't quite catch what it was, though."

Leah frowned at Ron before looking at Harry. "She said that her ring was missing -- but that was about ten minutes ago. She hasn't been down since, so I'm sure that she's found it by now."

"Thanks," Harry said, and without further ado he made his way up the stairs to find Hermione. Approaching her door, he rapped softly before opening it all the way.

Hermione was sitting on her bed, her knees drawn up as she hugged them to her chest. If Harry hadn't known her as well as he did, he would not have known that the wetness in her eyes were tears of panic and confusion. She looked up as he entered and his stomach sank to his feet as a tear slid down her cheek.

"Hermione?" he asked, rushing over to her. He sat next to her, pulling her stiff body into his arms as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to return where they had come from. He rubbed her arms, kissing the top of her bushy hair. Judging from her appearance, it was clear to him that Hermione hadn't been able to locate her missing ring.

"It's gone, Harry," she said in an aching whisper. "I woke up -- and it was gone. I don't understand!" she added, hysteria taking over. "I never take it off for anything. How could it have just vanished?"

"You're sure it's not in this room?" Harry asked, knowing the answer, but trying to remain optimistic.

"I tried the Tracking Charm I placed on it ages ago," Hermione informed him, shaking her head in bewilderment. "But when I performed it ten minutes ago, there was no indication that the Ring was in this room. It's gone."

"Let's try the common room -- and if we can't find it there, it might be in the library and we'll keep looking until we do find it," Harry promised, taking her hand in his and pulling her up from the bed.

"It won't be in the common room," Hermione told him, sniffling as she rose up with him. "It's nowhere on this side of the castle."

"But --" Harry looked at her with bewilderment. "I thought you didn't know where it is?"

Hermione wiped her hair from her face, trying to regain her composure as she looked at Harry. "The Tracking Charm pointed my wand towards the North end of this room, at which point I activated the Alert-me Charm. Basically, my ring was supposed to give off a loud beeping noise in order for me to locate it. But when I performed the Charm, there was nothing to indicate that the ring was in this room."

"Then ... if the ring isn't in this room ... and your wand was pointing North ..."

"It could be anywhere in the castle between here and North Tower," Hermione finished. "But -- how did it get there, when I know I had it last night when I went to bed?"

Harry squeezed her hand reassuringly. "We'll learn the answer to that when we find it -- and we will. We won't rest until that ring is back on your finger -- alright?"

Without waiting for a response, he led her out of the room and down the stairs, returning once more to the common room.

"Found it, Hermione?" Ron called from the sofa. Ginny, Seamus, Neville, and Dean had joined Ron and Leah.

Hermione shook her head in answer to Ron's query and Harry caught the frown on Ginny's face. Harry quickly explained and Ginny sighed sympathetically. "We'll help you look for it, Hermione. Won't we, guys?" she asked her Quidditch team. Everyone nodded readily before Ron spoke up again.

"I thought you had a hundred Charms and Jinxes protecting that ring," he said to Hermione.

"I did -- I do," Hermione quickly replied, running a shaky hand through her brown hair. "And I ... I don't think I lost it, to be honest. I -- I think it was stolen."

Ginny's eyes widened along with Leah's.

"What made you come to that conclusion, love?" Harry asked her. She hadn't said anything to him about it in her bedroom. Had she just made that assumption now? And now that he thought of it, was it only just an assumption?

"I didn't lose it," Hermione said, sounding increasingly sure of herself. She looked at Harry, pleading for him to believe her. "I went to bed with the Ring on my finger -- I'd stake my life on it."

"You don't sleepwalk, by any chance?" asked Neville timidly. "I -- I've been known to do it ... sometimes that's how I lose my stuff, too."

Hermione smiled kindly at Neville. "I've never sleepwalked in my life," she insisted. "Otherwise, I would probably have considered that first and foremost."

"If someone stole it," said Seamus in a tone of disbelief, "then that means that that person is a Gryffindor -- right, Hermione? Are you saying that a fellow Housemate took your ring?"

The others looked to Hermione, wondering if this was what she was actually trying to imply. But Hermione sighed, rubbing her temple with her forefinger as she considered the possibility. Ron sniggered and Ginny threw her attention to her brother, an indignant look in her eyes.

"What's so funny about this, Ron?"

"It's not funny that Hermione lost her ring," Ron said, appearing shocked at her snappish attitude and immediately getting defensive. "I was laughing at Seamus's ridiculous suggestion that a Gryffindor stole the ring. It could have been anyone in this school."

"No one else can get past the Fat Lady," Dean argued, clearly agreeing with Seamus. "If it was someone from another House --"

"I agree," said Ginny, shaking her head as though trying to form her own ideas as to what could have happened to Hermione's ring. "It would be incredibly difficult to get past the Fat Lady -- impossible."

Ron sniggered again, which was now beginning to infuriate Ginny. "What is so funny?"

"Because you're so eager to believe that a Gryffindor stole Hermione's ring!" Ron exclaimed. "Is it really so impossible to consider that someone from a different House sneaked past the Fat Lady and marched up to Hermione's room -- nicked her Ring -- intending to sell it for a bit of extra gold to take home?"

"Someone from a different House did this?" Ginny asked skeptically. "First of all, who would steal Hermione's ring? And second of all -- Hermione's ring has more sentimental value than anything else, so why would they want to steal it?"

Hermione and Harry exchanged significant looks. Harry didn't like where this was going at all. Then again, this argument was nothing more or less than what they had all been putting up with since they returned from Easter break six weeks ago. He privately wished that Ron and Ginny would just stop arguing and help them search for Hermione's ring.

"Gold is gold," Ron continued with a meaningful gleam in his blue eyes. "And who in this school loves gold more than anything else in the world?"

Ginny immediately froze, but luckily for her, Ron didn't notice this reaction. He was too busy exchanging a meaningful look with Dean, Seamus and Leah, who were all starting to agree with him.

"Yeah," Seamus said slowly. "Yeah ... I reckon it could be Malfoy, too. It's something he'd do -- just to make Hermione's life miserable. And who could forget about Malfoy's feelings toward anyone who is less than pureblood?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other again. What were they supposed to say? But Ginny had rounded on Seamus, her face as flaming red as her hair.

"Would you mind sticking to the facts rather than throw accusations around, expecting us to take your word for it?" she asked, her hands clenching the hem of her t-shirt.

Ron rolled his eyes, smirking along with Dean and Seamus. "The facts are in, little sister. And all fingers point to Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Ginny asked in a tone of total disbelief. Harry could see the color draining from her face now as Ron nodded quickly, hardly noticing her icy exterior. "Malfoy." Ginny's tone fell as she stated this disbelieving conclusion her brother had come to.

"You have a better candidate, I gather?" Ron asked his sister, his voice rising slightly. The Creevey brothers in the corner looked up interestedly, wondering what the Weasley siblings were arguing about now.

"I think I'm having a difficult time swallowing the idea of someone from another House entering ours," Ginny said, and Harry could sense that she was striving to stay in control of her temper. "It's like Dean said -- no one can get past the Fat Lady without the password."

"It's not nearly as difficult as one would think," Ron insisted, more loudly still. Harry knew that he was referring to their second year when he, Ron and Hermione had illegally brewed Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Ron and Harry had sneaked into the Slytherin common room, leaving Hermione behind, her potion having accidentally transformed her into a cat, complete with pointed ears and (to Myrtle's everlasting delight) a tail.

Parvati and Lavender looked up, but they didn't look away, now that Ginny and Ron were, once again, at full throttle. Apparently, this seemed far more interesting than studying for exams. Harry's eyes swept over the entire room. It seemed that everyone had dropped what they were doing just to listen.

"Where's the proof?" Ginny exploded, standing up and towering over her brother, her fists on her hips. "You just have to put the blame on the first person who comes to mind, don't you? How bloody typical!"

"Take a look around, Ginny," Ron shot back, standing up and towering over her in return. "No one is defending Malfoy -- no one. Except for you. You can ask Harry and Hermione if you want. What do you two reckon? Can you find it in your hearts to make excuses for Malfoy -- as my naïve sister seems obligated to do?"

"Well, I think I have another way of figuring out --" But Hermione was immediately cut off as Ginny stepped forward. She stared up at her brother, her eyes brimming with tears, her voice tremulous with suppressed rage.

"They may not be able to make excuses for Draco," she said in a low, venomous voice. "But I certainly can."

And without hesitating, as though she had been planning to do this from the beginning, Ginny unclipped her silver bracelet -- her Christmas gift from Draco -- and hurled it at Ron. He caught it in his fist like a Golden Snitch, staring at his sister perplexedly before glancing down at the underside of the bracelet, where Harry knew Draco had engraved the initials: GW+DM. The blood slowly drained from Ron's face -- a remarkable contrast to his usual reaction when he was either embarrassed or upset.

"You see, Ron; Draco couldn't have been stealing Hermione's ring last night," Ginny said in the same calm, satisfied whisper. "Because last night ... he was with me." And without waiting for his reaction or reply, Ginny pushed her way past her Quidditch mates and exited the common room through the portrait hole.

***

Author's Note: There you have it! Ron knows now. And I imagine you can all predict exactly how he'll react. The next update shouldn't take TOO long. Maybe I'll see you around when that update comes. Until then, later, peeps!

24. Forward To Time Past

Circle's Close

Chapter 24: Forward To Time Past
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: fae.princess@gmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G. This is a sequel to "Snow".
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Many of my deepest, most profound thanks goes to Gary Skinner, my beta and trusty co-writer for this story, who probably spends more time working on Circle's Close than I do. ~_^

And then to the readers for all their thoughtful reviews and amusing guesses as to who the thief is. You'll find out in this chapter, but I have to say ... no one guessed right. So unfortunately, I will not be handing out any awards today. Better luck next time!

Additional note: Yes, I stole the chapter title from the PoA soundtrack, which I love. So sue me! (I'm just kidding ...)

Enjoy!

***

"Impossible," Ron breathed, swaying on the spot.

Hermione, instantly forgetting her own plight, bolted over to him and caught his elbow, silently urging him to sit down. But he resisted, his fist tightening around Ginny's bracelet until Harry could see his knuckles turning white.

As for everyone else in the common room, they had all gone deathly silent while they watched with wary eyes as Ron struggled to comprehend this shocking revelation. Leah, on the other hand, stood up, frowning.

"Ginny and Draco?" she said, looking scandalized. She stared at her boyfriend, who seemed too deep in his own thoughts to acknowledge her in return. Leah looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione. "Is this a joke?"

Hermione was still trying to get Ron to sit down and didn't answer her, but Harry, feeling Leah's hard gaze on him, gave his head a slight jerk from side to side to indicate that this was most definitely not a joke.

Leah's eyes widened and she looked at Ron with a mixture of sympathy and apprehension as she swallowed thickly. A few seconds of silence followed before she spoke again. "Er ... listen ... I'm going to go find Ginny, alright? I ... I want to hear the truth from her."

Hermione nodded at this and Ron didn't stop her as she immediately left the common room. A long, pregnant pause followed her departure, and Harry looked at Hermione, wondering how in the world they were going to handle this. Harry personally hadn't expected Ginny to blurt out the truth like she had.

"This is a joke," Ron finally said in perfect imitation of his girlfriend, the wide-eyed look on his face slowly transforming into a look of utter fury, his eyebrows narrowed. "This is Fred and George's idea of a sick, twisted prank and Ginny is just playing along."

"Listen, Ron," Hermione said in a placating tone, still trying to get him to sit down. "This ... isn't something Ginny would joke about. The thing is -- she's b-been with Draco for quite ... some time now."

Harry knew, even then, that she had said the wrong thing. Ron lifted his face to stare straight at her, a look of dawning comprehension slowly entering his blue eyes.

"I don't believe this," he murmured. He turned his eyes from Hermione to Harry, looking more furious than Harry could ever remember seeing him. "Y-you knew about this? How long has this been going on?"

Ignoring the amount of stares Ron was garnering at the moment, Harry took a cautious step forward, now wishing that Ginny had not opted to keep this secret from her family. And then he reminded himself that he, himself, was just as much at fault -- if not more so. He should have pushed Ginny to be honest with everyone, but instead had aided her in keeping it a secret. He definitely knew better.

"You know," Ron admitted coldly, still rejecting Hermione's persistence that he should sit down, "I don't think I want to know. Forget I asked."

Harry could see that the louder Ron got with every word he spoke, the more interested everyone in the common room appeared to be. He wanted to tell them to leave, and Hermione seemed to be thinking along the same lines as she tugged on Ron's arm again.

"Let's go upstairs and talk about this," she suggested, her brown eyes looking up at him pleadingly.

Ron wrenched his arm from her grasp and Hermione took an automatic step backwards, looking startled. "I'm not going anywhere with either of you!" he shouted furiously, looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione.

"Ron -- please don't get angry!" Hermione pleaded. "Ginny never wanted to hurt you!"

"Yeah -- well -- she bloody well should have thought about that before she -- she -- DAMN her!" he bellowed. He quickly turned to make his way to the portrait hole, but Harry stopped him as he shot forward, grabbing a fistful of his robes.

"Let me go, Harry," Ron grinded through clenched teeth. "There's a Malfoy out there who needs to be put in his place -- and if you two aren't willing to help -- then by Merlin, I'll do it alone."

"You're not going anywhere," Harry told him calmly, jerking him backwards so that Ron had no choice but to face him. "And if you refuse to come with us upstairs, I'll just make everyone in this room disappear. Sit down." With a strength that surprised Ron, Harry pushed down on his shoulders and he dropped down into the armchair nearest to him.

With a burst of determination, Harry turned to face everyone in the common room, holding his wand aloft in an authoritative manner. "I want everyone out. Right now."

There was a collective groan of disappointment and a few loudly protested loudly, claiming that they had nowhere else to go. Hermione, coming to Harry's aid, held up her wand and shot red sparks into the air. The room instantly fell silent.

"I would suggest returning to your dormitories, going straight to the library, or catching an early lunch," she commanded in a loud, carrying voice. "If any of you feel the need to challenge your Head Girl or Boy -- I suggest you take it up with the Headmaster. I'm sure Professor Snape would love to hear your thoughts."

There were no more arguments. Within moments, the entire common room was empty, save Harry, Hermione, and one extremely put-out Ron Weasley, who sat staring at the bracelet clutched in his fist and the wand he had pointed at it. He seemed to be thinking of the perfect jinx to destroy it.

Hermione pointed her wand at his fist. "Accio bracelet!" To Ron's incredulity and fury, the bracelet soared from his hand into Hermione's, whereupon she directly pocketed it. "Now -- it's time for you to listen, Ron."

"You expect me to listen to two people who have absolutely no problems lying to my face?" Ron replied, outraged. He followed this rhetorical question with a harsh laugh. "Don't count on it."

Hermione approached Ron until she was standing next to Harry, her mouth now set in a grim, determined line. She lifted her wand and pointed it, not upwards as before, but directly at Ron, who stared at the tip of the wand warily.

"You will listen -- or I will be forced to put a Body-Bind on you," Hermione said in a surprisingly calm voice, as though she was 100% prepared to carry out her threat. "Either way, Ron, you're going to listen."

Ron laughed dryly, unperturbed. "You're the guilty ones and I'm being held against my will with a wand pointed at my face. This is just great! You're a real friend, Hermione."

"I'm sorry, Ron," Hermione said, though she didn't lower her wand. "I know you're furious with us. We can't offer any real defense -- except to say that we did it for Ginny. I know that's not much of a consolation, but it's the truth. Harry and I knew what the consequences were from the beginning and we stood by her anyway. Because we love Ginny like she's our sister."

"But you seemed to have forgotten -- in the heat of your anger -- that while Ginny is our sister in spirit, she's your sister in fact." Harry continued. "She didn't keep her relationship with Draco from you because she doesn't trust you -- she kept it from you because she didn't want to hurt you or the rest of your family."

"Exactly what does she expect me to think?" Ron asked in a furious tone, looking up at Harry. "She's with Malfoy! Good God ... I mean, she's with Malfoy?"

"Yes, she is," Hermione said, lowering her wand, knowing that she had gained Ron's full attention. "And I think that she expects you to be angry. But she also expects you to be her brother. Not an overprotective, interfering, mistrusting brother -- but one who loves, respects and trusts her to make her own decisions."

Ron shook his head at her. "You just don't get it, do you?" he asked rhetorically, while Harry and Hermione stared at him. "Ginny's been keeping this from me -- probably since last year, am I right? And then I find out that not only has she been keeping it from me – but my two best friends have turned against me as well!"

"We haven't turned against you," Harry insisted.

"Which only reminds me of Sixth year," Ron continued, ignoring Harry's response, "when you both kept your relationship from me, neither of you trusting me enough to keep it to myself. Instead ... you sneaked behind my back --"

"We kept it from everyone!" Hermione exclaimed.

"And need I remind you, Ron, that we did it to keep Hermione safe from Voldemort?" asked Harry, and Ron, for the first time, didn't flinch at the sound of Voldemort's name. Harry figured it was because he was actually too angry to even remember to be afraid.

"You could have told me," Ron insisted in a betrayed tone. "But I bit my tongue. As painful as it was at first, I understood. But this -- Malfoy dating my sister -- that's too much. You've all crossed the line in keeping this from me. How could anyone expect me to understand that?"

"What part bothers you more?" Hermione asked Ron in a curious, bewildered tone. "The fact that Ginny is dating Draco? Or the fact that we kept it from you for months?"

"BOTH!" Ron roared. "She's my sister!"

"Exactly," Hermione said quietly, and she slowly moved towards him, dropping to her knees. She looked up into Ron's face, placing her hands on his knees. "She's your sister and she loves you and cherishes you. She looks up to you more than any of her other brothers."

Ron snorted derisively, but Hermione pushed on, expressing every bit of tenderness and serenity she possessed.

"And we never meant to hurt you, either," she continued. "You're right -- we can't expect you to accept this and move on. We know that Draco has hurt your family more times than we can count -- not to mention that it was his own father who was responsible for Ginny's near death experience all those years ago."

"All the more reason for me to Curse the miserable slimeball," Ron sneered with determination as his fists clenched.

Hermione took his hands in hers; unfolding his fists and holding them gently in her own, and to her obvious relief, he didn't pull away. She shook her head at him. "No, Ron. The fact that Ginny is dating Draco is only the tip of the iceberg -- there is so much more that you need to learn. Draco is not the same git he was a year ago or seven years ago. He's changed."

Ron snorted again with more contempt than before. "Snape couldn't change -- and neither can Malfoy."

"But Sirius is a prime example of that change Hermione is referring to," Harry told him. "He came from a family of Dark wizards and didn't end up like them. You know that."

Ron stared at him but didn't say anything.

"We aren't asking for you to give Draco a chance," Hermione continued in the same patient, loving tone. "We only ask that you give Ginny a chance to show you that she's mature and intelligent enough to make her own decisions. We're only asking you to be her brother – to respect, support and love her as you always have."

"But she's been lying to me," Ron reminded them both, lifting his shoulders and staring at them with something that resembled bewilderment. "You all have. How am I supposed to deal with something like that? How do I know it won't happen again? If you can't trust me, then how am I expected to trust you?"

Hermione lowered her face, clearly unable to think of an answer that would placate Ron. But Harry said, "We don't expect you to forgive us. That would ultimately be the most hypocritical thing for us to do right now. But your sister ... she needs you, Ron. It's been killing her keeping this from you."

"Then why did she?" snapped Ron, looking at Harry sharply. "Never, not once, did I give her the impression that I would go ballistic, did I? And if she was so keen on living her own life and not caring about what I think; then why didn't she just tell me?"

"Because your approval does mean everything to her," Harry told him simply. "Rather than tell you the truth and face your complete and total rejection, she lived in silence. She didn't plan for the secret to go on for as long as it did. But it's the way things happened."

There was another pause. And then, as Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, he said: "If Malfoy has changed -- as you two are claiming -- then why is he still a lousy, arrogant prat?" he asked.

"He's been faking that," Harry told him, and Ron looked at him in surprise in spite of himself. "Or at least ... he's not serious when he does it. The idea was for him to continue to give you the impression that he loathed you."

"And you've all been having a good laugh about it behind my back, have you?" Ron shot out.

"No, of course not!" Hermione insisted, lifting her face to look at him again. "Months ago, Draco acted indifferently towards you. He wasn't being kind, but he no longer felt that desire to insult you, either. You were suspicious about it once, remember?"

Ron slowly nodded.

"Ginny was worried that you would catch on," Harry resumed, and Ron looked at him. "She didn't want you to guess, but she wasn't prepared to tell you the truth, either. Her only defense, Ron, was that she was scared. She was terrified of losing not only you, but her entire family over this. And she waited, because in truth, she was imagining the day everything would come out in the open -- and the choice she might be forced to make between her family and the man she loves."

Ron glanced back and forth between Harry and Hermione, no longer looking angry, but rather completely astounded. "She's in love with the git?"

"They're in love with each other," Hermione told him, smiling slightly in spite of herself. "When have you ever known a Gryffindor and a Slytherin to fall in love?"

Ron couldn't seem to find his voice.

"It's like Hermione's been trying to tell us for ages," Harry said. "Inter-House unity. Ginny and Draco's love has shown us that the line that once divided our two Houses can be erased -- and has been."

Ron stared down at his hands, which were still being held gently by Hermione's. "What if he hurts her?" he murmured, his eyes filled with anguish. "What if he breaks my sister's heart? What do I do then? What do I do now? Do I accept their relationship and trust that Malfoy will love her forever? Or do I continue to mistrust him?"

"If you mistrust him, then you mistrust Ginny," Hermione pointed out calmly. "As for what you do if it ever came to that ... you can't protect her forever. But you can be there for her. If Draco ever hurts Ginny -- she'll need you more than anyone else."

"Just as she needs you now -- more than anyone else," Harry added. "Hermione and I replaced you as substitutes. But she needs the real thing ... more than ever."

"There will come a time when she will have to tell your parents," Hermione reminded Ron. "Not to mention your brothers. I know Fred and George won't be too pleased."

Ron nodded, but Harry couldn't tell what he was nodding about. His question was answered when Ron said in a reluctant tone, "I suppose I should ... track Ginny down ... or something ..."

Hermione looked at him in an almost suspicious manner. "To do what?"

"To tell her that if Malfoy's attitude rubs off on her -- I will disown her," he said, but there was a flicker of a smile in his blue eyes and Hermione's laugh of relief was muffled as she threw her arms around Ron's neck, hugging him tightly.

Ron looked up at Harry as Hermione continued to smother him with her embrace. "How does she do it?" he asked disbelievingly. Harry gave him a questioning look and Ron added, "How does Hermione calm down a bloke who's at his height of fury?"

Harry chuckled in return. "That's the power of a woman's touch, mate. The best type of magic there is."

Hermione pulled back, dragging Ron up to his feet. "Before we go looking for Ginny -- who I'm sure could be hiding anywhere in the castle at this point -- we have to go back upstairs. There's something I need to do."

"Besides," Ron added as he stood up with her, "Leah's more than likely with her right now. It's probably better that way. Leah can calm Ginny down before I go to talk to her. And we will talk long and thoroughly about this."

"I think that's a good idea," Hermione told Ron, who stopped immediately as they approached the girls' stairs. Hermione frowned, turning to him. "Are you coming?"

Ron averted his eyes. "Are you sure you want me to?" he asked, and when Harry and Hermione frowned at him even more, Ron added, "I mean, do you trust me to go with you?"

Hermione sighed sadly and Harry grimaced. He could defend Ginny until he was blue in the face, but in reality, he deserved every cheap shot that Ron dished out. And in actuality, they deserved a lot more punishment than that, he thought as Ron made to follow them up the stairs. But to Harry's surprise, he caught a flicker of apology in Ron's eyes as they moved along. It appeared that Ron didn't enjoy his cruel barbs nearly as much as he used to.

"Is this about your ring?" Harry asked Hermione as they followed her up the girls' stairs, trying to steer everybody's thoughts onto something else.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. While we were downstairs and everyone was busy accusing Draco of theft --"

"Then it really wasn't him?" Ron cut across. "I mean -- I was wrong?"

Hermione grinned, looking at him sidelong. "That's not such a foreign concept to you, is it?"

"Ha ha," laughed Ron sarcastically. "Well, go on."

"As I was saying -- during their debate -- I suddenly realised that I had completely forgotten about the Echo Charm," Hermione resumed.

"The what Charm?" Ron asked.

"It's beyond N.E.W.T. level," Hermione told him. "I taught it to myself ages ago, and I can't believe that I never thought of it while we were up here before, Harry."

"You were a little distraught," Harry pointed out to her logically. "I think it's perfectly understandable that it didn't occur to you at the time."

Hermione sighed; shaking her head as she quietly berated herself until they entered her bedroom.

"I'm going to need a minute to concentrate," Hermione said as they approached her bed. "Since I'm going back about nine hours rather than just one or two, I need to focus."

"Is that safe?" Harry asked her. "Especially when you've never used such a concentrated form before?"

In answer, Hermione slid her hand into his as she pointed her wand at the bed. He understood her meaning without her having to utter a word.

More than a month ago, during one of their Auror lessons, Remus Lupin had engaged them in a detailed discussion about the strong connection they shared -- mind, body, spirit and heart. Remus had told them that since they were bonded in all ways of life through their profound, rare love, they were also bonded magically and could tap into each other's magical powers when needed, which was exactly what Hermione was doing at the present time.

As Hermione had told Ron, the Echo Charm was powerful magic, in advance even of N.E.W.T. standard. Like the Patronus Charm, it was a tricky job to initiate and maintain the spell. And they needed to go back much farther this time than they had in Harry's house months ago. In order to allow Hermione the full concentration needed to control the spell, Harry boosted her magic with his own, sending it through their joined hands to mingle with and strengthen hers.

As the last words of the complex incantation left her lips, Hermione jerked her wand sharply. Instantly the room went dark. Harry wondered if something had gone wrong -- this hadn't happened the last time. Then he remembered that the ring had been stolen at night.

The room looked essentially the same, except that the room's furnishings, including the bed and the figure sleeping therein, were composed of silvery mist, offsetting the darkness so that the watchers could indentify the shapes before them with no difficulty. Harry wondered how long they had to wait; they had no idea what time last night the theft had taken place. Hermione seemed to be thinking along the same lines. She flicked her wand, and the images blurred before resuming their familiar forms. Harry supposed that Hermione had advanced the scene by a few minutes. Three more times she did this, waiting for a minute or so in-between each time. Hermione fast-forwarded the scene a fourth time --

"There," Ron cried out, pointing.

They had all seen it -- a shadowy form, blurred and indistinct, came and went in a flash. In the time it took the three watchers to blink, the room was empty once more, save for the quietly sleeping form in the silvery bed.

"Refero!" Hermione said commandingly.

The scene froze before blurring again. The shadowy figure reappeared, this time moving backward. It emerged from the door leading to Harry's adjoining room, paused briefly in a flurry of motion, then disappeared through the same door.

"Resumo!" Hermione said sharply.

The scene was now moving forward at normal speed again. The figure appeared in the doorway, its features an indistinct silver blur. There was no true light in the room to reveal the intruder's face, the silvery glow being only an illusion wrought by the spell. The figure crouched low, creeping along the floor like a cat. A wand appeared, pointed directly at Hermione's bed. Harry could see the Echo-Hermione's left hand lying atop the pale sheet, which rose and fell in rhythm with her soft breathing. A low voice hissed, "Accio!" The hand on the bed twitched slightly before falling back onto the sheet, the ring still fixed to the third finger. The voice rasped again: "Engorgio!"

Harry's attention was now riveted on the scene before him. He gripped Hermione's hand tightly as the intruder repeated the Summoning Charm. The enlarged ring, which had previously been too snug to leave Hermione's finger, flew across the room. The intruder caught it, mumbled, "Reducio," returning the ring to its original size before tucking it into a pocket. The figure rose and began to slink back toward the door, silent as the mist of which its Echo-form was composed.

"Damn," Harry hissed in frustration. "I can't see his face! If only there was some light!"

As if his wish were an incantation, the curtains shouldering Hermione's bedside window parted on the breath of a night breeze. That same wind appeared to have blown aside a cloud outside the window, for a shaft of moonlight burst into the room, falling directly onto the face of the skulking ring-thief. The scene held for a moment, then the figure turned and was gone.

Hermione emitted a mournful sob, jerking her hand up to her mouth. As their hands parted, the magical bond between Harry and Hermione ceased. The silvery images vanished. The room was suddenly flooded with daylight again. Harry exchanged a horrified look with Hermione, then both turned toward Ron, whose face was now the color of ashes. He looked as though he had been hit with a Confundus Spell. And who could blame him? For he had seen as clearly as his friends the distinctive features of the ring-thief as revealed by the errant shaft of moonlight. A face with a long nose and an abundance of freckles, and topped by a shock of hair which, had the scene been in color, would have shone as brightly as the setting sun. His face!

*

"It -- it couldn't have been me!"

"We know, Ron," Hermione said even as Harry eased her toward the bed, the strain of the spell showing on her face.

"Then how could it have been me?" Ron demanded accusingly.

"I don't know, Ron," Hermione sighed tiredly.

She was sitting on her bed, rubbing her temples as though trying to coax an answer to the mystery from her brain. Harry stood, leaning against the post at the foot of her bed, while Ron furiously paced the floor, pausing in his steps whenever he had something to say.

Harry was sifting through the day's events as determinedly as Hermione, and he had come to the conclusion that no amount of searching would turn up Hermione's ring in the castle. His thoughts jumped back to earlier that morning when he had got his Firebolt out of his trunk to go flying on the Quidditch pitch. His Invisibility Cloak had been lying atop it in a rather careless fashion, not folded neatly, as was Harry's habit. And the hem, he remembered now, had been slightly damp, as if from early morning dew. He would have wagered his Triwizard winnings that Ron had left the castle wearing the Cloak, bearing the ring to person or persons yet unknown. He elected not to voice this belief just now. Ron had more than enough anguish without more being added. What his friend needed now was support, not more accusations.

Trying to calm down his agitated friend, Harry said, "We know about as much as you do, Ron. You claim you don't remember anything -- and we believe you."

"Yeah?" Ron said, shooting him a dubious look. "Are you sure you're not just agreeing with me to make up for lying about Ginny and Malfoy?"

"We believe you because there's no logical reason for you to steal Hermione's ring," Harry answered calmly. "Ginny has nothing to do with it."

"But that still leaves the fact that we don't know why Ron was the thief," Hermione added.

"I'm not a thief!" Ron replied indignantly, glowering down at her.

"I know that Ron," Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "I never meant to imply that you are one. I'm just ... very confused right now."

"Well, I don't very much like this, either," Ron told her miserably. "I feel like I should be apologizing for something I didn't do. I mean ... I couldn't have done it. I just ... I couldn't have..." He fell silent, looking completely hopeless as he turned away from Harry and Hermione.

"You're innocent until proven guilty, in my books," Harry told Ron, and Hermione nodded in agreement with this statement.

"Oh, really?" Ron said, turning back to him, looking skeptical. "You're saying that I have an evil twin running around -- posing as me?"

"No," Hermione said. "He's saying that in the wizarding world, there's more to a given situation than what meets the eye. There are many possibilities, Ron. And in order to find out the truth, I'm going to need your full cooperation."

"How do you mean?" asked Ron, calming slightly. Harry noticed the thoughtful look on Hermione's face and knew that she was coming up with a plan. She removed her fingers from her temples and looked up at them.

"I have an idea -- but we'll need to access Dumbledore's Pensieve."

"Lucky for you that you have permission to use it," Ron said bitterly. "Unfortunately, I do not."

"That's easy enough to get around," Hermione said dismissively. "But as the Pensieve is in Dumbledore's office, you'll need to sneak in, since he's not here to give you permission. Harry's Cloak should serve you well for that."

At this mention of his Invisibility Cloak, Harry flashed Hermione a penetrating look (which she did not see), wondering if she had drawn the same conclusions as he regarding the disposition of the ring.

"And then what?" asked Ron, though Harry had a pretty good idea of what Hermione's plan was by now.

"And now you follow me," Hermione said, standing up with a new spring in her step.

Without question, Harry and Ron followed Hermione to Harry's room, gathered his Cloak and made their way down the spiral staircase, across and out of the still-empty common room. Once they were in the corridor, Ron wrapped the Cloak around him before they silently set off for Dumbledore's office.

Harry thought about his dinner with Hermione which was to take place in six hours and wondered if the theft of her ring, doubled with Ginny's revelation and Ron's anger with them, had put their Anniversary dinner firmly out of her mind. Harry had a feeling that Ron was still quite furious with them about being lied to, but had placed that anger to the side for now in light of the theft, and the fact that he played a role in it. But what that role was, Harry couldn't begin to guess.

As for the dinner, it was quite possible that Hermione no longer desired to go, which meant that Harry would not have the opportunity to propose to her like he had planned. As they walked along, he felt Hermione grasp his hand and squeeze his fingers gently. He looked at her and she winked affectionately back at him.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "We're still going."

Harry's eyes widened, grinning in spite of himself. "How did you -- "

"I could see it in your eyes," Hermione cut across, sounding slightly amused. "You looked disappointed about something -- I just assumed that you were thinking about our dinner."

The grin of relief on Harry's face faded almost immediately as their Potions Master cut around the corner and swiftly approached them, a cold and calculating look in his beetle-black eyes.

"What are you doing, Potter?"

"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted pleasantly, relieved that Hermione had had the presence of mind to suggest that Ron should use the Invisibility Cloak. "Hermione and I have business in the Headmaster's office at the moment."

Knowing that Severus Snape had absolutely no power in forbidding them, Harry continued to smile smugly at him, almost daring him to challenge him on this.

"And what, pray tell, do you intend to do in the Headmaster's office?" Snape snapped, looking back and forth between Hermione and Harry suspiciously. "It is not a playground."

"Well, Hermione and I are still taking Auror lessons, sir," Harry explained conversationally. "Professor Dumbledore has given us permission to use his Pensieve to glance over our lessons, so that we can view our current techniques and improve on them. Since we have nothing to do this afternoon, we thought it would be the perfect opportunity."

Snape narrowed his eyes at him, looking more unpleasant than ever. "Are you lying to me, Potter?" he whispered coldly.

Harry stared right back at him. "Are you trying to penetrate my mind, sir?" he asked coolly. When the smugness on Snape's face faded slightly, Harry added, "It turns out that Occlumency has come in handy for something after all. I should thank you, Professor."

Snape's top lip curled with satisfaction gleaming in his black eyes. "Five points from Gryffindor for your insolence, Potter."

Harry raised his brows at this in an almost mocking way. "House points hardly matter to me anymore, Professor. I seriously hate to disappoint you."

"Harry!" Hermione whispered, slapping a hand over her eyes and sighing with exasperation.

Snape's derisive smile widened even more. "I suppose a detention would be more fitting, would it not? I expect to see you tomorrow at dinner time, Potter." And without waiting for a reply, he swept down the hallway, his black robes billowing behind him.

Hermione groaned as they moved on toward the Headmaster's office. "Harry -- why did you have to push?"

Harry merely grinned, listening to Ron's stifled laughter behind him. "Oh, Hermione, it was so worth it to see that smile wiped off of his face. And what's one detention?"

Hermione merely sighed again.

Without further incident, they arrived at Dumbledore's office and Hermione gave the password before they moved up the rotating escalator leading to the office. The moment they entered, Ron pulled the Invisibility Cloak off of him and rolled it up before setting it down on a chair in the corner of the round room. Ron's careless manner in this regard only reinforced Harry's supposition as to the Cloak's role in the ring's disappearance, but he said nothing, preferring to wait and see what the Pensieve revealed.

"Now what?" asked Ron uncertainly as Hermione walked towards the back of the room, where the cabinet containing Dumbledore's Pensieve sat. She turned to face Harry and Ron, pulling out her wand.

"Have you ever been inside a Pensieve before, Ron?" she asked him.

"Er -- no," Ron admitted reluctantly. "But I know what it does. Harry's described it to me often enough. Is that what we're doing? Is the answer to the theft in Dumbledore's Pensieve?"

"Not yet," Hermione replied; a gleam in her eye as she motioned for Ron and Harry to approach her. "The truth, Ron, is up here -- " She gently touched his temple as she spoke. "At least, I hope it is. But in order to locate it, I'll need your help, Harry; and your cooperation, Ron."

"I have nothing to hide," Ron said fiercely.

"I never said you did, Ron," Hermione said in a pacifying tone as she turned back to the cabinet. She opened it and Harry could see the cloud-like substance in the stone basin, which gave off a soft, silvery light. "Before we begin, I have to partition Dumbledore's thoughts from the memory we're going to put in there."

"You're going to what?" Ron asked blankly.

"Basically, I'm going to block off Dumbledore's memories so they won't get mixed up with our own. That's how Harry and I have been using it for the past five months, and that's what we're going to do now," Hermione told him, tapping her wand to the basin. "It's like partitioning a hard drive on a computer."

"Talk English, for Merlin's sake," Ron said, his anxiety showing keenly now.

"It's like blocking off a room from the rest of the house -- like when you'd lock your door so Fred and George couldn't barge in on you at home. This will keep your memories completely separate from Dumbledore's." This answer seemed to satisfy Ron. After murmuring an incantation to accomplish this task, she stepped back and nodded shortly at Harry.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked her.

"I've been studying advanced Memory Charms with Professor Flitwick," she said. "I can extract Ron's memory easily enough. The tricky part will be finding it."

"Finding it?" Ron echoed.

"It's obvious that a Memory Charm has been placed on you," Hermione said. "How else do you explain not remembering what happened last night?"

"Makes sense," Ron conceded.

"Where do I come in?" Harry asked.

"You're far more advanced in Legilimency than I am, Harry," Hermione told him matter-of-factly. "I'll need you to probe Ron's mind for me. Ron has no training in Occlumency, so his memories should be an open book -- except for the one we're looking for. That one will be blocked. From what Professor Flitwick told me, it'll be like running into a locked door -- or perhaps I should say a wall without a door, behind which the memory is hiding."

"And what do I do when I reach this wall?" Harry said.

"It'll be easier to show you than tell you," Hermione said. "We'd better get to it. If Snape comes back and finds the three of us here, it'll be detentions for all of us."

Harry nodded resolutely as he and Ron moved towards Hermione, standing next to her in front of the stone basin, the silvery contents constantly swirling. As Harry pulled out his wand, Hermione laced her fingers through his left hand, and he instantly understood that she needed this physical contact to follow him into Ron's mind.

"Just relax, Ron," Harry told him, lifting up his wand. "Keep your eyes on mine -- don't break the contact, alright?" After Ron's nod of determination, Harry exclaimed, "Legilimens!"

Harry flew through Ron's memories. He watched Ron reacting to the truth of his sister and Draco. In another flash, he watched himself, Ron and Hermione getting across McGonagall's giant chess set in First year. Another flash, and Ron had won the Quidditch Cup while Gryffindors chanted, "Weasley is our King." On it went, memory after memory, until Harry felt resistence, like some kind of a wall was preventing him from seeing what was beyond it. He tried moving around it, wondering if Ron was deliberately stopping him from coming across that particular memory, when he remembered that Ron had never been trained in Occlumency.

Harry sent a mental signal to Hermione that he had found what they sought. He couldn't see her, his outer vision being sublimated to the inner eye with which he was probing Ron's thoughts. Without warning, a thin beam of light appeared just above Harry's sphere of perception. It was not unlike the action of a Lumos spell. But this "light," he knew, was the magical finger of a Probing Spell. Hermione had touched her wand to Ron's temple, even as Harry had seen Dumbledore and Snape do in days past. But unlike the two professors, Hermione could not "see" into Ron's mind. He could sense her presence, almost as if she were beside him in the corridors of Ron's thoughts; but unlike Harry, she was literally stumbling in the dark. The memories that Harry could see so clearly were no more than vague blurs to Hermione. She did not know where to aim the spell to extract Ron's blocked memory. That was Harry's job.

Forward, Harry thought. The beam of magical light moved ahead, indicating that Hermione had "heard" his unspoken instruction. Left. The beam moved again, slowly, searchingly. Almost there, Harry thought. A bit more. The narrow beam inched closer, closer. Harry held his breath. Then the beam fell squarely on the cloudy patch behind which Ron's hidden memory was locked. Now!

Harry jumped back physically as he exited Ron's mind. His breath rushed out of his lungs in a deep sigh as he turned toward Hermione and smiled. A long, silvery thread was dangling from the tip of her wand -- Ron's "lost" memory. Hermione dropped the filament into the section of the Pensieve she had blocked off for their use alone. They saw Ron's face swimming inside the basin.

Ron's mouth dropped. "We're going in that thing?" he asked, sounding apprehensive.

"We certainly are," Hermione smiled. "Harry, perhaps you should go first to show him how it's done."

"See you inside," Harry said. He leaned his head inside the cabinet and over the stone basin, his nose touching the silvery substance which swirled and eddied like liquid smoke. Dumbledore's office gave a massive lurch and he felt his entire body falling through the basin. This was no longer a new feeling for him, as he had used the Pensieve at least once a week for the past five months to re-watch his Auror lessons.

His feet touched the ground and he glanced at his surroundings. A short moment later, he was accompanied by Hermione and Ron, who took surreptitious looks around, too, and Ron said, "Why are we in Hogsmeade?"

Harry looked at him. "This is your memory," he reminded him. "And by the looks of it ... it appears to be Easter weekend."

"But I remember this," Ron said in a puzzled voice. "This can't be what we're looking for."

"This is a peripheral memory," Hermione said. "Professor Flitwick explained it to me. It's here as a frame of reference. The hidden memory is deeper inside -- like the center of a sherbet ball. We'll have to 'eat' our way through, so to speak, to reach our destination."

Harry listened to Hermione's explanation with half an ear while the nearby, quaint shops, which had been decorated for Easter weekend, distracted him. In one nearby store, the windows were decorated with brightly painted Easter eggs. Along these painted windows, a giant Easter bunny hopped around, collecting the eggs, sticking them in his basket, and then going around to replace them all before setting off to collect them again.

"And there's Madam Puddifoot's!" Hermione gasped, drawing Harry's attention away from the painted window as she pointed to the store next to them. "I can see Leah! Ron -- that must mean you're in there -- "

But even as she said the words, Pensieve-Ron exited the cozy, Easter-decorated teashop, hurriedly making his way down the small road in the opposite direction of where Harry, Hermione and Ron were standing. Hermione gasped suddenly.

"We have to go -- come on -- " She shoved Ron and Harry forward and they quickly followed Pensieve-Ron. Seeing the look of apprehension on Ron's face, Hermione said, "Do you remember any of this?"

"Yeah, 'course I do," Ron said. "I'm going to get Leah her chocolates. See? There's Honeydukes. And there I go -- "

"I don't see much point in following him in there," Hermione said as Harry made a move to follow Pensieve-Ron. "I highly doubt that anything odd happened in there, considering how packed that place is."

"When you say 'odd' ... exactly what do you mean by that?" asked Ron anxiously. When she didn't answer straight away, he pushed on. "Do you ... by any chance at all ... know something that I don't?"

"Don't be silly," Hermione said briskly. "All I have are my mediocre speculations."

"Which are?" Harry and Ron said together.

Hermione sighed, stepping up to Honeydukes's window and watching the Hogwarts students pick out their favorite candies and chocolates. "At first I thought it might have been Polyjuice -- someone posing as you, Ron," she hesitantly admitted. "I got that idea from your original claim that someone used Polyjuice to get into Gryffindor tower."

"And?" Ron pressed.

Hermione sighed again, shaking her head. "It just didn't sound right to me. So I brushed it off -- not completely -- I might add. But intuitively, even logically ... I can't see that being the answer to the theft."

"Why not?" Ron asked. "Why are you so willing to believe that I was the actual thief?"

"Because if it was just a petty robbery meant to hurt Hermione, there are other ways to go about stealing her ring," Harry told Ron, and Hermione turned from the window to face the other two. "I mean ... why spend an entire month brewing an illegal potion ... when this person could have cornered Hermione when she was alone, Stunned her, and then taken the ring for his or her own?"

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "And as much as we don't want to believe it, Ron, we're already on the path to discovering the truth. We discovered that you did have a memory blocked. And we are on the brink of discovering what that memory was. I'm guessing the moment you exit that shop, we'll find out."

"But I went straight back to Leah," Ron said defiantly, still in denial about his actions.

"That's what someone wants you to believe," Hermione said. "The memory block says otherwise."

"But who would have blocked --- why would anyone -- " Ron was at a loss for words. It seemed that the Polyjuice potion answer had been his last shiny ray of hope. It was clear to him now that he would have to face the fact that he had been the thief after all, and Harry knew that this wasn't easy for him to digest. He only hoped that Ron truly believed that he and Hermione did not hold him responsible.

"Here you come," Hermione said suddenly, and Pensieve-Ron exited the candy store, heading back toward Madam Puddifoot's with a small Easter-wrapped chocolate box in his hands. Harry, Hermione and Ron quickly followed in complete silence.

"Excuse me," said a voice as Pensieve-Ron rounded the corner. Harry watched a tall, thin man in a dark hood approach Ron. His face was covered by a dark, thick beard, and his hard blue eyes glinted at Pensieve-Ron.

"Yes?" And then Pensieve-Ron eyed the man, his eyes slowly widening as comprehension dawned on him. "Oh, I'm sorry -- here you go. It's not much, but it's all I really have -- " And to the man's incredulity, Ron pulled out a shiny silver Sickle and held it out to the bearded man.

"I don't remember this," Ron whispered next to Harry, sounding panic-stricken. "I don't remember him at all!"

"Shh," Hermione commanded, though her expression was soft.

"I don't want your silver," the man told him quietly. "I see you've purchased a nice gift for your sweetheart. What do you say to the idea of ... giving her something far more memorable than just a silly box of chocolates, eh?"

"Er -- I really don't think so," Ron said to him, sounding slightly regretful. "I don't have the gold to spend --"

"I'm not talking expensive jewelery, my lad," the bearded man said, stepping foward slightly and lowering his voice as Hogsmeaders passed by, not sparing a second glance at Ron and the stranger. Wizarding folk tended to mind their own business and leave others to theirs. "I have a small selection of jewelery of my own ... you could buy the ring you've always wanted for your special girl. For the right price," he added.

Ron was slowly shaking his head. "Oh ... it's tempting ... But I really don't think I should."

"Afraid of spending all your gold?" the man asked, nodding sympathetically. "I can understand your plight, young sir. But is there really anything in this world that isn't worth spending every last Knut on, as long as it makes your girl happy?"

"No," Ron agreed. "No, of course not."

"And aren't you tired of competing with your mates about what they can buy for their sweethearts and what you can't?" the man asked.

Slowly, Ron nodded. "Yeah, I ... I sometimes feel that way," he admitted.

"Then isn't it time you stop letting them overshadow you?" the man asked him eagerly. "Take matters into your own hands -- be a man, for Merlin's sake."

Ron was nodding vigorously now. "You know ..." he said thoughtfully. "You just might be right ... I'd spend every last Knut on Leah ... no matter what."

"Excellent," the man replied, smiling beneath his dark beard.

Pensieve-Ron looked slightly awkward now. "Er ... what did you have in mind, exactly? Can I see this selection of yours?"

"Not here," the man said in a low voice, placing a firm hand on Ron's shoulder. "The shopkeepers don't approve of my underselling them on their very doorsteps -- bad form and all that." He flashed Ron a conspiratorial grin reminiscent of Mundungus Fletcher, and Ron nodded. "There's an empty shop just down the road and around the corner. My set-up is there. Only a select few know about it. If you're truly interested, I suggest you follow me."

Harry rushed forward, not wanting to lose sight of Pensieve-Ron and the dark stranger as they moved along the busy street. He heard Hermione and Ron following behind him, and there was a sickened feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach, a feeling which only intensified when they reached the corner of the street, where the stranger led Ron around an abandoned building with a sign on the front window that read:

WATCH FOR NEW AND EXCITING DEVELOPMENT! COMING SOON!

The stranger led Ron to the back entrance of the small shop, and the others quickly followed, entering just behind them as the door slammed shut behind Hermione, who gasped as complete darkness overtook them, the boarded up windows allowing no light to seep through into the empty store. Harry automatically took out his wand and muttered Lumos just in time to see the stranger pull out his own wand.

"Wait --" Pensieve-Ron suddenly said, obviously sensing some kind of danger before he made a move towards the exit. But it was too late. The wizard pointed his wand direcly at Ron.

"Imperio!"

Pensieve-Ron's eyes glazed over slightly and he made no more protest, nor did he make a move towards the exit. The stranger grinned malevolently as another voice called out from the corner of the shop, his lazy drawl cutting at Harry's insides.

"Well done, Mulciber, well done," said the voice, his face hidden in shadow. "I knew I was right in choosing you for the job. And finally, a Weasley gets to prove his worth. He didn't put up a struggle, I take it?"

"Easy as pie," Mulciber grinned, still holding his wand up to Ron's face. "No resistance at all. Ruddy stroll through the park, this one."

"Excellent," the second wizard breathed. He stepped forward, and Harry saw that his face was obscured by a hood -- the hood of a Death Eater. "Weasley," the wizard said smoothly, "the Granger girl has a ring -- it was given to her by Harry Potter -- you know what I'm talking about?"

"Yes," Ron said mechanically. "The Friendship Ring."

"The Friendship Ring," the hooded wizard repeated. "Listen carefully, Weasley. I want you to steal that ring and bring it to me here, to this place. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Ron replied. "I'll do it straightaway."

"No," the wizard said. "Not yet. I want you to bring it to me on the morning of the 24th of May. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Ron said. "The 24th of May."

"But you must not be observed," the wizard said urgently. "That is critical!"

"I can sneak out under Harry's Invisibility Cloak," Ron said.

"Indeed?" the wizard said in a pleased voice. "You can steal this Cloak from Potter? Surely he must keep something so valuable locked in his trunk?"

"No," Ron said. "Harry never locks his trunk. None of us do. We'd never steal from each other."

"How touching," the wizard said mockingly as Mulciber laughed harshly. But his tone sharpened as he said, "But you will steal the ring for me. Because I have commanded you to do so -- and you cannot disobey."

"I cannot disobey," Ron repeated.

The wizard stepped back, and it was evident that he was smiling behind his black hood.

Sensing that their business was concluded, Mulciber asked, "What shall I do with him, sir?" With a sadistic leer, he said hopefully, "Shall I have him stand on his head and hoot like an owl?"

"Tempting," the masked wizard said with cold amusement. "But no. I have no use for him until next month. Everything is set for now, until the moment he steals the Mudblood's ring. I see no harm in letting him return to his silly little girlfriend."

"And what of the boy?" Mulciber asked. "You asked me to locate your son --"

"Son?" whispered the cold voice in a deadly whisper that froze Harry's insides. "I have no son. If he wants to mix himself up with these pathetic excuses for wizards ... let him. I have more important things to worry about. But thanks to you, Weasley," he added to Ron, "I may find it in my heart to redeem you after all. Yes, there is still hope for you yet." He laughed shortly, an icy glint marking the cool, grey eyes peering through the holes in his mask. "It's been a pleasure, Weasley," he said mockingly. "Pity you won't remember it." Turning to his companion, he said in a bored voice, "Finish the job, Mulciber."

"Yes, sir," Mulciber said as he looked back at Ron. "Obliviate!"

The second the words escaped the Death Eater's mouth, Harry felt himself being lifted upwards, Dumbledore's office coming into view once again until he was standing firmly on the office floor, followed closely by Ron and Hermione, both of whom were very shaken. But nothing could surpass the expression on Ron's face: one of shame, horror and disgust.

"It's not your fault, Ron," Hermione breathed, reaching out a placating hand. "We know who's the real thief now, and he will not get away with this."

"That's right," Harry said, his eyes hard as the gems whose color they bore. "He's got away with too much for too long. But no more. It's time to settle accounts. And I promise you, this time Lucius Malfoy will pay in full."

To Be Continued ... of course ...

***

Author's Note: Whew. I hope that tides you over for now. Reviews and thoughts are always welcome of course. Just a few comments to a few reviewers:

therealxenocide: I wasn't sure what you meant by the "Ron running out to pound Draco" comment, but I can assure you that I never intended for that to happen. I'm sorry if that annoyed you a bit.

voicesinmyhead0304: Personally, I don't think Draco will ever reform. End of story for me. Some people ship D/G with Draco as still the slimeball he is ... I couldn't bring myself to write him that way. So I had to give it my best shot at reforming him. I'm glad you approve!

TheRavenAbraxas: Hahaha! Nice one! And no, Harry never took the ring. I was amazed that so many people thought that Harry could be that cruel ... And I agree, Ginny certainly has a bit of that Weasley temper.

Thanks to everyone else! Every comment is much appreciated and you can expect an update sometime next month. As soon as possible, at any rate. Toodles for now!

25. Flight of Death

Circle's Close

Chapter 25: Flight of Death
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: fae.princess@gmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G. This is a sequel to "Snow".
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: First, I'm so sorry for how long it took me to get this chapter out. You have no idea how grateful I am that I have such a wonderful group of extremely patient readers/reviewers. And wow, I can't even express my gratitude when I read and re-read those warm reviews. I'm so glad that you're still enjoying the story. Secondly, I apologize for the length of this chapter. I don't do it on purpose! Also, I just learnt how to use the "reply" button for reviews, so if you leave me a burning question or comment, I'll do my best to reply (rather than replying at the end of every chapter).

Before I send you off to read, however, I have to give a loud shout-out to Gary Skinner, who's the master and genius behind this story. He came up with the entire plot-line and he's really the one who worked the hardest on this chapter (and every chapter before this). In fact, he's the reason I'm writing this story, and if you really want to complain about the length of the chapter, blame it on him. (Just kidding!) Honestly, though, I don't think that I can express my gratitude and appreciation to Gary with words, so I'll just ask the rest of you to read and enjoy!

***

"Harry, you need to eat," said Hermione with an anxious look his way.

Food is really the last thing on my mind, thought Harry, but he felt that it would be very callous to say something like this to his girlfriend, who was only trying to look out for him out of her deep love and concern.

"You haven't eaten since early this morning," Hermione persisted, not to be dissuaded by Harry’s silence. “And it’s already well past lunchtime, and I really don’t think it’s wise that you begin to starve yourself.”

Harry continued to ignore her, stirring his cold soup abstractedly, his dark brows pulled together as he sat at the table in the Great Hall, so deep in thought that he barely noticed as Ron reached across the table and pulled towards him a steaming plateful of sausages that had just appeared at Harry’s elbow.

Hermione pushed her salad away, folded her hands on the table, and gave Harry a penetrating look. "I know what you're thinking, and for the last time, there is nothing that we can do. We should ... just try to get on normally with our day. We still have our Golden Eagle reservations to look forward to, right? And Remus will be expecting us to drop by, too. Please, Harry, try to focus on something else. Eat something."

Harry pushed his bowl away instead. Unlike Ron, who appeared to be masking his unusual quietness with a fervent appetite that would alarm Harry under normal circumstances, Harry found he couldn't so much as take in a spoonful of his soup. In fact, he felt that if he ate a bite of anything, he might throw it up.

"In case it has slipped your mind, Hermione, Lucius Malfoy has your ring," Harry told her in the calmest, most matter-of-fact voice he could summon, despite the sense of foreboding that had settled over him since they had exited the Pensieve in Dumbledore's office almost two hours ago.

"Yes, I know he has it, Harry," Hermione said just as calmly, before sighing as she glanced around the nearly vacated Great Hall. As it was well past lunch at this point, most of the students had come for lunch and left already to return to their schoolwork. "But this is not the place or time to have this conversation –“

Harry was already up before she could finish her sentence, and Hermione sighed as she stood up as well. Ron looked up at them, apparently debating over whether or not he should take his plate of food with him. At the last minute, he decided against it, stood up and followed Harry and Hermione out of the Great Hall, looking immensely disappointed.

It was proving to be no small task to distract Harry from his self-declared mission to find and punish Lucius Malfoy, not only for stealing Hermione's ring, but violating both Hermione and Ron by doing so. Harry understood fully now why the Imperius Curse had been labeled an "Unforgivable" along with the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse, either of which seemed far more heinous on the surface than the first. But what Ron had endured at the hands of Mulciber was nothing less than spiritual rape. Ron's confidence stood on unsteady ground at the best of times, and Harry found himself worrying more for Ron than for Hermione in the aftermath of this morning's revelation.

Earlier, when they had left Dumbledore’s office, Hermione had attempted to divert Harry and Ron from what they had seen in the Pensieve by discussing Ginny instead – hoping that Ron would take the hint and search for his sister to talk things through with her. Hermione had even reassured Ron that Leah had probably already spoken with Ginny, and was probably – at that very moment – convincing Ginny to talk with Ron.

In the end, it had almost worked. At first, Ron had argued with Hermione, telling her that the last thing he wanted to do was talk with his sister – especially with the knowledge that the Pensieve had revealed. Hermione had been understanding and sympathetic and had gracefully countered all of Ron’s points, telling him that his situation with Ginny was far more important than worrying about the theft of her ring. She insisted that she would feel better if he worked through his family issues first, and then they would work together to find a way to retrieve her ring.

Ron hesitantly agreed to this, and when he asked Harry for the Marauder’s Map so he could find his sister (knowing that she could very well be anywhere within the castle), Harry reminded him that Ginny had his map, which prompted Ron to fall into a sullen silence that not even Hermione had been able to break through. Even when she offered to help Ron find his sister the old fashioned way, he refused to agree to this and hadn’t spoken since.

That was an hour and a half ago, and Hermione had only recently given up trying to get Ron to communicate with them about his feelings, allowing him to satisfy his ravenous, almost inhuman appetite, instead. And though Harry was concerned for his best friend – he also knew that Ron would talk to them when he was good and ready. Harry knew that Hermione’s intentions were good, but there was no sense in badgering him.

"Don't do anything rash, Harry," Hermione said to Harry once they reached the empty, yet very safe seclusion of the Gryffindor common room. Harry had privately been hoping that Ginny and Leah had returned of their own volition, if only to bring Ron to his senses, and hopefully to distract Hermione from her continuous probing. But the two girls were not there, nor was there any hint or sign that they had returned.

Harry sighed. Nothing seemed to be going his way today.

Ron dropped down in the cushy armchair by the fireplace while Harry remained standing, digging his hands into his pockets, pacing up and down the length of the hearth while Hermione sat down on the sofa, looking up at Harry anxiously.

“I won’t do anything rash, Hermione,” Harry finally told her. “I only intend to do what anyone else in my position would do – I’ll find Lucius and get your ring back –“

"Harry, please be reasonable," Hermione implored desperately. "I know you're upset – I am, too!”

“Listen, Hermione,” Harry said, looking at her with all the seriousness he possessed at the moment. “I’ve had the past two hours to really think about what we found out in the Pensieve and I –“

“-- Chasing after Lucius Malfoy is not the answer, Harry, despite what you think,” Hermione cut across, looking both urgent and determined to get him to listen to her. “You’re not the only one who’s had the past two hours to think about this.”

"Alright. Then what is the answer?" Harry asked her, pausing in his steps only for a moment to pose the question that had been burning his skull since their journey into the Pensieve. "I beg you to tell me what I should do."

"The only thing we can do is to wait for Dumbledore to return so he can retrieve the Ring from Lucius," Hermione suggested in what was meant to be a pacifying, sensible tone. "He'll know what to do, Harry."

"That's your solution?" Harry asked, staring at her in complete astonishment. "You want me to wait for Dumbledore to return? Hermione -- there's no time for that. He won't be back until later tonight!"

"There is no hurry to get the Friendship Ring back," Hermione told him forcefully. "Dumbledore will know how to get the Ring back – and he’ll be able to sort Lucius out. As much as I truly appreciate your determination to get it back for me --"

"Hermione -- this isn't about getting back a simple little trinket," Harry said agitatedly. "Don't you see? It’s not as though Lucius nicked it because he’s a little short on gold.” He stared at Hermione, as though expecting her to suddenly grasp what he was implying, but she said nothing, indicating that she had not figured out what he had.

“The theft of your ring is not for any ordinary purpose!” Harry exclaimed, thoroughly bewildered as to how the smartest witch at Hogwarts had not come to this conclusion on her own. He paused for a moment, and then he added without even realizing it, “And I'm willing to bet my entire Gringotts vault that Trelawney's prophecy is connected to it."

"What?” Hermione asked helplessly, shooting a brief glance at Ron as though looking to him for some sign of rationality. She returned her puzzled gaze to Harry after receiving nothing from the unnaturally subdued red-head. “I can concede that the Ring is meant for some purpose. But what would make you draw a connection between the Ring and the prophecy?"

Harry dropped his shoulders slightly, sparing Ron a glance as well. Ron was staring into the empty grate, looking as though he would much rather be back in the Great Hall satisfying his hunger. He knew that Ron was miles away in his own thoughts and that he probably wasn’t even aware of what he and Hermione were discussing at the moment.

"I don't know," Harry finally admitted, looking back at Hermione, feeling thoroughly bewildered, himself, as to why he had said what he had. "It's just ... a feeling."

Hermione seemed to be fighting the urge to give him a skeptical look, and though he knew how completely unsatisfactory this explanation was for her, there wasn't a doubt in Harry's mind that he was speaking the truth, even if he didn't know how the Ring was connected to the prophecy.

"The Friendship Ring is just a ring, Harry," Hermione finally said in a voice that suggested she was trying to convince herself of the fact. "The Princess said so last year, remember? Why do you think Lucius was able to use Ron to steal it? It’s because there's no more magic binding it to me. Not like last year. The only thing about the Ring that makes it special is the sentimental value it holds -- because it was a gift from you."

Harry watched as Ron's head jerked slightly at the mention of his name, but he remained silent, keeping his head low, his eyes staring vacantly into the fireplace. Harry returned his attention to what Hermione had just said and realized that some of it didn't make sense to him.

"Just because the Ring has no more magic doesn't mean it's useless," Harry argued. "Lucius didn't go to all that trouble and planning for nothing. Artifacts don't have to be magical to be used for magical purposes. I have been paying attention in class, you know."

To this Hermione had no immediate reply. Her momentary hesitation prompted another thought to the front of Harry's mind.

"Didn't you tell me a few days ago that you felt some kind of a connection to the Friendship Ring?" he pointed out. "A connection, you said, that bonded all of the remaining Eternals to it?"

Hermione stared at Harry for a moment and then nodded in a hesitant matter. She then averted her eyes, proving to Harry that she had already considered this, and was only slightly distressed that he had managed to contradict her.

Harry added, "Then how could it be 'just another ring' when you couldn't deny the strange power you felt when you wore it?"

Hermione sighed softly but didn't say anything, yet Harry had the impression that she was now in agreement with him -- that the Friendship Ring was more than what the Princess had told them it was.

Harry continued pacing the floor, thinking out loud. "It's clear by what we watched in the Pensieve that Lucius wanted the Ring delivered only when he was ready to put his plan into action."

"Well ... maybe he aimed for this date because he knew that Dumbledore would be gone," Hermione reasoned calmly. "For all we know, whatever he plans to do could be months away --"

"No," Harry interrupted, shaking his head firmly as he continued to pace the floor. "Whatever he has planned will happen tonight, I can guarantee it. Lucius will want to act quickly before anyone can catch onto his plan and interfere.” He paused for effect, looking directly at Hermione. "The attack on Azkaban will happen tonight."

For a moment, no one said anything. Hermione appeared to be thinking about Harry’s declaration while Ron appeared more indifferent than ever.

"You mentioned the prophecy," Hermione finally said, pulling out a small piece of parchment from her pocket and unfurling it. Harry recognized the sheet of parchment immediately and knew that it contained Trelawney's prophecy in its entirety. Hermione had written it down word for word when Harry recited it to her shortly after he had heard it, if only so they could study it in hopes that they would learn the true meaning of the words.

"Yeah," Harry said weakly.

"It says: The midnight hour strikes; the key unlocks the door to set Death free,” Hermione recited, her brown eyes darting across the piece of parchment as she read. “At midnight, the door -- meaning Azkaban -- will be unlocked to set the Death Eaters free.”

"We’ve already established that,” Harry said, his head slowly beginning to throb. "What about it?"

Hermione sighed, suddenly sounding very hesitant as she turned her eyes back onto Harry. "I just want to point out that both Dumbledore and Sirius will be back before midnight. It just makes more sense for us to wait and let them handle things. They can round up the Order of the Phoenix and even contact the Ministry to have Aurors brought in, couldn't they?"

"Hermione --"

"-- And Dumbledore is more than capable of going straight to Hogsmeade and Apparating to Azkaban -- he can even travel via Fawkes --"

"But wouldn't it be just as easy for US to Apparate from Hogsmeade right now?" Harry cut across. "We know how to Apparate -- we can leave immediately and warn Azkaban ourselves. Hell, we went through five grueling months of Auror Training, didn’t we? The sooner we warn them, the better they'll be able to defend the fortress. We can even stay to help when Lucius attacks --"

"Absolutely not," Hermione said very firmly, her timidity vanishing instantly. "First of all, we don't know where Azkaban is, do we? Only witches and wizards from the Ministry know its location, and perhaps other wizards like Dumbledore. But in order to Apparate, we need to ‘see’ where we are going, making Apparation completely out of the question.

“Secondly, Dumbledore didn’t suggest that we should go through Auror Training just so we can go out and pick fights with extremely skilled Death Eaters,” Hermione continued bracingly. “Dumbledore wanted us to be able to protect ourselves in case they ever attacked us.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but seeing the resolved look on Hermione’s face, he quickly decided against it. And besides, she had a point, even if he didn’t like it. Feeling thoroughly displeased, Harry shot Hermione a disgruntled look and continued pacing up and down the length of the hearth, wondering what they were going to do now. It was another few minutes before the silence was broken.

“What about Malfoy?” Ron suggested quietly from his spot on the armchair.

Harry and Hermione each gave a slight start and turned to face Ron, who hadn’t lifted his eyes to either of them, but continued to stare into the hearth, his face fixed in determination. It occurred to Harry that perhaps Ron had been listening to their conversation and was now ready to contribute to it.

“What about Draco, Ron?” Hermione asked him.

Ron shrugged in a nonchalant manner, still not looking at either Harry or Hermione. “He’s Lucius’s son, isn’t he? Wouldn’t he know what his father is up to? We can go find Malfoy right now -- hex him until he gives you the information you want – such as the whereabouts of the Azkaban fortress."

Harry didn’t say anything, wondering if there was a chance that Ron was actually right about one thing. Maybe there was a slim possibility that Draco did know where the fortress was. Harry didn’t, however, approve of Ron’s suggestive tone. No matter what Ron believed, Draco was not in league with his father.

And apparently, Hermione was thinking along the same lines. She sighed softly, looking at Ron with a mixture of sympathy and apology. Exchanging a brief look with Harry, she moved so that her knees bumped Ron’s, her eyes fixed on his face.

"Draco doesn’t know anything, Ron," she told him in soothing tones. "You heard with your own ears what Lucius truly thinks of his son. There's no way that he would trust Draco with that kind of information -- the kind of knowledge he would give to fellow Death Eaters. He would not give that information to someone who could – and would -- potentially betray him."

Harry, who had stopped pacing the floor for a moment, took it up again, feeling a little more rational, but still tingling with the kind of adrenaline that only came with the knowledge that something bad was going to happen -- and the feeling of powerlessness to prevent it.

He wasn’t going to lie to himself. He had been secretly hoping that there was a slim possibility that Draco could know more than what he was letting on. But now that Hermione had confirmed his original thoughts, he was back to questioning what they could possibly do to prevent Lucius from carrying out his plan.

"Ron," whispered Hermione as Harry continued to pace the floor. "I know what you're thinking -- but you must believe me when I say that there was nothing you could do. Mulciber is an extremely powerful wizard -- his specialty is the Imperius Curse. No wizard would have stood a chance against him.”

"If it had been you or Harry -- you would have thrown it off," Ron argued in a low mumble, still unable to meet Hermione’s eyes.

Harry stopped pacing and turned to look at him. And for the first time since they had left Dumbledore’s office, he truly understood where Ron was coming from. Ron wasn’t upset because he had been used by Lucius Malfoy in his current scheme. It was because he felt inadequate as a wizard, and very possibly as a friend, too.

“I mean,” Ron continued with a bitter laugh that punctuated Harry’s thoughts, “If you hadn't been able to throw off the Imperius Curse, then why didn't Lucius choose either of you?"

“He never had the opportunity,” Hermione pointed out. “He didn’t choose you because he believed you to be weaker than us, Ron. The thing is, Harry and I have spent months reading about all known Death Eaters. It was a part of our Auror Training – it’s how we were able to recognize Mulciber.

“And we learned that Death Eaters spend just as much time studying us as we do them. Lucius knows you, Ron,” Hermione said apologetically. “He knows your strengths and your weaknesses. He knows that you are, at times, an insecure person who feels overshadowed by your brothers. He probably even knows about your falling-out with Harry in Fourth year.”

“Yeah, and who told him that? Draco Malfoy is who!” Ron shot out furiously, clearly not impressed that Hermione had reminded him of that solid month, long ago, when his jealousy had been so powerful that he had stopped talking to Harry altogether.

“Maybe,” Hermione amended calmly. “But if Draco gave that information to his father, it would have been a long time ago, before Ginny even came into Draco’s life. Lucius would have stored that information in the back of his mind, so that if he needed to access it, it would be there for him to use against you, to suit his means.”

For a moment, no one said a word. And then, to Harry’s immense surprise, Ron lifted his head and shook it slowly back and forth, staring at Hermione.

“I’m ... I’m really sorry,” he murmured. “If I had just been more careful ... I really let you down, Hermione – and if Harry is right – if the Ring is going to be used to help Lucius free the other Death Eaters – it’ll be all my fault –“

“Oh, don’t you dare, Ron Weasley,” Hermione cut across furiously. “Don’t you dare take the blame for something you had no control over. You are innocent. And I do not, nor will I ever, hold you responsible.” She sighed at that moment, lifting herself from her seat and squeezing herself onto the edge of Ron’s armchair, gently wrapping her arms around him. “Please stop blaming yourself. Please.”

"Hermione is right," Harry affirmed, looking at Ron as Hermione pulled away. "The most gifted wizards have been under Mulciber's influence, including professional Aurors. You were caught off guard, Ron -- which is the way they planned it. It's the way Voldemort would have wanted it," he added acidly.

Ron flinched automatically at the sound of the name and Harry shot him a dark look, sighing with aggravation.

"Harry --" Hermione said warningly, giving Ron’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm just getting sick and tired of everyone still flinching at the sound of his name!" Harry exclaimed, his temper rising and his earlier frustrations suddenly re-surfacing. "Voldemort is gone -- people should start saying his name! And it's a stupid name, anyhow. What kind of a name is Voldemort?"

"It's not a stupid name, Harry," Hermione said patiently, while Ron remained entirely silent. "It’s anything but stupid. It quite literally means 'Flight of Death' --" She broke off instantly and gave a gasp of pure horror that managed to chill Harry’s very blood.

"What's wrong?" Harry hurriedly asked her, approaching the sofa where she had been sitting. He dropped down into her vacated seat, his knees now bumping against Hermione’s as he exchanged an alarmed look with Ron.

“I ... I’m not entirely sure,” Hermione whispered, looking thunderstruck as she lowered her eyes to the piece of parchment still gripped in her hand, which was now shaking almost violently. "The midnight hour strikes; the key unlocks the door to set Death free," she repeated in slow, urgent tones, skimming the parchment with her wide eyes, and Harry knew that she was seeing something that he could not, which only intensified his concern. "And Voldemort means Flight of Death. Oh ... but that can't be right ... it must be a coincidence ... Please let it be a coincidence."

Harry’s eyes slowly met hers and he seemed to comprehend almost immediately what had just occurred to her. And just as instantly, he wanted to give himself a firm lecture for not having figured this out sooner. After all these years – why had it never dawned on him? But he realized that now was not the time to berate himself for his ignorance. Right now, his heart was pumping with feverish excitement as he began to wrack his brain.

He stood up again, slowly pacing the floor where he had been walking back and forth only a moment before. He was thankful that he knew the prophecy by heart, which meant he didn’t have to rely on Hermione to repeat everything to him.

"By blood, by wood, by dragon fire."

Hermione and Ron looked at him from the armchair, the piece of parchment placed on Hermione’s knee so that Ron could have a look at it as well. Harry stared back at them, his stony, yet determined face looking from one set of eyes to the other. "Alright, let’s start with the first one: By blood -- unicorn blood."

“Unicorn blood,” Hermione whispered, meeting Harry’s emerald eyes with sudden comprehension as she gasped again. “Oh -- of course!”

"What?" Ron asked, clearly puzzled as he stared at the piece of parchment as though hoping the answer would reveal itself at his request.

"It happened months ago, remember?" Harry reminded them, though he knew that Hermione’s memory did not need refreshing. "Just before Halloween, Hagrid found the dead unicorn in the Forbidden Forest. And it was Firenze who once told me in First year that unicorn blood will keep a person alive -- even if he is an inch from death. Voldemort did it once before – and he could do it again."

Ron laughed shortly. "That might be the case – if he wasn’t dead. But you said yourselves more times than I can even count – You-Know-Who is gone.”

“Exactly,” Harry said firmly. “He’s gone – but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s dead. If Voldemort means ‘Flight of Death’, then who’s to say that he’d give up after one try? He’s likely to come back again!”

Ron stared at him, his blue eyes widening with intense incredulity. “But You-Know-Who was destroyed! You two saw it with your own eyes -- you saw it happen!"

"But do you remember what Sirius told us?" Harry said to Ron, trying to remain calm and balanced in all aspects. "He said that death and destruction are not the same thing, and Voldemort obviously understood that. I -- I once heard him boast that he had gone to great lengths to prevent his own death."

"It's the reason why Voldemort didn’t die when he attempted to kill Harry when he was a baby," Hermione added to Ron. “The power of the Killing Curse merely destroyed his body – it didn’t kill him.”

"And what if he's in a similar state right now?" Harry said. "What if he's clinging to life like he had so many years ago? And what if the unicorn was killed to provide blood in order to sustain Voldemort until he could be brought back?"

"Blimey," whispered Ron, his eyes wider than ever as he stared at Harry.

"And the location where Voldemort was destroyed by the Ring-Spirit," Hermione said in a soft whisper, her eyes also on Harry. "There's a hole where Voldemort's ashes had been scattered – Hagrid tripped into it, remember? Yet we never understood why the hole was there. We just forgot about it ... But it looks like maybe someone ... a Death Eater most likely ... dug up Voldemort’s ashes and has been keeping them preserved all this time – just like you said, Harry, with the unicorn blood.”

They all seemed to pause a moment in thought, allowing this information to sink in. Harry found it almost impossible to think that none of this had registered before now. The signs had all been there, hadn’t they? But it all made sense, he thought. In fact, there was no other conclusion that they could come to.

"By wood," Harry finally continued, breaking the awful silence.

Hermione looked up, but it was Ron who spoke. “The Hanging Tree?”

Harry nodded. "What else can it be? Only the most powerful Dark magic can bring someone back from death's door. Sirius said the Hanging Tree was full of Dark magic."

"Enough to bring You-Know-Who back?" Ron asked, his blue eyes going wide.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "By itself? I dunno. But..." He shook his head. "Do you remember the last time Voldemort was brought back? Well, I know that you didn’t see it happen, but I told you how he was returned to his body through a ritual which included the ingredients of Wormtail's flesh, his father’s bones – and my blood."

Hermione closed her eyes at Harry’s statement, barely managing to repress a shudder of terror. When she opened her eyes again, they were glossed over with tears and when she spoke, it was in a shaky voice, as though it was a strain for her to remain in control of her emotions.

"A tree inhabited by the damned souls of dozens -- probably hundreds -- of those Dark witches and wizards who were executed,” she said softly, “would most likely be overflowing with Dark magic that Voldemort's servants might – or would -- use to their advantage.”

"But ... what about the third part ... the dragon fire?" Ron asked, anxiously looking back and forth from Harry’s face to Hermione’s.

Harry wracked his brains once more, but couldn't seem to find an adequate answer. He knew now, though, that his visions were all tied together, he just didn't know how. The unicorn blood, they had determined long ago, tied into Harry’s first prediction, when they had studied crystal-gazing. And the Hanging Tree had been Seen through the use of Smoke Divination, just before Christmas.

But what of the dragon fire? He and Hermione had already agreed that the stolen mother-dragon played a role, and had decided that the Death Eaters intended to use the dragon’s heartstrings or whatever else that they could get from her. And he wouldn’t be surprised if that included her fire, especially when the Bulgarian Devil’s Bane was known to be the foulest breed of dragon in the world, able to be controlled only by Dark magic.

What he did know for certain was that the mother-dragon was also connected to his third prediction, when he had been in the greenhouse and had believed that he had seen nothing more than a thestral soaring across the sky through the reflection of the water.

"I don't know where the mother-dragon fits in," Harry reluctantly admitted. "Originally, Hermione and I thought that the combination of dragon heartstrings and the wood from the Hanging Tree was intended to create new -- possibly better -- wands for the Death Eaters to be released. But we might have been wrong, after all. If the wood is being used for some other purpose, then the dragon obviously wasn't taken to be cut up for its heartstrings." He paused, and a shadow seemed to pass across his brilliant emerald eyes. "What if the prophecy wasn't just being poetic? What if it's not the dragon that the Death Eaters need, but just her fire? But what could they..."

"Trelawney once mentioned fire-scrying," Ron said suddenly, apparently keen to put forth his own theory. "You know, seeing visions in flames. She had to call it off, remember, when Neville set fire to his table and burned up one of her favorite lampshades." He looked at Harry hopefully. "Maybe Lucius will look into the dragon's fire and You-Know-Who will appear and tell him how to set him free."

Harry swiveled his eyes inquiringly toward Hermione, only to find that she was not looking at either him or Ron. Her face was turned toward the fire grate. When she finally looked his way, Harry saw a look of dawning realization on her face.

"I think we're looking too hard for complicated answers and missing the simple ones. Cursed or not, wood is still wood. And what do we do with wood? We toss it in the fireplace and set it alight. The house-elves do it every day. We're so used to it, we hardly give it a thought." She looked back and forth between Harry and Ron, both of whom were regarding her intently. "Like all physical matter, wood contains energy waiting to be released. When we set fire to a log, the energy inside is released as heat and light. It's a simple chemical process. But the wood of the Hanging Tree contains something else besides heat and light waiting to be liberated. Why shouldn't that be released by fire as well? But not ordinary fire -- magical fire -- Dragon fire!"

"That's why they kidnapped the dragon," Ron said, his own realization matching Hermione's. "The Bulgarian Devil's Bane has the hottest magical fire in the world. If anything can release the Dark magic in the wood from the Hanging Tree, that'd do it."

Harry had long since stopped pacing the floor. He was leaning against the fireplace mantle, his arms folded across his chest, his head bent broodingly, as he recited the prophecy in his mind once again. Blood, wood, dragon fire ... and the Key.

"The midnight hour strikes; the key unlocks the door to set Death free," he repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. "And yet ... Lucius would not have gone through so much trouble to steal a ring ... unless it was for a very good cause ... right?"

“That sounds about right,” Ron agreed half-heartedly.

Hermione was frowning at Harry. “I know you’re trying to make a point, Harry, but I’m not entirely sure that we’re on the same page here.”

Harry looked at her, feeling the final piece of the puzzle clunk right into place. His mind wanted to reject the idea – but his gut feeling was telling him otherwise. And he had never been one to ignore his instincts.

"I'm saying that the Friendship Ring is the 'Key' that the prophecy speaks of, Hermione," he said with unassailable certainty. "It's the only thing that Lucius lacked. And now he has it. There's no other answer that fits. The prophecy says it all." His eyes fell onto the parchment still clutched in Hermione's hand. "It's not the Death Eaters that will be released tonight from Azkaban. It's Voldemort who will be released from whatever magical 'prison' has been holding him since his destruction last year."

"Can Hermione's ring really do that?" Ron squeaked, the weight of his guilt seeming to increase until he felt as if he were carrying the whole of Hogwarts castle on his shoulders.

"It had the power to destroy him in the first place," Harry said, his voice dry as dust. "Lucius must believe it also has the power to bring him back. If he didn't believe it, he wouldn't have gone to all this bother to steal it, would he?"

Hermione’s eyes widened, and if Harry got past the positively petrified expression on her face, he could tell that she believed him without question. Ron, too, looked as though he would much rather that Harry hadn't voiced his final conclusion, but apparently couldn't find anything to say to contradict him.

"But," Ron said at last in a halting choke, "why tonight? Why not tomorrow -- or next week?" Judging from the desperation on Ron's face, Harry got the impression that his friend's courage would be better served by an interval where he could prepare for such devastating news. Having it sprung on him in such an abrupt manner was simply too much for his senses to accept.

"For one thing," Harry answered, "Lucius wouldn't have stolen the Ring until he was ready to use it. Less chance of the Aurors or the Order finding out until it was too late. And today is the one-year anniversary of Voldemort's destruction. I learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts that the alignment of the heavens exerts a powerful force on magic. There would be no better moment to bring Voldemort back than the anniversary of his destruction."

"How did we miss it?" Hermione exclaimed in despair, looking positively petrified. "The Key unlocks the door to set Death free. To set Voldemort free!"

"And if they're bringing Voldemort back tonight through some kind of ritual or ceremony," said Harry fiercely, "then that gives us all the more incentive to stop them right now."

"Oh," said Hermione, her terror instantly evaporating to be replaced by a fierce determination that matched Harry’s. “No, Harry. Absolutely not. We have even less information about the whereabouts of the ceremony than we did when we thought Azkaban was going to be attacked!"

"We can't just sit here!" Harry bellowed, furious that Hermione could still insist on doing nothing when the situation was now more serious than they had previously anticipated. Their eyes locked and held each other with an intensity that caused Ron to shrink back in his chair as from a bomb with a burning fuse.

"Fine," Hermione said unexpectedly in a voice keen as the edge of Macnair's axe. "Let's go, then."

"What?" Harry said, his mouth falling open in astonishment.

"You and Ron run upstairs and get your brooms and we'll all fly off straightaway and throw a great spanner in Lucius Malfoy's plans," Hermione said in a voice sharp as Professor McGonagall's. "It's too far to run down and get Ginny's school broom from the storage shed, so I'll ride double on yours. But I need to know something first. Where are we going? Where is Lucius Malfoy holding the ceremony that will bring Voldemort back? Well, Harry?"

Harry was struck speechless. His mouth moved soundlessly as he sought in vain for the one critical answer he could not supply. With one stroke of her verbal sword, Hermione had sundered the wings from the metaphorical hippogriff of his polemics. Fairly quivering with frustration, he balled his hands into fists and muttered through clenched teeth, "I can't -- just -- do -- NOTHING!"

"We have no choice!" Hermione exclaimed determinedly. "What can any of us possibly do if we don't know where the ceremony is being held? And if it comes to that, we haven't done 'nothing.' We figured out the meaning of the prophecy. If not for us, no one would know that Voldemort is being brought back. Do you honestly believe that Dumbledore and Sirius would have gone away if they suspected something this big was going to happen tonight? Done 'nothing,' Harry? We've done everything!

"And even knowing what we know, there's no need for us to lose our heads. The prophecy said that the ceremony will take place at midnight, didn't it? Dumbledore and Sirius will be back before then, and when we tell them what we've learned, they can go off and stop it before it starts. I'm sure they must have gathered enough information from their spies to pinpoint the exact location. We'll simply wait until they come back and -- "

Harry glared at her. “Wait for Dumbledore!?" he exclaimed furiously. "How am I supposed to wait patiently when we actually know that at this very moment Lucius is preparing the ceremony that will bring Voldemort back to life!?"

"Maybe ... maybe Hermione’s right," Ron spoke up softly from the armchair. He wasn't looking at Harry, but he had a look about him that suggested he didn’t believe Harry was thinking all that clearly. “Maybe ... you need to sit down and really think –“

“Stop treating me like I’m losing my mind!” Harry shouted at the both of them, and Ron recoiled slightly. “I’m rational, OK? I’ve never felt more sure of anything in my entire life except for –“ He broke off, taking a deep, steadying breath. Now was most definitely not the time to bring up the past.

“Except for when?” Hermione pressed, looking up at him with a questioning look in her patient, brown eyes.

Harry ran his fingers through his persistently untidy hair as he turned away from them, feeling slightly mollified as his thoughts automatically traveled to that day – one year ago.

“Tell me, Harry...why...”

”Because I promised I would protect you with my own life. Remember: Trust, Loyalty..."

"And...?"

"And I love you.”

This confession was followed by a pause ... a soft sigh ...

"I love you, too."

Yes, he had been at the height of his certainty during that moment – and every hour, minute and second that followed with Hermione by his side. Presently, he was only slightly grateful that Hermione didn’t push him to answer her. Instead, she stood up from the armchair she had been sharing with Ron and approached Harry by the fireplace.

"You need to stop dwelling on it, Harry –“

“You don’t understand,” Harry said brokenly as Hermione stepped into his arms, the warmth of her reassuring closeness effectively calming his rattled nerves. He held her close to him and rested his chin on her bushy head, his heart seeming to beat in concert with her own. “Voldemort can't come back – not again, Hermione. Not now when --”

He wanted to say ‘Not now, when everything is so perfect.’ But when had anything ever gone his way? When had Voldemort ever allowed him to keep one shred of happiness for his own? Harry should have known better. He should have known that the past year he had shared with Hermione was simply too good to be true. He should never have let his guard down.

“Voldemort won’t even get the opportunity,” Hermione said, looking up into his face as though reading his thoughts. “Dumbledore won’t let it happen – and neither will Sirius or anyone else from the Order. I promise, Harry.”

When she kissed him briefly on the lips, he somehow managed to place his panicked thoughts on the back burner. Hermione was right – how could he be so irrational? Voldemort wouldn’t come back – and Harry would not only have the past year of incredible memories to cherish – he would have many, many more to come.

“Let's all of us try to take our minds off of it, alright?” Hermione suggested, forcing a bright, reassuring smile to her face as she pulled back from the warmth of Harry’s arms. “We still have some homework and studying to do, don't we? Don’t the two of you have some Divination work to finish?”

Harry gave his girlfriend a dark look through narrowed eyes. The very last thing he wanted to do was work on the very subject which had gotten him in this mess in the first place. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Hermione was right. Maybe what he needed was something to distract him – at least until Dumbledore returned.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry, Hermione and Ron returned from their bedrooms after retrieving their schoolwork. They sat together on soft cushions in front of the empty fireplace, crowding one side of the coffee table, Harry and Ron's books and star charts spread out before them while Hermione withdrew her Arithmancy work.

Quietude settled over them as Harry and Ron worked respectively on their assignments. Harry was so used to working with Ron on their Divination work that the lack of their teamwork merely intensified the anxiety he still felt over the horrific situation on their hands.

No, he thought. Hermione is right. There’s nothing that you can do. Dumbledore and Sirius will return in time and Voldemort won't come back. He can’t return because ... because he just can’t. Stop thinking about it, Harry, because Hermione will notice that you’re not focusing on stupid Divination, then she’ll get cross with you and that’s the last thing you want right now.

Harry was impressed with himself when he managed to resolve himself to finish his star chart, no matter what was going on outside of Hogwarts. When more than half an hour passed, Harry looked up and realized that Hermione was no longer concentrating on Arithmancy. She was glancing from her watch to Harry in a continuous manner.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked her.

“Nothing,” Hermione replied, looking at him with a faint smile. “I was just wondering what time the dinner reservations were for.”

“I made them for 6:30,” Harry replied. And then he frowned worriedly. “Is that alright?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said, smiling quite brightly now. “I’ll go upstairs in a short while to get ready – and I strongly suggest you take the time to get ready, yourself.”

Harry glanced at Ron, who shot him a discreet, clandestine look and Harry felt a sudden panic seize him that had nothing to do with Voldemort’s possible return. He wondered now if it would still be appropriate to propose to Hermione with the facts they had just uncovered.

Hell, he wasn’t nervous because of that. He was nervous because he strongly feared (now more than ever) that Hermione would reject his proposal.

He could almost see it now. He’d sit across from her at table number one in the Golden Eagle, he would take her hand in his, gaze adoringly into her eyes and tell her how much he loved her, how much he would always love her and he would make sure that she knew how important she was to him. He hadn’t exactly planned what words he was going to use. He knew that when the time came, he would speak from his heart – not from a rehearsed speech.

Now he was beginning to wish that he hadn’t taken that route. He felt his palms moisten at the mere thought of Hermione turning him down. In his head, she explained to him that she wanted to put her career first and then she might consider marriage and a family.

He knew that she loved him. He knew that she wanted the same things he wanted. But what if she wanted more, but was more interesting in sparing his feelings than being honest with him?

That’s not the Hermione you know, Harry firmly reminded himself as reason kicked in. Hermione wouldn’t keep anything from him – even if it meant that she would be telling him something that he didn’t want to hear. It was one of the many things that he loved and respected about her.

Harry paused in his thoughts, staring blankly at his textbook, wondering how he could even think of school at a time like this. His mind was so preoccupied that it made it very difficult for him to focus on his star chart. It was simply a feat he wasn’t going to accomplish today. He found himself almost reluctantly listening to Hermione and Ron talking over Ron's star chart, and he eventually gave in, welcoming the distraction.

"Think of the heavens as kind of like a huge clock, Ron," Hermione was explaining to him. "Dumbledore's pocket watch even works the same way, telling time by the arrangement of the planets and stars.”

“And how do you s’pose they told time before clocks were even invented?” asked Ron.

“Well, the ancients used sundials to tell the time by day, and they told time by night by noting the relative distance between planets and stars,” Hermione promptly answered.

Ron nodded interestedly, frowning slightly as though recalling something. "Didn't you once say that the stars in the sky turn like a gigantic wheel, and that today the stars are in the exact same position that they were one year ago? You could almost compare the sweep of the stars to the sweep of the hands on a clock, couldn’t you?"

"Exactly!" Hermione replied brightly.

"And how would one know when it's noon or when it's midnight?" asked Ron, jotting down notes on his star-chart as they continued the back-and-forth discussion. "How did they figure that out before clocks even existed?"

"Midnight would be determined by the first tick of the clock on January first, providing one used a calendar," Hermione explained.

Harry began to wonder where Ron’s immediate, deep enthusiasm in stars and planets came from. He never made a habit of expressing any interest in schoolwork, so why was he starting to now? And then he realized that this was not for Ron’s benefit. This was for Harry’s – to distract him. And oddly ... thankfully ... it was working.

"And if one didn’t use a calendar?" Ron asked. "Before calendars even existed, I mean," he elaborated.

Hermione tapped the edge of her quill against the coffee table, taking a moment to think. "Before calendars, people judged time by the seasons, by planting and harvesting, by full moons and rising tides," she explained. "Time is a relative thing, Ron. Taken purely subjectively, one could choose any time at all and declare that to be the start of the stellar cycle. One year later, the stars would be back where they started and a new year would begin."

"Just like the hands of a clock pointing straight up to midnight, signaling the end of a day and the beginning of another!" Ron added triumphantly, grinning at Hermione as though proud of himself for understanding Hermione's explanation.

But Harry had noticed, as well as Ron, that Hermione had gone completely stone-cold, just as she had a while ago when the topic of Voldemort’s name had come up. Her brown eyes were filled with such a fear that Harry felt it just as acutely.

"Hermione?" Harry whispered, reaching across and grasping her cold hand in his warm one as Ron poked her in the arm with the end of his quill to jar her out of her reverie.

It worked. Hermione jerked slightly and slowly turned to Harry so he could see straight into her horror-stricken eyes.

"Harry," she said with slow, rhetorical certainty as she turned her brown eyes onto him. "When did Princess Amara destroy Voldemort?"

Harry felt slightly taken aback by this question. Hadn’t they agreed a while ago not to bring up Voldemort? "A year ago today, of course,” he finally replied, frowning. “But what does that --"

"When exactly?" Hermione emphasized, with that same look of fear gripping her.

Harry wracked his brains yet again and then said, "Sometime in the evening -- I remember we had just finished eating dinner and that’s when I felt the connection that told me you were in danger.”

And before he had even finished his sentence, he knew exactly what Hermione was trying to imply. Except that he didn't want her to say it ... he didn't want it to be true. If it was true, then –

“Evening,” Hermione said; an odd gleam in her eye. “It wasn’t yet quite dark yet – I remember that as well. And it was shortly after dinner – sometime in the 7 o’clock hour, wouldn’t you agree?”

"What's going on?" Ron asked uncertainly, his good-natured humor slowly sliding off his face to be replaced by a slightly panicked look.

"The Ring-Spirit destroyed Voldemort one year ago today, less a couple of hours, Ron," Hermione explained in a steady voice which betrayed the truly horrific expression on her face. "At the very moment of the anniversary, the stars will have made one complete circle in the heavens. One year will end, and another will begin. Simply put, the celestial clock will strike midnight at the precise moment the one-year cycle is completed."

"But what does that mean?" Ron asked, though judging by the genuinely petrified expression on his face, Harry figured he knew exactly what it meant.

"It means that the ceremony intended to bring Voldemort back will not take place at midnight according to the clock, as Harry and I assumed," Hermione answered in a deadly whisper. "It will take place at midnight -- according to the stars."

A thick silence followed this proclamation, Harry, Hermione and Ron each gripped by sudden desperation. They knew now that the ceremony was going to take place in only a couple of short hours. Harry immediately thought of owling Dumbledore, but knew that logically, Hedwig – or any other owl -- would never get to the Ministry in time.

"We could go to Hogsmeade," Harry quickly suggested. "And Apparate straight to the Ministry --"

Hermione jerked herself from her petrified state immediately. “Harry, London is hundreds of miles away from Hogsmeade. We've never attempted Apparating such a long distance before, and right now is not a good time to start, unless you want to splinch yourself?"

"Well, sitting here waiting for the worst to happen isn't an option, either!" Harry exclaimed vehemently. "Hermione -- we are the only ones who know what's about to happen and I don't quite enjoy feeling helpless to prevent it."

"Then let's go tell Snape," Hermione suggested, already pulling herself into a standing position.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, standing as well. "There is no way I'm going to tell that greasy git a single thing!"

“OK, let’s all calm down,” Ron said, tapping his chin in a thoughtful manner. “Maybe we don’t have to talk to Snape at all. Remus is in Hogsmeade, right? He’s a member of the Order – and what’s more is that he won’t think you’re mad, Harry.”

“Remus isn’t in Hogsmeade,” Harry said in a defeated voice.

“I thought you were supposed to meet with him –“

“Yes, yes, we are!” Harry exclaimed in frustration. “But that’s not until after dinner. Remus owled me this morning to tell me that if we arrive at his flat earlier than 7:30 this evening, he won’t be there. He’s doing some work for the Order – he’s been pulling double-duty all week-end because of Sirius’s absence. By the time Remus gets back, it'll be too late.”

“Then Remus might be at Grimmauld place –“ Ron started, his eyes darting toward the fireplace as if expecting to see Remus's face looking back at them, surrounded by crackling emerald flames.

“He’s out – he’s not going to be lurking about Headquarters when his job is to gather information given to him by fellow agents and spies,” Harry said quietly. “Don’t you think I would have contacted him first and foremost if I knew that there was a chance that he could help?”

Ron didn’t say anything and Harry turned away, fuming. He was, of course, furious that they couldn’t turn to Remus Lupin when they needed him most. For a while, no one said anything, and all Harry could hear was the tick-ticking of his wristwatch as time steadily moved on. Finally, Hermione spoke.

“We still have Snape, Harry.”

Harry snorted without really looking at her.

"He's a member of the Order," Hermione reasoned. "He might be able to do something!"

"The only thing Snape is good for is getting in the way of those people who are in need of help!" Harry spat furiously. "Snape can't be trusted -- he probably won't even believe me, and I will not put myself in that position again!"

"Harry -- what are you --"

"Fourth year!" Harry exclaimed exasperatedly as he spun around to face her. "That day, when Mr. Crouch appeared out of the Forbidden Forest having gone completely mad from his son placing the Imperius Curse on him so many times, I went to find Dumbledore. But Snape -- in his infamous way -- stalled me from doing so. If he had given me the password to Dumbledore's office like I had asked, instead of being the bastard that he was and still is, Dumbledore might have reached Mr. Crouch in time and everything that followed -- Cedric's death, Voldemort's resurrection – never would have happened."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said in placating, apologetic tones. "You can't know for sure what would have happened. Snape can't be held accountable for Cedric's death or the many deaths that followed. And what other option do we have? I know you hate it, Harry. But this isn’t about your feud with Snape – this is about stopping the most powerful Dark wizard who ever existed from returning to life.”

“But, Hermione –“

"We have to try," Hermione pleaded. "You said it yourself -- we can't simply do nothing. And if Snape is our only option..."

Harry looked at her and sighed deeply, feeling that he had already wasted enough time arguing with her about the issue. He nodded shortly in reluctant agreement.

The three of them abandoned their schoolwork and exited the common room through the portrait hole. Not wanting to waste another moment, Harry dashed down the corridor and down many flights of stairs and he found himself wishing that the stone gargoyle which guarded Dumbledore's office entrance wasn't located so far down.

Finally, they reached the gargoyle on the second floor and Harry panted, "Peppermint humbugs!"

Nothing happened.

Hermione and Harry exchanged wide-eyed looks and Hermione stepped up to the gargoyle, speaking loud and clear. "Peppermint humbugs!"

Again, nothing happened. The gargoyle, which was supposed to immediately spring out of the way so they could use the rotating staircase, remained entirely solid and immovable.

"PEPPERMINT HUMBUGS!" Harry and Hermione exclaimed together.

When the gargoyle refused to budge, Hermione slapped a hand to her mouth in horror and looked at Harry apologetically just as realization dawned on him. He let out a loud roar that seemed to reverberate up and down the corridor, echoing back at them.

"HE CHANGED THE PASSWORD!" Harry shouted, giving the statue a mighty kick and ignoring the sharp pain that immediately traveled from his foot and up his leg. "That arrogant, self-righteous, selfish son-of-a-bitch! How is he supposed to play sodding Headmaster if he closes his office to the Head Boy and Girl? Exactly what are we supposed to do now?"

"Let's go back," Ron suggested quietly, daring to give Harry a very pointed look which he couldn’t correctly interpret at the moment. Harry glowered at him instead.

"Back? Back where? To the common room? Do you not realize that Voldemort is fifteen minutes closer to being resurrected? Do neither of you care?"

"Harry, we care," Hermione said. "Really, we do. But the fact that we can't get hold of Snape doesn't change anything! We are no closer to stopping the inevitable than we were fifteen minutes ago!"

"Inevitable?" Harry breathed, his heart pounding in his ears, blocking out sense and rationale. "I will not stand here and wait for the inevitable to occur."

And not waiting for either of them to reply, he marched off, not sure what he was going to do, but knowing that he had to do something. And then an idea came to him instantly -- he would go back to his room, grab his Firebolt and try to Apparate from Hogsmeade after all. He could hear Hermione and Ron dashing along the corridor behind him, but he didn't turn to acknowledge them. He had no doubt that Hermione knew what he intended to do, and he didn't want to hear her talk him out of it.

The common room was still empty when they returned together, and Harry immediately dashed up the boys' dormitory stairs, thankful that Hermione and Ron had opted not to follow him. If Hermione chose to stay behind when he left the castle, he was fine with that. It might be better that way, he reasoned. He didn't want her to risk her life. Ron ... well ... he wouldn't be able to follow, as he couldn't Apparate, but that was better, too, he decided.

His Firebolt would get him to Hogsmeade in a minute, compared to the 15 minutes it usually took him to walk to the wizarding village, though he didn't know what he was going to do with his broomstick when he attempted to Apparate from Hogsmeade. He had never attempted to Apparate with an object before. He figured he'd get to that when the time came. He might have to leave it behind. As precious as his broomstick was to him, its value was nothing next to the prospect of Voldemort's impending return.

Taking Hermione's caution to heart, he would not attempt to Apparate straight to London. His only other option was to make the journey to London in "jumps", Apparating short, safe distances in succession until he reached his destination. It was problematical whether so many successive Apparations would drain his strength to the danger level. The weaker he grew, he knew, the greater the risk of splinching. But he had run out of options. The one thing he simply could not do was nothing at all!

His heart pounding with painful anxiety, he dashed back down the stairs and stopped momentarily, seeing the look of mute horror on Hermione's face as her eyes landed on the Firebolt slung over his shoulder.

"Harry -- what do you think you're doing?" she finally gasped, and Ron’s eyes widened as well when Harry’s plan came into light.

Harry averted his eyes from both of them. "I have to do something," he muttered, feeling distinctly red in the face.

"You'll get yourself killed!" Hermione shouted, her eyes now brimming with tears. "If you honestly believe that I'm just going to let you walk out of here --"

"You have no choice, Hermione!" Harry told her, suddenly imagining himself dropping his Firebolt, pulling her into his arms, and doing exactly what she suggested earlier: wait for the inevitable. But for the life of him, he couldn't do it. Hermione may not approve right now, but she would understand afterwards. At least, he hoped so.

"Really?" Hermione whispered coldly as she stepped up to him, her hand closing over something hidden within her robes – something that strongly resembled her wand. “If you can get past me, I won’t stop you from leaving."

Harry stared at her, looking into her fiercely determined eyes, and he had no doubt in his mind that she would use whatever means necessary to stop him from carrying through with his plan.

“Hermione – I’m not going to fight you,” he said in exasperation.

“Good,” Hermione said promptly. “Then you can return your Firebolt upstairs, please.”

“No, Hermione,” Harry said loudly. “Please move out of the way.”

“I will NOT!” Hermione shouted, her eyes still sparkling with tears. “Unlike you, I am prepared to do whatever it takes to keep you from leaving this room –“

Their argument was interrupted by the sound of something bumping repeatedly against the window. Ron eagerly jumped up and dashed over to it, apparently looking grateful for the intrusion, and when the window flew open, Pigwidgeon zoomed inside, circling around Harry and Hermione with excessive energy.

"Not now, Pig," Harry snarled irritably, but Pig appeared indifferent to Harry's unenthusiastic welcome, and Ron seized the minute owl in his hands, disguising his look of apology meant for Harry with a look of irritation of his own.

And then Ron said, "His leg is empty, Hermione. That must mean Charlie got his letter."

Harry looked at the tiny owl and then at Hermione, the Firebolt in his hand and the argument with Hermione suddenly forgotten. "What letter?"

Hermione looked at Harry, still teary-eyed and apparently deliberating over whether her irrational boyfriend still intended to leave the school and Apparate from Hogsmeade.

"I sent a letter to Charlie saying that the baby dragons are old enough to be released now,” she told him in a shaky voice. “Charlie and his friends will arrive the weekend before Final exams to pick them up, and since everyone will be too busy with exams, no one will notice anything odd happening in the Forbidden Forest."

To the surprise of both Hermione and Ron, Harry was now standing as still as the gargoyle steadfastly guarding the Headmaster's office, his eyes staring fixedly into space. Coming alive suddenly, Harry gripped his Firebolt fiercely and dashed up the boys' stairs almost as fast as his broom could have carried him. He burst through the door of the seventh-year dormitory and made straight for the trunk sitting at the foot of Ron's four-poster. When he returned to the common room a minute later, he was carrying a second broomstick in addition to his Firebolt. He was met by a thoroughly bewildered Ron and a very wary Hermione.

"What's going on?” Hermione asked as Harry thrust Ron's Nimbus 3000 into his hands. “You’re not getting Ron involved in this crazy scheme of yours, are you?”

"No,” Harry answered truthfully, already leading them toward the portrait hole. “I promise, I'm not going to Hogsmeade. If it makes you feel any better, you can hold your wand on me. But do it while we walk. There's no time to waste.”

"Why do I need my broom?" Ron asked, more confused than ever.

"Not here," Harry hissed. He turned to face them, adrenaline pumping fuel into his veins. "If we run into anyone, we're going to tell them that we're going for a little practice at the Quidditch pitch, and Hermione is coming with us to watch. It is imperative that no one finds out where we’re actually going."

"Couldn't tell 'em even if we wanted to," muttered Ron as he and Hermione obediently followed Harry through the portrait hole.

No one spoke again until they reached the outdoors, having only encountered a few younger schoolmates who didn’t feel it their place to question the actions of their Head Boy and Girl. As they marched across the sloping lawns together, Harry didn't want to so much as look at his watch, because if he did, he would only be forced to acknowledge the late hour they were fast approaching. It seemed impossible to him to think that more than four hours had passed since they had exited Dumbledore's Pensieve. Could so much have possibly have happened in so little time? Surely even a Time-Turner could not distort his perception more than it had been in the last few hours.

Harry stemmed the rising panic dwelling inside of him and led Hermione and Ron to the Quidditch stadium. But as they reached the outside of the pitch, Harry glanced over his shoulder towards the castle. Convinced that they had not been observed and were not being watched, he turned abruptly and walked straight past the pitch, Hermione and Ron following closely behind until they reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Alright," Harry breathed, chancing a glance at his watch and immediately wishing he hadn’t, because it reminded him that time was growing short. "After everything the prophecy revealed to us earlier, I am left with the conclusion that the mother-dragon is in Death Eater hands. This much we have determined. And it’s not her heartstrings that they want. It’s her fire; the hottest fire in the wizarding world – and everything points to the fact that they intend to use her fire for the ceremony. We're agreed on that, right?" Ron and Hermione both nodded mutely. "Therefore," Harry concluded, "where we find the mother-dragon, we’ll find Death Eaters, and where we find Death Eaters -- we’ll find the location where the ceremony will take place.”

"So?" Ron said, sounding slightly irritated. "How does that help us? We don't know where the bleedin' dragon is, do we?"

"We don't," Harry said, his head nodding in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. "But they do."

Ron's confused look deepened, but Hermione's face melted into a mask of quiet horror.

"Harry -- you can't possibly mean -- "

"When we release Hagrid's dragons," Harry said, avoiding Hermione's eyes as he continued to look straight ahead, "they'll follow their instincts and fly straight off to their mum. And where she is, Lucius and the other Death Eaters are."

"You want us to follow the dragons?" Ron asked, sounding positively horrified at the thought as he shot a wary look at his broom. "On our brooms? But Hermione doesn't have one -- we'll have to --"

"We can't follow the dragons on our brooms," Harry said. "There's no way we can match a dragon in flight. There are too many variables. A broom has superior speed, but it can't match a living creature for maneuverability. Dragons can dive and turn on a razor's edge, and they can tack into a wind that would blow a broom off course. Add to that it's getting dark fast. We'd be lost before we got ten miles."

"Then what in the name of Merlin's wrinkled bum are we doing?" Ron said in exasperation.

"The only way to go where the dragons go," Harry said carefully, "is to go with them. And the only way we can do that -- " Harry hesitated, as if he himself could not believe the words he was about to speak, "-- is if we -- ride them ourselves."

Ron and Hermione stared at him.

"You've actually done it,” Ron finally choked, looking distinctly green in the face. "You’ve officially gone mad. You expect us to ride a Bulgarian Devil's Bane like a -- like a bloody hippogriff!? You've gone round the bleedin' twist!"

"Harry," Hermione said, looking equally worried and frightened. "I think you're right that the Death Eaters intend to use the mother-dragon’s fire. I think you're right that the baby dragons could lead us straight to the ceremony. I even think you're right that we have no choice but to use the baby dragons so that they can lead us straight to the ceremony. But I don't believe that you're thinking very clearly. There is no way that we can ride the dragons – we’re food to them. Ron is right -- we can follow them on brooms if we have to --"

"You two have forgotten one very important factor," Harry cut across, realizing that every moment he stood here trying to explain everything to them brought Voldemort closer to being resurrected. "The baby dragons understand and obey parseltongue. Don't you remember when one of them tried to attack you, Hermione? And it moved away at my command? Likewise, they will listen to me if I ordered them to let us ride them."

Ron still looked green, but Harry watched the look of fear and doubt slowly slide off of Hermione’s face. She no longer had the look of a person who feared her boyfriend was officially losing his mind. If anything, she looked immensely relieved that he had found the answer to their predicament and appeared almost pleased that they would be able to do something about it.

"Then what are our brooms for?" squeaked Ron. "I mean, if we're riding..." His voice trailed off, as if his sanity would not permit him to finsh the thought.

"We'll need them for the trip home," Harry told him. If there's a trip home, his brain echoed ominously. "Once the babies find their mother, their use to us is finished. My Firebolt has a Charm on it that allows it to remember where it goes and return along that same path. I can place the same Charm on your broom before we go. Even though we won't be riding our brooms, the Charm will still remember our flight path. So keep a good grip on your broom handle. Wherever we're going, I expect it's a long walk back."

Ron was still hesitant and doubtful, but it seemed that Hermione had already fully accepted the situation. This silent vote of support and confidence was all Harry needed to spur him on.

"Look, Ron, we're all out of options," Harry told him resolutely. "If we don't act right now, Voldemort will return and I know you don't want that. I know it won't be easy fighting off skilled Death Eaters, either, but as most of them are still in Azkaban, it's not likely that there will be very many of them. And we'll have surprise on our side, remember."

"And Harry and I have months of Auror Training behind us," Hermione told Ron, stepping up and standing next to Harry, briefly meeting his eyes before turning them onto Ron.

"But even so, there's still a chance that we could be flying to our deaths," Harry said quietly. He was hardly conscious of the fact that his arm was wrapped around Hermione's waist protectively, and that she, too, had slipped her arm around him. "I'm not forcing either of you to go. I just know that I have to."

He knew that Hermione had already made the decision to go, and he wasn't surprised at all when Ron nodded with determination.

“Someone has to watch your back,” he said with mocking exasperation. “It might as well be me.”

“And me!”

Harry, Hermione and Ron swung around to find Draco Malfoy dashing toward them, panting and gripping a familiar piece of parchment in his fist. Ron made a violent move toward Draco and Hermione seized a fistful of his robes, yanking him backwards and shooting him a firm, warning look.

Draco stopped a few feet away from Harry, his knees bent as he doubled over, struggling to catch his breath. Harry saw the parchment in his hands and realized that it was the Marauder's Map -- he could see four dots on the edge of the Forbidden Forest labeled with their names.

"Where did you get that?" Harry said, though he thought he knew the answer already.

"Ginny ... gave ..." Draco gasped, clutching at a stitch in his side. He shook his head, as though to dismiss the Map. Having no further use for it, he thrust it at Harry, who folded it mechanically and tucked it into his robes. "I know what you're going to do, Harry. I know that my father is planning to restore Voldemort and I know that you're going to try to stop them."

"Plotting with Daddy, are we?" Ron sneered contemptuously.

Draco, having finally caught his breath, slowly straightened and looked coldly at Ron. His voice suddenly had a slight edge to it as he spoke. "My father told me about the plan ages ago. I thought he was mad to attempt it, and I knew right then and there that I wanted no part in it. My father saw this as a betrayal of the deepest kind and all but disowned me."

Ron snorted disbelievingly.

"Since that day, I heard little to no news about his plans," Draco continued; his eyes alight with the same kind of feverish desperation Harry was feeling at the moment. "The only thing he ever mentioned was some object he needed, something he always called “the key”. But I had no reason to believe that it had anything to do with his scheme to resurrect Voldemort. At my house, Father was always collecting items – usually illegal ones. Needless to say, I was foolish enough to believe that he had actually listened to me and had given up on his hopes of restoring his master to his body.”

“Go on, Draco,” Hermione encouraged, shooting Ron another look after he opened his mouth to retort. Ron closed his mouth, glaring back at her defiantly.

“But then Ginny told me about your Friendship Ring being stolen, Hermione," Draco added to her. "And I knew right then and there that my father was responsible."

"No kidding," Ron muttered sarcastically, unable to restrain himself.

"Only now do I realize my mistake in believing that my father had given up on the plan," Draco resumed, shooting Ron another cold look, as though indignant of the fact that Ron doubted him. "I was convinced that since so much time had passed without him getting this 'key,' he would never retrieve it. And now I know how wrong I was. Now I understand that if I had shared this information from the beginning, the theft of the Ring might have been prevented, and if Voldemort does come back, I will be just as responsible as my father."

"That's a lovely story," Ron replied sardonically, but Harry cut across. Now was not the time for Ron and Draco to settle their differences. There were more important things to worry about at the moment.

"You're not here to stop us from going, are you?" Harry asked him sharply. "Because Hermione and Ron sang that tune a short while ago without success and we're running out of time."

"Take me with you," Draco told them determinedly. "I can fight just as well as – well – if not better than Weasley.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Ron said through gritted teeth.

Draco merely shrugged. “I’m only saying ...”

“No one cares which one of you can fight better than the other,” Hermione interrupted before things could – and most definitely would – get out of hand. “Draco – just get to the point.”

“I want to settle the score with my father,” Draco said. “Once and for all."

"And why should I believe that?" Ron retorted.

"Because of Ginny," Draco said sharply.

"What? What's she got to do with this?"

"Don't you understand what will happen if my father succeeds tonight?" Draco shot at Ron. "It'll be wholesale slaughter, just like the last time. And the first thing they'll do is reduce the Ministry to a smoking hole in the heart of London. I've heard my father say it many times."

"Dad," Ron gasped, his face going white, freckles and all.

"Exactly," Draco said. "Our fathers hate each other. When the time comes to settle old grudges, your dad will be at the top of the list. And if you think I'm going to stand by and see the girl I love put through that kind of horror, you're thicker than Goyle."

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione, who gave a short nod. Harry returned his eyes to Draco and sighed heavily.

"Fine."

Ron opened his mouth in furious protest, but Harry silenced him with a commanding look.

"We don't have time for this," Harry said commandingly. "We still have a ways to go into the Forest, and we don't even know how far away the ceremony is. If you want to argue, do it while we walk. But do it softly. If Bane or Magorian hear us, it won't matter one way or the other."

This warning silenced everyone, even Hermione. As Harry turned and led them into the forest, Draco appeared to be bursting with questions, but he remained silent for a time. His lone foray into the Forest six years ago had left him keen to avoid a second, a fact that Harry knew well. Finally, however, Draco's curiosity could no longer be contained. He sidled up to Harry and spoke in a low, cautious whisper.

"It almost sounds like you don't know where we're going."

"I don't," Harry said flatly, his eyes never leaving the path.

"Then how are we supposed to get there?"

"You'll see."

“What happens if we don't arrive in time?”

“Your father succeeds,” Harry replied shortly. “Voldemort returns.”

There being no response to this, Draco eased back his pace and allowed Harry to lead the way with no more distraction.

Patches of golden light from above slipped through the cracks of the forest, guiding their way. Harry's heart was pounding harder than ever and it only eased slightly when he felt Hermione fall into step beside him, her fingers slipping reassuringly into his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his heart squeezing painfully.

Hermione shot him a mystified look. “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“Everything,” he replied in a low voice. He didn’t really want to have this conversation with Hermione while Draco and Ron were no further than ten paces behind them. “But I’m mostly sorry for my temper and taking it out on you. And ... and not being able to take you out tonight, after all.”

I am most definitely sorry about that, he thought, trying to settle his panicking heart. And if – when – we come out of this alive, Hermione ... I will ask you to marry me.

“Don’t be sorry,” Hermione whispered back reassuringly. “It seems that Voldemort has different plans for us. And as long as we’re together, that’s all that matters to me.”

And as long as we come back together ...

The words hung in the air between them, unsaid. Yet the power of those words resounded in their hearts as though they had just shouted them from the highest tower in Hogwarts castle. Harry tightened his hold on Hermione’s hand, hoping that somehow, she would know and understand – would feel – that she was everything to him.

They walked silently around closely knotted trees; branches and brambles scraping across their hands and faces. Harry stepped forward, parting a branch back for Hermione so she could pass by unharmed, and he let the branch fall gently as he took step beside her again; Ron and Draco lagging behind them in bitter silence.

“It’s not that much further, is it?” Hermione asked, trying to recollect the exact spot where the magical barrier was located.

“No,” Harry said, knowing that she was just as worried about the time-frame as he was. “It’s just a few more–“

“OW! Bloody hell, Weasley!” Draco exclaimed behind them.

Harry and Hermione spun around to find Ron grinning smugly while Draco clutched at his face. When his hand fell, there was a large red welt across his pale cheek. Apparently, Ron had allowed one of the branches to snap back into Draco’s face, and looked thoroughly pleased about it.

“Ron,” Hermione groaned in exasperation.

“Oops,” Ron said with a cold look Draco’s way. “Clumsy me.”

Hermione made a move to continue walking towards the barrier, but Harry stopped her, turning to face Draco and Ron. The two wizards stopped walking as well, and judging by the look on Ron’s face, he could see what was coming.

“I’m going to say this once and for all,” Harry said with forced calm as he looked at the two of them. “We’re not going on some boring field trip, alright? We’re going to attempt to stop the darkest wizard who ever existed from returning to life – do you both understand that?”

Ron and Draco nodded, though Draco was on the verge of pleading complete innocence on the matter, but Harry cut across before he could even get a chance.

“It’s not only important – it’s vital that the two of you set aside your differences until we return. We are all we have – if we can’t trust each other and work together to stop the worst from happening, not only will Voldemort return, but we won’t even survive long enough to warn anyone else. Got it?”

“Yes,” Ron and Draco said together, the two of them looking thoroughly ashamed.

“I’m going to ask you two to do something Dumbledore once asked Snape and Sirius to do three years ago,” Harry said. “I want you to shake each other’s hands and trust each other from this moment on. Remember, you are both on the same side. It’s time you two start acting like it.”

Ron and Draco hesitated for only a split second before they each reached out a hand and shook briefly while barely meeting each other’s eyes, and then they let go almost instantly.

“Good,” Harry said, managing a smile for them both, feeling better. “Let’s go – there isn’t much time left. We’ve already wasted enough of it.” He and Hermione led the way once again and Harry caught the smile on Hermione’s face as Ron and Draco quietly followed.

“Nicely played, love,” Hermione whispered to him.

Harry grinned.

"You still haven't told me what we're doing in this bloody Forest," Draco said softly, his senses alert for the fall of a centaur hoof or the swish of an arrow cleaving the air. "And how in Voldemort's name are we getting there? Even I don't know where the bloody ceremony is taking place."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Ron said, his eyes twinkling in a manner that Fred and George would have envied. "The dragons know where they're going."

"The what?" Draco exclaimed, his head jerking sharply toward Ron.

"Didn't Harry tell you?" Ron said through a hard, thin smile as he spotted a familiar opening in the trees ahead. "We're riding dragons."

Draco laughed out loud, catching himself suddenly and smothering the rest of his outburst under his breath. But his silent laughter was choked off suddenly when Harry looked back at him with a smile and promptly vanished before his eyes. Hermione followed a moment later. Draco halted in mid-stride, only to feel Ron's hands on his back as he was propelled through the magical barrier surrounding the glade and into the presence of --

"Dragons!"

"What, didn't I speak clearly?" Ron said casually. His enjoyment at the astonishment spreading across Draco's pale face momentatily swept away his own fears, and he grinned broadly.

The four dragons seemed to realize that they had company, because they reared their ugly heads and blinked hungrily at their four guests. It was, of course, dinner time and Hagrid would soon be arriving with their supper, which meant that Harry would have to make this quick if they were to leave before Hagrid arrived. Harry handed his Firebolt to Hermione, so that the dragons would not mistake it for a weapon and grow restless. Draco seemed to notice Harry's and Ron's brooms for the first time.

"We'll need the brooms for the flight back," Harry explained, reading the question in Draco's eyes. With a wicked smile, he said, "You can double up with Ron."

It was now Draco's turn to enjoy a laugh at Ron's expense. As Ron began to mouth a wordless protest, Harry turned and approached the cage, his palms open before him.

The dragons had grown since Harry had last seen them, and each one was now the average size of a pony. He slowly and confidently approached the cage. "I'm going to let you out," he told the dragons in parseltongue, his voice coming out as a soft hiss. "And when I do, I forbid you to harm my friends." He pointed to Hermione, Ron and Draco to indicate who he was talking about. "And you are going to stay ON THE GROUND. You are not going to fly until I tell you to do so. Do you understand me?"

The four dragons slowly nodded comprehendingly, and Harry could somehow sense that their disappointment didn't come from the command they were not allowed to fly immediately, but that Hermione, Ron and Draco were not, in fact, their dinner. Harry pulled out his wand, flicked it once, called, "Alohomora" and with a loud ‘click’, the cage door flung open.

The dragons sprang out immediately and Hermione gave a short cry, but the dragons, following Harry’s direction, didn't move forward. They stretched their long necks, flexed their scaly wings and made loud noises from their mouths that sounded like a mixture of a screech and a wail.

"It's alright," Harry told Hermione, Ron and Draco in English. "They won't hurt you."

Harry turned back to the dragons, and they appeared to be waiting for him to say something. Harry thought about what he wanted them to do and conveyed it in another message through parseltongue. Once he was sure they had understood him, he motioned for Hermione to approach.

"Don't worry," he told her as Hermione's quivering form advanced. "He won't touch a hair on your head, I promise." Taking his Firebolt back, he took her gently by the hand and brought her around, the eyes of the other dragons watching them intently. He helped Hermione mount her dragon, which had lowered itself in order to make it easier for her to climb its back.

"Oh, dear," Hermione whispered, half awed, half horrified. The moment she was on the dragon, she placed a Sticking Charm on herself so she wouldn't slip off mid-flight. She closed her eyes, looking thoroughly nauseated.

“Take care of her,” Harry said to the dragon in parseltongue, daring to touch the dragon’s rough hide alongside his pointy snout. “She’s special to me.”

The dragon’s red eyes flickered, indicating that he understood. Feeling satisfied that Hermione was in good hands – or claws -- Harry moved on to the next dragon, motioning for Ron to follow. Harry took Ron's broom and removed it from the dragon's sight as it surveyed Ron with a dark, surly expression. Ron stared back for a moment, then he laughed somewhat nervously.

"He looks like Krum," Ron said, and Harry heard Hermione giggle softly from atop her own dragon.

Draco watched with a petulant expression as Ron mounted his dragon, though with no small amount of trepidation. After Ron was secure on his dragon, his Sticking Charm in place, Harry Charmed Ron's broom for the return journey he hoped they would all be making and handed it to him at an angle away from the dragon's line of sight. Ron promptly secured his broom to his lap with another Sticking Charm, which spell he had learned to perfection under Hermione's relentless tutelage. Smiling, Harry now turned his attention to the last member of their mismatched party.

"Alright, Draco?" Harry said, nodding his head from him to the third dragon. "You can have that one."

"That is ... unless ... you're too afraid?" Ron said challengingly from his mount. But when Harry looked up into Ron’s face, he was relieved to find that there was no trace of hostility on his face. Ron was merely taunting Draco, not out of spite, but out of sheer amusement, rather as Fred and George had teased him all his life. "Well, that's not surprising, is it? I mean, the Sorting Hat put all the blokes with courage into Gryffindor, didn't it?"

Draco narrowed his eyes to slits and took the challenge, strolling purposefully over to the third dragon without showing an ounce of fear. He stared at the dragon, which regarded him placidly with eyes black as onyx.

"How is this possible?" Draco asked in an awe-struck voice as he recognized the dragon for the dangerous breed it was.

"Baby dragons understand and obey parseltongue," Harry said. "They outgrow it after a time."

"And when exactly do they outgrow it?" Draco asked in a controlled voice.

Harry saw Ron come alert. In truth, he himself had no idea when the dragons' surly natures would ultimately thrust themselves to the fore, rendering parseltongue useless to arrest the beasts' violent instincts.

"Not today," Harry said calmly as he helped Draco mount his dragon.

I hope.

Harry repeated his instructions to the dragon in parseltongue, and only when Draco was secured to his dragon with a proper Sticking Charm, like the others, did Harry turn to the fourth and last dragon, which was already crouched low for Harry to mount him. There being no one to hold Harry's broom for him, he held it just behind the dragon's right shoulder, where it hovered obediently, humming slightly. But where his companions expected him to mount his "steed," he turned instead and plunged his hand into his robes. He drew out the Marauder's Map and sent it toward the cage with a Banishing Charm. It slapped against the cage door, and a twist of his wrist applied a Sticking Charm, holding it fast against the wooden bars.

"We don't need it where we're going," he said. "And when Hagrid comes out to feed the dragons, he'll see it and know who took them." As he said this, he wished he could leave behind a proper note to explain where they had gone, and why. But there was no time. And if they did not succeed, he realized, that simple phrase would assume a meaning more terrible than he could imagine. When the "midnight hour" struck, it might be the death knell for the entire wizarding world. There would, quite literally, be no time left...for anyone.

Harry was just about to swing his leg over his dragon's back when a sudden thought seemed to strike him. Whirling, he drew his wand and, sweeping the three dragon-riders with his eyes, he said, "Take your wands out."

The commanding tone of Harry's voice swept away all questions as the three complied without hesitation. Harry touched the tip of his wand to Draco's, then to Ron's. Each felt his wand hum when Harry's made contact. But where this produced a look of bewilderment on the boys' faces, Hermione responded with a look of understanding when Harry's wand touched hers.

His final task completed, Harry climbed aboard his dragon and secured himself to its back with a Sticking Charm. But when he caught up his Firebolt and fixed it across his knees, he wondered exactly what he was going to hold onto, now that they were all ready to take flight. When he looked at the others, he noticed that they looked just as uncertain, their hands hanging limply by their sides. Now that Harry was staring at the back of his dragon’s head, he noticed two small horns protruding from the back of its head. And what was more was that they were in perfect reach for him to grasp – like handles from a bicycle.

He hesitated only a moment before gently reaching out and touching one of the horns – a question of permission to the dragons without using parseltongue. His dragon reared his head and made a loud noise which bore no hostility whatsoever, from what Harry could tell. Harry slipped his hands more firmly around the horns and his dragon didn't protest in the slightest. He seemed to remember something Hagrid had once said about dragons rubbing horns as a sign of kinship and fraternity. If'n yer wan' ter make friends with a dragon, Harry, jus' rub their horns an' they'll know yer don' mean 'em no harm. Mind they don' bite yer hand off, o' course. Harry grinned. It appeared that the Hogwarts gamekeeper knew quite a bit about his favorite creatures after all, their misadventure with Norbert notwithstanding.

"Take their horns on the back of their heads," Harry instructed the others confidently. "They don't mind."

Hermione, Ron and Draco obeyed, albeit with intense reluctance. It struck Harry that neither Ron nor Draco had ever ridden a bicycle, both having grown up in wizarding families. Not that the Dursleys had ever bought Harry a bicycle, of course (though he had sneaked occasional rides on Dudley's bikes when his cousin wasn't looking). He was pleased when they caught on quickly, following his example and Hermione's.

"Tell them to fly in a straight line," Ron said anxiously as he gripped his set of horns with white-knuckled fingers. "No fancy loops and stuff."

Even knowing that time was pressing them mercilessly from all sides, Harry could not restrain a smile. Speaking in loud, clear parseltongue that the four dragons could all hear clearly, Harry said commandingly: "Fly straight. Fly home."

In unison, the dragons flapped their great, scaly wings, squawked loudly and pushed up from the ground and into the sky, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for them to do, even though this was technically the first time that they had ever flown. The Forbidden Forest quickly fell behind them and they soared higher and further, leaving the castle and everything else behind, leading Harry, Hermione, Ron and Draco to whatever awaited them.

***

Author's Note: I was just moments away from posting this when I realized that I had forgotten to mention one very important thing. A lot of you may not realize this, but this story has been in progress for nearly THREE entire years. Yeah, a long time, I know. This is important to consider, because Gary (who deserves all of the credit for the specific breed of dragons we're using for the story) thought up the idea of the "foursome" using them to travel. He thought this up a LONG time before OotP was realeased.

I take it a lot of you might have thought that we were ripping off OotP, and before you completely condemn me, please, please, please believe me when I say it's just a total coincidence that the dragon scene resembles the thestral scene -- a very interesting coincidence, I should say. I'd apologize for the uncanny resemblance, but really, I think J.K should be the one to apologize! (Just kidding, of course -- I bow to J.K). Alright, thanks for reading and I'll see you all later!

26. The Power He Knows Not

Circle's Close

Chapter 26: The Power He Knows Not
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: fae.princess@gmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G. This is a sequel to "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Trelawney's predictions have led Harry to this point, but will he and the others accomplish what they're bound and determined to do, or is it already too late?
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Note from Fae: Well, it appears that my last update was almost a year ago. I can't believe that -- I seriously thought I had posted during the holidays. Well, I don't think an apology will suffice, so without further ado, I bring you the next installment of Circle's Close. Some things to note about this chapter: I didn't write it. This entire chapter was written by my awesome friend, Stoneheart (who is also my beta). He is a lot better at writing action scenes than I am, which is why he offered to write this chapter, and oh my god, is it ever amazing. I've never read anything more spectacular and I'm truly honoured that Stoneheart wrote this for me. It's actually a chapter I had to read at least three times in order to digest everything. It's so multi-layered that it's extremely easy to miss something important that happened. I did it many times.

Anyway, go read it. It's long, but extremely worth the read. It's better than any previous chapter in this story, so if you can sit through one of my boring chapters, you can definitely take the time to read this one! Let Stoneheart know what you thought (and me, too, of course).

Enjoy!

***

In nearly seven years as a wizard-in-training, Harry thought he had seen and done enough fantastic things so that nothing could ever surprise him again.

Well, I reckon your arrogance has been sorted out right enough, hasn't it, Potter? a voice in the back of his head mocked.

And so it had. The fire of determination that had churned his blood into something resembling volcanic lava was ebbing away, and Harry was coming to grips with the realization that he and his friends were embarking on a journey from which none of them was likely to return.

Oddly enough, Harry did not seem to dread the possibility -- indeed, the probability -- of his own death as much as the death of his companions. Granted, they had chosen to accompany him of their own free will. They, like himself, were all of age, legally empowered under wizarding law to act of their own volition, whether wisely or foolishly. And Harry was beginning to realize in the pit of his stomach that the mission on which he was leading them must certainly fall into the latter category.

But what else was there to do? Sit back in the comfy chairs in the Gryffindor common room and wait placidly for the most terrible Dark wizard in history to be resurrected? No. Whatever the odds against them, that was not an option.

But from a realistic standpoint, what hope had four student wizards against an unguessed number of merciless Death Eaters? Their enemies would have no compunction against using the darkest of magicks against them, including the Killing Curse, the one spell against which there was no defense. The odds against the success of such a mission were incalculable. Not even Ludo Bagman at his most desperate would have wagered so much as a Galleon on such an outcome. Yet here they were, clinging precariously to the backs of four dragons -- dragons, for Merlin's sake! -- winging their way toward a confrontation which must ultimately, inevitably, end in death for them all. If that wasn't the height of foolishness, he'd bloody well like to know what was!

Harry knew that it would require but a single command from him -- spoken in parseltongue -- to send the four dragons winging their way back to Hogwarts. They would resist, the instinctive drive to seek out their lost mother warring against Harry's command. But he knew they would obey. A few miles farther out -- a few miles nearer to their mother -- and he doubted even his strongest command would alter their course. But if he gave the command now, they could turn around and all land back in the clearing behind Hagrid's cabin, there to turn the dragons loose to fly off on their own, leaving Harry and his friends safely behind.

But Harry knew that he would not -- could not -- give that command. There was no force on earth, magical or otherwise, that would prevent him from doing everything in his power to forestall the return of the wizard who had murdered his parents. And where he went, his friends would go. He would have to stun them, or place a Body-Bind on them, to prevent them from coming along. Not only was that a distasteful and borderline cowardly action to contemplate, it would be nigh impossible to accomplish against Hermione, who, like Harry, now possessed the rudimentary skills of an Auror. Given the thoroughness of the training they had received from Sirius and Remus, Harry doubted that there was a junior Auror in all the Ministry who could match himself and Hermione skill for skill.

But would that be enough when they went head-on against the cream of Voldemort's Death Eaters? Deep in his heart, Harry knew the answer. It would not be enough. There was no way they could pit themselves against such odds and prevail. Unless...

But Harry shoved that thought to the back of his mind. There was time enough for that later. Now, in the time it took them to reach their destination (wherever that proved to be), they had to plan. They had to prepare.

As his thoughts cleared, Harry took note for the first time of their surroundings.

It was difficult to estimate their height (though perhaps Hermione might be able to, being better at geometry and measuring distances than Harry), but they must be miles above the rocky ground of Northern Scotland by Harry's rough estimate. At this height, they were not likely to be spotted easily by Muggles. So tiny would they appear to an onlooker on the ground, they would be mistaken for migrating birds or somesuch. (Did birds migrate North at this time of year? Harry had no idea.) In addition, the wild country over which they were flying was inhabited mostly by animals. The far edges of the British Isles were inhospitable places for humans to try to exist (which was the primary reason why Hogwarts had been placed where it was by its four founders). Then, too, if they kept on traveling in this direction, they would leave the land behind altogether. Even as he thought this, Harry peered ahead and saw that the horizon was changing from green and brown to a dull green-gray. The North Sea was fast approaching.

Well, Harry thought fatalistically, if we fall off over water, at least we won't be smashed to a pulp. We'll only drown is all.

Perhaps Harry's greatest surprise was that he did not feel as cold as he expected to. At the height they were flying, the thin air would render the sun's warmth feeble at best. He had learned this the hard way when he would practice high-altitude flying on a warm day at Sirius's house and forget to fetch his warm cloak from the living room cupboard. None of them could have taken their cloaks with them today, of course, as that would have looked suspicious to anyone observing them leaving the castle. What use had one for a cloak on a warm, cloudless May day? He'd thought they would simply have to endure the cold as one of the unavoidable hardships of the situation.

To his surprise and great relief, he discovered something about dragons that he was sure Hagrid (and, quite probably, Hermione) could have told him had he been inclined to ask. The internal fire by which dragons breathed flames caused their bodies to radiate heat like a stone fireplace (an apt analogy, given the stony quality of their hides). In addition, jets of heat radiated from their nostrils, sending a warm breeze into Harry's face. In this regard, he was grateful that the fledgling dragons were not yet old enough to breathe fire. The most they could do was emit a burst of sparks now and then. Even that might be enough to set their riders' robes smoldering if a particularly fierce burst were to catch them. But dragons seemed disposed to breathe fire only in anger, or as a means of attack when they felt threatened. Fortunately (and thanks in no small part to Harry's repeated vocal assurances in parseltongue), their mounts appeared quite content now as they flapped their leathery wings with graceful ease, riding the air currents as their homing instincts drove them inexorably on toward their goal. Harry saw no hint of fire or smoke from his dragon or any of the others.

His own contentment being (for the moment, at least) the equal of his steed's, Harry craned his neck and surveyed his strange party. The dragons, he saw, were flying in wedge formation, like migrating geese. Hermione had once explained that this was aerodynamically efficient, allowing the lead bird (or, in this case, lead dragon) to cleave the air for his fellows, easing their labors somewhat. Following an instinct as old as time, the formation would shift regularly so that each member of the wedge took a turn at point. Even as Harry thought this, the dragons began, subtly but unmistakably, to alter the rhythm of their flapping. Presently, Harry was in the lead, with Ron on his right flank, and Hermione and Draco on his longer left flank. With a smoothness as if they were gobstones moving across a gigantic board, the dragons began to swing around in a sort of broken circle. Harry's dragon shifted to the right as the left flank moved up. The change in position was completed before any of the riders could so much as cry out in surprise. Hermione was now in the lead, with Harry on her right and Draco on her left. Ron had slipped back and swung into place at the end of the left flank.

Harry looked over his left shoulder to see how everyone had weathered the shift in position. His greatest concern was Hermione, who hadn't taken flight in any form since the night four years ago when the two of them had flown Buckbeak up to Professor Flitwick's office window to rescue Sirius. To his relief, he saw that she was still firmly astride her dragon, though her face looked as white as he had ever seen it.

He had little worries for Ron and Draco, as they, like himself, were skilled Quidditch players, as at home in the air as they were on the ground. Nevertheless, neither of them looked too happy at having been swung into their new positions with no warning. It was difficult to see any change in Draco's face, as his skin was rather pale to begin with. But the change in Ron's normally ruddy complexion was striking. He looked like an ice sculpture with freckles as he gripped the horns protruding from his dragon's head with white-knuckled fingers.

Once their new positions had stabilized, Harry reckoned that the next shift would not be for at least another ten minutes. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Drawing his wand very carefully, lest the wind tear it from his grasp and leave him weaponless against his enemies, Harry pointed it in Hermione's direction and shot a burst of red stars across her line of sight. She turned immediately, and Harry thought to see the color return to her cheeks as she smiled over her shoulder at him. He gestured with his wand, and she nodded and drew hers.

Harry signaled Ron and Draco as he had Hermione. When everyone's wand was out, Harry gestured in an exaggerated manner, indicating that everyone was to copy his actions. He brought the tip of his wand to his mouth. Ron and Draco imitated him with a shrug of uncomprehension. Hermione smiled knowingly, waiting for Harry to continue. Harry gave his wand a tricky wiggle. The tip glowed briefly, the wand humming for a moment. Instantly, the tips of the other three wands glowed similarly. Smiling at the confused look on Ron's face, Harry placed the tip of his wand against his lips.

"Can everyone hear me?"

He had not shouted, as might be expected, what with the wind rushing in their ears. He had spoken as naturally as if addressing someone over one of the House tables in the Great Hall. But the surprised look that sprang into Ron's eyes revealed that he had, indeed, heard Harry's question with no difficulty in spite of the roaring wind.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed, and Harry heard his mate as clearly as if the pair of them were sitting side by side in the quiet of the Gryffindor common room. "How did you manage that?"

"It's basically the same spell that makes the WWN work," Harry said. "Not as strong, of course. That requires really powerful magic. But we only need to communicate over a short distance -- a few hundred yards at most."

"But how can I hear you over the wind?"

"Actually, you're not," Harry said. "Can you feel the wand vibrating? The sound of my voice is traveling as vibration. It goes straight up your arm and into your head, where it makes the bones of your inner ear resonate. You're actually hearing my voice inside your head."

"Remember what I told you six years ago about hearing voices, Harry!" Ron laughed. But his laughter died as he asked, "Can anyone else hear us? I mean, when we're sneaking up on those Death Eater blokes, won't they hear us over their wands?"

"No," Harry said. "Remember when I touched everyone's wand before we took off? I harmonized our wands so that only we can communicate. Even if someone else was clever enough to use the same spell, they won't know what frequency we're using. Just like tuning a radio."

Even Draco was clearly impressed, his cool, indifferent mask melting away. "How did you come up with this, Harry?"

"Hermione suggested it," Harry said, smiling in the direction of the lead dragon. "We've been training against a possible Death Eater attack on the school, and we needed a way to stay in touch in case we got separated. It was important that we be able to talk silently in a critical situation. Just before we took off, I realized it would come in handy here. There's no way we could make ourselves understood with all this wind rushing about."

"Brilliant," Draco said.

"Actually," Hermione said, her voice ringing musically in everyone's ears, "I got the idea from you, Draco."

"From me?" Draco said in surprise.

"Remember when you were talking to Rita Skeeter, during the Triwizard Tournament? We all saw you talking into your hand, and I said it looked like you were using a Muggle walkie-talkie. Well, I realized, why not? Anything the Muggle world can do, the wizarding world can do, I say."

"You sound like a pureblood," Draco laughed.

"High praise, coming from a Malfoy," Hermione returned, her eyes twinkling.

"Right, then," Harry said, his tone suddenly serious. "We need to discuss tactics before we arrive. We have no idea where we're going, or how long it'll take us to get there. We need to be prepared. We can't just rush in like a charging Skrewt. We'll have the advantage of surprise, but that won't last. We need something concrete."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Harry," Draco said in an apologetic tone (which in itself made Ron's mouth go slack in surprise), "but I sort of thought you had a plan when you all set off."

"Actually," Harry admitted, "there wasn't time to do much planning. I suppose I was trusting to my Auror training to help me come up with something. But being as we're all risking our lives here, I think everyone should have a say. In the end, I'll take the responsibility of making the final choice. But I can't do that until I've heard what everyone thinks. So -- what do you think, Draco?"

All eyes turned toward Draco -- even Ron's, though with a trace of suspicion not present in Harry and Hermione.

Draco lowered his eyes thoughtfully. Following his action without thinking, Harry saw that the land had disappeared beneath them, having been replaced by an endless expanse of water. The Scottish mainland was no more than a misty blur behind them.

Raising his head until his eyes met Harry's, Draco said, "My dad didn't tell me anything outright, but I was able to pick up certain things here and there. I heard him joking with one of his mates one night when they were drinking wine at the Manor. He said that when the time came, the Aurors would never find him. He said he'd be hiding in plain sight, right under their noses where they'd be too stupid to look.

"You've noticed the direction we're going. North by Northeast. It's not rabbited about, but Azkaban fortress is somewhere up ahead." This news gave everyone pause. "The island is protected by spells so that Muggles can't see it, and if they get too close, they suddenly head off in the other direction. There's no place in the wizarding world that the Ministry scrutinizes more closely than Azkaban. Therefore, it's the last place they'd expect their enemies to be hiding."

"The ceremony is taking place on Azkaban?" Ron goggled.

Draco resisted the urge to respond with a scathing rebuke. Harry could see the muscles of his jaw tighten and relax in the space of a few moments.

"The island where Azkaban was built is just one of many," Draco said in a controlled voice. "What better place to hide under the Ministry's nose than on one of those islands?"

"That makes sense," Hermione said. Ron flashed her a disapproving look, as if agreeing with Draco were the next thing to treason.

This news seemed almost welcome to Harry. "I was hoping we weren't flying all the way to the mainland. I don't know if we could have made the journey in time. If it's an island up ahead, we just might get there in time."

"You sound like you know exactly when the ceremony is taking place," Draco said, sounding both jealous and impressed. "Father wouldn't have told me that in a million years."

"You could say we're uniquely qualified in that area," Hermione said. "It was the Friendship Ring that destroyed Voldemort exactly one year ago. Ideally, the spell to resurrect him should take place on the very moment of the anniversary of his destruction."

"Which is when?" Draco asked.

"Less than an hour from now," Harry said, looking at his watch. "I only hope we can make it in time. Taking on Death Eaters is one thing, but I don't fancy facing down Voldemort. It's vital that we arrive before the ceremony can take place."

"And what do we do when we get there?" Draco asked, a trace of his old drawl creeping into his voice.

"I'm open to suggestions," Harry said.

To everyone's surprise (including his own), it was Ron who spoke up.

"You know why you always lose to me in chess, Harry?"

The unexpectedness of this question left everyone speechless, and Ron smiled confidently as he plowed on.

"It's because you don't use your chessmen as a unit. You don't consider the ramifications of letting one piece attack without others being in place to run interference. A chessboard is a battlefield, and you have to use the pieces together, like an army. And that's what we have to do here. We have to coordinate our attack so that we all work together as a seamless unit."

Another silence (respective of the wind rushing in everyone's ears) fell, to be broken a moment later by Draco.

"Bloody hell, Weasley, I know you'll eat anything that isn't moving, but it sounds like you swallowed a bleedin' dictionary."

"Let's say I've been paying attention lately when certain people," Ron grinned over his shoulder at Hermione, who smiled back, "go on about the value of education." But his face grew serious immediately as he said, "That's what we have to do here. We have to work as a team, watch each other's back, protect each other from blindside attacks. And we have to do everything we can to keep them from doing the same thing. In chess, a divided board is a weak board. We have to keep those buggers divided while we all work together. If we do that, we -- we may have a chance of pulling this off."

Everyone was staring at Ron as if he had just given a speech in parseltongue without realizing it. Harry and Hermione exchanged a look before regarding Ron with a newfound respect. But before either of them could respond to their friend's declaration, another voice spoke with quiet forcefulness.

"I agree," Draco said, and there was no trace of his former bored drawl in his voice. "Death Eaters are clever and dangerous, but they don't know how to think for themselves. They follow orders well, but when they're surprised, they revert to type. They'll abandon their mates and look after their own skins at all costs. My father is the worst of the lot," he added scathingly. "He cares for no one but himself. The only reason he's doing this is so he'll have his master back to give him orders again. Left to his own devices, he's a coward."

"How are you going to feel," Harry asked cautiously, "facing your own father in a life-or-death situation? Can you put your animosity aside and be a team player, as Ron said?"

"That's a fair question," Draco answered. Turning alternately to his three companions, he said in a cold voice, "Like you, I'm here to do what needs doing. But I won't deny it would give me immense satisfaction to be the one to bring my father down."

"Then you'd better get to him before I do," Ron grunted. "If I turn around and see him standing in front of me -- " Following a tense pause, he said, "Not for myself. For Ginny."

Harry saw Ron's eyes lock with Draco's. The insult of having been made Lucius Malfoy's tool in the theft of the Friendship Ring still burned hot in Ron's blue eyes, but there was something more there, something deeper. Harry understood what it was, and he was sure that Draco understood as well. Six years ago, Draco's father had clandestinely given Ginny Tom Riddle's diary, nearly resulting in her death in the bowels of the Chamber of Secrets. Ron had hated Draco the more deeply since then, despite the fact that Draco had been quite ignorant of his father's plan. Now, at last, Ron could transfer that hatred from Draco onto the one who had truly earned it. Draco could see this as well as he stared into Ron's eyes across the short distance separating them, and it seemed to give them a kind of kinship that swept away their vast differences like smoke from the surface of a cauldron.

"Agreed," Draco said simply, and Ron gave a short, fierce nod.

"Right," Harry said, his thoughts clearing for the task at hand. "We won't have much time to scout the situation. I'm hoping they'll all be busy with the ceremony, and feeling too smug to be watching their flanks too closely."

"What do we do if they spot us first?" Draco asked reasonably.

"Everything depends on their not spotting us," Harry said. "Without surprise, we're dead before we start. But I'm counting on one of their number being easy to spot at a distance."

"The mother dragon!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I don't care how good they are at taming dragons," Harry said. "A Bulgarian Devil's Bane isn't going to be curled up at their feet, purring like a kitten. Quick as we hear a roar or see a jet of flame, I'll have our 'rides' drop down out of sight so we can jump off before we're spotted."

"I thought nothing could stop these buggers from going for their mum," Ron said with a nod at his dragon.

"I don't want them to change direction," Harry said. "Just altitude. I reckon I still have enough control over them for that."

Harry wished he felt as certain as he sounded. The truth was, the closer the dragons got to their mother, the more powerful their instincts would be to drive relentlessly on. Harry gripped the horns upon which his hands rested, applying a firm pressure that would be translated through the dragon's thick skull and into its brain. I'm giving the orders, Harry thought as his eyes bored into the back of the dragon's misshapen head. You'll do as I say. He hoped, when the time came, those would be more than just idle words. Their very lives depended on it.

The sky ahead of them was quickly deepening from pale blue to indigo to black. The farther they flew, the more quickly the sun receded behind them. Harry wasn't sure whether this would serve them for good or ill. If the darkness fell swiftly enough, it would mask their arrival and enable them to surprise their foes. But if they arrived too soon, the setting sun would illuminate the black outlines of the dragons, casting them into sharp relief on the crimson tapestry of the sky. That would make it all the more critical for him to maintain command of the dragons until the very last minute.

Lifting his wand to his lips again, he said, "Even if we come in unobserved, we're going to have to leave the dragons before they actually reach their mother. There's no way we can stop them from joining her, short of killing them. I don't think a Stunner will work on them. Even young as they are, their hides are too thick. And this breed is particularly resistant to magic in any case."

"That'll be tricky," Ron said. "We'll have to jump on our brooms and fly off without getting knocked silly by these buggers' wings."

"And don't forget," Harry reminded Ron, "you and I are the only ones with brooms. Quick as I'm safely mounted, I'll have to ease my broom over so Hermione can get on behind me."

"Hang on!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes swiveling up toward Draco. "Are you telling me that I have to ride double with -- him?"

Draco looked back at Ron and grinned in exactly the same way Ron had earlier.

"Where's that Gryffindor courage you were going on about, Weasley?"

Ron lapsed into a surly silence, and Draco swung his head back around with a wink at Harry.

"When the time comes to engage the enemy," Harry said, "we'll have to split up. If we're all grouped together, we'll be too easy a target. But we still have to stay in sight of each other," he added with a nod in Ron's direction. "Like Ron said, we have to work together without actually being together. We need to stay on the move, hit hard and then move on."

"Have you worked out a plan of attack?" Draco asked.

"Nothing concrete," Harry said. "That'll depend on the situation we find when we arrive. But even when we're apart, we'll have to work as a team. Hermione and I have been undergoing Auror training. We've learned a few things that should come in handy. So even while we're separated, we'll work as a loose team, with Hermione and me as the leaders. Whichever of us is closest to someone else will have full authority. That means when Hermione or I give an order, it has to be followed immediately. Even a moment's delay might give our enemy an opening, and we can't allow that, not outnumbered as we are.

"So, for the record, Draco," Harry said as casually as he could manage, "will you have any problems taking orders from Hermione?"

Though his attention was fixed primarily on Draco, Harry was watching both Hermione and Ron peripherally. Ron seemed keen to hear Draco's response.

"Well," Draco said in his best lazy drawl, "that all depends, doesn't it?"

"On what?" Harry asked as Ron shot a reproachful glance at Draco.

"On whether she intends to hog all the fun for herself." Draco cast an appraising eye at Hermione. "From what I hear through the grapevine, she's a damn good duelist. I mean, she is going to leave a few Death Eaters for me, isn't she?"

Draco smiled at Hermione, and she laughed lightly as Ron settled back with an approving look on his face.

"I promise not to show off too much, Draco," Hermione smiled back at him. "But I'd advise you not to lag back. Do you think you can keep up with me?"

"Well," Draco drawled, "if I can't, Weasley will never let me forget it."

"Too right," Ron said, and Harry was relieved to see that his mate was smiling without rancor.

For the next thirty minutes, Harry and Hermione took turns mapping out loose battle strategies, answering questions as they went. At Harry's suggestion, they had all tucked their wands into their robes so that the points were against their throats. This allowed them to communicate freely without having to use their hands (which were much better employed in holding onto their mounts). It was far and away the strangest conversation Harry had ever seen, much less participated in, as the discussion went back and forth amongst the four participants. Harry and Hermione necessarily dominated, their Auror training prompting them, but they readily accepted input from their companions. They listened attentively when Ron or Draco made a suggestion, and sounded each other out on their strengths and weaknesses.

"I have a blind spot on my left," Draco confessed when the subject of dueling was broached. "I discovered it when Father and I started practicing about a year ago."

"Right," Harry said. "Whoever is on Draco's left, be on guard."

"If we keep our heads and stay coordinated," Hermione said, "we should always be in sight of one of the others."

"Unless one of us steps in front of the Killing Curse," Ron observed wryly.

"I don't think they'll be stupid enough to use anything really deadly in close quarters," Harry said, "for fear of hitting their mates. But -- "

"I don't know," Draco said skeptically. "I think my father would gladly sacrifice half his mates just to boast that he'd got you in the bargain."

"Well," Harry shrugged uncomfortably as he continued on, "once we start thinning them out, the danger of encountering deadly spells will increase. The trick is to keep moving, don't give them a stationary target to aim at. Even so, we can't dismiss the possibility that one of us will go down. If that happens -- "

Harry's voice caught for a moment, during which none of his audience so much as blinked.

"If that happens...the ones who are left will have to close ranks and carry on. Nothing matters but stopping that ceremony -- nothing -- and no one.

"Ron," he said sharply, and Ron jerked his head directly at Harry. "I mean it, mate. If Hermione or I go down, don't try to help us. You said it yourself when we were going after the Sorcerer's Stone -- sometimes you have to make sacrifices to win the game. And this is the biggest bloody game of all."

Ron's eyes flashed challengingly, but a moment later he closed his mouth and lowered his head. He nodded once, which action was mirrored in turn by Hermione and Draco. Harry acknowledged in kind, and as his eyes found and embraced Hermione's, a thought sprang unbidden into his mind.

Did my dad have this same conversation with my mum and Sirius and Remus when they went out on missions for the Order of the Phoenix? If he came out of this in one piece, he promised himself to confront the two wizards on that subject. He wished they were with him now. He wished --

He shook his head fiercely. With a reassuring smile at Hermione, he turned his face into the wind and inhaled a lungful of the tangy, salt-flavored air. In an instant his mind was swept clean of all such maudlin thoughts. There was no place for them in the here and now. Turning back to Hermione, he communicated a silent I love you with his eyes, which she returned in fashion more eloquent than words.

When no one could think of anything more to add to their battle strategy, the foursome settled into a quietly contemplative state, enhanced by the hypnotic effect of the wind rushing in their ears. The dragons continued to shift in formation like clockwork, and every change prompted Harry and Hermione to lift a cautious arm so as to note the time on their wristwatches. Would they arrive in time to stop the ceremony?

"How much farther do you reckon?" Ron asked after a position change, his eyes scanning the horizon fruitlessly.

Harry shook his head. He had been occupying his time by casting his mind out in brief Apparative jumps, trying to catch a glimpse of their destination. He did not expect to "see" where they were going, as with true Apparation. Hermione had argued reasonably that the island to which they were flying would be protected by concealment spells not unlike those cloaking Azkaban, including, perforce, anti-Apparation spells. It was, Harry could not deny, a clever plan on Lucius' part. Who would expect to find a nest of Death Eaters hiding right next door to the wizarding prison from which many of them had barely escaped confinement when their fellows were apprehended and sentenced? The Purloined Letter, indeed.

But that barrier was not without trapdoors of its own. Its strength (beyond its purely magical properties) lay in the absurdity of its positioning. No wizard searching for a Death Eater hideaway would think of looking so close to Azkaban. And even if they had been disposed to look, the most sophisticated detection spells would be fooled as easily as any seeking nearby Azkaban. But simpler, more basic magicks might reveal secrets undetected by more complex safeguards. For instance, the Death Eaters' base must certainly employ basic Muggle-repelling spells, even as Azkaban. A Muggle boat suddenly veering away from a seemingly empty expanse of ocean should raise a red flag to anyone alert enough to observe it. In like manner, an Apparating wizard inadvertently intersecting the hidden island's position would encounter the anti-Apparation barrier and find his intended journey inexplicably stymied. This was what Harry was counting on. Any resistance he might encounter to one of his mind-jumps would clearly indicate the presence of a concealment spell where none should be expected. But so far, he had sensed nothing, no smallest resistance or deflection of any kind.

With the last shift of the dragons' flying formation, Harry was now on the left flank with Hermione behind him, Draco on his right and Ron at point. As he stared past Ron at the red and purple sky, Ron loosed one of his hands from his dragon's horn and plunged it into his robes. A glint of a foil wrapper in Ron's hand prompted a smile from Harry. Ron opened the Chocolate Frog deftly and bit its head off. Looking over his left shoulder, Harry saw that Hermione wore a smile not unlike his. But he was surprised when Draco's drawling voice broke the stillness in a manner decidedly less than amused.

"Merlin's beard, Weasley. You'd eat on the way to your own execution."

"Who says I'm not?" Ron returned soberly, his voice muffled by his mouthful of chocolate.

Struck by a sudden inspiration (and wanting to salve Ron's wounded ego), Harry said, "Do you have any more, Ron? Only I think we could all use a little energy boost about now. It's been ages since dinner, and I'm starting to feel a bit peckish."

Uncertain whether Harry was merely being charitable, Ron nevertheless found three more Frogs and sent them unerringly into his companions' hands with a series of Banishing Charms. Harry quickly opened his Frog and sought out the card within even as he savored the chocolate in his mouth.

"I got Merlin," Harry announced. Looking to his left, he asked, "Who did you get, Hermione?"

"Circe," she replied, her voice slightly muffled as she ate.

"I got Dumbledore," Ron grunted. "Got enough of him to wallpaper Gryffindor Tower."

"Don't litter!" Hermione said sharply as Ron made to throw card and wrapper over his shoulder. Shrugging, he stuffed them into a pocket of his robes.

Turning away from Hermione so she could not see his broad grin, Harry asked, "Who did you get, Draco?"

He saw that Draco was staring intently at his Chocolate Frog card. Either he did not hear Harry's question, or he chose not to reply. Sparing himself, perhaps, a reprimand from Hermione, he slipped the card into his robes and stared straight ahead, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Harry was staring ahead as well, but unlike Draco, his face was not set with contemplation. Lines of worry began to crease his lightning scar as he glanced between his watch and the darkening sky creeping ever closer over his shoulder. Though she was behind him and unable to see his eyes, Hermione seemed to sense his worry as she, too, looked at the indigo sky with growing alarm, checking her own watch even as he.

"Harry," she said calmly, though even the rushing wind could not conceal the slight tremble in her voice.

"I know," Harry said without looking around.

"What?" Ron said, looking over his left shoulder at Harry and Hermione.

"We're running out of time," Harry said, his calm as forced as Hermione's. "Wherever the Death Eaters are, they're farther away than we reckoned."

"You mean," Ron said, his voice tinged with dread, "we're not going to get there in time?"

"Can you sense anything, Hermione?" Harry asked without looking around.

Harry was sure that Hermione, like himself, had been "sending" her mind out periodically, searching for their hidden destination. That she had not spoken up was indicative that she had enjoyed no more success than he. Nevertheless, he could not stop himself from asking the question, though he knew what the answer would be.

"Nothing," Hermione said.

"That's it, then?" Ron said in a ghostly voice. "It's over? You-Know-Who is coming back?"

"No," Draco said savagely. "We can't let my father win!"

"You got any suggestions, mate," Ron said, "I'm all ears."

"No news there," Draco drawled.

A terrible silence wrapped itself around the travelers. None knew what to say to sweep away the terrible reality that they had gone to such extreme lengths, only to fail. And more than that, what would happen to them when they finally arrived at their destination? If Trelawney's prophesy were as dead-on as her previous two, they would find a resurrected Voldemort waiting for them, surrounded by who knew how many Death Eaters all eager to do his bidding. Harry realized with a cold dread that his worst fears were about to be realized. He had led his friends straight to their deaths.

Maybe I can do something to make it right, he thought. Maybe -- maybe I can stun them just as we're getting there, chuck them off where no one will see them. I'll let Voldemort think I flew here on my own. He always said I was arrogant, not wanting to ask others for help. He'll believe I came alone. And -- he'll be too chuffed at the prospect of killing me to give it another thought.

A chill ran through Harry despite the heat radiating from the body of the dragon. He was going to die. He was going to be with his parents. A hard, pale smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, which expression, he thought gratefully, Hermione could not see from her position behind him.

If I can't stop him from killing me, he thought, -- and I doubt that I can -- at least I can save my friends.

Playing the hero again, Harry? echoed a voice in his head that sounded disconcertingly like Ron's.

Bugger off, Harry told the voice. It's the only way.

He's right, Harry, Hermione's voice reprimanded. This is our choice. It's not yours to make for us.

Harry's reverie was broken by a renewed shift in the dragons' formation. He was now in the lead, with Ron on his right and Hermione on his left. He turned to Ron, only to find that Ron was not looking at him. Harry was about to say something to draw Ron's attention, but Ron spoke without warning -- not to him, but to Draco, at whom he was staring fixedly over his left shoulder.

"I need to know something, Malfoy," Ron said in as sharp a tone as Harry had ever heard him use.

"What's that?" Draco said just as sharply.

"If I'm going to snuff it," Ron said in a voice curiously devoid of fear, "I don't want to die without knowing everything."

"Everything about what?" Draco returned, mystified.

"Everything about you and Ginny," Ron said. "I want to know how she hooked up with..."

"With the amazing bouncing ferret?" Draco said unexpectedly. He laughed, not his usual drawling, condescending laugh, but a bright laugh of genuine humor.

"Uh," Ron said, caught distinctly off-guard by this response. "Yeah."

Harry and Hermione were now looking at Draco with as much interest as Ron. He laughed again.

"It all started over the holidays at the end of last term," Draco said, and it seemed to Harry that he was almost grateful to tell the story. "You remember how last term ended, don't you, Harry?"

Caught off-guard in his own turn, Harry stammered, "Uh -- yeah -- I mean -- Hermione and I had just -- just destroyed Voldemort."

"Exactly," Draco nodded. "You were feeling pretty happy about that, I imagine. Well, most everyone was, weren't they? Except for one person."

"Your father," Harry said immediately.

"My father," Draco said. "Oh, he was in a state, let me tell you. The Dark Lord was gone, and all his plans to rule at his master's side were up the Floo, just like that. Only -- " And suddenly Draco's eyes narrowed reproachfully. "Only he wasn't giving up, my father. Oh, no. He had a plan, you see -- a plan to bring the Dark Lord back. Well, I thought he was barmy, to tell you the truth. And I told him so."

"Bet he liked that," Ron said. Draco grinned at Ron.

"He wanted me to help him, see. Wanted me to help him bring the Dark Lord back -- said I'd be rewarded, become a Death Eater like him. The Dark Lord himself would put the Dark Mark on my arm." He snorted, giving his head a toss at once dismissive and aristocratic, the latter a mark of the Malfoy pride that his conversion over the past year could not wholly erase. "I told him the Dark Lord was gone, and I wasn't about to waste my time banging my head against a stone wall trying to bring him back. I had better things to do with my life than grovel in the dirt and kiss the Dark Lord's robes. I told him that damned mark on his arm was nothing more than a slave brand, and if he wanted to waste his life as a glorified house-elf, fine, but he could ruddy well leave me out of his mad schemes. Well, you can imagine how that went down with my father."

"But how does Ginny fit in?" Ron asked, his demanding tone noticeably softened.

"Funny thing about that," Draco chuckled as the memory of that day came back to him. "Father and I had wandered toward the edge of Knockturn Alley, and when I finished telling him off I turned straight in and left him behind, still fuming. But I'm not two steps inside when who do I see leaning against the wall, her red hair blowing in the wind and a big, freckled smile on her face."

"Not Ginny!" Ron burst out. "What in the bloody hell was my sister doing in Knockturn Alley?"

"I never did find out," Draco said. "I think she might have been doing something with your brothers, you know, for their joke shop. Well, the look on her face, I mean to say..."

Ron continued to look on anxiously, nor were Harry and Hermione a step behind him in their own eagerness to hear.

Sighing reminiscently, Draco said, "So, she just stood there, looking at me. And I looked at her. We didn't say anything, neither of us. But it was all too clear that she'd heard everything I'd said to my father, or at least the last bit of it where I told him off."

"And what did she do?" Ron said, the ultimatum in his voice now completely eroded away.

"Well," Draco smiled, "as I said, she just stood there. It's like she was looking down on me from some great height -- no mean feat, since I'm a bit taller than her. I'd never had anyone look at me like that. It's like -- like she was opening me up and looking inside me. And then she nodded. That's all, she just nodded. And I couldn't tell if she was nodding at me, or at herself, as if she'd come to a decision or something. And I bristled a bit, actually -- I mean, who was she, or anyone, to pass judgment on a Malfoy? But," he added with a note of fondness that would have seemed out of place in his normally bored voice, "there was something about that smile that -- I can't explain it -- it just made all the anger I'd been feeling for my father melt away."

Draco sighed again, and Harry saw a confused look spread across Ron's face, as if he had no idea how to process what he was hearing.

"Anyway," Draco said, "she nodded once, and then she walked right by me -- didn't even look back. But -- she was still smiling -- even with her back to me, I could sense it on her face. It was almost like an aura surrounding her. I didn't know what to think. What was that all about? And then I began to wonder, what was she going to do with what she'd heard? Was she planning on telling everyone at school that Draco Malfoy ran scared when his father wanted him to become a Death Eater? Was she going to take the mickey out of me for all the foul things I'd done to you lot over the last six years?"

"But she didn't," Harry said.

"No," Draco said. "The next time I saw her was at the Welcoming Feast last September. After Dumbledore dismissed everyone, I looked over at the Gryffindor table, and there she was, giving me that ruddy Cheshire Cat smile again. Well, I couldn't stand the suspense. She was talking to a couple of Ravenclaws, and when they split off to go to their dorms, I cornered her. I asked her what she intended to do about what she'd heard in Diagon Alley."

"And what did she say?" Ron said.

"Nothing," Draco said.

"She didn't say anything?" Ron said.

"No," Draco said with a shake of his head. "That was her answer. She said she wouldn't tell anyone about what she'd heard between my father and me. She said it would be our secret, that it was up to me if I wanted anyone else to know."

"That's it?" Ron said in disbelief.

"There was one more thing," Draco said, and for some reason neither of them could explain, both Harry and Hermione leaned closer (though this in no way increased the volume of Draco's voice vibrating through their wands). "She stood up and kissed me on the cheek."

Ron sat back on his mount, shaking his head. Harry and Hermione exchanged a smile.

"It all sort of snowballed from there," Draco said. "We didn't talk much at first. I'd see her by the lake, looking out over the water, and I'd walk up beside her and just stand there. After a minute, she'd get up and start walking, and I'd fall in beside her. One day -- I don't know why I did it, really -- I reached out and took her hand. I expected her to pull away, but she didn't."

Draco fell silent, as if he didn't want to open the door of his feelings any wider. Harry spotted this before Ron did and he stepped in quickly, encouraged by a nod from Hermione.

"You don't have to say any more," he told Draco. "There are some things a bloke shouldn't talk about behind a girl's back." Harry didn't think Ron was ready to hear about the romantic interlude between Ginny and Draco at the Halloween Ball, as revealed to Harry's eyes through Colin Creevey's clandestine photos. His best mate had enough of a load on his shoulders already without taking on a few extra stone just now.

In a flash that was startling in its abruptness, Draco snarled, "There has to be a way to stop the Dark Lord from coming back! There has to be!" Turning his ashen eyes on Harry, he said almost pleadingly, "You've got out of tough scrapes before now, Scarhead. For the love of Merlin, isn't there something you can do now?"

Harry was about to respond with a helpless shrug, but suddenly his eyes flew open as if an electric shock had surged through him. He clapped a hand to his scar. Seeing this, Hermione cried out in a thrill of excitement.

"Harry! Can you -- can you sense Voldemort? I know he isn't in a real state now, but is it possible -- ?"

Harry jerked his head away from Hermione's pleading eyes and turned his own eyes straight ahead. He'd had no danger warnings by reason of his scar in ages. But he had been taking Occlumency lessons from Sirius and Remus, trying to block out his premonitions. What if -- what if the two were connected? What if --

Harry closed his eyes and cast out his mind as he had before. But this time his senses were attuned to his scar, reaching out, searching for some sign, some vibration, some echo that would make his head throb as of old with the pain that only Voldemort could inspire.

There are barriers around the place where they are, his mind argued. You can't get through.

There are barriers around Hogwarts, too, came the counter-argument. That never stopped your scar from hurting whenever Voldemort was near, or feeling hatred for you.

"He's out there," Harry murmured, his jaw muscles quivering with the effort of his concentration. "We know he didn't die, just like he never died the first time. I sensed him before, when he was attached to Quirrell's head. I sensed him when he was a vile slug sitting by the fire in his parents' house, boasting to Wormtail about his plans for the Triwizard Tournament. He doesn't have to have a body for me to find him. I can do this. I can do this!"

And suddenly Harry cried out, his head snapping back as his hand smote his forehead hard.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, releasing her dragon's horns to cover her own face with her hands.

"He's there," Harry gasped. "I can feel him. He's there."

"He's back?" Ron said in horror.

"No," Harry said as he leaned forward, shaking his head. "I saw it. For a moment, I saw everything, in my head. They're on an island, like we figured. There's a -- an altar of some kind. The Devil's Bane is there. Mulciber is shooting spells at it, trying to weaken it so he can control it with the Imperius Curse. They need the dragon. They can't bring Voldemort back without it."

"Are we close enough?" Draco demanded savagely, his cool eyes flashing.

"No," Harry said, trying to mask the defeat in his voice. "It's too far. We can't -- "

But Harry's voice broke off suddenly. He continued to massage his scar as he turned his head and looked around him at his three companions.

"Yes," he said softly. "Yes." Though his voice rose scarcely above a whisper, yet it carried to the others' wands, and thence to their ears, as if he had been sitting next to them in a soundless room.

"What?" Ron said, his voice both eager and fearful.

"Hermione," Harry said, his eyes finding hers and locking thereon. "There's only one way we can get there in time to stop them from bringing Voldemort back. We'll have to Apparate."

It took a moment for Harry's words to penetrate Hermione's brain.

"Harry, we can't! You know as well as I do that the Death Eaters will have erected anti-Apparation barriers around the island. If we try it, we'll bounce off and be hurled into the sea, if we aren't killed outright by the impact!"

"I think I can get through," Harry said. "Because of this." He indicated his scar, the pain of which was now abating, allowing him to think clearly again. "My scar is linked directly to Voldemort. We know that nothing can interrupt that connection. Besides that, we know from first-hand experience that no magical barrier is foolproof. House-elves can Apparate within the castle, despite the anti-Apparation wards; Fawkes can transport Dumbledore from his office and back in the wink of an eye. If -- if I focus on Voldemort, to getting where he is, I think I can slip past the defenses."

"You think?" Hermione nearly shrieked.

"I know it's a dodgy thing to be risking one's life on," Harry agreed. "But if we arrive after Voldemort's return, he'll kill us all. I don't reckon I have anything to lose, do you?"

For a moment, Hermione did not reply. Then, in a determined voice, she said, "We'll both go."

Harry turned his head sharply. Though he had spoken in the plural, his determination had been to make the journey alone. Seeing the resolve in Hermione's eyes, he knew better than to try to dissuade her from an emotional standpoint. He needed something founded on reason and logic; anything else she would deflect as easily as a Skrewt would shrug off a Stunning spell.

"I'm the only one who can get through," Harry said. "I'm the only one connected to Voldemort."

"That's true," Hermione said calmly, and for a heartbeat Harry thought he had triumphed. But his victory celebration proved premature. "I may not be connected to Voldemort," Hermione said. "But I am connected to you. We can link our minds, using the techniques we learned in Apparation training, and in Occlumency lessons. Remember, I was the one who broke into your mind during all those practice sessions in the castle. When you connect with Voldemort, I'll just 'hitch a lift' and go with you."

Harry knew there was no arguing her out of it. And in truth, there was no point to it. If Voldemort returned, all their deaths were certain. With Hermione at his side, their chances -- slim though they might be -- would be greatly improved. At the very least, they might kill a few of Voldemort's most valued servants, delaying his return to full power by however long it took to replace them. In that time, the Order of the Phoenix might have the chance to build up their strength to the point where they could finish what he and Hermione would start. It was a slim hope, but it was better than none.

Putting on a brave face, Harry said, "The two of us, then."

"The three of us, you mean," came a voice from behind them. All eyes jerked around in the direction of Draco, whose face was set with determination equal to Hermione's.

"You can Apparate?" Harry said in mild surprise.

"Father trained me over the holidays last year," Draco said.

"But," Hermione put in, "why did you use the Floo when you came to Harry's house so you could spend the Christmas and Easter holidays with Ginny?"

"You what?" Ron shouted, his eyes flashing blue fire at Draco.

"Letting the kneazle out of the bag then would have led to a lot of embarrassing questions I wasn't prepared to answer just yet," Draco said apologetically, avoiding Ron's scathing look. "Father pulled some strings to get me my license before school started. He thought I'd be useful to him, being able to come and go from Hogsmeade with messages about Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix." Draco's face twisted into a hard smile. "The laugh's on him, isn't it? I hope I get the chance to tell him. I want to see the look on his face."

"Have you ever practiced Occlumency or Legilimency?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco said. "But I'll take my chances. Why should you lot have all the fun?"

"HANG ON!" Ron bellowed, his wrath now turned from Draco onto Harry and Hermione. "You can't leave me behind! You can't!" He was almost sobbing with frustration, his magically magnified voice making Harry's scar throb again.

"Sorry, Ron," Harry said, the nervous edge in his voice diminishing the earnestness of his sincerity. "Voldemort has to be stopped, and this is the only way." Turning away from Ron, he added in a low murmur, "I'm sorry, mate."

"I'll make you a promise, Weasley," Draco said as he, following the example of Harry and Hermione, essayed to negate the Sticking Charm holding him in place on the dragon's back. "I promise I won't kill my father -- unless I absolutely have to. You can even use the Cruciatus on him. I promise not to tell the Ministry." He barked a hard, fierce laugh before turning his attention fully on Harry.

A sudden thought struck Harry. "Here," he said, and promptly sent his Firebolt straight at Ron with a Banishing Charm.

Employing his Keeper's instincts, Ron caught Harry's broom almost without realizing he had done so. He stared at the broom for a moment before his eyes rose questioningly toward Harry.

"It won't do me any good where I'm going," Harry said. "It'll just get in the way. And Apparating is difficult enough without carrying extra baggage." He flashed Ron a hard grin. "Now none of us can get back without you. I'm counting on you, Ron. I know you won't let me down."

Too stunned to speak, Ron nodded mechanically.

"Right, then," Harry said. He was having difficulty steadying himself. Having negated the Sticking Charm under him, he was remaining in place solely by his grip on the dragon's horns and the pressure of his knees on its flanks. He said a silent prayer that a sudden gust of wind would not prompt his steed into an unexpected maneuver. (He wished he could remember how long it had been since the last position shift.) In a voice bristling with command, he said, "Hermione, Draco, concentrate on your wands. Let your minds travel through them and into mine. Don't talk. I'll know when the connection is made."

An ominous silence descended over the foursome, seeming to swallow up the rushing wind. Harry relaxed his mind, and a blast of white-hot pain exploded on his forehead. Setting his teeth painfully, he opened his mind, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes. He reached out with mental fingers, groping blindly for the source of his torment.

It seemed to nudge him inside his skull, as if he had blundered blindly into a wall. It built slowly, yet with alarming speed. It was as if a flame had been kindled in a dark room, a pinpoint of light glimmering feebly in an ocean of black. Harry pushed his mind forward, and the light grew and expanded, along with the pain. It was as if a black velvet curtain were being drawn back, and as Harry concentrated with all his might, the images hidden behind that barrier grew clearer.

The pounding in Harry's brain was disturbed abruptly by a faint voice that echoed in his ear as if the speaker were sitting right behind him.

"I can see it," Hermione whispered, her mental voice filled with awe.

"And I," Draco said a moment later. "But can we get through? I'm trying to Apparate, but it's like pushing against a stone wall."

"You can't get through on your own," Harry gasped, his head pulsing fit to burst. "Don't look all the way ahead. Focus on my mind. You need to get inside me, mentally, so I can take us all through."

Draco did not reply in words, but Harry sensed rather than heard an acknowledgment that transcended the verbal plane. An even stronger wave of assent told him that Hermione had heard as well and was applying herself to the task.

Without warning, Hermione shrieked in pain. At nearly the same moment, Draco gasped and swore.

"Bloody hell, Potter," he said breathlessly. "This is -- ahhgg!"

Even as Draco cried out, Harry heard Hermione whimper as she partook of the searing waves of pain filling Harry's mind. It was now or never.

"Get ready," he gasped. He was barely able to speak over the pain, but he knew his voice would be carried directly to everyone's ears. "On my signal."

With a tremendous surge of will, Harry leaped forward. The action was purely mental, but as his mind made the jump, his body followed. One moment he was seated on his dragon, his knees clamped desperately to its flanks. An instant later, he was lying face down on hard ground, his face buried in tufts of something thick and wiry. His head felt like a cauldron that was two seconds away from splitting under a white-hot flame. His lungs emptied in a labored hiss, and he drew and expelled a ragged breath and lay still.

How long he lay thus, he did not know. It could have been hours; he prayed to heaven that it had been no more than a minute. Trembling slightly, he bent his arms, set his hands upon the surface whereon he lay, and pushed. Feeling his every muscle and joint scream in protest, he heaved himself into a kneeling position. He looked around in blank confusion for a moment, then his mind snapped alert.

"Hermione!"

He whirled around, taking in his surroundings abstractedly. He was surrounded by scraggly trees, through which the crimson glow of sunset sought in vain to penetrate the dusky shadows on all sides. Tufts of thin, emaciated grass muffled his movements as he struggled to his feet and looked around desperately. Where was Hermione? Had she been able to come along? Or had his brilliant plan failed, was she was still miles away on her dragon -- or worse, floating somewhere in the cold waters of the North Sea, the Apparation stymied by the island's protective wards?

A soft moaning sound jerked his head around, and he nearly cried out in joy and relief. A black-robed figure lay face-up in the underbrush, limbs askew, bushy brown hair scattered in all directions. Harry scrambled over and knelt beside Hermione. He patted her face, and she opened her eyes and smiled up at him weakly.

"We made it," she said, the triumph in her voice only slightly diminished by her gasping breaths. "Where's Draco?"

"Here," came an answering voice from behind Harry. Draco stumbled forward, his right cheek bleeding, his white-blond hair rumpled in a fashion that playing Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team had never accomplished.

Harry and Draco helped Hermione to her feet, but before any of them could speak, a low chanting reverberated from beyond the ring of trees.

"The ceremony!" Harry said. "It's starting!"

Their aches forgotten, the trio moved with cautious haste toward the chanting sounds. Harry led the way, while Hermione lagged behind Draco, her wand out, her senses alert as she watched to see that they were not surprised from the rear. Seeing this, Draco nodded approvingly as he fell in behind Harry.

Harry stopped suddenly, holding out his hand. He fell to his knees and crawled forward, Draco and Hermione imitating him. They peered through the thick shrubbery, their eyes wide and their mouths slack.

The trees had been cleared away to expose a great circle on the forest floor. The light of perhaps a hundred torches painted the hard-packed ground with a dancing golden glow. These were set atop a ring of twelve-foot poles surrounding an altar the like of which neither Hermione nor Draco had ever seen. But Harry had seen its like before, in the depths of the Chamber of Secrets beneath Hogwarts.

Carved from some nameless green stone, the altar was wrought in the shape of a gigantic snake. It looked for all the world to Harry as if the basilisk he had killed five years ago were reborn in stone. Coil upon coil of the carven snake's body mounted up, each layer forming a step leading up to a platform upon which sat an enormous bowl hewn from what appeared to be obsidian. The neck of the stone serpent reared up behind this, its monstrous head looking down on the bowl's contents with eyes the color of rubies. The carven jaws gaped wide, exposing foot-long fangs and a long, forked tongue.

Wrenching his eyes away from those hypnotic orbs, Harry saw that there were at least a dozen Death Eaters within the circle of light. They were arranged in a semi-circle before the altar, their knees bent in almost worshipful reverence as they chanted rhythmically in a language Harry had never heard before. They were all looking up at the carven snake, and Harry found himself moving forward instinctively, his wand held before him. Nor were the thoughts racing through his brain without companion.

"We'll never have a better chance," Draco hissed, his wand in his hand and his pale eyes reflecting the flames from the torches. "They're all looking away. We can run in and stun the lot of them!"

Harry was of a mind to do just that, but Hermione grabbed his sleeve, pointing to a place beyond the ring of light just above the snake's head. Harry looked, and his blood ran cold.

A horned, scaly head blacker than the shadows was tossing back and forth angrily, a low growl rumbling in its throat as it struggled at the end of a chain whose links were thicker than a man's wrist. The Bulgarian Devil's Bane appeared dazed. Its slitted eyes, red as those of the stone snake, were unfocused. A wizard was just visible over the edge of one of the altar's coiled flanks, pointing his wand up at the dragon. Harry knew this must be Mulciber, whose speciality was the Imperius Curse. Harry did not wonder that Ron had succumbed so readily in Hogsmeade. What Dark power must this man have to reduce the most terrible dragon in the world to such docility?

But Harry saw at once that this condition was not what Mulciber wanted, nor was it difficult to understand why. The swaying dragon seemed in no state to do that for which it had been spirited away months ago. If Hermione were correct, it was the dragon's fire which the Death Eaters desperately needed. But only feeble wisps of smoke could be seen issuing from the dragon's nostrils. Mulciber seemed to be cursing the dragon with every blasphemy he knew, but his words were drowned out by the incessant chanting from his companions.

"He's bitten off more than he can chew," Hermione whispered fearfully in Harry's ear. "No one can tame a Devil's Bane."

"Don't bet on it," Draco said. "Mulciber is the best there is. If anyone can do it, he can."

And as if Draco's words had been a prophesy, the dragon reared its head majestically and sent a long stream of fire into the sky. Hermione felt Harry stiffen in her grasp, and Draco surged forward, his wand held high.

"Mulciber won't be able to control it for long," Draco said. "We have to do something now or the game's up."

At that moment, the chanting ceased as at the waving of a maestro's baton. The Death Eaters rose as one, and from among them a solitary figure glided forward. He threw back his black hood, revealing a head of long, silver-blond hair. Draco hissed a curse under his breath, but though his wand quivered in his hand, he remained motionless.

"Master!" Lucius cried, his eyes on those of the giant snake. "In days past, you chastised us, your loyal servants, for abandoning you in your hour of need. You were right to do so, for we were remiss in our duties, forgetting our oath of everlasting fealty. You forgave us that night, and now we will prove worthy of your mercy. Your orders have been carried out, Master. The plan which you, in your boundless wisdom, prepared before your fall will now bear its fruit. The stars are nearly in alignment. Soon you will be back among us, that we may serve you once more. We are your humble servants, Master! Ever and always, we are yours!"

Lucius bowed his silver head, and Draco spat on the ground, startling Harry and Hermione by his vehemence.

"Where is your Malfoy pride, Father?" he hissed disgustedly. "Our old house-elf had more backbone than you. You say I'm no longer your son? So be it. From this moment, I have no father."

Harry was studying the scene before him, his eyes moving this way and that, taking in every detail. He turned to Hermione, whose own attention was as focused as his. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped. Harry's eyes flashed a silent apology, and she placed her hand on his reassuringly.

"What do you reckon?" Harry said, trying his best to smile.

"I've been thinking about what Ron said," she replied, her eyes sweeping the clearing again. "Divide and conquer. We're going to have to split up. We'll be spread a bit thinner than if Ron were with us, but there's nothing else for it."

Looking around, Harry pointed just over Hermione's shoulder.

"See that big tree over there -- the one with the split trunk?" Hermione looked where Harry was pointing and nodded. "You'll Apparate behind there. That will put you at their backs, in a position to break their ranks."

Hermione nodded, and Harry turned toward Draco, who stepped forward, his wand still at the ready.

"See that big rock at the edge of the clearing, to the left of the altar?" Draco nodded sharply as he followed Harry's pointing finger. "You'll station yourself behind there. That puts us at roughly three, six and nine o'clock. We'll have a clear view of everything and of each other. When the moment comes -- "

"What signal?" Draco said eagerly.

"We're well outnumbered," Harry said, "so we need them to be distracted. Unfortunately, the only distraction big enough will be the ceremony itself."

"Cutting a bit close, aren't you?" Draco said, his pale eyes flashing.

"No help for it. If we rush in now, they'll all respond in an instant. But they're so keen to bring their master back, they'll be thinking of nothing else once the ceremony begins."

Harry gripped his wand and surveyed his companions intently.

"One of us has to get to the top of the altar and blow up that bowl. If I'm right, that's where Voldemort's ashes are. They've probably been here all this time, right on Azkaban's bloody back doorstep. They've been sprinkling them with unicorn blood to keep him alive. If we can scatter them to the winds, they'll never collect enough of him to bring him back."

"So what's the problem?" Draco said. "We just Apparate straight to the top and hit it with a Reductor Curse."

"We can't," Harry said. "When I sensed the altar earlier -- when I touched Voldemort's mind -- I could feel waves of Dark magic radiating from it. You're right, we can Apparate here -- the barrier around the island only prevents people from passing through uninvited. But if we try to Apparate anywhere near the altar, we'll be splinched into a hundred pieces. The closer we get, the greater the field of disruption. We'll have to do it the hard way."

"Didn't you say the ceremony has to take place at the exact moment when the stars are in alignment?" Draco said. "If that's the case, all we have to do is delay them long enough until the stars move on. The ceremony will be useless."

"But that would only postpone Voldemort's return, not prevent it," Hermione said. "They'll go somewhere else and wait until next year and do it all again."

"So?" Draco returned. "We found them once, we'll find them again."

"We only found them this time," Harry said, "because the baby dragons flew us here. Until then, no one had any idea where they were. Even Dumbledore couldn't find them. And we got through the magical wards because of my connection to Voldemort. They won't make those mistakes the next time. If we let them escape now, they'll go someplace else where no one will ever find them. This is the only chance we or anyone will have to stop Voldemort from coming back. It's now or never."

Sighing resignedly, Draco gave a short nod. "What's the plan?"

"Our attack will be threefold," Harry said. "First, we hit and run, take out as many Death Eaters as we can in the shortest time. We have to hit them like human Bludgers -- strike fast, don't give them time to organize. If we can confuse them, they'll be hampered by their own numbers. And they won't be able to use any really dangerous spells straight off."

"From your mouth to Merlin's ear," Draco drawled.

"Second," Harry said, "we watch each other so no one can blindside us. We'll form rotating teams of two, working with whoever is closest to us at the moment. Whichever of us is nearest Draco," he said to Hermione, "will watch his left."

Draco nodded appreciatively at this, and Harry returned the gesture.

"Third, and most important," Harry said, "we work our way toward the altar. Whatever happens, one of us has got to get up there. We'll each look for an opening, trusting to the others to clear a path for us."

Harry paused, and his eyes swept past Draco to fall on Hermione.

"I know we're supposed to watch out for each other," he said, his throat constricting. "But if one of us gets close enough to destroy that bowl, it's a new game. Ignore everything else. If a mate is in trouble, and you can either save him or destroy Voldemort -- "

Harry saw Draco nod over Hermione's shoulder. She hesitated for a heartbeat before giving a reluctant nod.

"The same goes for whichever of us is left behind. Our lives are important only insofar as fulfilling our objective is concerned. I know that sounds hard, but -- "

"We understand," Hermione said, speaking for Draco, who again nodded his affirmation behind her.

Harry's throat felt as if he were choking on stinksap. Placing his hands on Hermione's shoulders, he said, "We have to be strong, love. This is bigger than either of us. Our lives -- "

"You're not going to quote Bogart from Casablanca, are you?" Hermione smirked. Stunned speechless, Harry stared into Hermione's deep brown eyes as a smile crept onto his face.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you," Hermione said.

As Harry pulled his eyes from Hermione's, Draco shifted his wand and extended his right hand toward Harry.

"Sorry it took us so long to see eye-to-eye, Harry," he said. "You told me seven years ago that you didn't need any help telling the wrong sort. If I'd listened then -- "

"All potion down the plug hole," Harry said as they shook hands.

"I won't let you down," Draco said.

"I know you won't."

Without warning, Hermione leaped up and kissed Draco on the cheek. He stared at her in astonishment, his hand touching the place where her lips had touched his skin.

"Good luck," she said. "To all of us."

"Watch for my signal," Harry said. "I'll size up the board," he grinned at his unexpected use of Ron's chess terminology, "and pick my spot. When you see the first spell, jump in wherever you think you can do the most damage. But remember -- "

He pointed his wand meaningfully at the stone bowl.

"Off you get."

Draco Disapparated without a word. Hermione looked at Harry for a moment, then reached up and took hold of the hair at the back of his neck. She drew his head down and kissed him, felt his arms encircle her waist. They separated quickly.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," Harry said softly.

"Bloody well right I am," Hermione said, the loving smile on her face the antithesis of the steely determination in her eyes. She Disapparated.

Harry now bent low and peered through the brush, watching as the Death Eaters began to move with a new sense or urgency. He knew that the stars must shortly align themselves, returning to the exact position where they had stood one year ago when the Ring Spirit had reduced Voldemort's mortal body to dust. But though his physical body was no more, his mind lived on, kept alive through the same Dark magicks that had allowed him to cheat death nearly seventeen years ago. The dust which had lay unheeded on the earth of the Forbidden Forest now resided in the stone bowl at the top of the serpent-altar. Somehow, Voldemort's mind, his spirit, remained in that dust, undying, waiting for his loyal Death Eaters to carry out the contingency plan he himself had set up. He had admitted his foolishness to Harry in the cemetery in Little Hangleton, confessed his ill-preparedness for the fate that befell him on that Halloween night so long ago. But the Dark Lord was not one to make the same mistake twice. This time he was prepared, and his servants were on the verge of restoring their master to terrible, vengeful life. Harry must prevent that at all costs -- even his own life.

Harry saw that the Death Eaters were all in motion, each moving with sureness of purpose, as if following a well-rehearsed plan. He was now able to make an assessment of their number. There were fourteen in all, Mulciber included. Harry wondered at the reasoning behind this. Eliminating Mulciber, who was busy with the dragon, that left thirteen. Harry remembered something about that number from one of his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Ceremonies related to the zodiac typically required an acolyte to stand at each of the twelve points to form a mystic circle. The thirteenth member would be the High Priest, at whose direction the ceremony would proceed. Since it was Lucius who, alone of the party, had spoken earlier, he was undoubtedly cast in this key role. It was he who had stolen Hermione's ring, and as such it would be he who would use the artifact which had been his master's downfall to undo that which it had wrought exactly one year ago.

But if Harry's supposition were right, then he and his friends must act with all haste and surgical precision. When the twelve spread out to their assigned positions, there would be no angle by which an attack could be launched unseen. The attack must come before that dispersal if it was to have any chance of success. His nerves humming like piano wires, Harry watched the unfolding drama, alert for the moment to strike.

Two masked wizards had detached themselves from their fellows and melted into the shadows beyond the ring of torches. They reappeared now, and the dark host divided as the pair mounted the steps to the top of the altar. One of them, Harry now saw, bore a small cauldron, the other, a ladle. As they stood before the stone bowl, the one tipped the cauldron carefully to allow the other to insert the ladle. This implement came out brimming with a silvery substance that glowed in the shadows like liquid moonlight. Harry knew this could be nothing but unicorn blood, harvested from the body of the unicorn Hagrid had found on the edge of the Forbidden Forest months ago. As he watched, the ladle scattered droplets of silver blood over the surface of the ash-impregnated earth filling the bowl. This, Harry knew, was the means by which Voldemort had staved off final death over the past year. But even that remedy could not serve indefinitely, could it? Was Draco right? If the ceremony could be interrupted, pushed past the time of alignment, could Voldemort survive another year, even nurtured by unicorn blood? That was a gamble Harry was unwilling to take, not with the fate of the wizarding world at stake. Better to destroy those ashes tonight so that the ceremony could never be attempted again.

The two wizards had evidently completed their task, for they began to descend the snake's coils. As they did so, other Death Eaters appeared in the circle of firelight. Harry had been so intent upon the two atop the altar that he had not seen these others disengage themselves from their fellows. They were four in number, laden from first to last with burdens which they cradled in their arms as mother would a child. The shadows from the dancing torches, coupled with the distance separating them from Harry, obscured the finer details, but he did not need to see clearly to know what they must be carrying. Wood. The cursed wood from the Hanging Tree. Their intentions were obvious. They were going to mount the altar and lay that wood upon Voldemort's ashes. Mulciber would then direct the dragon to breathe its terrible fire upon the wood, setting it alight and releasing the spirits of hundreds of executed witches and wizards. Their dark hatreds, fueled by centuries of imprisonment within the ancient tree, would pour a veritable ocean of Dark magic over the essence of Voldemort. And though Harry knew not the nature of the ceremony Voldemort's followers had performed, which chanted incantations he had heard reverberating from the surrounding trees, he did not doubt that it would do what Voldemort intended that it should. Just as the potion containing Harry's blood and Wormtail's severed hand had restored Voldemort three years ago, so would this ceremony resurrect him again, more terrible and vengeful than before. There was no doubt in his mind that this ceremony, like the one before it, would succeed -- therefore it must not be allowed to succeed.

Harry knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for. Fully half of the Death Eaters were laden with burdens which made their wand arms useless. The others were staring expectantly, hungrily, up at the stone bowl, their imaginations no doubt envisioning their master rising from his ashes in triumph, a dark Messiah come to crucify the world on the tree of his arrogance and vanity. Harry swept the scene with a practiced eye, calling upon his many training sessions with Sirius and Remus. He found his target and, before he could summon the presence of mind to hesitate, leaped from cover and ran in a low crouch directly toward the altar.

"Reducto!" he shouted, pointing his wand at the wizard on the lowest step. The cauldron in the man's hand exploded, showering him and his companion with unicorn blood. Both wizards staggered, their eyes blinded by the silvery blood. The remaining Death Eaters turned in the direction from which the spell had come. The ones unburdened by the cursed wood reached for their wands. Having spied a shadow detaching itself from the perimeter, Harry ignored them, concentrating on the wood-bearers.

"Expelliarmus!" cried a high-pitched voice from the Death Eaters' left. The two wizards closest to Harry recoiled as their wands flew from their hands, sailed over the torches and vanished in the darkness. Hermione dashed forward, her hair dancing about her shoulders, her face set, her eyes hard.

Two of the remaining Death eaters began to circle Lucius, their sole function apparently to shield him with their bodies against attack from any direction. This was a complication Harry had not foreseen, but there was no time to dwell on it now. The pair who were still armed turned toward Hermione, bringing their wands to bear. She hit one with a Stunning Spell, but the other pointed his wand and opened his mouth to call out an incantation. Instead, he screamed as a hard-edged voice barked, "Reducto!" Bones in the man's hand shattered, and he continued to scream as his wand fell from lifeless fingers.

His long legs having covered the intervening distance in a few swift strides, Draco dived behind the stone serpent as the Death Eater guarding Lucius aimed a spell at him. The beam of red light chipped the green stone.

"Do not destroy the altar!" Lucius screamed.

Harry heard Lucius' words only distantly; with the two blood-bearers still blinded, his primary attention was focused on the wizards carrying the wood. He felled one with a Stunning Spell, but the others quickly cast aside their burdens and drew their wands. Harry rolled as a jet of purple light flashed through the place where his midsection had been a moment before. Another Death Eater began a Curse, but before the first syllable had been given voice, Harry drew a hurried symbol in the air and the Curse rebounded, hurling his attacker back with a startled cry. Harry Disapparated and reappeared behind his foes, but before he could strike he saw something that caused his heart to skip a beat.

Draco was racing around the altar toward the coiled steps, thinking that the way to his goal was clear. But one of the blood-splashed Death Eaters was pointing his wand as he continued to wipe at his eyes with the sleeve of his dripping robes. Draco seemed not to have seen this threat. Harry remembered with alarm that Draco was handicapped by a blind spot on his left. He whipped his wand around and pointed it at Draco's unseen attacker.

"Impedimenta!"

The wizard was hurled off his feet, his wand flying from his hand. Another spell narrowly missed Draco's head, but he raced up the steps toward the bowl, heedless of his own life.

"No!" came a scream from Harry's right. Lucius Malfoy was pointing his wand at his son. Draco was jerked backwards through the air, landing with a thud on the hard-packed earth. Harry opened his mouth to utter another incantation, but his peripheral vision caught a flurry of motion in front of him, and he wheeled to find himself facing the three former wood-bearers, wands at the ready. The one he had stunned had been revived, and their eyes burned behind their black hoods. And beyond them he saw the face of Lucius Malfoy, his icy eyes filled with recognition and hatred.

"Kill him!" Lucius screamed.

Keeping his head, Harry drew on the hundreds of practice hours he had put in under the tutelage of Sirius and Remus. He dodged the first Curse hurled at him, deflected another. He heard Lucius Malfoy barking orders, restoring order from the chaos. A voice shouted, "Accio wands!" The wands lost to Hermione's Disarming Spell flew back into their owners' hands. Harry erected a shield before him with a complicated wave of his wand. It glowed red as three spells hit it together, but it held. Unseen behind the brilliant light, Harry Disapparated and appeared to his foes' left. He saw that Lucius was now binding Draco with thin cords spun from his wand like spider silk. At that moment, the Death Eater who had borne the cauldron of blood ran toward him. His hood had been discarded to facilitate the cleansing of the blood from his eyes, and he screamed a Curse at Harry. But the man's vision must have been damaged by the unicorn blood, because the beam from his wand missed Harry and struck one of the Death Eaters Harry had been dueling. The man screamed and fell against his companions. Harry upset the half-blind Death Eater with a Trip-Jinx before stunning the other two.

Finding himself suddenly without an adversary within striking distance, Harry jerked his head around as he took in sharp, quick gasps of air. To his right, he saw that Hermione wad dueling with two Death Eaters. She was holding her own, blocking spells as quickly as they came. But her opponents were obviously skilled fighters, and she could not hold out for long. Even as he thought this, his breath caught in his lungs as one of the wizards pointed his wand at Hermione and screamed the one Curse against which her shields were useless.

"Avada -- "

In the moment that the first syllable left the wizard's lips, Harry acted. With a savage jerk of his wand, he uprooted one of the torch poles and sent it hurtling toward the wizard. In the same instant that the word Kedavra rang out, the pole slammed into the Death Eater's back like a gigantic cricket bat. As he careened forward, his wand arm spasmed so that the jet of green light missed Hermione by inches. She was just able to fall flat as the pole swept the second wizard off his feet. She glanced at Harry for a moment, then her head dropped and her wand fell from her hand.

Harry had taken two steps toward Hermione when his attention was arrested by a sound from his left. It was the sound of laughter, cold and cruel, and marked by a hard-edged drawl. Whirling about, Harry saw Lucius Malfoy standing at the foot of the serpent-altar. His two bodyguards (from their heavy builds, they could be none other than Crabbe and Goyle) were guffawing sycophantically as Lucius directed his wand at a point some ten feet above the ground.

Draco was hanging puppet-like in mid-air, and he was cursing his father with language that would make the clientele of the Hog's Head blush. He struggled defiantly against the thin cords binding him, but his fruitless efforts only served to increase the laughter. None was laughing louder than Lucius, who was amusing himself by sending needle-thin jets of fire from his wand that singed his son's face and hair. The three tormentors were all looking away from Harry, no doubt believing that any threat he might represent was inconsequential, if not nil. It was a mistake for which they would pay.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry cried. Lucius' wand flew from his hand. As the Death Eaters spun about, Draco spat savagely in the face of the one nearest him, wringing a string of curses from the wizard. Harry stunned the other before he could raise his wand, but Lucius snatched the wand from his companion's hand before his senseless body fell limply at his feet. The wizard blinded by Draco was bringing his wand to bear a moment ahead of Lucius. Harry stunned him summarily, expecting to find himself staring at the point of Lucius Malfoy's appropriated wand. But Lucius was not pointing his wand at Harry.

"Drop your wand, Potter, or I'll kill him," he said coldly. The wand in his hand was aimed directly at his son's heart.

"I don't believe you," Harry said.

"He'll do it anyway, Harry," Draco said, his dignity undiminished by his helpless state. "Kill him."

"Potter does not kill," Lucius said smoothly.

Harry saw a fine shimmering in the air before Lucius, and he knew that the wizard had erected a shield around himself that a simple spell could not penetrate. The Disarming Spell, the Stunning Spell, were useless here. The Killing Curse would penetrate such a barrier, of course -- no spell could block that most terrible of Curses. Harry hesitated for a moment, then, to Draco's disgust, lowered his wand.

"You see?" Lucius said triumphantly. "Gryffindors are all alike. Spineless and weak. They cannot -- "

"Impedimenta!"

Lucius pitched forward as Hermione appeared. Her hair was in disarray, her robes torn and her face smudged with dirt and blood. But when she smiled, Harry had never seen her look more beautiful. She picked up the wand dropped by Lucius and threw it away.

"You should have erected your shield all the way around you," she mocked as Lucius glowered up at her. "Don't you know that the first rule of combat is never to leave your flank unprotected? And now, I believe you have something that belongs to me."

Harry had lowered Draco to the ground and dissolved the magical bonds holding him. He handed one of the fallen wands to Draco, who pointed it at his father as Hermione used a Summoning Charm to draw her stolen ring from a pocket of Lucius' robes. Holding her ring in her hand, she gave Draco a hard smile and said, "Shall we let Harry do the honors?"

Harry saw Hermione and Draco inclining their heads toward the stone bowl at the top of the altar. Gripping his wand firmly, Harry mounted the snake's coils until he reached the top. High over his head, the ruby eyes of the stone serpent glimmered evilly. Tearing his own eyes away, Harry looked down on the sight for which he and his friends had dared all. A pile of dark, rich earth filled the bowl, dappled with gray ash and droplets of silver blood. Harry could feel ripples of evil emanating from this foul detritus. Backing away so as to have room to extend his arm, Harry pointed his wand and cried out, "Protego!"

The resulting explosion slammed into Harry's brain like a sledge hammer. His last conscious thought as darkness overwhelmed him was that of a harsh voice hissing snake-like in his ear: "Fool!"

When Harry opened his eyes, he found that he was looking down on the clearing from a considerable height. There was a burning pain under his arms, and a quick examination of his situation revealed the answer. He was tied to a high post, not unlike those atop which the torches burned. He was suspended by ropes looped under his arms, which likewise bound him so tightly that he could not move. A glance around him confirmed his worst fears. Hermione was suspended in like manner as he, hanging on a pole on his right. He did not need to turn his head to his left to know that he would find Draco there in a similar state. He cast his eyes around the clearing, and his heart seized in his chest. The Death Eaters were arranging themselves in a circle around the altar. Some of them staggered as they walked, bearing the marks of their encounter with Harry, Hermione and Draco. When they were in place, only two figures remained apart. One stood off to the right, his wand pointed at the grotesque head of the Bulgarian Devil's Bane. The other stood before the altar, his arms outstretched in supplication. He bowed low, then rose and turned to face Harry with a triumphant sneer on his pointed face. "Did you think us complete fools, Potter?" he called up. "Did it never occur to you that the place where our lord and master awaits his restoration would be protected by Dark magicks of his own devising?" He laughed, the sound reverberating from the surrounding trees. The echo was still ringing in Harry's ears when Lucius turned in a gesture of dismissal and faced the altar again.

Harry strained at his bonds, grunting with the effort.

"It's no use, Harry," Hermione said in a very weak voice.

Harry looked over his right shoulder. Hermione appeared to be holding onto consciousness by force of will alone. It seemed to take all of her remaining strength merely to keep her head erect.

"When the explosion threw you back," she said, "we were caught off-guard. Lucius must have known what would happen, because he grabbed my wand before I could stop him. Draco fought him, but Lucius hit him with what must have been a very powerful spell. He still hasn't regained consciousness."

It sounded to Harry like Hermione was only moments away from succumbing herself. He felt a sickness in his stomach. Not only had they failed in their mission, but Ron would be arriving soon to join them in death without even the satisfaction of having put up a fight. Harry strained against the binding cords again, knowing it was hopeless. As he had done three years ago when bound to the tombstone of the elder Tom Riddle, he could do naught but watch helplessly as the most terrible Dark wizard in history was snatched once more from the jaws of death and loosed upon an unsuspecting world.

The Death Eaters in the circle were chanting now, muttering the incantation which would open the door for Voldemort's return. But no, that wasn't right. The ring was the key which, in the words of Trelawney's prophesy, would "unlock the door to set Death free."

Even as he thought this, Harry saw Lucius mount the coiled steps and stand before the stone bowl. The contents of that crucible had altered since Harry's last glimpse of it. The wood from the Hanging Tree had been arranged in a runic pattern upon Voldemort's ashes. He saw Lucius place something in the center of the rune, something so small that it could not be seen. But there was no doubt in Harry's mind what that object was.

Lucius backed away reverently and descended the steps. When he was on the ground, he signaled to Mulciber, who immediately shot a spell directly into the dragon's eyes. The Devil's Bane roared in anger and defiance. Flame shot from its nostrils, arching into the sky. Mulciber fired another spell, and the dragon wagged its head like a drunkard outside a public house. At another blast from the wizard's wand, the dragon let out a thundering roar and sent a stream of fire directly onto the crown of the serpent altar. A billow of smoke and flame erupted from the bowl, shooting straight up into the sky. Harry blinked as the light dazzled his eyes. When he looked again, he hoped that the sight that met his eyes was merely an illusion brought on by his distressed optic nerves. But he knew that hope, as every other hope he had dared this day, was in vain.

Faces were dancing in the flames, terrible faces with bared teeth and twisted lips and eyes burning with hatred hotter than the fires surrounding them. He heard them screaming and cursing, and above those voices rose one before which they all paled. A high, shrill voice steeped in venomous evil.

"Yes!" the voice screamed. "Yes! Give me your strength! Pour your hatred out so that I may feed upon it and grow strong!"

Harry could now see the face to which that voice belonged. Thin, serpentine, with unblinking eyes and a mouth like a knife-slash across bleached, brittle parchment.

And now a new element entered the drama. A tiny point of light was growing in the midst of the flames. It expanded until it glowed brighter than the flames encompassing it. And as Harry watched, the white light -- the light from the Friendship Ring -- began to stretch and morph. It slithered in and out through the flames, like luminous ink etching itself across a sheet of blackened parchment. It began to assume a shape, long and thin, with extensions that reached out above and below. It was becoming a body, approximating that of a human being, yet as far removed from humanity as a sane mind could imagine.

The image of Lord Voldemort hovered in the bosom of the flames. But he did not step out of those flames and into the world of the living. Harry was suddenly struck with a thought that had been hovering in the back of his mind since the revelation that Voldemort's return was imminent. On the occasion of the Dark Lord's previous resurrection, the potion containing Harry's blood and Wormtail's hand had not created a body for Voldemort out of nothing. He'd been living inside a rudimentary body for most of a year, a tiny, slug-like thing that was yet composed of flesh and blood. Reduced to simplest terms, the potion had done no more than build upon the body that Voldemort had already possessed. But how was the Dark Lord to assume physical form now, when he appeared to be composed of naught but flame and Dark magic, and held together solely by the force of his terrible will? Where was Voldemort to find the corporeal matter with which to build himself a true body?

And even as the question burst in Harry's brain, the answer came, swiftly, horribly.

Threads of flame leaped from the magical pyre. They resembled spell-energy, yet there was a will about them, as if they were an extension of living mind and thought. The glowing threads arched like a fountain, each one falling unerringly upon a black-hooded Death Eater. And as the magical tendrils transfixed them, each emitted a scream such as Harry had never heard from human lips, nor hoped ever to hear again.

It was as if their bodies were on fire, yet they did not burn as human flesh burns. Harry saw uplifted hands dissolve, the skin and muscle melting away to leave only naked bone. Some of the Death Eaters tore their masks off, and Harry saw faces shrivel and wither like slugs on a hot stove. Liquid flesh ran like wax over bare bone and teeth grinning mirthlessly. Like potion drawn through a tube, the Death Eaters' flesh was being sucked from their bodies and drawn into the fiery heart of the magical pyre. And Harry's chest seized as he saw the figure of Voldemort increase, the lines defining him deepen. Here, then, was the answer to the mystery. Voldemort was building himself a body composed of the flesh of his most loyal servants.

And that, Harry realized with a thrill of horror, was the answer -- the answer to a question voiced nearly three years ago on that most terrible night of Harry's life. On that dread night when Voldemort returned from the jaws of oblivion, Barty Crouch Jr., posing as Mad-Eye Moody, had demanded of Harry whether the Dark Lord had "forgiven the scum who betrayed him." By all appearances, Voldemort had done just that as he stood surrounded by the fearful, trembling circle of his just-summoned Death Eaters. But that appearance was now revealed to be illusion. The Dark Lord, it was ever said, rewarded those who served him well -- and punished those who failed him. These Death Eaters encircling the serpent-altar were perforce those who had escaped Azkaban, buying their lives by denying their Lord and claiming bewitchment. They had no doubt thought themselves absolved of their sins by their master. But who more than they should have known the true heart of Lord Voldemort? Their debt had not been discharged that night, merely postponed. Now, at the moment of his choosing, Voldemort was collecting his due. Having pledged to serve their master unto death, they were fulfilling that pledge now in such fashion as they could not have imagined when those words first passed their lips.

Alone of the Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy seemed immune to the withering tendrils devastating the ranks of his companions. There was no sign of Mulciber, who must have Disapparated, leaving the dragon struggling groggily against its chain as it blinked its great red eyes stupidly.

"Please, Master," Lucius was whimpering, his hands covering his head as he pressed his face to the ground. "Please, have mercy, Master! Have mercy!"

"Mercy?" a cruel voice repeated.

Lucius looked up to see that which had already arrested Harry's attention. A figure was walking down the stone steps, its pale skin glowing in the light of the torches as the flaming pyre vanished. No longer snake-like, Lord Voldemort glided forward on strong, healthy feet that made no sound as they padded nakedly across the space separating him from Lucius. His nude body was vigorous, with lithe muscles that rippled smoothly beneath flawless skin. It was as if a babe had been Transfigured into an adult. Voldemort admired his strong, healthy hands, his robust arms, his powerful chest, his knotted thighs and calves. Standing before his High Priest, Voldemort looked like a Greek god come to visit his wrath on the world of mortals. And if the light burning in his eyes were any measure, that wrath would ultimately prove terrible beyond comprehension.

"Stand and face me, Lucius."

Lucius obeyed, standing before his master on shaky legs.

"You ask me for mercy, Lucius?" Voldemort purred. "Do you deserve the mercy of Lord Voldemort?"

"N-No, my lord," Lucius said fearfully.

"You speak truly," Voldemort said. "You betrayed me at my first falling, telling the Ministry that you had been bewitched, that you never served me willingly. Do you deny it?"

"N-No, my lord," Lucius repeated.

"And yet," Voldemort said smoothly, "I cannot deny that you have served me well since. When I fell for the second time -- "

Voldemort surprised both Lucius and Harry by opening his hand and revealing the Friendship Ring. It shone brightly in the torchlight, having taken no hurt in the fires wherein Voldemort had been reborn.

"You followed my plan exactly as I commanded," Voldemort said. "You gathered everyone here, at the propitious moment, to restore me to life. You secured the instrument of my destruction (he brandished the ring again) so that it could undo that which it had wrought. You have done all that I have commanded. So yes, Lucius, I will show you mercy...one last time. For you shall be my herald, to bear witness to what you have seen this night. You will tell those who enter my service that the vengeance of Lord Voldemort is terrible beyond imagination, and that serving me faithfully, even unto death, is far better than the alternative."

"Yes, my lord," Lucius sobbed in relief. "Thank you, my lord."

"And now," Voldemort said, turning about gracefully, "there is one more item of unfinished business before we set about to rebuild our New World Order."

Harry could feel Voldemort's eyes burning into his. The Dark Lord raised his hand, and Harry felt his bonds loosen. He drifted easily to the ground, where his numb legs crumpled under him.

"Fetch my robes, Lucius," Voldemort commanded. Lucius disappeared beyond the ring of torches, returning hastily with a set of robes folded across his arms.

"Robe me."

Voldemort's robes were of crimson silk, embroidered with gold thread. He examined them, nodded his approval, and turned toward Harry.

"Bring me Potter's wand."

Lucius hastened to obey, and Voldemort took the wand and examined it.

"Very like my own wand, is it not?" Voldemort said lazily. "A shame my wand could not be resurrected along with me, lacking as it did a binding spirit to serve as a core whereupon to build anew. But for the nonce, this should serve nicely in its place. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry said nothing. Voldemort laughed.

"In short order, I shall go to the continent and seek out Gregorovitch. He will supply me with a new wand worthy of my fine, new body. In the meantime, I think I shall enjoy using your wand, Harry. I shall use it in ways you never dreamed, nor would have the courage to attempt. I will sow ruin and despair; I will torture and destroy -- and kill. Has your wand ever killed anyone, Harry? No? Then we must baptize it, as it were. I shall begin by killing you. Does that not seem appropriate?"

"Kill me and get it over with," Harry said, standing as defiantly as his trembling legs would permit.

Laughing, Voldemort turned to Lucius and said, "It was my command that my Death Eaters carry a Restorative Draught at all times, to enable them to recover more quickly and thus serve me tirelessly."

"Yes, my lord," Lucius said. "We used it to restore some of our number so that they could participate in the ceremony."

"Give me yours," Voldemort ordered. Lucius complied with haste, pressing a small metal flask into Voldemort's hands. The Dark Lord examined it briefly, then used Harry's wand to Banish it across the clearing. Harry caught it, his eyes never leaving Voldemort.

"Very good," Voldemort said. "Never take your eyes off your opponent. You have come far since we dueled at my father's gravesite three years ago. We shall see how much you have learned. Drink!"

Harry complied. If he was to fight Voldemort, better to have even a slim chance of survival than none. The Restorative Draught raced through him, healing his aches and sending renewed strength through his limbs. It was very much like the effects of Fawkes' tears. Harry drained the small flask and tossed it aside carelessly.

"Am I going to fight you wandless?" Harry said peevishly.
Voldemort mused for a moment, then said to Lucius, "Give him the Mudblood's wand. It should suit him better than this one."

Lucius grudgingly retrieved Hermione's wand (he knew his son's wand by sight, so choosing the other was simple) and sent it flying toward Harry, who caught it deftly.

The feel of Hermione's wand in his hand was not as strange as it might be. In their many practice duels in Hogsmeade, they had exchanged wands any number of times. You need to practice with wands not your own, Sirius had said, in case your wand is lost or destroyed. An Auror must develop the skill to use whatever wand is at hand in a crisis. Perhaps Voldemort thought Harry would be handicapped by having to duel with a strange wand. But in fact, it was Voldemort would have to get used to a strange wand (notwithstanding their common cores), while Harry was well-versed in the nuances of Hermione's wand. It was a small advantage, to be sure, but it was enough to kindle a spark of hope in his chest where none had been before. Maybe he had a chance after all. Not to escape. That would mean leaving Hermione behind to face Voldemort's dubious mercies, to which the smoldering corpses that had been his Death Eaters bore mute testimony. Harry did not doubt that he would not live to see another sunrise. But maybe -- just maybe -- he could give his death meaning -- by taking Voldemort with him.

"Are you ready to die like a man, Harry?" Voldemort asked.

In answer, Harry raised his wand arm in a formal salute. With a silent laugh, Voldemort mimicked the gesture. The pair bowed, neither removing his eyes from the other.

As had been the case three years ago in the old cemetery, Voldemort struck first with inhuman speed.

"Crucio!"

But if Voldemort expected this duel to be a duplicate of their previous encounter, he was soon set to rights. Harry's arm moved so quickly that it seemed no more than a blur. But the shield that appeared before him was no illusion. The Curse ricocheted away, hitting one of the torch poles and shattering it. Mindful that Hermione and Draco were still bound to similar poles, Harry Disapparated. A second spell from Voldemort's wand (his wand) shot harmlessly into the brush.

"Excellent!" Voldemort cried, his face a mask of elation. "Well done, Harry! Let the contest begin!"

Voldemort vanished silently, leaving both Hermione and Lucius to stare stupidly at the suddenly empty space where the combatants had been. The clearing was suddenly filled with a flurry of motion as the duelists appeared, vanished, reappeared, each seeking advantage over the other. Spells lanced the darkness, none finding its intended target. The colorful jets of light either passed through empty air or rebounded from magical shields.

Voldemort was almost giddy with delight as the sparring continued, covering nearly every square foot of the clearing. In the shadows behind the serpent-altar, the dragon was shaking off the effects of Mulciber's mind control. It shook its ugly head, sending plumes of smoke from its nostrils. Seeing this, and struck with sudden inspiration, Harry set about to maneuver Voldemort into position by a series of carefully planned Apparations. Using Ron's chess analogy, he danced from square to square until his opponent appeared just where he had predicted. Painting an angry look on his face, Harry feigned a stumble and sent a spell flying over Voldemort's shoulder. The Dark Lord laughed and raised his wand, but the next moment his head whirled about in surprise. Harry's spell had struck the Devil's Bane directly on its sensitive snout, exactly as he intended. The dragon roared in pain and outrage. Remembering that a dragon's eyes were its weakest point, Harry knew that the Devil's Bane would not be able to see its attacker clearly in the smoky torchlight. Reacting purely from instinct, it would retaliate in the direction from which the attacking spell had come. And lying directly in that path between the Dragon and its intended target was a stunned Voldemort.

Surging forward, the dragon sent a column of flame from its jaws that completely engulfed the Dark Lord. Would the same magical fire that had helped to create Voldemort's body also have the power to destroy it? That was Harry's feeble hope as his adversary was swallowed up by those terrible flames. Roaring its triumph, the Devil's Bane spread its mighty wings menacingly as it strained against the chain holding it fast to the ground. Its horned head jerked up, its nostrils belching twin jets of fire, and Harry's face blanched as he realized that Hermione was directly in its path. He conjured a shield with a furious wave of his wand, and the flames bounced away harmlessly as Hermione's mouth worked in what must have been a soundless scream of terror. Whirling around, Harry pointed his wand at the quivering chain and cried, "Reducto!"

The heavy links parted with a sound like a gunshot. Propelled by its thrashing wings and its forward momentum, the dragon leaped into the air and soared over Harry's head. One of its leathery wings caught the top of the post on which Draco hung, snapping the wood at the base like a matchstick. With a hurried "Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry lowered the still unconscious Draco to the ground as the dragon disappeared over the edge of the trees and was gone.

Harry desperately wanted to free Hermione, but his rescue of Draco had wasted precious seconds and forced his attention away from Voldemort. He jerked his head toward the spot where Voldemort had stood, hoping rather than expecting to see the charred remains of the Dark Lord's body. But all he saw was a large circle of blackened earth at the place where the dragon's flames had struck.

Without warning, a peal of insane laughter split the air. Harry's head snapped up, and his chest tightened. Voldemort was standing atop the altar, his legs spread so that his feet were braced on either side of the rim of the stone bowl wherein he had been reborn only minutes earlier.

"Splendid, Harry!" Voldemort cried. "How sweet it is to test my new body on a truly worthy opponent. I regret that you must die. I could keep you alive as my servant and plaything, that is true. But you would probably shake off the Imperius in time, and I would not trust any prison cell to hold you. I would be a fool to let you live, and whatever may be said of Lord Voldemort, he is no fool. You have fought well today, Harry. To prove to you how generous Lord Voldemort is in victory, I promise that I shall show your companions the same courtesy I show you. They will not be tortured, but will die quickly and painlessly. No doubt Lucius will bemoan this, as he no doubt entertained thoughts of dealing with his rebellious son in his own way. But the will of Lord Voldemort may not be gainsaid. I have spoken."

Harry knew that the game was up. The Dark magicks surrounding the altar would not permit him to close to a distance whereby he might take the fight to his opponent. Voldemort might be able to function within that sphere of Dark energy by reason of his unclean powers, but Harry could not Apparate anywhere near that structure, nor employ any spell of sufficient power to serve his purpose. But there was one spell that no power could deter.

As Voldemort lifted his wand, Harry broke into a run -- not away from the altar, but straight toward it. The Dark Lord was surprised for only a moment, but that respite was all Harry needed. His eyes watching Voldemort's mouth, Harry drew breath and cried out at the very moment as his foe so that the two voices rang forth as one:

"Avada Kedavra!"

The two beams of green light met with a sharp report, fusing into one. There was no phoenix song to accompany the collision, no golden cage bursting around them, as had occurred before when brother wand met brother wand in violent conflict. Instead, the Dark magic surrounding the altar began to pulse like a gigantic heart composed of green light. With each rhythmic throb, the nimbus expanded, spreading out to fill more and more of the clearing. Recognizing that deadly sphere and what it portended, Lucius Malfoy screamed and fled, scrambling like a frightened dog until he was beyond the circle of torchlight. The sound of his flight followed after as branches snapped and brambles tore at cloth and flesh. Harry felt his own panic rising, though his differed substantially from that lending wings to Lucius' heels. He knew that the perimeter of death would keep spreading until it engulfed the entire clearing -- and Hermione. But there was a simple way to arrest the wanton growth of that deadly circle. Like a blind slug, it was reaching out hungrily, seeking to caress the one who alone could sate its hunger.

His wand arm shaking from the intensity of his concentration, Harry walked forward with slow, purposeful steps until he passed through the curtain of light as through an emerald waterfall. Instantly, he felt the magical sphere fold in, hugging him to its foul bosom. It was no longer growing, but pressing in on itself to smother the two wizards in an irresistible embrace. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that Hermione was no longer in danger.

Though the deadly green light engulfed Harry, it did not touch him. He, like Voldemort, was encased in a shell of magic born from his wand. The only power that could shatter that magical armor lay in the spell fusing the two wands. But Harry knew even as he stepped across that threshold that there was no going back. Whichever of them won this duel of wizardry and wills, the shattering of the spell would unleash the full might of the circle. And the terror rising in Voldemort's eyes told Harry that even the Dark Lord's godlike body would be helpless to fend off their mutual fate. Voldemort stared in amazement as Harry mounted the coiled steps, the narrow beam connecting the wands shortening as the distance separating them shrank.

The beginnings of panic began to etch Voldemort's chiseled features. His eyes were wide with incomprehension. Harry forced his mouth into a triumphant smile. To his momentary surprise, this required an ever increasing effort. His mind was growing sluggish, his body heavy with weariness, despite the Restorative Draught. He looked up at Voldemort, who still stood atop the stone bowl, and laughed. The sound was painful in his throat, a dry rasp. But it was no less satisfying for that.

"Dumbledore once told me," Harry said, every syllable raking his throat like the talons of a bowtruckle, "that I possessed 'power the Dark Lord knows not.' I thought he was barmy then. But I understand now. The power I have that you can't understand is love. I love my friends. I love Hermione. And I love the world that you want to destroy. But more than that, I love them more than I love my own life. And that's what separates us. When Tom Riddle came out of your old diary, he told me that we were a lot alike, you and I. But there's one place where we're different. There's nothing either in the world or beyond it that you value above your own life. There's nothing you believe in so strongly that you're willing to give your life to bring it about.

"I can't match you in terms of magic and power. The magic in your body -- the magic that's powering your spell -- is stronger than mine. But my spell is powered by a force you can't match -- something your soulless heart clings to like a miser and refuses to let go of. I'm taking about my life, Voldemort. To save the people I love, I'm willing to trade my life in exchange for ridding the world of you once and for all." Harry's laugh rasped dryly as his lips drew back in a mocking smile. "A serpent is susceptible to its own bite, Voldemort. You were reborn through a spell of your own devising. Now, your own magic will destroy you. All I have to do is bring the house down around us -- " He gazed expansively at the emerald sphere encompassing them. "Like you killed my parents in the ruins of their house. Fitting, isn't it?"

The horror on Voldemort's face was rapidly morphing into unrestrained terror. There was denial of Harry's words in the set of his jaw, in the twist of his lips and the flare of his nostrils. But that denial did not extend to the Dark Lord's eyes. Harry saw raw fear burning like dark fire in his enemy's eyes, and he laughed again with a sound as if he were choking on dust.

Harry could feel darkness closing in on him. Faces appeared in the gathering shadows. His mother was there, her emerald eyes shining with love. A man with untidy black hair and round glasses seemed to radiate fatherly pride. Their mouths were moving, and Harry thought they were trying to say something to him, but he couldn't make out their words. A wind was rising in his ears, drowning out their voices. But Harry didn't need to hear with his ears to know in his heart what his parents were saying.

"I love you, too," Harry said thickly, his own voice sounding distorted.

The rushing of the wind was increasing. A patch of gray fog was shimmering in the space between his parents' faces. Harry smiled into a pair of deep brown eyes surrounded by a halo of tameless hair beside which his father's appeared nothing short of sartorial.

"I love you, Hermione," Harry mumbled. The sound of the wind rose, roaring like a wild beast. Darkness fell like a warm, heavy blanket over Harry, and he knew no more.

To Be Continued ...

***

Note from Fae: Let us know what you thought of the chapter. Now that school is out for yours truly, I'll have all the time in the world to catch up with writing. And the next time I'm away for an extended period of time, I'll pause the story so that no one gets frustrated with me. Updates about the story will be mentioned at my livejournal: www.livejournal.com/users/lynn_darko/ so feel free to drop by or friend me!

Take care!

27. The White Tomb

Substitute Author's notes:

Substitute? Alas, it's true. Your favorite fan writer and mine, Fae Princess, is in fanfic limbo for the present. Whence this chapter, then? Therein lies a tale -- one which Fae suggested I save for afters while we proceed directly to the main course. It's long past time we sorted out Harry's little problem with Voldemort, and we don't want to keep you waiting any longer. The previous chapter left quite a few questions in the air. The answers lie directly below. Meet you at the bottom!

* * *

Circle's Close

Chapter 27

The White Tomb

So this is death, Harry thought as his body drifted weightless in a kind of misty sea of warmth. It's not so bad.

A sudden, unsettling thought passed through his mind. On the night three years ago when Voldemort had emerged reborn from the cauldron at the foot his father's grave, he had ruminated on the subject of Harry's impending death, "It might even be painless. I would not know. I have never died."

You have now, Harry thought with a reinforced satisfaction. And so have I.

Strangely, that last thought did not dampen Harry's feeling of contentment. He had done what he knew he must. And he had succeeded. The sight of Voldemort's withering body crumbling to dust had been the last thing Harry's eyes had seen ere death closed them forever. He smiled inwardly, not knowing if his body (had he a body here on the Other Side?) were following suit. No matter. His triumph was undiminished either way. Voldemort was destroyed. The wizarding world -- no, Harry amended, the entire world -- was safe from the evil of the Dark Lord forever.

But Victory came not without price.

Forgive me, Hermione, Harry thought again. I did it for you. The wizarding world can think I did it for them, that I was fulfilling my destiny as "The Chosen One." But it was all for you. I love you.

Hermione could now live out her life free from fear, of being branded inferior, something less than whole -- a Mudblood. But even in triumph, Harry was not deluded. He knew that Voldemort's religion of hate would not die out with the expiration of its High Priest. That blight on the human soul (both wizard and Muggle) had been ancient before Tom Riddle was born, and it would endure far beyond his death. Harry had not been so arrogant as to believe that he could accomplish such a feat single-handed, prophesy or no. But for now, for as long as the story of Voldemort's final destruction were whispered furtively in shadowed places, perhaps that leprous hatred would fester only in the polluted minds of its worshipers and not spill out to blight the hearts of decent folk. A dragon was a danger only when awake. Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon. Following a long and terrible awakening, the dragon was sleeping once more. Long may it slumber.

But as Harry closed that thought with a renewed satisfaction, a new, more profound thought took its place.

Where do I go from here?

He now focused his attention more fully on his surroundings. All was shadow and mist in every direction. Indeed, he seemed composed of the same shadow as his environs. Something he had heard from time to time in passing stirred in his mind. Wasn't there supposed to be a light, leading him onward? Harry saw nothing resembling a light. Or was it a tunnel? He couldn't remember. Was this all there was to death, then? Borderless, unending nothingness? Not a comforting thought.

But even as he pondered this eternal enigma, the featureless horizon altered subtly. Harry was reminded of the night four years ago when the clouds over Hogwarts castle had parted abruptly, bathing him and his companions -- among them Professor Remus Lupin -- in moonlight. And -- yes! There was the light! It was coming closer, growing more distinct with nearness -- yet, strangely, remaining fuzzy and indistinct around the edges.

And all at once, Harry realized the truth. It was a face, drifting nearer and nearer, its aspect growing more defined every moment. And the fuzziness surrounding that face? A halo! It was an angel, come to lead Harry to the next world.

Harry's heart was light in his ethereal bosom as the face drew ever closer. It was smiling. It was a beautiful face. Could the face of an angel be otherwise? And all of a sudden his heart leaped. The halo surrounding the face was not composed of white light, as he might have supposed. It was as dark as the mist from which it emerged. Harry gasped. It was a halo of rich, full-bodied chestnut hair! And the face in its midst --

"Hermione?"

Harry was momentarily overcome with a terrible despair. Surely Hermione had not died as well? The whole point of his sacrifice was to spare her, and Ron, and everyone he loved from coming to harm on his account. Had it all been for naught?

The answer came to him with a suddenness as of a flash of lightning illuminating a midnight sky. The mystic realm beyond the door that was Death -- heaven, paradise, whatever one chose to call it -- was ever described as a place of beauty beyond imagining. Yet was it not also said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? One person's ideal would not necessarily mirror that of another. Beauty, therefore, was whatever the individual conceived it to be. In Harry's mind, and in his heart, all that was beautiful in the world -- in the universe itself -- was embodied in the soul one person. Was it so surprising, then, that even the angels of heaven should appear before him in the image of Hermione?

Harry's breast swelled nigh to bursting as the face drew closer, bathing him in a smile that sent his soul soaring higher than any broomstick had ever carried him. A beckoning hand was extended toward him, and he reached out, his fingers spread wide to grasp and hold. The smiling messenger's hand folded warmly over his. Dark eyes embraced him, and Harry heard a voice speaking as from a great distance, its song resounding less in his ears than within his very soul.

"Take my hand, Harry." Harry saw the angel's lips moving, speaking with Hermione's voice. "It's time to come home."

"Yes," Harry said, feeling the firm but gentle grasp of the hand that was drawing him toward his final destination. Their eyes were still joined as his celestial escort glided back the way she had come, bearing Harry along effortlessly. A halo of pure, white light seemed to be growing behind the darker halo of the angel's dusky crown. It expanded moment by moment, its brilliance growing until Harry could no longer bear to look upon it. Instead he stared fixedly into the dark, mesmerizing eyes of his guide, letting her carry him where she would. The light continued to grow until it filled his senses. It seemed to fold around him, as the green light had when he stood face to face with Voldemort on his dark altar. Harry nearly cried out as he was blinded by the intensity of the pale nimbus enveloping him.

Then, without warning, the heavenly face was hovering directly before him. But there was something different about it now. The large, coffee-colored eyes were shining with tears. Glistening rivers were streaming down cheeks flushed with emotion, curving over lips stretched wide in a smile of mingled love and agony. The eyes blinked once, twice, spilling more tears over the glowing face. A sob issued from the rose-colored lips, followed by a titter of laugher that wavered on the edge of the hysterical.

"Welcome back, Harry," the voice said in a quavering treble.

Harry's vision was blurred. The blinding light lanced his eyes like needles, penetrating all the way to his brain. In a move prompted by no conscious thought, he lifted his hand and covered his face, blocking out the light in a blanket of soothing darkness. He felt his eyes watering. He rubbed them with his fingers, feeling cool wetness on his skin.

Harry cried out, a short, piercing sound that made his ears thrum. His eyes flew open, and he threw himself forward. A wave of dizziness pulsed behind his eyes, and he fell back onto something soft and cool. As he stilled the throb in his brain by force of will, his senses seemed to awaken as from a long, deep slumber. He opened his eyes slowly, and the sight that met his astonished gaze nearly made him cry out again.

He was surrounded by austere walls, broken at intervals by high, mullioned windows. One of these was open near at hand, and a soft breeze was wafting through it, ruffling the curtains on either side. The gentle flow of air kissed his face, cooling his cheeks where they shone with his tears. His vision was still blurred in terms of minute detail. His other senses compensated for this. He felt the unmistakable embrace of a feather mattress, sagging slightly under his weight, and his head was cradled by the familiar softness of a pillow. He reached out a blind, groping hand, and he felt something being pressed into his palm. His fingers closed around the object with instant recognition. With a smooth, practiced motion, he slid his glasses onto his face and blinked hard as his vision became sharp and clear.

"Harry!" a voice -- Hermione's voice -- sobbed. The next moment, his head was smothered by a cloud of thick, bushy hair.

"Hermione?" Harry answered in a nearly identical sob. His hands darted through the dark tangle enveloping him, and he eased her back until their faces were less than a centimeter apart. Soft lips covered his, tasting sharply of the salt of tears, and he felt a fire surge through his limbs as if he had just drunk an intoxicating draught. Their faces parted languidly, and Harry felt his own tears flowing freely again, mingling with Hermione's as their cheeks brushed lightly. He took in the details of her face, noting every familiar line and curve with a new appreciation. He remembered with a sudden fearful rush the sight of Hermione hanging battered and bloodied overlooking the serpent altar, clinging to her life by the thread of Voldemort's perverted whim. He kissed her again, cherishing her taste and feel. His senses swam, robbing him of rational thought. Hermione drew back at last, smiling down on him with love pouring from her large, dark eyes.

Harry felt his pillow being shifted under him, raised up against the headboard of the bed. Hermione helped him slide up into a sitting position. When he was settled comfortably back, he looked around, taking in the familiar details of the hospital wing in a detached manner. His thoughts were still occluded, and he struggled to dispel the shadows from the corners of his brain. As his eyes drifted about, they fell almost absently on a tall, thin figure standing on the other side of the bed from Hermione, and he jumped back in surprise, his head just avoiding a collision with the headboard.

"You know, Harry," Dumbledore said placidly, his blue eyes twinkling behind the lenses of his half-moon spectacles, "we really must stop meeting like this."

Harry gaped at the headmaster, who responded with a very un-professorial smirk and an uplifting of his snowy eyebrows.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" Dumbledore went on, clearly enjoying the look on Harry's face. "No matter how the school year begins, it always seems to end the same way, with you lying here in bed while the rest of us stand over you with worried looks on our faces. I have begun to think that the Sorting Hat made a mistake placing you in Gryffindor House." When Harry's mouth fell open at these words, Dumbledore finished, "I think it would have done better to sort you directly into the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey would have made an excellent head of House -- and with only one student to supervise, she might have succeeded in keeping you out of mischief more effectively than either I or Professor McGonagall have managed over the last seven years.

"But," the headmaster sighed with an amused twitch of his silver moustaches, "somehow I doubt it."

"What -- what happened?" Harry stammered. "How did I get here?"

As his thoughts cleared, he realized with a start that there was no sign of either Ron or Draco in the room. Were they still alive? But that question brought another, more terrible question: Why was he still alive? It had been his intention in that terrible encounter with Voldemort to spend his life as the price for ridding the world of the Dark Lord. But if he was lying here now -- Harry's eyes went wide with sudden horror -- if he still lived, did that mean -- ?

"Voldemort!" Harry cried out, his eyes piercing Dumbledore's. "Is he -- "

But Dumbledore answered with a serene smile that quieted Harry's fears more effectively than the words which he spoke reassuringly a moment later.

"Voldemort has been destroyed, Harry. And," he added as if reading Harry's thoughts, "your friends are all safe and well. You may put your fears to rest."

"You did it, Harry," Hermione said, her hand caressing his face tenderly. But without warning, her wrist snapped sharply as she slapped his cheek with a resounding crack. He felt something hard impact with his cheekbone, and he saw that Hermione was once more wearing her ring on the third finger of her right hand. Harry touched his cheek bewilderedly as he stared into Hermione's eyes, which flashed with the hardness of polished mahogany. "I know what you tried to do," she said, and there was an edge in her voice that stung Harry more than her hand had done.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, feeling a pain beyond anything he had suffered at Voldemort's hands. "I knew you would never agree. I had to do it. There was no other way."

Before Hermione could respond, everyone's attention was arrested by the sound of the door to the nurse's office banging open. Harry turned instinctively, expecting to see Claire White emerge, wearing a reassuring smile. Instead, Harry was amazed to see Madam Pomfrey bustling toward him, elbowing the headmaster aside as if he were of no more consequence than an ill-placed footstool blocking her path. She bore a smoking goblet in her hand, and before Harry could utter a word, she thrust it into his face without ceremony.

"Drink this, Mr. Potter," she ordered in a voice that brooked no refusal. Though still curious about Claire's whereabouts, Harry took the goblet meekly and drank, wincing at the bitter taste. He handed the goblet back to the nurse, who examined it to see that her patient had drained every drop. Satisfied, she turned to face Dumbledore and said, "You have exactly twenty minutes to visit with this patient, after which time you will either leave under your own power or be expelled by force."

Not waiting for Dumbledore's response to this ultimatum, Madam Pomfrey turned on her heel and walked back to her office, closing the door behind her.

Harry felt the potion he had just drunk writhing inside him. He realized all at once that he was very tired. But the questions bubbling inside him were more powerful than the medicine he had just ingested. He turned to look at Hermione, and he was suddenly overcome with a tide of emotion that made it hard for him to speak.

"I had a dream," he said. "I dreamed I was passing on, and an angel appeared to lead me to the next world." He paused, his eyes touching Hermione's softly. "The angel was you, Hermione. She came to me and said she was going to take me home."

"That was no dream," Hermione said, her harsh words forgotten as a loving smile spreading across her face. "It was really me you saw. And I did come to take you home."

"What?" Harry said. "How?"

Hermione reached into a pocket of her robes and withdrew a small, spherical object which she held out in her open palm. Harry judged it to be about the size of a Golden Snitch, but wingless and composed of some smooth, shiny substance that gleamed like polished jet.

Reading the question in Harry's eyes, Hermione said, "When we got you back, Dumbledore was waiting for us at the front gate. He seemed to know that something had happened, and he'd already set the wheels turning. Remus had been sent to fetch Sirius, and he carried an emergency portkey so that Claire could return to Hogwarts without delay. She had everything ready here when we brought you in, and she examined you straightaway. She said that whatever you'd been through hadn't done any appreciable damage on the outside. But she said there was something going on inside you. She said it was like your soul was being poisoned from the inside."

"How is that possible?" Harry asked.

"It was something to do with all the Dark magic surrounding Voldemort's altar. It was beyond her experience, so she asked Dumbledore to bring in Madam Pomfrey." Hermione paused, her eyes going hard, though her voice remained temperate. "She said there's no shame in admitting that you need help sometimes. It's not a sign weakness, but of strength."

Harry sensed that Hermione was reminding him of his own foolishness in regard to his plan to defeat Voldemort, which he had neglected to confide in either her or Ron. He nodded once, in unfeigned contrition, and Hermione's chastising look retreated as quickly as it had come.

"When Madam Pomfrey looked you over," Hermione said, "she agreed with Claire's diagnosis. Claire gave me the book she'd used, from Madam Pomfrey's personal medical library, and I read it while they were treating you. It said that when someone is being consumed by Dark Magic Poisoning, the only way to fight it is from within."

"With potions?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "With this." Harry saw that Hermione's right hand was now closed into a fist around the tiny sphere, which he had all but forgotten about, arrested as he was by her narrative. When she opened her hand a moment later, Harry gasped. The sphere was now pulsing from within with a deep, violet light that made it seem almost alive.

"What is that thing?" Harry asked, leaning closer.

"Claire said it has many names," Hermione replied, "but it's commonly called the Third Eye. She recognized that it was the one thing that might allow you to fight off Voldemort's magic, but she knew she wasn't as practiced with it as Madam Pomfrey. It can be very dangerous if not used with absolute precision."

"What's it do?"

"It opens a door to someone's inner core," Hermione said. "Madam Pomfrey used it to touch your mind and shut your body down. It left you in a kind of coma on the edge between life and death."

"But how did that help?"

"For a start, it arrested the poisoning so you wouldn't slip farther away from us. But that was only the first step."

"And what was the next step?" Harry asked, his eyes held by the dark, pulsing rhythm of the sphere.

"The next step," Hermione said, "was for you to turn your whole mind and spirit toward fighting against the Dark forces eating away at you"

"But," Harry said bewilderedly, "how could I do that if I was unconscious?"

"Madam Pomfrey told me," Hermione answered cryptically, "that there's only one force powerful enough to destroy the corruption of Dark Magic Poisoning."

"What's that?" Harry asked in growing fascination, his attention still riveted by the pulsing stone in Hermione's open palm.

"The antidote," Hermione said, her cheeks flushing slightly, "is love." As Harry's head jerked up, the tender smile on Hermione's face was augmented by an amused twinkle in her soft brown eyes. "The love inside you -- the love that makes you who and what you are -- alone had the power to cure you. But -- "

"What?" Harry asked, noting that Hermione's blush was now deepening.

"Dark Magic Poisoning," Hermione explained, "is very invasive. Nothing from without can combat it with any hope of success. As I said, the power resided in you. But in order to activate your defenses, a catalyst was needed to inspire you to fight back. So after Madam Pomfrey put you to sleep, she passed me the stone and showed me how to use it to -- to go inside you."

"Inside me?" Harry said blankly.

"I told you," Hermione said, "that the stone opens a door to your inner being. Madam Pomfrey told me I had to go through that door and touch the part of you where your greatest power lay. When I held the stone and concentrated, it was like I could see right inside you. And the harder I concentrated, the less I became myself and the more I became...you. In the end, it was as if I'd left my body behind and settled inside yours. It was rather like slipping into a comfortable jumper. I felt all warm and safe inside, surrounded by your love."

Harry felt his mouth moving soundlessly. His eyes stared into Hermione's, and his face began to glow as brightly as if the sunlight streaming through the window were being magnified tenfold upon it.

"I remember...something," he said in a hoarse, ghostly voice. "I remember feeling...feeling..."

He could not find the words to describe what had gone on inside him when he was drifting in that endless expanse of nothingness. He had felt a warmth that seemed to permeate him, the sensation not unlike basking in the glow of the fire in the Gryffindor common room on a chill, black January night. In his deep, magical slumber, he hadn't the presence of mind to question the sensations surrounding him. He was a babe in a womb, having no thoughts, yet somehow aware that he was surrounded by something good and nurturing. He wondered if that made any sense. If Hermione were inside him, how could he feel as if he were inside her? What did it mean?

"When I was inside you," Hermione said, her soft voice arresting his musings, "I could feel a terrible cold where Voldemort's Dark magic was poisoning you. I was afraid I wasn't strong enough to fight something that powerful. But then I felt something else. It was -- it was like a tiny flame burning in a cold, dark room. And I concentrated on that flame. I imagined it growing larger. I envisioned its light expanding until all the cold and darkness shrank back and was gone."

Harry felt a sudden chill despite the warmth of the day. He remembered Dumbledore's words, so oft repeated when the subject of Harry's final encounter with Voldemort was broached. The power he knows not.

"Madam Pomfrey said I couldn't go inside you for more than hour at a time," Hermione said. "But once I was there, I never wanted to leave. I wanted to stay and not come out until I could bring you back with me. But she was right. When I came out after an hour, I was as exhausted as if I'd been without sleep for a week. In the end, we arranged a schedule where I'd come in every morning and evening, sleeping most of the time in-between."

Harry suddenly thought of all the study hours Hermione had sacrificed in this manner, and he was torn between laughing out loud and throwing himself onto her this very moment and crushing her in an immense hug. But this brought another question to mind, one he now felt foolish at not having asked straightaway.

"How long has it been?"

"Four days," Hermione said, her smile returning now, surrendering none of its former brilliance. "Madam Pomfrey always gave you a look-over both before and after I went in. This morning, she said she thought the time was right to try to bring you back. She examined you every hour with probing spells. She said if you weren't strong enough, I'd have to try again tomorrow. But as soon as I went in, I knew. The cold that had been there was gone. I knew that you'd finally fought off Voldemort's magic. But..."

Hermione hesitated, and Harry took her hand without thinking so that he could feel the warmth of the black sphere against his palm.

"What?" he prompted gently.

"Madam Pomfrey said that this magic is both very powerful and very delicate," Hermione said. "Once the coma has been induced, there's no way to dispel it by magic alone. The only way for the sleeper to come back is for him to want to. So when I went in this last time, it wasn't to help you heal. It was to bring you back. If you weren't strong enough -- if there was still too much of Voldemort's darkness in you -- I couldn't have carried you out. But as soon as I went in, all I could feel was warmth and light. I knew it was now or never. Madam Pomfrey said that sometimes the sleeper can't wake if he's been under the spell too long. She said it usually takes only a day or two to fight off Dark Magic Poisoning. But Voldemort's magic was so strong and insidious, we were pushing the time limit with every hour. For a moment, just before you took my hand, I feared that -- "

Harry caressed Hermione's hand warmly.

"The moment I saw your face," he said thickly, "I couldn't have gone anywhere but with you." He swallowed almost painfully. "You saved me again. Just like you've always done. You helped me save the Sorcerer's Stone from Quirrell. You solved the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets. Together we saved Sirius from the dementors. It's always you, Hermione. If I really have that power Professor Dumbledore says I have, it's from you. I love you so much."

Hermione dissolved into tears, and Harry wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair. When her sobs faded into a few soft hiccups, she drew back and wiped her eyes with her free hand, still holding the black stone in the other.

Without warning, Harry's face assumed a look of confusion that bordered on distress. He looked up at Dumbledore, who promptly exchanged his pleasant aspect for a more solemn demeanor upon seeing the alarm in Harry's eyes.

"Professor," Harry said slowly. "You say that I destroyed Voldemort. But -- how did I do it? I mean, there was no way I was powerful enough to defeat him on my own. That was why I -- "

Harry's throat constricted guiltily as he remembered the hurt in Hermione's eyes when he had confessed his intention of sacrificing his life in exchange for Voldemort's. Dumbledore understood, and he nodded respectfully toward Harry.

"You are wondering why, if Voldemort is dead, you are not likewise."

Harry nodded mutely, aware of Hermione's eyes on him. Dumbledore smiled gently.

"The answer to that question," the old wizard said, "is the same as it has always been, Harry. You defeated Voldemort with the one power he never commanded, yet which you have in abundance."

Harry was more confused than ever. It was for love of his friends that Harry was ready to give up his life to rid the world of Voldemort. He had been willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, knowing that nothing less could thwart the power of the Dark Lord. But if that sacrifice had not taken place as he intended, how had he triumphed? What did Dumbledore mean?

"I don't understand," Harry said helplessly. "I remember trying to turn Voldemort's power against him. I was succeeding, I think. He was growing weaker, but so was I. Then everything went black, and I woke up here. What happened?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, "that is a tale worth the telling. Unfortunately, I fear that none of us could do it justice with words alone. That is why I have made arrangements -- "

The sound of the outer door opening brought Dumbledore's head around, and he smiled broadly as a tall, dark-haired figure entered the room, his ashen eyes narrowed.

"You were right to send me along, Albus," Sirius growled. "We ran into Snape, and to say that his knickers were in a twist is putting it mildly."

"I feared as much," Dumbledore said unworriedly. "I daresay he has not taken this latest escapade very well."

"It's his own fault," Sirius said shortly. "He's still going on about his authority being flouted. What was he playing at, changing the password to your office? The school charter clearly states that the teaching staff and the Head Boy and Girl have access to the headmaster at all times. When I think of what could have happened..."

Harry's throat constricted. The pleasure he had felt upon seeing his godfather was suddenly replaced with a sickness inside that was unrelated to his injuries.

"We went to see Snape," Harry said hurriedly. He was looking at Sirius, but he was speaking to Dumbledore as well as to his godfather. "When we figured out what the prophesy meant, we wanted to alert the Order. But the gargoyle wouldn't let us pass."

"I know, Harry," Sirius said with a hard smile, showing no surprise at seeing Harry awake and alert. "Hermione told us everything. In your place, I'd have done the same thing. It took a bit of courage to go off on your own like that, risking your lives for the greater good. Your father and mother would have been proud of you. I know I am."

"We should not be too hard on Severus, Sirius," Dumbledore said unexpectedly. When both Sirius and Harry turned their heads sharply, the old wizard responded with a wise smile. "You know as well as I do, Sirius, that we have all been trying for most of a year to locate the place where the Death Eaters were to gather for the purpose of resurrecting their master."

Harry was about to blurt out his surprise that the Order had known all along what Lucius and his followers had been up to, but he realized all at once that he should not have been surprised at all. Sirius had hinted over Christmas that he knew more than he was telling about the destruction of the Hanging Tree in Ottery St. Catchpole. They had probably pieced the Death Eaters' plan together ages ago. All that remained was for them to discover where the ceremony was to take place.

"Well, what of it?" Sirius replied darkly. "In time, we'd have found where they were gathered and sorted them out."

"But," Dumbledore countered, "you refute your argument by your own words. Time was the one thing we did not have. If it were not for Harry's inspiration, we would now be faced with the threat of a fully resurrected Voldemort, more powerful and dangerous than ever he was. If Harry and his friends had told Severus what they had deduced, it would have been out of their hands. They would not have been faced with the desperate straits which prompted them to take matters into their own hands as they did. Under such circumstances, would it have occurred to Harry that the dragons in Hagrid's concealed paddock were the only creatures that could penetrate the magical barrier behind which Voldemort and his Death Eaters were secreted?"

Here was another revelation. How long had Dumbledore known that Hagrid was keeping a clutch of baby dragons in the Forbidden Forest? Hermione must have included the dragons in her account of their journey to forestall Voldemort's return, but had Dumbledore known all along? If he knew of the mother dragon's kidnapping, as was likely, he must have noted the sudden disappearance of her clutch of just-hatched young. Knowing Hagrid perhaps better than anyone, he might expect his gamekeeper to fall prey to temptation in regard to the abandoned hatchlings. It would be like Dumbledore to turn a blind eye to Hagrid's clandestine activities out of compassion, even if he did not anticipate the role the dragons would play in the end. Harry shook his head, realizing, not for the first time, that there was very little about the doings at Hogwarts that the headmaster did not know, or, at the very least, suspect.

"You're saying," Sirius retorted with a disdainful curl of his lip, "that Snape was merely part of a universal plan? That his insufferable arrogance was a preordained catalyst that tipped the scales away from Voldemort and toward us by forcing Harry into an act of desperation?"

Dumbledore's answer was an expression of almost supreme benevolence, and the younger wizard's dark, wrathful aura dimmed visibly.

"I won't deny," Sirius said grudgingly, "that Harry's use of the dragons was brilliant. Still, he might have come up with the idea anyway. He is my godson, isn't he? Oh, I wish I could have been there to see him taking on those Death Eaters! And the way Hermione described that duel with Voldemort -- and you're telling me that he wouldn't have done all that if not for Snape? Do me a favour, Albus. He's the son of James and Lily Potter. He did precisely what they would have done in his place. Snape was an impediment if anything. If Harry had come to you or me, we would have listened to him and saved precious time. As for old Snivelly, even if he hadn't changed the password, like as not he would have slammed the door -- your door -- in his face before Harry could have got two words out, and given him a detention to boot. A lot of good Harry could have done locked in a dungeon, scrubbing cauldrons or pickling frog brains, while the Death Eaters were bringing their master back from oblivion. So you'll pardon me if I'm not too keen to pin the Order of Merlin on Snape's bony chest any time soon."

"Perhaps you are right," Dumbledore said, bowing his head deferentially. Sirius' taut expression relaxed almost instantly, and Harry recognized that Dumbledore had thus extinguished what might have become an incendiary discussion by this judicious concession.

With the weight of his precipitous actions thus removed from his shoulders, Harry sank back against his pillow in a wave of relief. But he quickly sat up again as he remembered his question to which Dumbledore had not yet given answer.

"Professor -- " Harry began, but at that moment another figure appeared in the doorway. Dumbledore, seeing Harry's expression, turned his head and smiled pleasantly at the newcomer.

"Splendid," Dumbledore said delightedly. "Your entrance could not have been more timely, Mr. Weasley."

Ron grinned broadly at Harry as he strode into the room. His wand was before him, directing a large box which preceded him on the wings of a Levitating Charm. The hand that was not holding his wand was not idle, but held a very large pastry from which Ron took an enormous bite as he approached Harry's bed.

"Sorry I'm late," Ron said, his voice slightly muffled as he licked his lips. "Just nicked down to the kitchen for a minute."

"Well," Harry laughed, "I can see not all of you were worried about me. Knew I'd pull through okay, did you, mate?"

"'Course," Ron said as he took another colossal bite. "Never doubted for a minute."

"Don't let him fool you," Hermione whispered. "He's hardly left your bedside since we got back. Ginny's practically had to force-feed him to keep his strength up."

"And how about you?" Harry said, his eyes going hard behind his glasses.

Avoiding Harry's eyes, Hermione turned and smiled at Ron. "Just set it on the table," she said, indicating the night table next to Harry's bed. Ron complied, setting the box down gently with a twirl of his wand. The table groaned as the box settled onto it, and Harry's curiosity was aroused.

"I told you, Harry," Dumbledore said as he approached the box, "that we could none of us do justice to the tale of what transpired when you were -- ah -- occupied with Voldemort. The only way you may understand fully is to experience it for yourself."

Drawing his wand, Dumbledore tapped the box smartly. The sides fell away, revealing a round stone basin in the bowl of which a lambent glow danced like cold fire.

"You have been using my Pensieve to great effect these last few months," Dumbledore said. "It will serve in this capacity one last time before I return it to my cabinet. Mr. Weasley, if you are prepared?"

Ron licked his fingers hurriedly, shaking off the remaining crumbs from his recent feast, and stood before the Pensieve. He looked uncertainly at the swirling contents of the stone bowl, then up at Dumbledore, who smiled in a grandfatherly manner.

"I've never actually extracted a memory before," Ron said. "Hermione did it the last time."

"But if I recall Miss Granger's account," Dumbledore replied, "that was a case of a hidden memory which you could not locate without your friends' assistance. Surely this memory, residing so close to the surface, will present no problem."

Ron nodded and raised his wand. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He touched the tip of his wand to his head. When he drew his wand back a moment later, a slender thread of silvery vapor emerged, clinging tenuously to his wand-tip. When the memory-thread was completely separated from his head, Ron placed it in the heart of the Pensieve and stirred it with his wand.

Harry leaned forward and looked into the Pensieve. He saw faces at once strange and familiar swimming in the silvery pool. He looked up at Dumbledore, who nodded meaningfully.

"The answers you seek lie within, Harry," Dumbledore said. "And I would advise you not to delay. If Poppy returns to find you out of bed, I daresay she will not be as forgiving as Claire. Indeed, I fear her wrath may prove even greater than Voldemort's."

Swallowing hard, Harry swung his legs out so that his feet brushed the floor. Tossing his bedcovers back, he stood up, placing his hands on either side of the Pensieve for support against the lingering weakness pervading him. Bending, he held his breath and, before his resolve could waver, plunged his face into the bowl.

The moment Harry's face touched the liquid, he felt his feet leave the floor as he tumbled over and over through swirling, silvery clouds. Almost at once, the clouds of mist opened to reveal an endless panorama of indigo sky beneath which loomed a vast expanse of murky green-gray that was the North Sea. He wondered what would happen if he missed his target and plummeted into the sea. Falling from such a great height, he would plunge fathoms deep before his descent slowed enough for him to attempt to rise to the surface -- assuming, of course, that the impact did not flatten him like one of Mrs. Weasley's pancakes. Neither prospect was inviting.

Could a living person die inside a memory?

But Harry quickly realized that there was no need for worry. His many Pensieve journeys had bred an instinct in him which he now employed. By a simple act of will, he angled his descent so that he soared gracefully toward the dragon upon which he had sat before Apparating to the island. He swung his legs downward, opened them, and fell smartly onto the dragon's back.

For a moment, he felt the instinctive urge to grab one of the dragon's horns while his free hand yanked his wand out and performed the Sticking Charm. But he realized almost instantly that the wind lightly ruffling his hair was exerting no influence on his body. The wind was an illusion, merely a realization of what his own memory recalled from the experience of flying, whether on a broomstick, a hippogriff, or, as this night, a dragon.

Drawing a relaxing breath, Harry turned and surveyed Ron, who, unlike Harry, was holding onto his dragon with a look of mingled determination and dread. Harry certainly could not fault Ron that last. Anyone who did not feel the bite of fear upon attempting what they all had done was either unconscious or mad.

Harry saw Ron stiffen, his eyes suddenly ablaze. Following Ron's gaze, Harry saw what had caused his mate to react with such surprise. Where there had been only a blank expanse of ocean only a moment before, a small island was now looming directly ahead. Harry had no doubt that, had he and his friends been following the dragons on brooms, they would have been smitten by the defensive spells surrounding the island at this point. Harry thought he understood the reason for Ron's determined look a minute earlier. His dragon had evidently flown into the sphere of the protective wards, which had overwhelmed Ron almost instantly. He might have felt a sudden urge to turn around, even been compelled to hurl himself off his dragon and into the sea. But he had clung to his resolve, resisting the power of the spells, trusting that his dragon would carry him on past the barrier. The tenseness of Ron's grip might have indicated that he was wrenching desperately at the dragon's horns, trying to turn it from its destination. But Harry had correctly surmised that, once the dragons came within a certain range of their mother, nothing short of death could have turned them from their path.

Now that the dragons had flown across the defensive perimeter, Ron's eyes, heretofore magically blinded, would have seen the island appear as if from nowhere. Harry saw Ron's face grow pale beneath his smoldering freckles, but the natural fear in his blue eyes was tempered with a resolve which Harry had seldom seen. Though faced with a quite natural fear -- perhaps the greatest fear of all, that of the unknown -- Ron had responded valiantly. Harry smiled at his longtime friend, giving him a nod and a thumbs-up.

As the island drew steadily closer, Ron moved with deliberate purpose and speed. Checking the brooms under his left arm, he drew his wand and held it firmly in his hand against the push of the wind. Harry knew that Ron was looking for the best opportunity to jump from his dragon's back and complete the last leg of his journey by broomstick. Harry felt his own body tense as Ron stared intently ahead, his wand held as steady as the rushing wind allowed.

Ron cried out in sudden alarm, and Harry's outcry, though unheard by any save himself, was not a moment behind. In an explosion of splintered branches and scattered foliage, a great black shape burst from the forest, its leathery wings spread wide, its nostrils belching twin jets of flame. The Devil's Bane hovered for a moment, turning its horned head this way and that, as if searching for something. Ron whimpered in fear, which sound Harry was hard pressed not to echo. Harry was, of course, in no danger from the dragon as was Ron. But as memories of his confrontation with the Hungarian Horn-Tail in the Triwizard Tournament rushed to the surface of his memory, he felt a thrill of excitement race along his spine which no rational argument could repress.

The Devil's Bane thrashed its mighty wings, hovering above the forest canopy as it jerked its grotesque head about, sniffing the air for that which its feeble eyes could not see. And at last it spotted them. The four baby dragons tossed their heads in reply, roaring a plaintive call to their mother -- a call that was answered a moment later by a screeching wail such as Harry had never heard even in his most terrible nightmares. In a rush of black wings, the adult Devil's Bane surged forward, directly at her four lost babies -- and, perforce, at Ron. Harry experienced a flicker of alarm as he saw Ron freeze for a moment, his wand arm turned to stone. Then, in the wink of an eye, Ron acted. He cancelled the Sticking Charm under him with a jerk of his wand. In one fluid motion, he whipped Harry's Firebolt from under his arm (it was, after all, the fastest of the two brooms) and flung his leg over it, keeping his own Nimbus 3000 clamped securely against his side.

A flash of panic jolted Harry like an electric charge. How was he to follow Ron to the island? In theory, the magic of the Pensieve should keep anyone invading a memory close to the one whose memory it was. Perhaps Harry would simply be swept along in Ron's wake. But as the frenzied shrieks of the Devil's Bane increased in intensity with its onrushing approach, all reason left Harry. As Ron clamped his legs around the Firebolt's polished handle, Harry leaped from his own dragon. He felt his fingers catch the tail twigs of his Firebolt just as Ron leaned forward and shot off at an angle. Harry felt like the tail of a kite as he whipped hither and yon in response to Ron's quick change of direction by which he just missed being clipped by the point of the mother dragon's left wingtip. His rational mind told him that he need not hang on this way, that the Pensieve would carry him to wherever Ron's memory carried him. But cold reason alone was impotent to unclench Harry's fingers from the tail of his broom. He hung on as Ron sped toward the forest, aiming, it seemed to Harry, for the ragged gap in the trees through which the Devil's Bane had burst.

Harry was momentarily confused. The ceremony was taking place in a clearing. Why did not Ron simply fly directly for the opening in the trees?

A quick glance downward revealed the answer. There was no opening -- at least, none that was visible from their point of vantage. In a flash of insight, Harry realized the truth with such clarity as if a book had fallen open before his eyes. The protective spells surrounding the island would also disguise the forest so it would appear as an unbroken canopy. Realizing this himself, Ron had done the only thing that made sense and headed straight for the gap through which the dragon had come.

"Well done, mate," Harry grunted through clenched jaw muscles. "Wherever the dragon was, that's where the ceremony is taking place. Brilliant."

Ron swooped down in a spiral, drawing nearer to the gap in the trees with every pass. He was, Harry saw, proceeding cautiously while maintaining the utmost speed. By descending in a spiral, Ron could glimpse a flash of what lay below the canopy's edge with each swing, ensuring that he would not recklessly blunder headlong into the very teeth of whatever danger lay below. It was a calculated move, at once efficient and intrepid. Even as he was whipped about from the force of Ron's descent, Harry found time to marvel at this strategy. If Ron lacked the grades to be an Auror, he certainly did not lack the instincts. Harry did not believe that he himself could have done better.

Harry sensed the rush of leaves and branches on either side as they dived into the gap and burst suddenly into the clearing. Ron took in the scene with a sweeping glance, and Harry heard him cry out. Harry would have cried out himself had he not been so breathless.

The scene in which he had so recently been a participant seemed strangely distorted when viewed from the position of spectator. Ron landed with a jolt, and Harry let go of the broom tail and landed on his feet, staying a tumbling landing by an effort of will directed at the spell infusing the Pensieve. There lay Draco, unconscious, bound to the splintered shaft of his pillar. Above him hung Hermione, imprisoned on her own pillar.

And -- Harry gaped in astonishment -- there was the serpent altar, surrounded by a weird green glow that seemed to pulse like a giant, gangrenous heart. The two figures at the center of that nimbus were unrecognizable in that eerie haze, but Ron, staring into the midst of the emerald fog, sensed immediately who they must be.
"Harry!" Ron shouted, racing forward with his wand at the ready. "Harry, I'm coming! Hang on, mate! Hang on!"

Ron skidded to a halt as near the glowing sphere as he dared, his mouth slack with dread. At this distance he was now able to recognize one of the figures, if only by the dark blur of his black hair.

"Harry!" Ron shouted again. He sent a series of spells at the pulsing sphere, all aimed at the pale figure locked in combat with the smaller, dark-haired shape. The spells bounced off like pebbles from the shell of a Skrewt. Ron swore, unleashed another flurry of spells, all to no more effect than before.

"R-Ron?" came a feeble voice behind Ron. He wheeled about and let out a sob.

"Hermione!"

Ron pounded across the clearing, coming up so fast that he nearly collided with the post from which Hermione hung. He sized up the situation quickly, casting a glance over his shoulder at the grim battle playing out under the spectral green dome. Giving it up for the moment as a bad job, Ron whirled toward Hermione.

"Hang on, Hermione -- I'll get you down."

"Hang on?" Hermione tittered, her eyes flashing with grave humor as she winced from the pain coursing through her shoulders. "I think I can manage that."

Harry had quickly followed Ron to the foot of Hermione's post. He watched breathlessly as Ron caught up the abandoned Firebolt and leaped into the air. He severed the cords binding Hermione to the post and eased her onto the broom handle. Harry winced as he saw the pain in Hermione's eyes, relaxing a moment later as she sighed and settled in against Ron, who held her safely with his right arm (still clutching his wand) while guiding the broom slowly down with his left. He touched down gently and eased Hermione into a sitting position, her back against the pole. Harry knelt next to Ron as the latter produced a trickle of water from his wand and played it across Hermione's face. Some of the dirt and blood on her cheeks ran wetly, making it look as if she were crying muddy tears. Harry's heart ached with longing to reach out and hold her, but knowing it was impossible in this Pensieve-memory, he resigned himself to the role of helpless observer. He had to keep reminding himself that he was only a spectator here. He could do nothing to change what had happened, however much he wished.

And that thought reignited the fuse in his mind so that his thoughts exploded back onto the reason for his being here. Why was he still alive? How had Voldemort been destroyed? What had happened to prevent the Dark Lord from triumphing, yet at the same time spared Harry's life from his intended sacrifice?

A soft moan from Hermione brought him out of his reverie in a flash. Once more he knelt beside Ron, peering painfully into Hermione's heavily lidded eyes.

"Hermione," Ron said in a weak, fearful voice. "In that -- that green bubble -- is that -- I mean..."

"Y-Yes," Hermione said, real tears now leaking from her eyes. "It's Harry -- and Voldemort."

Too alarmed even to wince at the sound of Voldemort's name, Ron said with another glance over his shoulder, "What's going on in there? Where did that green bubble come from? Did You-Know-Who trap Harry inside? Is there any way to get him out?"

"I -- I don't know," Hermione said mournfully. "B-But you've got to t-try, Ron. You've got to get H-Harry out of there."

"I've used every spell I can think of," Ron said defeatedly. "Even made up a few. Didn't do a thing." He paused, his face going slightly pale. "What's going to happen if we can't get them out?"

"H-Harry's -- " Hermione choked, "Harry's going to try to destroy V-Voldemort."

"But,' Ron said, looking thoroughly baffled, "isn't that why we came here, to sort out You-Know-Who once and for all?"

"Y-You don't understand," Hermione sobbed. "I kn-know what Harry's doing. He -- he's increasing the power of his magic by -- by using his own life-force to power the spell."

"What?" Ron gasped. "He -- he's going to do himself in and take You-Know-Who along? No...no, he wouldn't do that. I mean -- "

"H-He knows it's th-the only way," Hermione wailed softly. "I p-picked up his D-Defense Against the Dark Arts book one day, when he and Remus were practicing dueling. I saw one of the pages was folded over. It was on the chapter on h-how to boost magic by using life-energy. I asked him about it, and he said he was r-reading th-the other side of the page -- a new ch-chapter on d-dueling strategy. Since he and Remus had been dueling, I didn't give it another thought. B-But he was really studying the other chapter -- th-the one about -- oh, Ron..."

"I'm sorry I lied, Hermione," Harry said, knowing that he should be saying these words to the real Hermione who was waiting for him outside the Pensieve. "I knew you'd never agree to let me practice ways to divert my life force through my wand to boost spell power. I hoped I wouldn't have to use it..."

His voice trailed off feebly as Hermione bent her head and sobbed, unable to look over Ron's shoulder at the two shadowy figures battling in the heart of the green sphere. But as he turned to look at the scene which Hermione could not bear to acknowledge, he wondered anew: Why is Voldemort dead, while I'm still alive? What happened after I blacked out?

Leaving Hermione quietly sobbing into her hands, Ron unfolded his long legs and rose to his full height. He regarded the green sphere with something resembling disgust.

"Harry, you stupid prat," he spat. "There had to be another way! There had to be! I know you want to avenge your parents, and Cedric, and all the others the bastard's murdered. But it's too much, mate! The price is too high!"

Ron stood helplessly as he saw the blurred figures twitch slightly behind the emerald curtain surrounding them. The smaller figure -- Harry -- was shaking now, as if his efforts were draining his strength -- his life -- at an increasing rate. The Dark Lord was shaking as well, but in a different way, or so it appeared to Ron.

"It's working," Ron mumbled thickly, his voice laced with pain and misery, much of it (so it seemed to the disembodied Harry now standing at his side) directed at himself, at his inability to do something, anything, to save his best mate's life. "He's doing it. He's using the one weapon You-Know-Who can't fight. And there's nothing I can do to stop him."

Ron averted his eyes, unwilling to watch his best mate commit suicide. No matter the cause, no matter the benefits the wizarding world -- indeed, the entire world -- would reap, it was still too high a price to pay. All this Harry saw as he stared into his friend's blue eyes, and through them into the depths of his soul. He knew what Ron was thinking as surely as if he had spoken aloud.

"Not too high a price," Harry said into Ron's unhearing ear. "It was the only way. I knew from the beginning that, if Voldemort ever did come back again, he'd be too powerful for ordinary magic to defeat. Even Dumbledore would have had a job of it. And no matter what Trelawney's bloody prophesy says, I'm not a powerful enough wizard to destroy Voldemort."

But then, what had destroyed Voldemort in the end? And why was he, Harry, still alive?

Ron was now pacing the clearing back and forth before the glowing sphere, his eyes darting about randomly. He seemed ready to explode like an overwound spring as he alternately cast glances at the silent battle on the serpent altar and then tore his eyes away violently. Harry, his own frustration nearly the equal of Ron's, began to follow him a few paces behind. He kept darting looks at the sphere, as if expecting some miracle to strike like lightning from the sky. What in Merlin's name had happened to avert the disaster that was to have been of Harry's own making? What power could have destroyed the Dark Lord while sparing Harry's life in the exchange?

Turning away from the silent battle, Harry now saw that Ron was staring down at the ground at his feet. Bending his long legs, Ron knelt and caught up something in his left hand. He rose smoothly and held his hand outstretched, allowing Harry to see what it was that he had found lying on the packed earth.

It was Hermione's ring. As Harry stared, Ron looked at the ring with an expression of loathing.

"It's all your bloody fault," Ron said to the small, silver object lying uncaringly upon his palm. "If it wasn't for you, You-Know-Who couldn't have come back. My best mate is going to die! And it's all down to you!

Ron jerked his arm back savagely as if to hurl the ring into the trees and out of his sight. Then, just when Harry expected to see the ring flying through the air, Ron came up short. He brought his hand to his face and stared once again at the ring. Only this time, instead of wearing an expression of accusation, Ron's face morphed into one of desperation -- and hope.

"You brought You-Know-Who back," Ron said grindingly. "It's your fault that my mate is about to to die. Well, what you did you can bloody well undo! You sorted him out once, didn't you? Get at it, then! What are you waiting for?"

Ron closed his fist around the ring and thrust the whole at the shimmering sphere, as if to mime punching it, or aiming a spell at it. The look in his eyes verged on madness, Harry thought. Wracked with guilt over his inability to change the events before him, he seemed to be mocking the object which had wrought those events.

A great weight seemed to descend on Ron as he slowly lowered his arm, as if in defeat and acceptance. He opened his hand and looked at the ring again. And as Harry looked on with a pressure in his chest the equal of that on Ron's shoulders, something quite unexpected happened. For the first time since their arrival, Harry saw a glimmer of genuine hope in Ron's eyes. Ron continued to stare at the ring, not accusingly, but expectantly. A light sprang into his eyes with the suddenness of a lightning flash.

Whirling about, Ron sprinted back to Hermione, who was slumped against the pole, her face twitching slightly as if in the clutches of a nightmare. Ron fell to his knees in front of her and shook her gently with his wand hand. She started, looked around dully for a moment before fixing her eyes on Ron with a kind of torpid inquisitiveness.

"Hermione," Ron said, holding his hand out so that the ring lay inches from her face. "This ring sorted out You-Know-Who once. Why can't it do it again?"

Hermione looked at Ron as she had not quite heard him. "What?"

"This ring brought You-Know-Who back," Ron said, barely suppressing his excitement. "According to Trelawney's poem, this ring is the key that let You-Know-Who come back. There must be some way we can use it to open that door again and send him off where he came from."

Hermione's eyes seemed to clear a bit, and she regarded the ring for a moment before returning her attention to Ron's tense face.

"It's useless, Ron," she said, the defeat in her voice manifest. "It wasn't the ring that destroyed Voldemort a year ago. It was the ring-spirit, Amara. She came out of the ring and turned Voldemort to dust -- the same dust the Death Eaters brought here from the Forbidden Forest. The ring is useless now. It's just...just...a ring..."

Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell half-closed again. But Ron's enthusiasm was not diminished. If anything, his fervor had increased.

"Then we'll bring her back!" he said resolutely.

"Wh-What?" Hermione said wearily.

"I said we'll bring her back so she can sort out You-Know-Who like she did before!"

Her eyes now once more focused on Ron, Hermione said in a pitying voice, "She's gone, Ron. She's gone off to her world, to be with her people. She can't come back."

"We can bring her back with the Priori Incantatum!" Ron exclaimed. "It'll work, I know it will!"

"Ron -- " Hermione began, but he spoke over her with soft urgency.

"I don't know what else to do, Hermione! I've got to do something! I wasn't here with you and Harry when you needed me. If I'd come along, maybe things would have gone better. Maybe the Death Eaters wouldn't've had the chance to do the ceremony. Don't you see, Hermione? I can't just do nothing! I can't simply wait around for my best mate to snuff it! No matter what our chances are, I have to try!"

Hermione seemed unable to respond to the desperate guilt oozing from Ron's self-imprecations. Very slowly she raised her hand and took the ring from Ron's cupped palm.

"Is there anything special we need to do?" Ron asked. "Didn't the ring-spirit say something about -- I dunno -- what you had to do to release the magic?"

Her voice tired and hopeless, Hermione said mechanically, "Amara said there are three keys to releasing the magic of the Friendship Ring. Trust. Loyalty. And love."

Nodding eagerly, Ron said, "Yeah, I remember now. So what we need to do is -- is -- put all of that into some kind of spell, maybe."

"Those aren't the ingredients of a spell," Hermione said. "They go beyond magic. That's why the ring was so long in finding the one who could fulfill the requirements of the curse and release Amara from her prison.

"We need to tell the ring," Hermione said, her eyes now looking over Ron's shoulder at the green sphere, "how we feel. About Harry. About the three of us...about the bonds that have linked us for the last seven years."

Ron turned his head to see the two trembling figures behind the green veil shuddering. The Dark Lord was apparently resisting Harry's sacrifice with all his power. The conflict must ultimately consume both combatants, nor was that moment far, judging from the aspect of the warring pair.

Turning back to Hermione, Ron gently closed her fingers around the ring.

"No one loves Harry more than you," he said. "The last part will be down to you."

"This can't work," Hermione murmured under her breath as she closed her fingers tightly around the ring. "The Priori Incantatum only works on wands. It can't work..."

Folding his large hand around Hermione's smaller one, Ron squeezed, prompting her to look up. Instantly his china-blue eyes ensnared hers.

"Hermione," he said in a quiet voice yet brimming with urgency, "What are those three words again? The three keys?"

Hermione blinked dully for a moment before replying in a confused hush, "Trust. Loyalty. And love."

"In that order?" Ron asked. Hermione stared into his eyes curiously before nodding. "Why?"

"What?" Hermione said.

"Why in that order? I mean, why 'trust, loyalty, love?' Why not 'loyalty, trust, love,' or 'love, trust, loyalty?'"

For a moment, Hermione's face was still as carven stone. Then, speaking in a voice that seemed to come from a great distance, she said, "Because...because trust is where it all begins. Without trust, nothing else is possible."

Smiling, Ron squeezed her hand again. "Trust me, Hermione."

Hermione peered deeply into Ron's eyes as she felt the strong reassurance of his hand on hers. Very slowly, she nodded.

Ron dared a glance over his shoulder, wincing at the sight that met his eyes. The green glow surrounding the warring figures was somehow more poisonous looking than it had been. If he and Hermione did not act quickly --

Turning back around, he saw that Hermione's eyes were closed. Her lips were moving silently, as if she were praying. He squeezed her hand, and her eyes opened. She regarded Ron for a moment, then dropped her gaze to their joined hands.

"Concentrate," Ron said, increasing the pressure of his hand on hers. He raised his wand and held it at the ready, screwing up his face with the intensity of his own concentration. "Trust. Loyalty. Love."

"Trust," Hermione repeated. "Loyalty. Love."

Concentrating as he was on the ring clutched in Hermione's hand, Ron did not see her fumbling at the neck of her robes with her free hand as she spoke. But Harry saw. Her hand dipped beneath her neckline and emerged, her fingers wrapped around something. She opened her hand, and Harry saw that she was holding the pendant he had given her for Christmas. The tiny head of Amara floated ghost-like in the heart of the crystal as it lay on Hermione's trembling palm. Her eyes embraced the image as she repeated the invocation with desperate urgency.

"Trust. Loyalty. Love."

"Believe the words, Hermione," Ron said through tightly clenched jaws, his eyes still locked fast on their joined hands as if seeing through flesh and bone to the magical object hidden within. "Say it and believe it."

"Trust," Hermione said more strongly now. "Loyalty." She paused, her eyes flickering once more to the blurred figures behind the glowing dome. Her eyes fixing on the smaller, dark-haired shape, she said in a whisper that was almost a song, "Love."

"Now!" Ron barked, snatching his hand from Hermione's fist. Hermione opened her hand, and Ron stabbed his wand at the ring. "Prior Incantato!"

For a moment, nothing happened. Hermione, her last feeble hope dashed, let out a tiny sob. "It couldn't work," she said faintly, defeatedly. "I knew it couldn't -- "

Ron and Hermione abruptly gasped in unison, the sound echoing unheard from Harry's lips as he stared in amazement at Hermione's open hand. The ring had begun to glow with a soft, pearly light. It began to pulse softly. It almost appeared to be singing. Very slowly, a wisp of silver vapor wafted up from the graven head. It grew and expanded, assuming a form which they had not seen for a year, and had never expected to see again.

"A-Amara?" Hermione said, her face a mask of astonishment.

Ron was staring open-mouthed, as if he had not truly expected success, for all that it had been his idea.

"Hello, Hermione," the ghostly figure said gently.

Hermione stared for a moment, then squeezed her eyes shut with a sob. "It's not real. You're not real. You're like Cedric -- and Harry's mum and dad -- just an echo -- not real -- "

"But I am real, Hermione," Amara said.

"But -- how?" Hermione gasped, her face now leaking fresh tears. "The Priori Incantatum -- "

"It was not the incantation that brought me back," Amara said. "It was you. In the moment that Ron spoke the spell, you believed. You believed in Ron, in whom you placed your most fragile trust. In that moment, I felt the key enter the lock. Ron's loyalty to his two closest friends gave him hope where none should have been. So the key turned, and my own hope took wing. And love -- yours and Ron's, united in common cause against impossible odds -- opened the door. The three magic words, Hermione. Trust. Loyalty. Love."

"B-But," Hermione stammered, "you were -- you were gone -- you said you couldn't..."

"Did I not tell you that I would always be watching over you?" Amara smiled gently. "Over you and Harry?"

"Y-Yes, but..."

"I have never been far from you, Hermione," Amara said with an almost motherly affection. "Since the moment I departed to rejoin my people, I have been watching you and Harry from my realm. I have seen you in pools, in the clouds, in the face of the moon. There has not been a moment when you have not been in my thoughts, and in my heart. Always I have stood ready to do what I might at a propitious moment, to reach between our worlds to give events a nudge here and there so that the course of your life's journey might remain true." But now Amara's lovely face fell. "But I was sorely heartsick for that I had not the power to intervene here, when you and Harry needed me most. Until -- " And she turned her eyes on Ron, whose ears promptly turned a violent shade of pink. "Ronald Weasley, it was your friendship...your loyalty...your love...that is what allowed me to return. You were unwilling to stand by and see your best friend sacrifice his life. You had faith where none should have been."

Amara now turned back to Hermione.

"But it would not have been possible without you."

"I -- " Hermione choked, her eyes looking ashamed. "I didn't believe -- if Ron hadn't -- "

"You believed," Amara smiled warmly. "You always believed, deep in your heart. Even when your head told you that what you sought was impossible, your heart still believed. And in the end, that is what brought me back. You opened the door which I could not and permitted me to return to the place where I was most needed."

"OH!" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes going wide with horror. "Harry! Oh, please, Amara, you have to save him! You mustn't let him -- H-He's going to -- "

"I know of the sacrifice Harry has chosen," Amara said. "But I cannot help him. Not alone."

"What -- " Hermione began.

"I am no longer of this world," Amara said. "I can remain only for a tick of the clock. I will need your strength if I am to do this thing. Yours and Ron's."

"Trust," Ron said. "Loyalty. Love."

"Yes," Amara said. "But haste, for the sands of our hourglass are nigh empty! Give me what I need so that I may do that for which I came."

Following an unspoken command, Hermione closed her hand around the ring again. Ron replaced his large hand around hers.

"Trust. Loyalty. Love." The words were repeated over and over as Hermione, resisting the compulsion to look up at the pulsing green sphere, concentrated on the ring hidden inside the smaller sphere that was her hand and Ron's. "Trust. Loyalty. Love. Trust. Loyalty. Love."

Amara seemed to increase with every syllable. Her cloudy form grew more distinct, her otherworldly face more beautiful than either Ron or Hermione remembered.

"Yes," Amara said happily. "Yes."

Harry snapped himself out of the trance in which he had been watching these incredible proceedings. While Ron and Hermione remained behind, still chanting their heartfelt mantra, Harry followed Amara to the edge of the green sphere. He held back through instinct, fearing to touch the poisonous barrier even in a memory. But when Amara drifted through the glowing curtain as if it were not there, Harry could not remain behind. He plunged through after her, and was immediately staggered at the sight that met his eyes.

He saw himself and Voldemort, locked in a silent, deadly combat composed of sheer strength of wills. Voldemort's formerly Olympian features were twisted grotesquely as he strove to stay the power of his opponent's sacrifice. The trembling figure that was Harry was smiling even as he gave a great shudder and began to fold upon himself like a withering flower closing its petals for the last time. He opened his mouth and spoke in a voice too faint for human ear to hear. But the other Harry repeated the words from memory.

"I love you, Hermione."

"And she loves you," said Amara as she descended over the trembling figure of Harry like a gossamer cloak. She wrapped her ethereal body around him in a loving embrace. As the disembodied Harry watched, she began to glow with a soft radiance that increased with every beat of his heart. The white glow crept along the faltering Harry's arm until it touched his wand. The beam of green light connecting two wands was pushed back, inch by steady inch, by a beam of purest white. The horror in Voldemort's eyes quickly morphed into stark terror. He tried to wrench his wand arm away, but a paralysis seemed to be stealing over his body, arresting his movements as if he were turning to stone. Only his face remained alive, his mouth gaping, his nostrils flaring, his eyes wide and overflowing with naked fear.

Slowly, inexorably, the beam of white light pushed the green beam back toward Voldemort. The Dark Lord shook his once proud head violently as the white beam touched the tip of the wand that had been Harry's. The white thread seemed to enter the wand fully until there was no longer a beam connecting the two wands. Voldemort screamed soundlessly, his body quivering violently. The wand in his hand began to glow, as if the white light were seeping through the holly shaft like potion strained through a cloth. Harry saw Voldemort's hand begin to shrivel, as if the wand he held were a hot brand. It was like watching a speeded-up film of a body wizening and decaying into something like a diseased mummy. Voldemort's once vigorous muscles shrank and cracked like dry plaster. As Harry watched in astonishment, the Dark Lord began to wither away, becoming less and less as his once proud body wasted away into the poisonous dust from which it had come.

It seemed to Harry that the wand -- his wand, he reminded himself -- was absorbing Voldemort into itself. Both figures crumpled. Harry watched his other self slump down and lie still, Hermione's wand trailing from limp fingers. Lifting his eyes, he saw the debilitated remains of Voldemort, now little more than a stick figure, a pale, grotesque parody of a bowtruckle wavering on thin, feeble limbs. Harry thought he heard a faint outgoing of breath from the crumbling remains of Voldemort's desiccated lungs. Before Harry himself could draw another breath, the Dark Lord was gone. Harry saw his wand lying before the motionless figure of his other self. It no longer appeared to be made of holly, but of the whitest ash. The incredible truth came home to him in a rush of shock and disbelief. His wand had become Voldemort's tomb, containing within itself the dusty remains of what had been the most splendid body to walk the earth in an age, now reduced to the base substance in which the Dark Lord had once made his servants grovel at his feet.

Harry roused himself, shaking his head as if he had just awakened from a dream. Looking around on all sides, he saw that the poisonous green sphere was gone, expiring with the one whose magic had maintained it. He saw a faint vapor rising from "his" prone form. It wafted down the coils of the stone snake, and Harry bounded after it. The misty form drifting slowly toward the ones whose heartcries had summoned her only vaguely resembled the beautiful spirit it had been only minutes earlier. Amara smiled down on Ron and Hermione, looking quite as transparent as any ghost at Hogwarts.

"The sand has run from my glass," Amara said. "I must return whence I came."

Too stunned at first to understand what they had heard, Ron and Hermione stared for a moment before Hermione opened her hand to reveal the Friendship Ring. She stared at the ring, then up at Amara.

"How can I ever thank you?" she said tearfully, her smile at once radiant and occluded.

"It was not I alone," Amara said. "The sword is only as keen as it has been honed, as sure as the hand that wields it. Yours was the hand and the stone. I was but the tool."

Hermione held her hand out, the ring cupped in her palm glinting in the soft light. The fading spirit that was Amara drifted forward, her features growing indistinct.

"Will we ever see you again?" Hermione asked.

"To cross the barrier between worlds is no easy thing," Amara said faintly as she began to dissolve before their eyes. "I may return. Or we may never meet again, save in sweet dreams. But I will always be here for you. I will watch you and Harry, in the water, in the clouds. And if I can reach a finger through a tiny rent in the tapestry, perhaps you will feel a nudge from time to time. If an ill wind suddenly blows fair...if the sun appears unexpectedly on a cloudy day...it may only be the world unfolding as it was meant to. Or it may mean that your love has opened the door a crack so that I may touch again the lives of the ones who set me free, to thank them in some small way for the gift you have bestowed."

"After today," Ron said, finding his tongue at last, "we're square. Thanks."

Bowing her head deeply in farewell, Amara dissolved before their eyes. The ring in Hermione's hand glowed faintly for a moment, then dimmed to its normal, silvery lustre once more. She folded her fingers around it before lifting her hand to her bosom and whispering a prayer of thanks.

"Bloody hell!" Ron swore suddenly, leaping to his feet so fast that his head swam. "Harry!

Her eyes glowing with reawakened alarm, Hermione allowed Ron to help her to her feet and they made their way across the clearing and up the coiled steps to the dais whereon Harry lay. Hermione fell sobbing onto him immediately while Ron groped for Harry's wrist.

"Still alive," he said, though with less confidence that Hermione would have liked. "We have to get him back to Hogwarts. Quick as we can alert Dumbledore and Claire, they'll be able to sort him out." There was a hesitancy in this last statement, the hint of a question wrapped in the guise of assertion.

"I don't know if I'm strong enough to fly," Hermione said, suddenly remembering her many aches, temporarily forgotten in her worry over Harry.

"Can you handle a rejuvenation spell?" Ron asked. "That should last for a few hours, long enough for us to get back to the castle."

"I think so," Hermione said.

Ron pointed his wand at her and said, "Ennervate!"

A surge of energy flowed through Hermione. Her eyes brightened, her face relaxed. She stood up and tested her strained limbs.

"That should do to be getting on with," she said. "Though I may need a few extra replenishing potions from the hospital cupboard when we arrive."

Hermione took her wand back from Harry tenderly and conjured a stretcher. She took Harry's feet as Ron hefted his shoulders, and together they stretched him out as comfortably as they could. She then tore off a piece of her robes (which were tattered and torn from her furious battle with the Death Eaters) and took up Harry's wand very carefully. She wrapped the wand from end to end, careful to leave not a square centimeter exposed, before sticking it in her pocket.

Ron was looking down at Harry, his face tensed, as if he were trying desperately not to cry. Harry still showed no slightest trace of wakefulness, and Hermione stifled a sob. Using her wand, she directed the stretcher down the coiled steps until they were on level ground. They moved back to the ring of poles, and Ron stopped to catch up his and Harry's brooms.

"Oh, my goodness!" Hermione cried out suddenly. "Draco!"

It was clear from the look on Ron's face that he had not given Draco a single thought since his arrival. Hermione rushed over to the sundered post and severed Draco's cords with her wand. She conjured another stretcher and instructed Ron to help her place Draco upon it. Ron looked down on Draco with mixed emotions.

"I think I like him better this way," he said. "Not that I want him dead or anything. But a few broken bones -- "

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "Draco fought bravely -- and against his own father! You should have seen him. He risked his life to try to get onto the dais to destroy Voldemort's ashes. And he saved my life at least once that I know, and who knows how many more times I didn't see."

"Okay, okay," Ron grumbled.

"I think he proved today that he's good enough to be your sister's beau," Hermione said as she used some water from her wand to wash out some small cuts on Draco's face and arms.

Ron avoided the subject by checking Harry's pulse again.

"Thready," he said in a would-be calm voice.

"I don't think it would be safe to awaken Draco with the rejuvenation spell," Hermione said. "The Curse that knocked him out was a particularly nasty one. It would be too much of a shock to his body to wake him by magic." Ron looked as if he might enjoy Draco waking up to a variety of aches and pains. "I wish we could take both of them back on stretchers," Hermione said.

"Why can't we?" Ron said. "And why conjure them in the first place if we can't use them?"

"We needed to get Harry down those steps, didn't we?" Hermione responded. "And these cuts of Draco's are so dirty, he needed something clean to lie on while I tended to them. But there's no way we can carry them back to Hogwarts this way. We'll have to carry them back ourselves, two passengers to a broom. I'll take Harry back on his Firebolt, of course."

Ron nodded, then his head shot up forcefully.

"Hang on! If you're carrying Harry -- "

There was no need to finish the thought. Ron jerked his head around and stared down at Draco, whose cuts Hermione had now tended to her satisfaction.

"You bloody well better be worth all this trouble," Ron muttered. "And if you ever do anything to make Ginny cry, you'll wish the Death Eaters had killed you before I'm done with you."

"Right, then," Hermione said brightly, forcing a smile. "Shall we be off?"

Grumbling, Ron scooped Draco up off his stretcher, which Hermione promptly vanished. Hermione used a delicately controlled Levitating Charm to lift Harry into the air before dispensing with his stretcher with a wave of her open hand (her wand being engaged in holding Harry aloft). Ron looked impressed.

"Do you think you can make it?" Ron asked as Hermione mounted Harry's Firebolt, which hovered steadily at her side, and maneuvered Harry's weightless form into position before negating the levitation spell. She applied a Sticking Charm to herself and Harry, then wrapped her left arm around him securely, clamping her right hand to the broom handle (her wand now safely in her pocket).

"I'm counting on the broomstick to do most of the flying," Hermione said. "Harry always said a Firebolt almost flies itself."

"Yeah," Ron said a little enviously as he mounted his Nimbus, balancing Draco unsteadily as he applied a Sticking Charm to himself. He considered "forgetting" to place the Charm on Draco, but changed his mind instantly when Hermione glanced at him warningly. He looked down on Draco ruefully, as if picturing him plunging into the North Sea somewhere between Azkaban and Hogwarts. If Hermione saw the satisfied smile tugging at a corner of his mouth, she gave no sign. Then, without warning, Ron exclaimed, "Oi, Hermione, where's your ring? Be a right joke if you lost it again after all the bother we went through to fetch it, wouldn't it?"

Hermione gasped in horror. Where was her ring? She realized that she had completely forgotten it in her eagerness to rush to Harry's side. It must have slipped from her hand unnoticed in her frantic charge across the clearing. Merlin's bones, it could be anywhere!

But she relaxed almost instantly as the light of reason replaced the panic on her face. Had she not enchanted the ring as a safeguard against this very occurrence? Working around Harry, whom she still held securely in the crook of her left arm, she took out her wand and balanced it on the palm of her hand, as she had done in Gryffindor Tower. Obeying her unspoken command, the wand spun around once and stopped, pointing directly toward the place where the ring lay unseen on the hard-packed ground. Grasping her wand once more, Hermione took aim and said, "Accio ring!" She caught the tiny object deftly as it whizzed hornet-like past Harry's ear and replaced it on the finger from which it had been taken.

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione said gratefully. "For everything. What would we do without you, Harry and I?"

Ron coughed with embarrassment, though he could not restrain a very pleased smile.

"I wonder what everyone back at the castle will say when they learn what we've been up to?" Hermione wondered aloud as she bent her knees to push herself and Harry aloft.

"Probably say it's just another day in the life of 'The Boy Who Lived,' won't they?" Ron grinned.

Hermione gave a not altogether convincing laugh as she hugged Harry to her, her face straining not to cry. Then, with a nod, she kicked off. Ron followed a moment later, grumbling something inaudible, in which the words "Ginny" and "appreciate" were barely discernable to the detached figure of Harry Potter, before the rushing of the wind smothered further conversation.

As the two double-burdened broomsticks rose into the air, Harry felt himself rise up with them. But when his eye tried to follow them, they were quickly lost in a haze of swirling silver mist. Harry felt his stomach lurch. He tumbled over and over. The next moment, he felt his feet settle onto solid ground again. He was back in the hospital wing, surrounded by Dumbledore and Sirius and Hermione and Ron.

Harry was trying to speak, but he seemed to have left his voice behind in the Pensieve. He staggered slightly, and Hermione quickly eased him back into bed and pulled the covers up to his waist. Ron, meanwhile, was retrieving his memory from the Pensieve and returning it whence he had taken it.

Harry was looking around in a kind of daze. Hermione took his arm worriedly.

"What is it, Harry?"

Harry blinked at Hermione, shook his head and turned toward Dumbledore.

"Professor?" he said weakly.

"Yes, Harry?"

"I -- " Harry was still finding it difficult to speak. "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand, Harry?"

Harry hesitated, swallowing dryly. "You -- " he croaked, "you said that -- that I destroyed Voldemort -- that I defeated him with the one power he could never command."

"That is correct, Harry," Dumbledore said.

Harry shook his head. "I didn't."

Dumbledore looked at Harry with a polite expression that seemed almost amused.

"It wasn't me who destroyed Voldemort," Harry said, his voice gaining strength with every syllable.

"Indeed?" Dumbledore said disbelievingly.

"It was the Ring Spirit -- Amara -- she did it. And it wasn't me who called her -- it was Ron and Hermione who did it. They did it all, not me."

Harry's eyes were now as round as two gold Galleons. He looked at each of his companions in turn before bringing his focus back to Dumbledore, his gaze incredulous.

"The prophesy was wrong," he said.

"You are speaking, I presume, of Sybill Trelawney's prophesy concerning the one who would destroy Voldemort?" Dumbledore said.

"It was all wrong," Harry said, shaking his head dazedly. "It was all for nothing! I was never the One!"

"Why do you say that, Harry?" Dumbledore asked quietly, the amusement in his voice scarcely concealed by his placid expression.

"Why?" Harry exclaimed. "Do you know what happened? Do you know what I just saw in the Pensieve?"

"I did not witness it for myself," Dumbledore admitted. "But I have your friends' testimony, and I have no reason to doubt either their truthfulness or their accuracy."

"Then how can you say that I destroyed Voldemort?" Harry demanded. "I tried to destroy him -- I tried to trump his magic with my life-energy. Maybe it would have worked. But in the end, it wasn't me who destroyed him. It was Amara."

"That is so," Dumbledore said. "But the prophesy was fulfilled nevertheless. And the statement I made to you regarding your power over Voldemort is no less valid. Indeed, the events you just witnessed in the Pensieve bear out my words most eloquently."

"How can you say that?" Harry cried desperately. "You said it was my ability to love that would destroy Voldemort."

"And so it did," Dumbledore said.

"You're not making sense," Harry said with an impatient grimace. "How does what I saw in the Pensieve validate what you told me over and over about my ability to love being the key to destroying Voldemort?"

"Because," Dumbledore said tranquilly, "it was your love which ultimately brought about the return of Amara. Without that force burning inside you, impelling you to sacrifice all to save the world from Voldemort, Amara could not have returned from her distant realm to tip the scales as she did. Prophesies are tenuous things, Harry. Even when we think we understand them, there is always some small portion that remains hidden. I have concluded that Arama was indeed involved in Sybill's prophesy, unseen and unsuspected even by those of us who thought to understand it fully. But Amara would have been powerless to act without you. When a tree is felled, is it the axe that performs the deed, or is it the hand that wields it?"

Harry looked at Dumbledore as if the old wizard were mocking him. His old anger was rising up inside him, and he fought it back with an effort of will. Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for Harry's inner storm to abate. Only when he saw the tightness withdraw from Harry's jaws did the headmaster continue.

"It is a common mistake," Dumbledore said, "for the unlearned and inexperienced to assume that love is a singular noun. In fact, it is plural. Indeed, it is infinite, reaching out to touch the farthest corners of the human heart. But rendered in its simplest form, love is a lens that magnifies whatsoever passes through it. It differs, however, from an earthly lens in a very special way. When its two faces are in perfect harmony, it magnifies in both directions. I spoke truly when I told you that your greatest power was the ability to love -- but that must also include the reverse, which is to say, your being loved in return. And that was what ultimately destroyed Voldemort."

Harry was regarding Dumbledore with an expression of bafflement mingled with renewed ire. The old wizard looked down on Harry from under his bushy silver eyebrows, and his blue eyes seemed to mist over for a moment before he spoke again.

"We have seen that Voldemort was one who disdained love in any form," Dumbledore said. "He regarded it as weakness, and he ever sought strength and power. Little did he suspect that there is nothing in the universe more powerful than that emotion which he despised above all things.

"There was a time, perhaps in his earliest youth, when Tom Riddle was capable of feeling and understanding love. But he quickly closed that door and locked it fast, nor could it ever again be opened. Thus did he seal his fate. For in refusing himself the weakness of love, he likewise denied himself its greatest strength, in that he denied others the opportunity to love him."

Harry began to stare at Dumbledore with new interest. He saw that Hermione and Ron -- and Sirius as well -- were attending the headmaster's words as keenly as he.

"Lord Voldemort had many followers," Dumbledore said. "Witches and wizards were drawn to him by the force of his personality as much as by the seductive might of his power. Those whom he named Death Eaters served him above all others, placing his will over their their own, as well as their families and friends. But they did not love him. How could they love one to whom the very concept was alien? They feared him. They admired and even respected him. But they never loved him.

"Why, then, did Lucius and the other remaining Death Eaters risk so much to return their master to power? Because they, like him, did not understand. When you and your friends arrived in their midst, they could not apprehend why you had risked so much to undertake what they saw as a fool's mission. But they were the fools. Always in the past when the tide turned against them, they fled rather than suffer their master's fate. The bonds holding them to their lord were weak, and thus were they easily broken.

"But the bonds between you and your friends, Harry, were more powerful than they could conceive. They followed you toward what awaited them, even their own deaths, not out of fear, or in hope of gaining some reward. They followed you out of love. That is the other side of which I spoke, Harry. The power you possessed which Voldemort could not comprehend was not merely love...it was the power by which you inspired others to love you."

Harry had been staring at Dumbledore so intently that his eyes were becoming dry. He blinked rapidly, bringing a trickle of tears to his cheeks. He felt something soft touch his arm. Hermione's hand slid along his wrist and folded around his fingers. He looked at her, and the glow on her face was startling in its intensity.

"Do you suppose," Dumbledore said with a beneficent smile, "that the miracle of love which has saved you, not once, but twice, could have been accomplished by the followers of Lord Voldemort? We have seen that it was indeed Amara and not you who, if only in practical terms, destroyed Voldemort. Does that make the prophesy untrue? Or did Amara merely assume her place in the grand mosaic?

"We must look at the whole picture, Harry. You were foretold before your birth as the destroyer of the Dark Lord. Yet how could you, a teenage wizard of admittedly no small ability but limited training, possibly accomplish this? It is because you were the key that alone could unlock the power of Princess Amara. All that she has done has been made possible by you, Harry. It was your love -- I should say, yours and Hermione's, which amounts to the same thing, as you are each part of the other -- that freed the princess from her prison one year ago. She then proceeded to destroy Voldemort -- or so we thought. But how could this be, when it was you and not she who were foretold as the instrument of Voldemort's downfall?"

Dumbledore paused, and his snowy eyebrows met above the bridge of his long, crooked nose. His blue eyes surveyed Harry over the rims of his glasses, and he smiled wanly.

"In the months following Voldemort's apparent destruction," he resumed, "my mind was troubled, for reasons I yet knew not. It seemed to me that what we believed to be true was, in fact, a falsehood -- a foul face wearing a pleasing mask, if you will. My suspicions grew as word came of Lucius Malfoy's renewed efforts to resurrect his master. Whatever may be said of Lucius, he is no fool. If he believed that his master was not lost, I was forced to act on that belief. I rallied the Order of the Phoenix, enlisting Sirius and Remus to act on my behalf while I ensured that Hogwarts was as secure as it could be. The news they ultimately brought me was in accord with my suspicions. The Death Eaters were indeed plotting to return their master to his former might. I knew then that I must keep a wary eye on you, Harry. For Lucius knew as well as I that the ultimate fate of his master lay in your hands.

"To delay your interference, he sought to enlist his son, Draco, as his inside man. In this, as we have seen, he was less than successful. But your life, and that of the one closest to you, remained in danger. Therefore I arranged for you and Hermione to receive preliminary Auror training so you might have the greatest chance against the pending threat of Lucius and his followers. In this endeavor I succeeded beyond my greatest hopes. It may interest you to know that, as a result of your actions -- and thanks in no small part to the prompt actions of Sirius and Remus after the fact -- both Lucius and Mulciber are presently occupying cells in Azkaban pending official sentencing."

This was welcome news for Harry, but he had no time to dwell on it now, arrested as he was by Dumbledore's narrative, which resumed after a brief respite in which the old wizard drew a long breath into his ancient but still forceful lungs.

"As the Order gradually pieced together the elements of Lucius' plan -- indeed, I should say Voldemort's plan, for it was he who left behind the instructions which Lucius followed faithfully by his master's command -- I saw that we were ever one step behind, seemingly destined to fall short of our goal before time ran out. For we divined even as did Hermione that the ceremony to restore Voldemort must take place on the anniversary of his destruction. As that date drew near and our hopes thinned, I placed my hopes on you, Harry, and on your friends. For I still believed in the prophesy, and I knew that your part in this drama was yet to be seen. I did not share this confidence with you, for which I ask your pardon. But I believed that your destiny was just that, and that any other hand, however well-intentioned, that attempted to steer events toward a desired end would only serve to divert them instead. I therefore allowed you the latitude to proceed as your conscience dictated, trusting that you would act for the best, as you ever have."

Dumbledore paused again, and Harry thought the old wizard looked particularly frail. But the light smoldering in his blue eyes was as powerful as ever as the headmaster smiled down at Harry from his impressive height.

"When I ultimately learned what you intended," Dumbledore said gravely, his eyes darkly shadowing Harry's intended sacrifice as a means of ensuring Voldemort's destruction (had he suspected that all along, too? Harry wondered), "I was torn inside. I did not know whether to weep or rejoice. As Sirius never tires of reminding us, you are truly the son of James and Lily. As they were willing to give their lives to achieve a greater good, so were you. But always I remembered the prophesy, and Amara's part in it. I held to the belief that your destinies were intertwined, and that, against all reason, the two of you would bridge the gulf separating you and complete the equation. I knew not how this would come about, but I knew the means by which it would be accomplished. Ever I reminded you, Harry, that you possessed the power to destroy the Dark Lord, power which he both feared and disdained. It was that power which prevailed, as I knew it must. I presume you heard the words Amara spoke to your friends, which they repeated to me when they brought you here. Did they not love you so powerfully, Amara could not have spanned the chasm between her world and ours to turn defeat into victory. Did I misspeak, then, when I said it was your love that would unmake the Dark Lord? No. For if it was Ron and Hermione who empowered Amara, it was the love which you planted in their hearts that provided the spark that kindled the holocaust. As Sybill Trelawney foresaw, it was you, Harry, who ultimately destroyed Voldemort. For none but you could have inspired the love and devotion in your friends -- and even in a former enemy -- by which the princess returned to fulfill her destiny...and yours."

As Dumbledore fell silent at last, the air in the hospital wing seemed to crackle with electricity. Harry reflected long and hard on Dumbledore's words. Unable to articulate, he lifted Hermione's hand, which throughout had remained firmly in his, and kissed it, his lips touching the ring that had described such a fearful circle over the preceding year, only to return whence it had started. He caressed her eyes with his, then turned to find Ron grinning down on the both of them, his blue eyes twinkling as merrily as Dumbledore's.

"Professor," Harry said at last, his voice creaking like oiled leather, "did you always know that this was what the prophesy meant?"

"Always?" Dumbledore repeated, his eyes smiling sagely over the rims of his glasses. "That is a word that must be used with caution, even in the best of circumstances. I...suspected many things for a long time, things which I could not prove. When the Friendship Ring first appeared, I believed it had a greater part to play than we had yet seen. This was borne out when Amara's curse was lifted, freeing her from her long imprisonment, and in the process setting wheels in motion that are only now spinning down to their final rest. As I have said, I harbored certain doubts which I confided to no one at first, for that they had no foundation save an old man's whimsy. I knew only that, despite what had transpired, the prophesy was not yet fulfilled. When, not long after, Lucius' plans became known to me, it was plain that the final note had not yet been struck, and I took the steps I have already described. When I learned of the recent theft of Hermione's ring, I knew it boded ill, since it was the only link between our world and that of Princess Amara. I knew that wherever the ring was, there would we find Lucius -- and Voldemort. We doubled our efforts, but we could find no trace of the Death Eaters' hidden refuge. I have come to see that I was arrogant not to think that you and your friends could succeed where older and wiser wizards had failed. Had I confided in you sooner, much misery could have been avoided. Alas, I believed that mine alone was the true vision. In this I again ask your pardon. Old age ever underestimates youth. It is the one curse for which no counter-spell has been found, save only repentance."

Harry suddenly felt uncomfortable looking at Dumbledore. As he often did in moments like these, he turned instinctively to Ron, trusting his mate to find a way to lighten the mood. But Ron seemed not to see Harry. He was looking thoughtful, having been moved in his own way by Dumbledore's words. Suddenly noticing Harry's scrutiny, Ron grinned awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders as he turned toward Dumbledore.

"You know," Ron observed, "none of this would have happened if Harry hadn't had those visions all year. They always seemed to come at just the right time, didn't they? Lucky for us, too, or You-Know-Who and his mates would be sending the Dark Mark over Hogwarts about now."

"Oh, luck had nothing to do with it, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said.

Ron's smile fell, and Harry turned to stare at the old wizard with renewed wonder.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

With a knowing smile, Dumbledore said, "I am sure you will recall, Harry, that you and Voldemort once shared a certain -- empathy. In unguarded moments, you were able to see through Voldemort's eyes, and to experience his emotions. When he realized this connection, he erected a wall around his mind so that you were no longer troubled by what you once took to be dreams, but were, in fact, visions."

Harry nodded. "But that couldn't have happened this year," he told Dumbledore. "Voldemort was dead. I couldn't be seeing into his thoughts."

"But we have already established that Voldemort was beyond death," Dumbledore countered. "After Amara reduced his body to dust, there remained a spark of life which his Death Eaters attempted to fan into a terrible flame once more. Voldemort had left certain instructions with Lucius Malfoy, which he followed in precise order. Do you suppose that Voldemort was unaware of this, even in his reduced capacity? I am not saying that Voldemort was in communication with his servants, directing their actions -- that was beyond even his fearsome abilities. Rather, I believe that he imagined the steps by which he would be resurrected unfolding in their precise order. And as the image of each event filled his mind on the cusp of its fulfillment, it was transferred to yours in a form that you took to be a clairvoyant vision. And in each case, these visions occurred when you were in Professor Trelawney's class. Is that not so?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Why was that? I know I don't really have the Inner Eye. If I was seeing what Voldemort was thinking, why didn't I have those visions anywhere else? I can't believe that he was thinking those things only when I was in Divination."

"That would be too great a coincidence," Dumbledore agreed. "I believe that, although, as you have said, you do not possess any true clairvoyant skills, yet you were striving to do your best under Professor Trelawney's guidance to encourage your mind to open itself in this manner. Thus, it was only when you were making a concerted effort to see beyond the mundane that your mind was opened and you received your visions of what was in Voldemort's thoughts. At all other times, the connection between you and Voldemort was too tenuous for you to see beyond the physical."

Harry suddenly remembered something. "I got tired of having those visions," he said. "So I started practicing Occlumency, and the visions stopped."

"Just so," Dumbledore said. "In his incorporeal state, Voldemort could not block his thoughts from you as he did before. But a door may be closed from either side of a wall. When you erected your own protective barrier, the connection between you and Voldemort was severed. And in his reduced capacity, he never knew that his thoughts were being intercepted, so neither could he detect when the connection between you ceased. In either case, he was helpless to prevent you from seeing the visions that led to his downfall."

"But what about the last prediction?" Harry looked directly into Dumbledore's blue eyes, searching them for yet one more answer. "When I stopped having my visions, Professor Trelawney went into another trance -- you know, like she did when Wormtail came back."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore said, showing no surprise at this statement.

"But it was different this time," Harry pressed. "She spoke in rhyme."

"I am sure you know, Harry," Dumbledore said, "that Sybill Trelawney, bless her, is not a true seer, though I would never be so heartless as to tell her this to her face. On those occasions when she has demonstrated such abilities, it was not she who was speaking. You have heard all three of her predictions, Harry. Was it her voice you heard at any time?"

"No," Harry said. "It was like someone else was speaking through her."

"And not merely one person," Dumbledore said. "Sybill is, for want of a better term, a conduit. True seers who have passed beyond this world will, at a time of their choosing, speak through her. The voice you heard was one of many which have elected to use her as their, shall we say, spiritual telephone. It was evidently of utmost importance that this latest prediction reach your ears. Well for us all that you heeded it."

"It was Hermione who figured most of it out," Harry said, casting a loving eye in Hermione's direction.

"We all figured it out," Hermione said. "Ron did his part, too. Harry supplied the final piece, just in time."

"Who can measure the value of friends in silver and gold?" Dumbledore observed, his hands spread before him. Clasping his hands together meaningfully, he said, "You are blessed one and all to have been joined in this way."

Harry saw that Ron's ears were now glowing in the familiar Weasley manner, nor were Hermione's cheeks far removed in hue. Harry's eyes fell on Sirius, and he was surprised to see silent tears painting the old Marauder's face. Sirius became aware of Harry's scrutiny and smiled.

"I wish I could have done as much for Lily and James as your friends did for you," Sirius said, his eyes glowing with mingled joy and sadness. "I'd have given my life for them gladly. So would Remus have done, too. I think even Peter would have, before Lucius and his lot turned his head."

This last reminded Harry of Dumbledore's comment on Harry inspiring loyalty not only in his friends, but in a former enemy.

"Where's Draco?" Harry asked no one in particular. After all they had shared, he thought Draco would have come to visit him as Ron and Hermione had. But perhaps Ron's presence had put him off. Hermione said Ron had scarcely left Harry's bedside since their return. Placing Ron and Draco in the same room for any length of time might well have led to an altercation that would almost certainly have incurred Madam Pomfrey's wrath.

"He's fine," Hermione said. "His injuries were only physical, like mine were. Claire fixed us up while Madam Pomfrey was working on you."

"Where is he?" Harry said. "I have a lot to thank him for."

"Funny thing, that," Hermione answered with a puzzled expression. "He's been keeping to himself mostly. The Slytherin prefects say he's either studying for his N.E.W.T.'s in his common room, or off having mysterious meetings."

"With Ginny?" Harry said. Ron grunted sourly but otherwise made no other comment.

"And with Sirius," Hermione mouthed softly, rolling her eyes toward the one named, who gave no sign that he had heard. When Harry's eyes flashed her a questioning look, she gave a small shrug and said, "No idea."

"We owe him a lot," Harry said, ignoring Ron's exaggerated rolling of his eyes. "He didn't have to come along, but we really needed him in the end."

"It's like Professor Dumbledore said," Hermione smiled. "It takes someone very special to turn an enemy into a friend."

"I cannot help but recall," Dumbledore reflected expansively as all heads again turned his way, "the words of a very great and wise wizard who said, 'A heart is not measured by how much we love, but by how much we are loved by others.'"

"What wizard?" Ron asked.

"Why, the Wizard of Oz," Dumbledore replied, the corners of his mouth twitching under his silver moustaches.

Harry and Hermione burst out laughing. Ron looked thoroughly bemused. Sirius sidled over and clapped his hand roughly on Ron's shoulder.

"When we visit Remus' house over the holidays," he said, "I'll introduce you to a Muggle invention called a DVD. It captures an entire cinema on a disc the size of a house-elf's tea saucer."

"You're winding me up," Ron said, regarding the old Marauder much as he might Fred or George.

"Isn't your dad always telling you that Muggles know more than we wizards give them credit for?" Sirius said.

"I know, but -- blimey!"

Harry and Hermione broke out in gales of fresh laughter. Harry laughed so hard that his glasses slipped from his face, bounced off the bed and shattered on the stone floor. Hermione stifled her laughter and retrieved Harry's glasses, thereafter touching them with her wand and saying, "Reparo!"

As Hermione replaced his glasses, Harry stared for a moment at her wand. Something had just clicked in his mind -- something he had seen in the Pensieve, yet which he had somehow neglected to ask about in all the confusion.

"Professor -- " Harry began urgently, only to be cut off unceremoniously by Madam Pomfrey, who burst from her office like a tornado, her eyes spitting flames.

"Really!" she said sharply. "I could hear the din through my office door! This patient needs rest, not more excitement. I daresay he's had quite enough of that to be getting on with. I've given you your allotted time and then some. Out, the lot of you! Out!"

"Madam Pomfrey is quite correct, Harry," Dumbledore said. "We can resume this tomorrow, when you are properly recovered."

"But -- " Harry stammered.

"Professor Dumbledore is right, Harry," Hermione said.

"We'll see you tomorrow, mate," Ron said, giving Harry a thumb's-up.

"I'll tell Claire that you're back among the living," Sirius laughed.

"Where is she?" Harry asked, feeling guilty that he had not asked sooner.

"Having a well-earned kip," Sirius said, avoiding the nurse's poisonous stare as he edged slowly toward the door. "She's been staying up nights, watching over you while Madam Pomfrey slept, checking your progress, giving you sips of replenishing potions to keep your strength up. There was never a moment day or night when you weren't under the best of care." Spotting the guilt on Harry's face he was unable to conceal, Sirius grinned, "As soon as the two of you are awake at the same time, I'll have her pop in. She can't wait to give you a massive hug -- and to box your ears for doing something that, in her words, 'only a barmy old ex-Marauder would be mad enough to attempt.' Me, I take that as a compliment." He thrust out his chest, and Harry snorted with laughter.

Harry wanted to continue the conversation, but the nurse would have none of it. Sirius followed Ron out, winking at Harry over his shoulder. As Harry sighed with disappointment, Hermione kissed him goodbye before being ushered outside by Madam Pomfrey, who promptly handed him another goblet full of potion that seemed to appear in her hand from thin air. Harry looked at it suspiciously.

"It's only a sleeping draught," she told him. "When you awake in the morning, you should be well enough to leave."

Harry drained the goblet and handed it back to Madam Pomfrey. As he lay back, feeling waves of delicious sleep washing over him, he tried to focus on the question he had wanted desperately to ask Dumbledore. But the more he tried to think, the more sluggish his thoughts became. His head sank into his pillow and he thought no more.

* * *

Harry awoke the next morning to the sound of drums. At least, that was how his ears interpreted the rhythmic din that greeted his return to wakefulness. His eyes, once fully open, revealed the truth. Madam Pomfrey was directing her wand at the tall windows lining the outer wall of the hospital wing. One by one, in such cadence as a troop of soldiers would have been proud to imitate, the windows were banging open, filling the room with the sweet smell of the lush, green lawns surrounding Hogwarts. The scent was like perfume to Harry, and he closed his eyes and lay back, savoring the feel of the breeze and the symphony of birdsongs without.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said as she noted Harry's movement, and the contented smile he now wore. "And how are you feeling, may I ask?"

Harry sat up and stretched languorously. He pondered a moment before answering the nurse's question. How did he feel? The answer came almost immediately. He felt wonderful! It was as if he had awakened from the best sleep he had ever had, only to find the day more perfect than he could have imagined.

"Smashing," he answered truthfully as Madam Pomfrey approached him, her wand before her. She gave the implement a few tricky waves that bore an uncanny resemblance to the defensive moves he and Hermione had practiced in their many Auror sessions with Sirius and Remus. Harry felt probing waves of magic ripple up and down his body. It was rather like experiencing a very mild electric shock.

"Yes," Madam Pomfrey said approvingly. "You're coming along nicely."

"I can go, then?" Harry said eagerly, swinging his legs out from under the covers.

"Not just yet," Madam Pomfrey said.

"But," Harry stammered, "you just said I was doing nicely."

"And so you are," the nurse assured him. "But I have one final prescription before I release you."

She waved her wand, and a breakfast tray appeared on Harry's bedside table.

"You have been four days without solid food," Madam Pomfrey said. "When you have assimilated the proper nourishment without any ill effects, I shall be convinced to release you. Now, eat!"

Harry had to stop himself from attacking his tray like a starving jackal. Madam Pomfrey was right, he was positively famished. He had to hold himself back from wolfing every morsel; if, after all he had endured, he made himself sick by eating too fast, Ron would never stop taking the mickey out of him.

As if the thought had been a magical summons, Ron appeared in the doorway, his trademark grin firmly in place.

"Oi, Harry!" he called as he approached the bed. "Better eat slower, mate, or people will reckon we're twins separated at birth."

Ron pulled up a chair and sat down next to Harry's bed. Sparing a glance between bites of toast and jam, Harry saw that Ron was holding a square of folded parchment in an attitude of importance. He nodded indicatively, his mouth being too full to articulate, and Ron pushed the parchment toward Harry.

"Message from Dumbledore," Ron said.

"Re' it oo ee," Harry mumbled as he took a large swig of pumpkin juice and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his pajamas. Ron unfolded the note and sighted down his long nose at the writing thereon.

"Your presence is most humbly required in the headmaster's office today at 11:00," Ron read. "Matters remain to be addressed in regard to the events of Sunday last. Please be punctual. Kindest regards, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster."

Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. He remembered all of a sudden the question he had wanted to ask Dumbledore before Madam Pomfrey had forced the sleeping potion on him. He finished the remainder of his breakfast in record time, knowing that the nurse would expect him to eat every bite before she deigned to certify him fit for release. It was only when he pushed his empty tray aside that he remembered something.

"I'll need the password to get into Dumbledore's office. He changes it every Monday. All I know is last week's. Did he tell you the new one?"

"No," Ron said. "I never went to his office. He gave me my assignment while I was at breakfast, along with the note."

"The note," Harry said. "Is there anything under the message about the password?"

"Hang on," Ron said as he unfolded the parchment again. "There's something at the bottom. It says, 'Remember the sweet I ate when I first visited you here six years ago.'" Ron looked up, his brow wrinkling. "Do you make any sense out of that?" Harry answered with a knowing smile.

"So," Harry now thought to ask, "when Dumbledore gave you the note, did he ask you to come, too?"

"Oh, I already know what it's about," Ron said importantly. He seemed to swell even more as he added, "I have more important things to be about this morning."

"Such as?" Harry inquired wryly.

"Handling your duties as Head Boy," Ron said almost regally.

"Get off!" Harry laughed.

"Somebody has to get things done while you're playing the layabout," Ron retorted. Harry laughed again. "Seriously," Ron said in a humbler tone, "Dumbledore said you're to have a short holiday after -- you know. So he came over at breakfast this morning and asked me to fill in for you."

"Couldn't have picked anyone better," Harry said. Ron's ears went slightly pink. "You and Hermione going off when you leave here, then?"

"Oh, she's taking a holiday, too," Ron said. "Padma Patil is filling in for a bit."

"Padma doesn't mind being seen with you, then?" Harry smiled.

"A lot's happened since the Yule Ball," Ron said, his smile offset by a dark shadow in the depths of his azure eyes.

"Too true, that," Harry said with a clouded smile. His expression lightened as he asked, "How does Leah feel about sharing you with a 'woman from your past'?"

"Oh," Ron said with an uneasy shrug, "well, as to that..."

But before Ron could go on, the outer door opened and Hermione bustled over, looking very businesslike despite the pleasant expression with which she favored Harry.

"I thought I'd find you here," she said, turning to Ron. "You left your duty schedule in the Dining Hall."

Hermione handed Ron a piece of folded parchment, which he accepted with an abashed grin.

"Not a very good start to my first day as Head Boy."

"You did look a bit distracted at breakfast," Hermione observed.

Harry, remembering the topic of their interrupted discussion, asked, "Is it something to do with Leah?"

"Have you and Leah had a row?" Hermione said in surprise.

"Sort of," Ron answered off-handedly.

"I would have thought you'd be her hero in shining armor after what you did," Hermione remarked. Word of their adventure had quickly spread through the school, thanks in no small part to the Fat Lady and her gossipy friend, Violet, and abetted by the boasting of Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.

"Yeah, well," Ron said, "that's sort of what touched it off."

"I don't understand."

"She was a bit fussed that I'd gone off with you and Harry without telling her," Ron shrugged. "Said it was a stupid thing to do and I could have got myself killed a hundred different ways."

"Well, she's right there, mate," Harry said with a grim smile.

"Well!" Hermione said indignantly. "Doesn't she know how important it was that we go? It's not like we had any options."

"She said I should have used my brain and stayed behind instead of going off with you lot," Ron said. "She said that you and Harry would have done okay without me."

"If you hadn't come along," Hermione said briskly, "the whole mission would have gone down the plug hole. You were the one who thought to use the Friendship Ring to bring Amara back. If you hadn't been there, Harry would have died!"

"I got the impression," Ron concluded, "that she wouldn't have minded so much if it was only me and Harry going off."

Hermione's eyes flashed like those of a basilisk. "She -- she actually thinks that you -- that you still -- "

"That I still fancy you, yeah," Ron said, the words coming easier now that he had finally got them out. "I told her that was ages ago, before you and Harry got together. I think she thought I was hoping Harry would snuff it going up against You-Know-Who, and I wanted to be there to, in her words, 'comfort you.'"

"She actually said that?" Hermione gasped.

"More or less," Ron said.

Hermione's face was growing hot. "She thinks you'd betray your best mate by nicking his girlfriend while he was giving his life to save the wizarding world?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Ron said easily.

"I knew there was something about her," Hermione muttered darkly. "How the Sorting Hat ever put her in Gryffindor is beyond me. She'd have done better in Slytherin. Merlin's hat, doesn't she know Harry and I are practically engaged?"

These words struck Harry to the heart. He was reminded in a sudden rush of despair of the rendezvous he had arranged in Hogsmeade between himself and Hermione, his carefully-laid plans that had gone up the Floo when they'd gone off to face the threat of the Death Eaters -- and Voldemort. A silent explosion burst in Harry's brain, and he realized with a thrill of alarm that he must speak with Ron immediately, apart from Hermione. But how could he get her to leave without arousing her suspicions? The purity of his motives notwithstanding, he knew that Hermione was too clever a witch to fall for subterfuge, however skilfully devised. Yet he must find a way to speak with Ron alone!

Fortunately, Ron again snatched victory from the dragon's jaws as he had in the shadow of Voldemort's altar.

"You haven't heard the best part," Ron chuckled through a broad grin. "She said I'd promised to help her study for her O.W.L.'s, but I'd obviously got my priorities skewed. Can you imagine someone thinking exams are more important than ridding the world of You-Know-Who? I ask you!"

Harry and Ron both regarded Hermione closely, each for a different reason. Ron was enjoying his subtle indictment of his classmate's inherent fervor when it came to studying and exams. But Harry was looking expectantly for the explosion he knew was only moments away -- the eruption that he hoped would be his salvation. Nor was he disappointed, for Hermione promptly shot up like a rocket, her cheeks blazing.

"Where you off to?" Ron called cheerily as Hermione swept toward the door in a swirl of black robes and dancing brown curls. She jerked her head over her shoulder with a baleful stare that would have cowed a Bulgarian Devil's Bane.

"I'm going to have a few words with your ex-girlfriend," she said in a controlled voice.

"Cheerio, then!" Ron said as Hermione disappeared through the doorway. Turning back to Harry, he hooked his arm over the back of his chair casually and gave a small shrug. "It's all for the best, you know. We'd gone as far as we could, Leah and I. Did I tell you she found this Ravenclaw bloke to help her study for O.W.L.'s? Last time I saw them, they were carrying on smashingly, if you know what I mean."

But where Ron expected to see Harry flashing a knowing smile to mirror his, instead he saw an urgency smoldering in Harry's eyes that erased the grin from his face faster than a Vanishing Charm would have done.

"What is it, mate?" Ron asked. "You look like someone who's just checked his pocket and discovered he's lost a hundred Galleons."

"I've lost more than that," Harry said hollowly. "Do you remember what I had planned the night we went off to sort out Lucius Malfoy and his mates?"

"The dinner!" Ron said with cold realization. "Blimey, I'd forgot. Well, you can set it up again, can't you?" But Harry replied with a shake of his head.

"If you'll check that list Hermione gave you," he told Ron, "you'll see that the next Hogsmeade weekend won't be until after final exams."

"So?" Ron said. "You'll go then, won't you?"

"No good," Harry said glumly. "The Head Boy and Girl have to help with grading the exams for the first through third years. McGonagall's already assigned our regular duties to the prefects for that weekend. There's no getting out of it. We won't finish up until Monday at the earliest."

Ron looked for a moment as though he was about to suggest that he cover for Harry then as he was doing now. But he quickly realized that his present duties were a far walk from grading exams, as Professor McGonagall was sure to remind him if he dared make such a suggestion. Instead, he looked at Harry helplessly and asked, "What can you do, then?"

"That's what I need you to help me figure out," Harry said desperately.

Ron snapped his fingers. "You and Hermione can get special permission to visit the village after! The teachers can all go whenever they want, can't they? Hagrid's always having a pint at the Three Broomsticks, isn't he? And when Sirius was going on about the password, he said that the Head Boy and Girl were to be given the same consideration as the teachers. That means you can visit the village any time you want, right? After exams are done -- "

"After exams are done," Harry said glumly, "it'll be too late."

"Why?"

"Because," Harry explained patiently, "the 'special arrangements' I made for that night took ages to set up. There's no time to start over."

"Took a bit of doing, did it?" Ron said cautiously.

"You have no idea," Harry said.

"Well," Ron said, forcing a smile, "you can always ask her somewhere else, can't you? I mean, the question is more important than where you ask it, right?"

"I suppose," Harry sighed. "But if you knew what I had planned for Hermione at the Golden Eagle...Natty Lovegood and I worked off and on over three Hogsmeade weekends to get all the enchantments just right. Hermione never suspected a thing. She thought we were just going out to dinner. When she finally saw...I mean, she would have been so knocked over, she'd have had to say yes."

"What, like she'd say anything else?" Ron scoffed. But Harry felt his old insecurities returning. Hermione had a glorious future ahead of her, which would be cemented by her final marks on their N.E.W.T.'s. If hers were not the highest grades in the history of Hogwarts, Harry would eat the stone boars guarding the entrance to Hogwarts, wings, tusks and all.

"The spells and enchantments were all in place for our arrival," Harry said dejectedly. "Timed to activate at 6:30 on the dot. Everything was balanced so delicately, once it started, there was no stopping it. But," he sighed dejectedly, "at 6:30 Sunday night, we were hundreds of miles away, flying over the North Sea. The only one who got to see is Natty..."

As Harry's voice trailed away, Ron saw a gobsmacked look appear on his friend's face. Harry shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. He blinked and stared at Ron, his eyes alight.

"Ron," Harry said excitedly, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I need you to do something for me -- right now, this minute."

"Right," Ron said eagerly.

"I need you to go to Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade?" Ron repeated. "But -- can I -- I mean -- I'm only filling in -- McGonagall won't -- "

"No," Harry agreed, his voice now a desperate whisper. "You'll have to use the Invisibility Cloak."

"Uh -- right," Ron said, looking bemused.

"I have to meet Dumbledore at 11:00, so you'll have to be back before then. You can use my Firebolt."

"Okay," Ron said.

"And quick as you get back," Harry said, "you have to find Hermione and have her meet me at the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Can you do all that?"

"No worries," Ron said confidently. "But you haven't told me what you want me to do in Hogsmeade. Is there something you want me to bring you? Something for Hermione?"

Harry nodded, his eyes flickering across the door to Madam Pomfrey's office before returning to Ron.

"Consider it done," Ron said.

"Thanks, mate," Harry said. He leaned very close and whispered in Ron's ear. Even had Madam Pomfrey been utilizing a set of Extendable Ears from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, Harry doubted she could have heard the instructions he whispered to Ron. When he was finished, he looked anxiously into Ron's eyes. Ron nodded firmly, and Harry smiled as he relaxed against his pillow. He was not a moment too soon, because at that moment Madam Pomfrey burst from her office and made straight for Harry and Ron.

"You are not upsetting my patient, I trust?" she said to Ron as she eyed him beadily.

"Just the opposite," Ron said, resisting the temptation to wink at Harry. "Bringing him good news, in fact. Professor Dumbledore wants to see him at 11:00."

"Well then, Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, eyeing the empty breakfast tray with approval and measuring it against the untroubled expression on Harry's face, "you had best get out of that bed and make yourself presentable for the headmaster."

"Right," Harry said. Looking about to see where his clothes had got to, he spotted a set of fresh robes lying on the next bed. The fastideous manner in which they had been folded told him that Hermione had placed them there for him sometime during the night (being Head Girl, with full access to the castle at all hours, had many plusses). As he pulled off his pajama top, he exchanged a knowing look with Ron, who grinned broadly before turning toward the door.

* * *

Harry was standing in front of the gargoyle at five minutes to 11:00. He checked his watch, looking up and down the corridors for a sign of Ron. Without warning, something jabbed him sharply in the back. He turned, seeing no one. Then he spied a disembodied hand emerging from thin air. Harry clasped the hand in his, feeling a small object press into his palm. He slipped this into his pocket just as a black-robed figure rounded the corner and walked toward him purposefully.

"Harry!" Hermione said excitedly as she threw her arms around him. After nearly strangling him with a fierce hug, Hermione stepped back and looked Harry up and down. "Madam Pomfrey fixed you up, then?" she said, beaming.

"Good as new," Harry smiled. Hermione's answering smile was quickly replaced with a questioning look.

"Ron said you're going to see Dumbledore," she said. "He said you wanted me to come along. But if Dumbledore didn't specifically invite me..."

"We're part of each other," Harry said, taking Hermione's hand in his. "As the Death Eaters learned the hard way, where one of us goes, the other goes, too."

"Everywhere but the loo," Hermione chuckled. Harry grinned before turning to face the stone gargoyle.

"Ear wax," he said. The gargoyle came to life and leaped aside as the wall parted, revealing a winding staircase that spiraled upward like a magical Archimedes' Screw. Harry and Hermione mounted the steps and rode up to a landing where they found themselves facing a large oak door ornamented by a knocker in the shape of a griffin. This Harry employed, and a familiar voice sounded from behind the door.

"Enter."

Harry pushed the door open, allowing Hermione to precede him before entering the headmaster's office. He closed the door behind him and turned to face a magnificent claw-footed desk behind which Dumbledore sat in an attitude of deep contemplation. Harry wondered what Dumbledore's reaction would be upon seeing Hermione. Technically, the invitation had been addressed to Harry alone. But Harry was not overly surprised when Dumbledore's expression brightened as he surveyed his guests over the bridge of his long, crooked nose.

"Ah, Hermione!" Dumbledore said delightedly, showing no surprise at her presence. "I rather expected to find you accompanying Harry. You are most welcome."

"Thank you," Hermione said with a respectful nod.

Harry's manners should have dictated a similar gesture of respect, but he was too full of anxiety to pay heed to proper decorum.

"Professor," he said at once, "there's something I forgot to ask you yesterday in the hospital wing."

This was another breach of etiquette. Dumbledore had invited Harry to his office to "discuss certain matters." It was the headmaster's privilege to set things in motion in a manner of his own choosing. But if he was offended by Harry's impropriety, his pleasant expression betrayed no sign. If anything, his benign smile grew even more solicitous.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, touching his fingertips together in a long, pointed steeple before his bearded face. "I believe I know what you wish to ask me, but I will not presume to usurp your prerogative. Ask away, and I will answer as succinctly I can."

"What happened to my wand after -- after Voldemort was destroyed."

Dumbledore nodded in a manner as if to indicate that this was indeed the question he expected. In answer, he opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a polished wooden box. He placed it on the desk, and Harry and Hermione took a step closer to examine it in more detail. It was of a size that might have comfortably held a Beater's bat, but if Harry was certain of anything, it was that nothing so innocuous lay hidden under that elegant facade. Smiling, Dumbledore opened the box and lifted from it a gleaming obelisk of transparent crystal, which he held up before his guests' inquisitive eyes. A long, thin object hovered in the heart of the crystal. Harry recoiled slightly as he beheld the pale, leprous thing floating in its pristine casket.

"Is that -- " he said hesitantly, his voice dry, " -- is that -- my wand?"

"It is," Dumbledore said as he set the item in question on his desk next to the box from which it had come.

"What happened to it?" Harry asked with a small shudder.

"You happened to it, Harry," Dumbledore replied, his blue eyes twinkling.

Harry started, recalling all of a sudden the image of Voldemort employing this wand -- Harry's wand -- against him. Dumbledore saw the remembrance in Harry's eyes and smiled with something that might have been pride.

"When you faced Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said, "the two of you warred with great and terrible power. In the end, you conquered, and Voldemort fell. Consumed by his own dark and shriveled soul, he was stripped of his last semblance of humanity. He became in fact what he had for so long been in essence: Death."

Harry peered more closely at the ghastly thing that had been his cherished wand. It's flanks were no longer smooth with the rich sheen of polished holly. It was pale as bleached bone, poisonous-looking, leprous and foul.

"I remember a bit about what happened when I was fighting Voldemort," Harry said. "And Ron's memory showed me things in more detail, but -- "

"Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore said encouragingly.

"If what I saw is what I think I saw," Harry said slowly, "then that's really..."

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Encased within this fragile shell is all that remains of the body and spirit of Tom Riddle, alias Lord Voldemort."

"I still don't understand," Harry said. "I thought Princess Amara destroyed Voldemort."

"She was the instrument of his destruction," Dumbledore concurred. "But as we have established, yours was the true power that was Voldemort's unmaking. You are aware, I take it, of the relationship between your wand and Voldemort's?"

"They're brother wands," Harry answered. "They were," he amended. "Voldemort's wand was destroyed with his old body a year ago, so he used mine against me when we dueled."

"A grave error," Dumbledore said. "One of many which together formed the nexus of Voldemort's destiny. When a wizard acquires a wand, it is the result of a bonding initiated by the wand itself. Wand and wizard become one, each absorbing the traits of the other on a subtle, mystical level. Your wand took from you the traits which I have enumerated -- the qualities which set you apart from Lord Voldemort. A small portion of the love inside you permeated your wand -- or I should say, its core, for therein lies its true power. When Voldemort attempted to turn your wand to evil ends, it resisted, if feebly. Being a soulless object, its innate power was necessarily limited. It was only when you set your will against Voldemort's that the wand he sought to employ to his own ends became a weapon to be used against him. Do you recall Voldemort's final moments, as you beheld them in the Pensieve?"

"It looked," Harry said hesitantly, "like Voldemort was being drawn into my wand -- as if it were absorbing him into itself."

"Just so," Dumbledore nodded. "Aided by the power of Princess Amara, you defeated Voldemort by smothering his evil spirit, as it were -- overwhelming it in an embrace he could not resist, for that he could not understand it."

"But," Harry said, his thoughts all a-jumble, "I still don't understand how my wand could have done all that when Voldemort was holding it. I remember Mr. Ollivander told me on my first visit to his shop that a wizard will never get the same results with another's wand. But even if that's true, a wand has to obey the wizard who holds it, doesn't it?"

"Ordinarily, that holds true," Dumbledore said. "But if a wand is under the influence of more than one person, it will be more susceptible to the will of its rightful owner."

"But how could I command my wand, even subconsciously, when I wasn't in contact with it?" Harry asked.

"Ah, but you were in contact with your wand, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Do you not recall the thread of pure energy connecting the two wands? Your will was focused in that beam, and when it touched your wand, Voldemort's command over it was overthrown."

"But how?" Harry said again, his confusion deepening.

"When Voldemort compelled you to duel him," Dumbledore said, "employing your wand against you, whose wand did you use, Harry?"

"I -- " Harry's gaze flickered to his side, catching a pair of soft brown eyes for a moment before he returned his attention to Dumbledore. "I used Hermione's. Voldemort told me..."

"What did he tell you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"He said...he said it would suit me," Harry said, the back of his neck crawling as he recalled the disdain on Voldemort's face when he commanded Lucius Malfoy to arm Harry with Hermione's wand in preparation for their duel.

"And so it did," Dumbledore smiled warmly, the glow on his face encompassing both Harry and Hermione. "As I stated earlier, you and Hermione share a love that is greater than the sum of its individual components. In his arrogance, Voldemort handicapped himself by attempting to use your wand against you. But his downfall was ensured when he compelled you to use Hermione's wand in place of your own. Better for him had he given you Lucius Malfoy's wand, tainted as it was with cravenness and mindless servitude. For if your wand was infused with your love, which was poisonous to Voldemort shriveled soul, so was Hermione's wand steeped in her love -- in partifcular, her love for you. Linking the two wands completed a circuit that unleashed the fullest measure of that love against Voldemort, before which he was utterly helpless. Recall, Harry, that I described to you of the duality of love. The love within you, combined with the love which you inspired in Hermione, together created a power that not the most terrible Dark magic could withstand. What was that thread of energy that emerged from the wand in your hand, before which Voldemort was powerless? Magic, surely. But whose? Amara's? I think not. For all her power, Amara possesses no true magic as we define the term. That is the province of earthly creatures. What we perceive as magical qualities in her are merely those aspects of her otherworldly nature that are beyond our understanding. Whence, then, came that thread whose pristine might consumed the Dark Lord? What magic was powerful enough to overcome one whose arcane knowledge was unequaled in the annals of wizardry?

"It was, I am convinced, composed of pure love, yours and Hermione's. Thus, after a fashion, does history repeat itself. It was through no power of your own that you survived Voldemort's Curse seventeen years ago, but that of your mother's love for you. Now as then, it was another's love dwelling in you that broke the Dark Lord's power. But there is a vast difference between the twain. For in this case, Hermione's portion could never have been were you not the man you are. In the end, it was you, Harry, who set the course which led us all to this moment. The common bond that links the race of Man, whether wizard or Muggle, is that we are all shaped by our choices. It was ever thus. Though your ethereal clay has been molded by events often beyond your control, and your spirit haunted by auguries not your making, in the end you are neither more nor less the man you have chosen to be, Harry. Can there be any doubt, then, who ultimately destroyed Voldemort? Or that the tapestry of Sybill Trelawney's prophesy has at last been revealed to the final knot?"

Without realizing he had done so, Harry found himself taking Hermione's hand in his. As their hands locked gently, Harry felt a stirring inside that seemed to lift his feet off the stone floor of Dumbledore's office. He felt as if his heart would burst in his chest. His spirit, burdened for so long by the weight of his destiny, seemed to take wing. The prophesy had been fulfilled at last. He was free.

As Dumbledore replaced the final remains of Voldemort in its box, Hermione took a step forward, hesitantly breaking the respectful silence she had maintained since her arrival.

"Professor?" she asked. "What will you do with Harry's wand now?"

Dumbledore halted his action and once more lifted the object from its box. He regarded it with mild interest before raising his eyes and smiling at Hermione.

"There is always a chance -- small though it may be -- that some fragment of Voldemort's essence survives within this crystal. It will therefore be transported to the Department of Mysteries, where it will be locked away and protected by spells and enchantments that will ensure that Lord Voldemort never rises again."

Dumbledore regarded the encrusted wand intently through the intervening crystal. He gave his head a slow shake as his bushy eyebrows met above the bridge of his long, crooked nose.

"Lord Voldemort delved deeper into the secrets of life and death than any before him dared. But I think, for our purposes, we may regard this noble object as his place of final repose. May he evermore remain entombed herein, never again to plague the world of men and wizards."

Harry felt a tugging in his heart as Dumbledore closed the box for the last time and fixed its magical seals with his wand. It was now become a casket in the truest sense of the word. Harry would never again know the familiar feel of his faithful holly-and-phoenix-feather wand. It was like losing an old friend. But that mournful thought gave way in its turn to the true purpose behind Harry's visit today. The time had come at last for the question burning in Harry's mind to be given voice.

"Professor?" he asked with near-breathless anxiety. "If my wand is going to be...I mean...what am I -- "

"Ah!" Dumbledore said, his serious demeanor replaced on the instant with an expression of pure delight. "Now we come to the crux of the matter, as it were -- the true reason I have asked you here at this most propitious moment."

Dumbledore pointed his wand at a narrow door set in the farthest corner of his office and gave his wrist a small flick. The door opened noiselessly, and a tall, aged figure (though not nearly as ancient as Dumbledore) emerged. The newcomer regarded the headmaster politely with eyes like pale silver moons before turning about smartly to face Harry.

"Mr. Potter," Mr. Ollivander said crisply as he essayed a short bow. "And Miss Granger," he added, bowing to Hermione before returning his attention to Harry. "Well, Mr. Potter, it seems that I was right about you, wasn't I?"

"Right about me?" Harry repeated blankly, amazed at seeing the old wand-maker for the first time since the Triwizard Tournament more than three years ago.

"You will recall," Ollivander said with an air of almost regal smugness, "when you first entered my shop nearly seven years ago, I told you that we could expect great things from you."

Harry nodded slowly, and Ollivander preened slightly.

"The moment your wand selected you," the old wizard went on, "I owled Dumbledore to tell him that the second wand had at last chosen its master."

Harry nodded again. Harry's wand had been the second and last of a pair containing a tail feather from Dumbledore's pet phoenix, Fawkes, whom Harry now saw was sleeping peacefully on his perch in a shadowed corner opposite the door through which Mr. Ollivander had entered. The first wand, of course, had gone to a young orphan named Tom Riddle.

"It is not unusual," Ollivander continued in the midst of Harry's musings, "that a witch or wizard go through a number of wands in a lifetime."

Neither was this news to Harry. Ron had come to Hogwarts with his brother Charlie's old wand, which the older Weasley had undoubtedly replaced with a new one from Ollivander's shop.

"When Professor Dumbledore informed me of the significance of those two wands," Ollivander concluded, "I realized that your wand, Mr. Potter, existed solely to fulfill a certain, very special destiny. I knew that, when that day arrived, whether soon or late, you would find yourself in need of a new wand. That day is now here -- which is, as you may have surmised, the reason why I am standing before you now."

Ollivander reached into his flowing robes and withdrew a long, thin box. Bowing low, he presented it to Harry much as a minister might have proffered a jeweled scepter to a prince on the occasion of his coronation. Harry stared at the box in his hands, making no movement to open it until Hermione prompted him to action by a gentle touch on his shoulder. Opening the box with fumbling fingers, Harry discovered the most beautiful wand he had ever seen. It shone in the sunlight like watered satin, and Harry hesitated to taint its perfection by touching it. At last he took it out, allowing Hermione to take the empty box and set it on Dumbledore's desk. Harry held his new wand before him, unable to take his eyes off it.

"As I am sure you will remember, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, interrupting Harry's nearly hypnotic euphoria, "it is the wand that chooses the wizard, and that often through much trial and error. However, in this case I think you will find your new wand ideally suited to you."

"Try it out, Harry!" Hermione chirped.

Harry considered for a moment, then nodded to himself, recalling a memory from his first week at Hogwarts. He pointed his wand at Dumbledore's desk and gave it a casual flick. The desk instantly turned into a pig, which looked around bemusedly for a moment before Harry returned it to its original form. Harry looked up, grinning. He saw that Dumbledore, far from being put off at having his desk Transfigured into a farm animal without his consent, was in absolute transports of delight.

"Splendid, Harry!" he exclaimed, his blue eyes alight with an almost child-like glee. "Non-verbal Transfiguration involving inanimate to animate and back again. I shall remember to tell Minerva so that she may add a few points to Gryffindor's hourglass by way of acknowledgment. She will almost certainly expect you to achieve an Outstanding on your N.E.W.T. next week."

Harry saw Hermione's eyes flash momentarily at mention of their exams, which had been the farthest thing from their minds a few days ago. But this was not the moment to dwell on such matters, as Hermione seemed to understand; she and Harry exchanged a smile as he swished his wand through the air, admiring its balance as the sun played along its polished flanks with a sublime poetry beyond words.

"What's this composed of?" Harry asked Mr. Ollivander, his green eyes twinkling in a manner to suggest that he knew the answer.

"I elected not to tamper with perfection, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, the self-aggrandizing glow suffusing his pale face confirming Harry's suspicions. "Your new wand is composed of the finest holly wood, containing the tail feather of a particularly excellent phoenix."

"Named Fawkes?" Harry said, grinning unabashedly at Dumbledore.

"He was delighted to donate another feather for a good cause," Dumbledore said, nodding toward the sleeping bird, which seemed quite indifferent to its contribution to wizarding history, either past or present.

Hermione was hugging Harry's arm, her face glowing as she continued to admire his new wand. No doubt she was envisioning Harry performing spectacular feats of magic before the astonished eyes of the examiners during their N.E.W.T.'s. Harry's enthusiasm was dampened only slightly at the thought of all the studying and practice he was facing over the next few days. After what he and his friends had just endured, how bad could even the N.E.W.T. examiners be? And with a magnificent wand such as this --

When at last Harry slid his wand into his pocket, he was momentarily surprised when the tip glanced off a solid object in the folds of his robes. His stomach did a somersault as he remembered the item Ron had passed him under cover of the Invisibility Cloak only moments before Hermione's arrival. Harry's soaring spirits crashed to earth, and he cast a surreptitious glance at the cupboard behind Dumbledore, staring as if seeing through the wooden panels to the object reposing within. He quickly averted his eyes, hoping Hermione had not seen. His former elation upon receiving his splendid new wand had been replaced with a feeling of utter foolishness. The grand plan he had whispered to Ron less than an hour ago in the hospital wing had sounded marvelous, even better than it had seemed when he had hatched it in his mind. But now, as he felt the subtle bulge of the tiny object in his pocket, he had no idea how to proceed. His mind was casting about desperately for a course of action when Dumbledore abruptly turned to him and Hermione with a smiling bow.

"And now, Harry, Hermione," Dumbledore said, "if you will excuse us, I have promised to treat my guest to a most exquisite brandy which Madam Rosmerta has just procured. Compensation for his wandmaking accomplishments, both past and present, to say nothing of his swift arrival in response to my last-minute invitation. We will not wish to hurry through such a splendid moment, so I trust I can rely on my valorous Head Boy and Girl to lock the door on their way out?"

"Uh," Harry said stupidly, "right. No problem, Professor."

"Excellent."

Dumbledore escorted his guest out the door, which closed behind them, leaving Harry and Hermione alone. Harry suddenly found his mind going blank. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Bloody hell, Potter! his brain reverberated with cold fury. You just faced Voldemort, you git! Where's that bloody Gryffindor courage now?

"Harry?" Hermione said, looking at him intently. "Is there something wrong?"

Screwing up his courage, Harry said, "Hermione, you remember where I was going to take you last Sunday -- you know, before I went off to 'play the hero'?"

Hermione responded with a mild blush of guilt before her memory clicked into place.

"The dinner," she said consolingly. "At the Golden Eagle. It's a shame we couldn't go. And we won't have another chance, with exams coming up and all." Grinning thinly, she said, "Pity we don't have that Time-Turner I used in third year. It would come in handy now."

"We don't need a Time-Turner," Harry said. He walked around Dumbledore's desk and opened the cupboard at which he had been staring before. Using his new wand expertly, he levitated the Pensieve and settled it gently onto the desk. As Hermione looked on in bewilderment, Harry switched his wand to his other hand and dipped into his pocket. Hermione saw a glittering object emerge, held reverently in Harry's hand.

"Is that a phial?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry said as he pulled out the stopper.

"What's in it?"

"You'll see," Harry said. He held the phial over the Pensieve and tipped it. A delicate silvery thread spilled out and plunged into the bowl. Harry used his wand to stir the corruscating liquid for a moment. Hermione's eyes widened with recognition.

"A memory?" she said with new interest. Harry nodded. "Whose?"

"You'll see," Harry repeated. "After you?"

Hermione approached the stone bowl and, casting Harry a last curious look, plunged her face into the liquid. She felt herself turning over and over until, at last, her feet settled onto a hard, stony surface. As she blinked her eyes against the encroaching mist surrounding her, she heard Harry land beside her.

"Where are we?" Hermione said wonderingly. "Not back in the clearing?"

"No," Harry said with a warm smile. He took Hermione's hand and walked purposefully ahead. The mist parted as before a sweeping hand, and Hermione gasped.

"Hogsmeade?"

Still smiling, Harry led Hermione along the paved sidewalk shouldering the narrow, cobbled main street. When Hermione's eyes left Harry and turned ahead, she gasped again.

"The Golden Eagle!"

"We can go right on in," Harry said casually, giving Hermione's hand a gentle squeeze. "We have reservations, after all."

As they entered the restaurant, Hermione saw patrons sitting at the tables, talking and eating -- and, now and then, kissing. She blushed, even though she knew these people could not see her observing them. This was only a memory, after all. But again she wondered: Whose?

Harry led Hermione to a small, secluded table nestled in a far corner of the restaurant. As was common in the finer dining establishments throughout the wizarding world, certain tables had been enchanted with a Silencing Charm that would permit its occupants to converse freely (and intimately) without being overheard. For an added surcharge, a Concealment Charm similar to the one which Hagrid had placed around his secret dragon paddock would ensure total privacy. Hermione recognized this as such a table, set apart from the main dining area and surrounded by an almost palpable aura of magic. Such spells were of no use now, of course. As the two of them were not really present, but merely experiencing someone else's memory, they could be neither seen nor heard by the people around them.

Harry could not seat Hermione, strictly speaking, since they could not affect anything here on a physical level. "Pensieve-nauts" could touch solid objects in a memory, but not even a giant's strength could move even the smallest object the breadth of a cat's whisker. Fortunately, the chairs sat just far enough from the table so that they could slide into them and seat themselves. Harry affected the gesture of holding Hermione's chair in gentlemanly fashion before slipping into the one opposite her. Nodding indicatively, Harry turned his face toward the back wall of the restaurant, which reached to the summit of the high, peaked roof. Imitating Harry's action, Hermione turned to behold the object of Harry's scrutiny: a large, ornate clock that looked down on the diners like a friendly, cyclopean eye. Hermione smiled comprehendingly when she saw that the minute hand was only moments away from striking the half-hour. Their dinner date had been for 6:30 the previous Sunday. Harry had brought them to the precise moment when they would have begun their date had not Fate intervened.

"Any second now," Harry said expectantly.

Hermione turned away from the clock to regard Harry curiously. There was something in the tone of his voice that set the wheels of suspicion turning in her head. She had supposed that Harry had brought her here as a romantic gesture -- it was not as if they could enjoy the dinner they had missed. But the anticipation in his voice -- it was as if he were expecting something to happen -- but what --

Just as Hermione was about to give voice to the questions buzzing in her brain, the minute hand clicked smartly onto the number six. A single, dulcet chime rang out, and the breath with which Hermione was about to form her query became instead a squeak of astonishment. For at the moment the clock chimed, the table separating her and Harry vanished, along with their chairs. Harry's hand darted out and caught hers, and he tugged her into a standing position a moment before she would have fallen backwards. Hermione's initial surprise passed on the instant, to be replaced by outright astonishment.

The two of them were no longer surrounded by the familiar trappings of the Golden Eagle. They were standing in the middle of a vast field of long, lush grass that rolled around them in endless waves, propelled by a warm breeze that kissed Hermione's face and ruffled the hem of her robes (though such sensations should have been impossible within the confines of a Pensieve-memory). The grass was dotted with flowers of every shape and hue, and their scents filled the air with an almost narcotic perfume that stole the strength from Hermione's limbs, along with her every worry. Absolute contentment flowed through her as she drank in the scene, which stretched to the limits of her vision. She felt a gentle touch as Harry, stepping close, took her hands in his. She stared into Harry's emerald eyes almost hypnotically, her breath trapped in her lungs.

As if in a dream, Hermione became aware of a series of faint popping sounds all around them. Rousing herself from her Imperius-like state, she saw that tiny, winged creatures were winking into existence overhead. Fairies. Hermione's head turned this way and that as she saw hundreds of tiny wings fluttering in a blur composed of more colors than a hundred rainbows. It was a scene faintly reminiscent of the secret room deep beneath Hogwarts through which she, Harry and Ron had passed on their way to protect the Sorcerer's Stone six years ago. But where Professor Flitwick's winged keys had churned above their heads in a chaos of mad abandon, the beautiful creatures surrounding them now flitted across the enchanted canopy in a dance before which the leprechauns at the Quidditch World Cup would have bowed their heads in silent homage.

As Hermione's eyes drank in this magnificent sight, her ears caught strains of music rising on the perfumed air. It seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. Turning her head, she saw a ring of tiny creatures sitting cross-legged in the air as if upon invisible cushions. Hermione recognized them at once from her Care of Magical Creatures books (the ones she had bought at Flourish and Blotts to supplement Hagrid's requisite Monster Book of Monsters). They were wood nymphs. The music to which the fairies cavorted came not only from the nymphs' voices, but from tiny instruments in their hands. Lyres, flutes, dulcimers, and delicate harps mingled with the nymph-song to form a symphony that reached inside Hermione's chest to reverberate in the corridors of her soul.

Hermione felt a gentle pressure on her hands, and she turned with an effort to see Harry smiling at her. He seemed to see the wonder and awe in her eyes, and his smile, if possible, grew softer still.

"It's only just begun," he said.

Hermione had no moment to ponder this remark, for even as Harry spoke, the scene around them began to alter with the swiftness of an approaching storm. A purple twilight flowed up from the edges of the magical panorama, reaching with fingers stained violet and indigo to claw at the sunlight and rend it to tatters. The fairies halted their dance and vanished. The nymph-song ceased, its chorus expiring with the ones from whom it had come. The pale, cloud-dotted sky dimmed overhead, to be replaced in a single breath by the blackness of midnight. But more than that, the ground on which she and Harry had stood was no longer beneath them. They were hovering in the center of an endless sphere of emptiness, two tiny motes in an otherwise empty universe. Hermione felt a touch of fear along her spine, and she tightened her hold on Harry's hands.

But her tenuous fears burst like bubbles as the darkness around them suddenly exploded with the light of a billion stars. Hermione cried out as the sky surrounding them came alive with wonders beyond imagining. Comets and meteors streaked hither and yon, lighting up the endless night with flames of fire and feathery tails of gossamer through which the stars glimmered like candles through lace curtains. Above and below, before and behind and to left and right, the universe was a turmoil of restless, kinetic activity pulsing with energy. The stars were vibrating with uncanny life, bursting flower-like into novae and nebulae that spread out in fans of delicate pastels like celestial ink over a dark canvas. And Hermione would have sworn that the stars were singing! It was not such sounds as the wood nymphs had made. It was like nothing she had ever experienced or imagined. All of creation was raising its cosmic voice in a pean of celebration, and Hermione felt as if every note was passing through her. Everything around them was rotating, and she and Harry were at the center, hovering at the core of all that was. Hermione was overcome with emotion, but she did not know whether to cry out for joy or curl up and weep.

Then, before she could come to grips with her conflicting emotions, the scene altered again. The endless stars around her dimmed. Slowly at first, but increasing with every beat of her heart, the stars and galaxies were disappearing. It was as if a gigantic wind were sweeping across a line of torches, extinguishing each in turn until none was left. Before her mind could grasp what was happening, Hermione found herself adrift in a sea of emptiness extending to the limits of eternity. Her only anchor was Harry, whose hands still held her own fast. She tightened her grip, wondering almost fearfully what could follow all that she had just experienced.

Hermione nearly cried out when she felt Harry's hands detach from hers. Prompted, perhaps, by her recent Auror training, she made an instinctive move to draw her wand. But she halted when she saw Harry floating before her, holding a single candle whose flame was reflected in the lenses of his glasses. Seeing the calm assurance in Harry's face, Hermione relaxed, placing her trust in the one who was ever her anchor. And now, after holding his silence for so long, Harry spoke.

"Hermione," he said as his eyes caught and held hers gently, "I'm not very good with words -- as you probably know from all the essays of mine you've corrected -- usually the night before they were due to be handed in." Hermione laughed softly, and Harry responded with a loving smile as he forged on with difficulty. "It seems that the more important it is that I say something, the less able I am to say it properly. When that happens, I usually fall back on the old standby -- magic. And that's what this is all about."

Hermione sensed a change in Harry's voice, a timbre she had never heard before. She stared expectantly into his eyes, which seemed to be glowing so brightly that the flame reflected in his glasses paled in contrast.

"I set up this dinner in the Golden Eagle for a reason," Harry went on. "I wanted to find a way to show you how much you mean to me. If I couldn't use words, I had to find a way to show you some other way.

"The first thing I did was create the most beautiful scene I could imagine. I started by doing some research in the library, but in the end it was one of your Care of Magical Creatures books that put me right. Once I'd found what I wanted, I knew there was only one person who could help me carry on."

"Hagrid," Hermione said at once, smiling as she pictured the Hogwarts gamekeeper's bearded face and shining beetle-black eyes.

"He helped me sneak into a secret corner of the Forbidden Forest," Harry said, "where the fairies were having a celebration in honor of Spring. It goes on for a week, and I was lucky to make it just in time for the final day. I hid under my Invisibility Cloak and watched them for hours, using my wand to copy their dance. I was just about done when I remembered that the wood nymphs also had a similar celebration, but with music and singing in place of dancing -- Professor Grubbly-Plank told us about it when we were preparing for our O.W.L.'s. So I had Hagrid get me close enough to see that, too. It was almost dawn when we finished up. I put the two together with a little help from Natty, and -- well, you saw the result."

"It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Hermione said, her hushed voice trembling slightly. "And I've never heard anything like that nymph-song. I'd imagine you and I are the only humans who've experienced such things in ages, apart from Hagrid. And I wouldn't think that anyone had ever seen the two combined like that. It was positively breathtaking."

"Do you know why I did all that?" Harry asked. When Hermione gave her head a timid shake, Harry said with a catch in his throat, "I wanted to show you -- to show you that it was all nothing next to you. When you were watching the fairies' dance, I was watching you, because nothing in the world is more beautiful to me than you. And when the wood nymphs were playing and singing, it was like the clatter of rusty cauldrons next to the sound of your voice."

Hermione felt a burning sensation in the corners of her eyes. She resisted the urge to dab at them, not wanting to take her eyes from Harry's.

"After that," Harry said, his voice straining as he fumbled for the right words, "I went straight for it and put us right in the middle of the whole universe -- got the idea from this great glass globe I saw in Diagon Alley ages ago. I surrounded us with all the wonders of what Professor Sinestra calls the Cosmic Tapestry. But I didn't need to look around me for something wonderful beyond description. You are my universe, Hermione. All I could ever want or need is in your eyes, and your smile, and everything about you. And if we're talking wonders, the biggest wonder of all is why the cleverest witch Hogwarts has ever seen chose me over all the blokes she could have had."

Hermione was fighting to dam the onrush of tears. It was a battle she was rapidly losing.

"Now," Harry said, his eyes leaving Hermione's momentarily to sweep the velvet blackness surrounding them, "we're all alone in the whole of creation, two specks of dust in a dark, empty void. All we have is this single candle to show us the way." Hermione's eyes fell to the candle in Harry's hand before rising once more to meet his eyes. "For a long time," Harry said, "when I was living in my cupboard at the Dursleys, I felt like my whole life was surrounded by darkness. My parents were dead, I had no friends, and my so-called 'family' treated me like something foul that they'd found stuck to the bottom of their shoe. There were times when I thought I couldn't go on another day, but somehow I kept going, trying to find some reason for it all. I guess maybe I thought my parents, wherever they were, wouldn't want me to give up. So every night in my cupboard, I'd listen to the house creaking around me and stare into the darkness -- " again his eyes touched the lightless void encompassing them, "-- trying to see past it to something -- better. I dunno what I was looking for -- a light at the end of the tunnel, I guess you'd say. But all I ever saw was blackness, and after a time I thought that was all I'd ever see.

"I never realized the reason I never found what I was looking for was -- I was looking in the wrong place. It wasn't until I came to Hogwarts that I found the light that would chase away the darkness. I found it in you. I think I saw it the moment we met on the Hogwarts Express, even if I didn't spot it for what it was. The flame burning inside you became a guiding light that was always there when I needed it. When everyone else deserted me, you never did. You were always right beside me, every step of the way. When no one else believed me -- when no one believed in me -- you did. No matter how difficult or dangerous things became, you never ran away. When I lost hope, you never stopped telling me I'd find a way through -- that we'd find a way through. When I acted like the world's biggest git, you told me off straight to my face, whether I wanted to listen or not. And when all the rubbish about the prophesy and Voldemort made me feel so alone that I couldn't bear it, you were always spot-on to remind me that I wasn't alone, and I never would be as long as you had any say in it. It was always you. The light at the end of the tunnel, leading me out of the darkness."

Hermione felt a howl rising inside her. She began to tremble slightly, and Harry, as if sensing her fragility, reached out and took her hand in his, still holding the candle between them.

"This," he said, indicating the tiny, flickering flame, "is the light that keeps me going. It's all the light I'll ever need. No matter how dark things get, I know this flame will never fail. It's the light Dumbledore was always telling me about. I was too blind to see it before, but now my eyes are open and I can see it for what it is. It's the light of love -- yours and mine, together, burning like a single flame -- a flame that can never go out."

Harry opened his hand. The candle hovered for a moment before fading into nothingless. But as if to bear out Harry's words, the flame did not vanish. Instead, it expanded, reaching out with golden fingers to surround them in a soft, golden nimbus. As the light enveloped her, Hermione could almost sense a presence within, as if the radiance were a living, sentient thing. It was as if a heart and soul as large as the universe and as vast as eternity were joining her and Harry, embracing them with an almost tangible love so that the two of them became as one, neither knowing where the one ended and the other began.

Very gently, Harry released his hold on Hermione's hand and placed it in his, their palms lightly touching. His eyes, caressing hers meaningfully, were eloquent. Hermione's hand was held by no force, however gentle and loving. The choice was hers alone to leave it where it lay, or withdraw it. In the end, it was no choice at all. She smiled, exerting a delicate pressure against Harry's palm with hers. It was a promise without words, needing no voice, and Harry gently molded the curve of his palm against Hermione's, sealing her promise with his.

Harry seemed to be struggling against invisible chains. He drew a short, forceful breath and held it deep in his lungs. He expelled it a moment later in a voice cracking with emotion.

"Hermione Granger, will -- will you marry me?"

With a strangled sob, Hermione flung her arms around Harry's neck.

"Of course I'll marry you," she choked, her voice edged with a kind of gentle reproof, as if to say that the enchantments, though unquestionably magnificent, had been an unnecessary bother. "You only ever had to ask."

Harry enveloped Hermione in a crushing hug. They remained fused for what seemed hours, but was in reality only a few seconds. When Hermione opened her eyes to wipe away her happy tears, she saw that the darkness that had surrounded them was gone. They were standing beside their table in the Golden Eagle, from which all aspect of magic had vanished. All around them, the restaurant's other patrons carried on as before, having seen nothing of the wonders that had so captivated Hermione. Yet someone must have seen, else she and Harry could not have experienced the enchantments locked beneath the privacy spells. But who could have penetrated the secrecy spells? Was there some form of Dark magic involved? But no, Harry would never employ such spells, no matter the cause. Then what was the answer? Whose memory were they inside?

As Hermione turned away from Harry to dab at her eyes with the folds of her robes, she found herself looking into the face of the grand clock looking down on them. Having glanced at her watch a moment before entering the Pensieve (a habit long cultivated in the interests of budgeting her time to extract its fullest value), she was amazed to note that only fifteen minutes had elapsed since their descent into Natty's memory. So little time to have experienced so much. She doubted she would ever again exact such measure from a brief quarter-hour.

Reflecting on the incredible enchantments she and Harry had just experienced, Hermione found a question forming in her rational, ordered mind. But where Harry might have expected her to press him on one or another of the fantastic elements of the many complex spells involved (any of which would be worth an Outstanding on their upcoming N.E.W.T.'s), instead she asked, "How did you manage to hold onto the candle? The other enchantments around us were matters of perception, and wouldn't have been influenced by our presence either positively or negatively. But there's no way you should have been able to physically manipulate an object that exists only in a memory, regardless of the magic involved."

"I didn't," Harry answered. "The candle was set to appear in front of me, so I just held out my hand where I knew it would be and pretended to hold it."

"I suppose you think you're very clever, don't you, Mr. Potter?" Hermione teased, though the delight in her eyes was beyond camouflage.

"Must be the company I keep," Harry grinned. "A bloke hangs out with the cleverest witch at Hogwarts, something's bound to rub off, don't you think?"

As she smoothed her robes, which had become rumpled from her and Harry's empassioned embrace, Hermione found herself looking down on their table, and she was suddenly overcome with a fit of silent giggles. Harry released his hold on her waist and stared at her bewilderedly.

"What in Merlin's name are you on about?" he asked, stifling a laugh as her infectious humor pried the corners of his mouth upward.

"I was just thinking," Hermione said, "that all this has given me a ravenous appetite, and here we are in the finest restaurant in Hogsmeade -- and we can't even order dinner."

"Bit peckish, are you?" Harry said innocently. When Hermione nodded, Harry brought his lips to hers and breathed, "How about if I have you for dinner, Miss Granger?"

"What'll we have for afters?" Hermione responded with a devilish gleam in her eye.

"Guess."

Harry attacked his new fiancee's lips like a famished wolf. They kissed with a passion that would have made the restaurant's prim and proper clientele blush had the latter been composed of flesh rather than wisps of memory. At last Harry fell back against their table with Hermione in his lap. They were both gasping for breath, their robes in disorder and their hair looking like a Filibuster Firework had gone off in their faces. Her right arm locked around her new fiancee's waist, Hermione raised her free hand and smoothed Harry's bangs down over his scar, which she traced playfully with her index finger. Harry caught up her hand and kissed it, but his face fell as he caressed her fingers with a troubled expression that Hermione, her face only centimeters from his, could not fail to notice.

"What is it?" she asked as Harry continued to stare at her hand.

"I wanted to get you a ring," Harry said despondently, his thumb caressing her unadorned third finger. "Real gold, with a diamond that would choke a hippogriff. But with everything that's been going on..."

"You have a short memory," Hermione said with a throaty chuckle. When Harry responded with a confused expression, she said softly, "You've already given me a ring -- the most special ring in the world -- and it's worth more to me than a mountain of diamonds and gold."

Disengaging her right arm from Harry's robes, Hermione held out her hand, and Harry slipped the ring off, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

"This started out as a Friendship Ring," Harry said. "Then it became a Promise Ring."

Taking Hermione's left hand, Harry slid the ring onto her third finger.

"Now," Hermione said glowingly, "it's an engagement ring. The only one of its kind -- as unique as the wizard who captured my heart seven years ago."

They shared a tender kiss, after which Hermione snuggled against Harry as she held her hand out so that the light from the restaurant's many candles glittered off her ring.

"It's the same ring it always was," Harry chided playfully.

"Men," Hermione grunted, pouting her lip at Harry before turning back to smile at her ring. Without warning, her eyes lit up like twin stars, and she turned to Harry with a look of sudden realization.

"At the end of the enchantment," she said, "when there was only the two of us in all of eternity, I felt a presence that I couldn't quite define, in the light surrounding us. It felt like we weren't alone, like there was someone else there besides you and me. I didn't understand then. But I know what it was now. Or I should say, who."

"I felt her, too," Harry said. "But she wasn't part of the enchantment. I was as surprised as you when I felt her there. I didn't even know her name until you told me last Friday. Remember, I suggested we go visit her on Sunday. Maybe she saw Natty and me working on the spells, and she wanted to be a part of it."

"I told you that Cytheria is the Eternal of Love," Hermione said. "I think this was her way of thanking us for what we did for Amara."

"I can almost feel her now," Harry said. "I know that, since she's always in the Golden Eagle, some essence of her would be here now. But it feels like she's more than just a presence in a memory. It's like she's here with us for real."

"I think she may be," Hermione said, her expression indicating that she, too, was feeling the presence Harry had just described. "There was something almost too real about the enchantments. We know that the Eternals can see people and events across great distances. Who's to say that Cytheria wasn't watching us enter the Pensieve, and she projected a part of herself into the matrix. The distance between here and Hogsmeade would be as nothing. That would explain why we experienced sensations beyond the limits of the memory. She wanted to give us her blessing, and that of all the Eternals, Amara included."

"Do you think Amara knows?" Harry asked as he passed his thumb over Hermione's ring, feeling the imprint of the heart that represented the love joining the two of them.

"You heard what she said in the clearing," Hermione smiled. "She's always watching over us. Even if we never see her again, we know she'll never be far away."

"I dunno if I like the idea of Amara spying on us every minute," Harry said, his eyes narrowing. When Hermione looked at him in surprise, he grinned wolfishly. "After we're married, I plan on doing things with you behind closed doors that I'd rather no one else saw. To quote Fred and George, 'No witness, no crime.'"

"I think we can trust Amara to look away at the proper moment," Hermione said. "And if she does have a peek through her celestial 'keyhole' now and again," she added, a feral light the equal of Harry's leaping into her eyes, "we'll just have to do our best to put on a good show for her, won't we? Just to be on the safe side, you might want to practice up on your Engorgement Charm. We wouldn't want to disappoint her, would we?"

His body exploding with silent laughter, Harry molded Hermione against him, holding her as if he never wanted to let her go. Snuggling contentedly in Harry's embrace, Hermione allowed her eyes to sweep the restaurant languidly between glances at her ring. But she suddenly came alert, remembering all at once the question she had pondered when first they had entered the Pensieve.

"Whose memory are we inside?"

"Natty Lovegood's," Harry said. "She was the one who helped me with the spells, so naturally we had to use a table at her station."

Hermione nodded in understanding, silently reprimanding herself for not coming to that obvious conclusion the moment she saw where they were. As she had observed earlier, their table had been enchanted with privacy spells to ensure that whatever transpired within its perimeter would go unobserved by the other diners. However, it was essential for the waitresses in such venues to be able to circumvent those safeguards, else they could not render service. To that end, each waitress carried a special talisman by which she alone could observe all that went on at her station. Professor Flitwick had touched on such objects in one of their Advanced Charms classes this term, hinting that the N.E.W.T. examiners might be testing them in that area. In virtually any restaurant, a waitress was privy to much that was best not repeated, and such a one was always assured of a very generous tip to promptly forget anything she saw and heard on such occasions. As this table was within Natty's sphere, she would have been the only one to witness the fulfillment of the special enchantments which she and Harry had created for Hermione's benefit.

"The spells were timed to go off at exactly 6:30, whether we were here or not," Harry said, confirming Hermione's mental extrapolations. "Even though we didn't turn up as scheduled, I knew Natty would have been here at her station and would have seen everything. That meant that hers was the only memory we could use to see what we'd missed."

"How did you get her memory?" Hermione asked. "Neither of us have been to Hogsmeade since we got back."

"I sent Ron to fetch it just before we went to see Dumbledore," Harry said. "I knew she'd agree to help when Ron explained it to her. She worked hard on the enchantments, and she must have been disappointed when we didn't turn up last Sunday to experience the results."

"We'll have to find some way to thank her properly," Hermione said as she looked around for some sign of Natty. Since this was her memory, she could not be far away. Spotting her at last, Hermione asked curiously, "Who's that girl she's speaking with? She looks familiar."

Harry craned his neck and smiled in recognition. Natty was talking to a girl with waist-length, dirty blonde hair and very prominent eyes.

"That's Natty's cousin, Luna," Harry said. "We've never been properly introduced. I think she's in Ginny's year, but in Ravenclaw. I saw her a few times when Natty and I were working on the enchantments. She always waited until I left before coming over. Bit shy, I reckon." Harry chuckled, seeing that Luna, per her usual habit, had stuck her wand behind her left ear for safekeeping.

"I knew that name was familiar!" Hermione said suddenly. "The Lovegoods live in Ottery St. Catchpole!"

"They do?" Harry said in surprise.

"Don't you remember when we all walked to Stoat's Head Hill to take the portkey to the Quidditch World Cup?" Hermione prompted. "Mr. Diggory asked if anyone else was coming, and Mr. Weasley told him the Lovegoods had already been there for a week."

"Why haven't Ron or Ginny ever mentioned Luna?" Harry asked. "I mean, if they live in the same village and all..."

"Well, they're not exactly neighbors," Hermione said. "I only know her from my visits to the Ravenclaw table to discuss prefect matters with Padma Patil. And even though she and Ginny are in the same year, they're not likely to know each other, being in different houses. The only non-Gryffindors we know are from shared classes, and we don't share any classes with Ravenclaw, just Hufflepuff and Slytherin."

"Natty told me," Harry said as he watched Natty and Luna talking, "that Luna has virtually no friends. When she's not here on a family visit, she spends most of her time by herself. Bit sad, that."

"I remember how that feels," Hermione said with understanding. "If it weren't for you and Ron, I might be like Luna, never knowing what it's like to feel a part of something bigger than myself." She hugged Harry gratefully, adjusting herself on his lap. Her face went very still of a sudden, and Harry's eyes narrowed.

"What are you thinking, Hermione?"

"Well," Hermione said slowly, her eyes avoiding Harry's as they remained fixed on the two Lovegoods, "I was thinking that what Luna needs is someone who can make her feel -- special. You know, like Ginny and I have."

"Hermione, no," Harry said flatly.

"What?" Hermione said in a falsely innocent voice.

"I know that look in your eyes, Hermione," Harry said. "It's the same look you had when you were helping Ginny and Draco on the quiet. You're thinking of playing matchmaker, aren't you -- putting Ron and Luna together."

"Luna needs someone like Ron," Hermione declared. "Someone good and kind. And the sooner Ron finds someone to take Leah's place, the less chance he'll become bitter on the subject of romance. It's the perfect solution all around."

"No," Harry said more firmly. "I forbid you."

"You forbid me?" Hermione echoed, turning slowly to regard Harry with an amused expression.

"Please, Hermione," Harry said in a more placating voice. "I know you have Ron's best interests at heart, and Luna's, too. But this matchmaking stuff is a bit dodgy. One misstep and it could all blow up like a deck of Exploding Snap."

"You may be right," Hermione said, though she sounded less than thoroughly convinced.

"You'll give it up, then?" Harry said hopefully.

"I'll mull it over," Hermione replied. "But I'm not making any promises."

"Except one," Harry said, passing his thumb over the gleaming band encircling Hermione's ring finger.

"Except one," Hermione repeated, her face glowing.

"We'll have to tell Ron straightaway," Harry said. "He already knows where we are and why, and he'll see it in our eyes the moment he spots us."

"And Ginny," Hermione added. "And she'll tell Draco, I suppose. But after all we've just been through, I'm sure he can be trusted."

"What about everyone else?" Harry asked. "Unless you put a Concealment Charm on your ring, they're bound to spot that it's on your other hand now. You don't need an Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Arithmancy to add two and two."

"We'll work something out," Hermione said unconcernedly, admiring her ring again.

They shared a last kiss as the scene around them dissolved suddenly in a swirl of silver mist. They felt themselves rising upwards, tumbling over and over. They landed on the floor of Dumbledore's office just as the door opened to admit that chamber's distinguished resident. Dumbledore promptly greeted them with a knowing smile.

"You had a pleasant journey, I trust?" Dumbledore said probingly.

The penetrating look in the old wizard's eyes was voluble beyond the words he had just spoken, and Harry's brow creased under his raven bangs. He had harbored certain suspicions in the back of his mind regarding the timing of Dumbledore's precipitous exit from his office, and these were now borne out with insuperable clarity. Chief among the many magical talents which set Dumbledore above his fellow wizards was a consummate skill at Occlumency, the ability to block his mind from intrusion from without, and its direct opposite, Legilimency, the ability to look into the minds of others. Many times in the past, Harry had observed that the shrewd old wizard seemed to see right through his eyes and into his head, there to divine secrets and hidden truths unsuspected by others. The knowing smile now stretching Dumbledore's wizened face was testimony beyond reproach. It was manifestly clear that the headmaster had seen Harry's wish etched on the metaphorical parchment of his thoughts, and he had graciously presented Harry with the means of fulfilling that wish by leaving his young guests alone, with the Pensieve freely at hand and ample time to employ it. Harry would not have put it past Dumbledore to have been waiting solicitously outside his own office door until he heard the sounds of Harry's and Hermione's return.

Lost in his ruminations, Harry was brought back to reality by Hermione, who gently stood on his foot so that he turned with a jerk, his eyes silently conveying his contrition to the headmaster for his ill manners. But Dumbledore's expression showed that he had taken no offense at his guest's prolonged silence. The old wizard merely lifted his silver eyebrows expectantly, his blue eyes peering brightly over the rims of his glasses. Relieved, Harry smiled at Hermione, squeezing her hand, before turning back to face his host's politely inquiring gaze.

"Professor?" Harry said. "Can you keep a secret?"

* * *

Afterthoughts:

Right, then. Where were we? Oh, yes, Fae Princess. It seems that, over the past few months, a little thing called Real Life has stolen the time that was previously devoted to bringing you this excellent AU novel (she's been so busy, she had to specifically schedule a few hours to celebrate her own birthday recently!). In addition, our Princess has been suffering from a severe case of computer withdrawal (*gasp!*). Yes, for the last few months she has been forced by cruel Fate to live without a computer, not unlike the tech-deprived wizarding characters about whom she writes so eloquently. But never fear. I have it straight from the source that she will be back in form soon. A newly-rebuilt computer is in her hands as I write this, and she tells me that her creative juices are flowing once again. The next update that appears in this space will be entirely the work of Fae Princess and none other. Yay! (Activating my roaring lion Gryffindor hat, which I borrowed from Luna for this occasion.)

During this extended interval, I, her devoted Beta, have had the honor of filling in for Fae for both this chapter and the previous one. Actually, the other chapter was already designated mine by default. This story began as a joint effort. I was to supply the Voldemort-based plot, including laying out the clues leading to the Dark Lord's resurrection. Everything else came from Fae's fertile brain, from the H/Hr romance to the creation of Claire White and her history with Sirius, from the Ring Spirit originating in Snow to the otherworldly race known as the Eternals. The hands-on writing was Fae's alone from day one, and I think we all agree that she has done a smashing job. But when the time came, as we knew it must, for the final confrontation with Voldemort, Fae asked that I take that burden from her shoulders while she focused on tying up the romantic loose ends that would follow the inevitable victory. We each applied our individual strengths to the story: Mine lies in action/adventure, while Fae's romance puts my feeble efforts to shame. Following that brief interlude, Fae was to return with this chapter, taking over after the dust had settled and steering the story back onto its proper romantic course. But when the aforementioned complications made it impossible for her to resume her storytelling duties, I consented to write this chapter in its entirety. I did my best to keep the spirit of her romantic storytelling alive. I knew I couldn't match Fae's fluid writing style, but at least I've managed to steer everything in the right direction until our Princess can reclaim her throne. I made a few blunders in the early drafts, having forgotten much of what came before -- this story really is a gem of many facets -- but Fae patiently pointed out where I had gone astray so I could set things right. (If any mistakes managed to slip through, I'll dutifully slam my hands in the oven door as penance. Dobby is holding a place for me.) When I received the thumbs-up to post, I procrastinated. What if it wasn't good enough? But Fae pointed her wand at me threateningly, and rather than endure the Cruciatus Curse (or worse, the Tickling Charm), I relented. If the final result was not quite as magical as it would have been under Fae's auspices, it should, to quote Dumbledore at the end of GoF, "do to be going on with." (Take ten points for your House if you know where this quote is found.)

We both regret the massive interval between postings (some of the delay was mine), and are grateful to those who have returned to see how things turned out. This is, by the way, the longest chapter I've ever written. Nothing else even comes close. This is partly to make up for the long delay, and to keep everyone going until the next post (the date of which is still up in the air). Blimey, what a job! But there was so much to tie up, cutting corners would have been disrespectful to the care and devotion with which the entire story has been crafted every step of the way. How does Fae manage it with such elegance, chapter after chapter? A tough act to follow, she is. I know we'll all be glad when she's back where she belongs. (*Waves to Fae, who I hope is reading this*) ^_^

As far as this chapter goes, some of you may have noticed that Harry and I share at least one quality, if a marginally unheroic one. Harry told Hermione that he could not express his feelings properly without employing magic as a sort of crutch. As previously stated, it was originally planned that I would contribute the plot portion of this chapter while Fae wrote the romantic "bookends," concluding with Harry's delayed proposal of marriage. When it fell to me to write the entire chapter, I knew I was for it. Fae has been leading up to this moment since the first chapter -- indeed, since the final chapters of this story's prequel, Snow. How was I to convey the romance of this supreme moment in a manner that would do justice to all that has gone before? The answer was simple: I couldn't. There is only one Fae Princess. So, like Harry, I fell back on magic. The enchantments in the Golden Eagle were substitutes for our respective shortcomings, mine and Harry's. I reasoned that if I could not create a romantic atmosphere to equal Fae's, I would play to my strength and hope for the best. I leave it to the readers to decide if that was enough "to be going on with" until Fae's return. I hope it was. No one treasures this story more than I, who have been priveleged in my capacity as Beta to read every word Fae has written before anyone else. I tried to keep her vision alive as best I could. Thank goodness the final chapters will be back in her hands alone, where they belong. As previously mentioned, the next update might be a while yet. But now that Fae's Muse is back, the wait won't be quite so long. But however long that interval proves to be, we all know it will be worth it just to have our Princess back.

Thanks again for returning to our magical playground. Your longsuffering indulgence is much appreciated. H/Hr forever!