It seemed to Harry that he closed his eyes for only a moment. But when he opened them again he saw the stars blazing overhead in indescribable majesty.
Harry rose stiffly, his muscles rebelling against the effort. It was like swimming through molasses merely to pull himself to his feet, employing his broomstick as a makeshift crutch. He doffed his Cloak, reached down for his pouch. His knees buckled, and he had to catch himself on the tree to avoid falling on his face. He caught up his pouch with a sweep of his hand and heaved upward, snapping his legs straight so that his knees locked and prevented another spill. Once his breathing was back to a semblance of normal, he stuffed his Cloak into its pocket. He then slung the shoulder strap over his neck, freeing his left hand to support him against the tree.
Harry was loathe to relinquish his hold on his broomstick, even for a moment. But he needed both hands free to accomplish his next task. He compromised by placing a Biomagnetic Hovering Charm on his Firebolt. It hovered at his left elbow, and it would follow him like a magical shadow without need of command. He was now free to focus his attention on his pouch.
Lacking the patience (or, in truth, the strength) to rummage around for the item he sought, Harry drew his wand and waved it once over the open mouth of the pouch, employing a sharp swish and flick that made his arm throb unpleasantly.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The contents of his pouch drifted up slowly, the Levitation Charm controlled by Harry's force of will, which proved barely equal to the task. He watched his potion pokes and other sundries emerge and hover in a cloud at eye-level. Finally a folded piece of parchment emerged, and Harry froze it in mid-air with a brisk "Impedimenta!" He negated the Levitation Charm, and the assorted items drifted past the stationary parchment and back down into his pouch.
At the last moment, Harry caught a glint of reflected starlight in the midst of the potion pokes. Without conscious thought, he reached out and snatched this oddity from the air as the last of his supplies settled into the belly of the pouch.
At first the object in his hand baffled him. It was a small crystal phial, about the size of his finger. It was sealed by magic, but to what purpose Harry could not fathom, for it was clearly empty. Surely it was he who had placed it in his pouch -- if only his thoughts were not so dull and blurred. Why was this phial here? What had it held?
And even as he posed the question, the answer came flooding back to his memory. And a bitter smile came unbidden to his lips. He caressed the phial, his thoughts harkening back to a day not far gone, nor ever to be forgotten:
Harry sat cross-legged before a low table. Sitting across from him, the Master picked up a small loaf of bread and spoke a quiet blessing over it. Then, setting his thumbs opposite each other upon the loaf, he broke it in two and handed a section to Harry. The merest hint of a smile flashed across Harry's face as he broke a small piece from the loaf, availed himself of a small dish of yak butter, and ate.
"What amuses you, Young Lion?" the Master asked, pouring himself some tea from a china pot hand-painted with trees and birds.
"All my life," Harry said, holding out his own cup to be filled from the painted teapot, "I've heard the expression, 'breaking bread.' But not until today have I actually seen it done."
"You do not break bread in Britain," the old wizard said, his words bearing the intonation of assertion rather than query.
"In England we have sliced bread," Harry said before sipping his tea noiselessly.
"And that is better."
Harry caught a trace of skepticism, even mockery, in the Master's smooth voice.
"It's easier," Harry said at last, unsure where the Master was going.
"And easier is better."
Again, Harry sensed doubt underlying the Master's words.
"It's also more fair," Harry continued, feeling as if he were defending not only himself, but all of Western civilization. "The slices are all the same size. If more than one person wants bread, everyone gets an equal portion."
The Master sipped his tea thoughtfully before opening a pot of honey and dipping a piece of bread into it.
"When I was a boy," the old man said, delicately licking honey from his thin, wizened lips, "I hid myself in an alcove, behind a tapestry, and watched my father break bread with a guest. I was not permitted to attend -- nor, indeed, to watch -- " the Master smiled briefly at this confession, " -- but I was a boy, with a boy's curiosity and willfullness. And what I observed on that day, and on many others to follow, taught me a very valuable lesson."
"What did you observe?" Harry said with polite curiosity as he inhaled the savory aroma wafting from his teacup.
"What did you observe, Young Lion?" the Master countered.
Harry thought a moment, his cup held before him pending an interrupted sip.
"You blessed the bread. Then you broke it in two and gave me half."
"Did I?"
The question surprised Harry. He didn't know how to respond.
"I set my thumbs to the center of the loaf," the Master said. "Just as I saw my father do countless times. Yet, when I broke the bread, it did not part at the mid-point as I would have it. Such is the nature of the loaf. It parts where it wills, not where I will. So it was with my father. So it is now. So shall it ever be."
Harry waited for the Master to continue. But as the seconds stretched into a minute, Harry perceived that he was expected to reply to the Master's last statement. Yet Harry had no reply. What was there to say? What lesson was the wise old wizard trying to impart?
"When a loaf is broken," the Master said at last, "one portion will always be larger than the other. Not all our diligence can alter this. So it was here. I, being the host, gave over the larger portion to you, my guest. Thus it was with my father on that day long ago. Nor did I ever observe him to do otherwise. It mattered not if his guest was a visiting lord arrayed in purple and gold, or a peasant swathed in tattered rags. Each of them received the larger portion.
"If you would know a man, Young Lion," the Master said, regarding Harry over the rim of his uplifted teacup, "observe him as he distributes his goods; behold what he keeps versus what he gives away. In this shall you know which he values more in this life: The material, or the spiritual.
"For life is a shadow that passes briefly across the face of the sun and is gone. We enter this world with nothing; when we leave, we bear nothing away. In between, we hold many things in our hands, vainly imagining that they are ours." The Master sipped his tea unhurriedly, enjoying its flavor, fragrance and warmth. The ghost of a smile passed across his ancient lips. "Remember always, Young Lion: The only thing a man may truly possess is what he has given away."
Harry heaved a ragged sigh before tucking the phial in his pocket. The smile on his lips was feeble, but it possessed an underlying strength his illness could not abridge.
Harry now turned his attention to the parchment hovering before him. He snatched it from the air, shrugging his pouch behind him as he set off with halting steps toward the edge of the trees, his broomstick following like an obedient pet.
Emerging into the clearing, he drew a series of slow, cleansing breaths, embracing the open sky. Looking up rather than down, he nearly stumbled into a large depression which he recognized as a dragon footprint, sunk deep in what had evidently been a mud hole following a recent rain. Feeling that this was as good a place to work as any, he dropped down and sat on the edge of the depression, sighing as his legs relaxed from their brief but arduous trek.
He unfolded the parchment and smoothed it out as best he could. He lay it flat upon the palm of his left hand, affixing it there with a mild Sticking Charm against the gentle night breeze. He regarded the surface of the map, squinting in the feeble starlight. No mark was visible upon it.
Harry tapped it with his wand. Immediately a myriad of dots appeared, enclosed within a circle that was marked with four compass points. As Harry watched, the four points rotated until the most prominent was pointing due North. Following this, the black dots rearranged themselves until they were a mirror image of the stars blazing overhead. Harry smiled. Within seconds he would know his exact position, latitude and longitude. The map would also tell him the date, as well as the time to the very minute (both local time and GMT).
Harry fixed the map with his 20-20 eyes and noted each bit of information as it appeared, in fashion not unlike the Marauders' Map. Latitude appeared, degrees, minutes and seconds. Longitude followed. The date now began to appear. The year, the month, the day --
Harry cried out as if stabbed through the heart!
No! It couldn't be!
August 31st!
"Hermione!"
"Ron proposed last night."
Harry's hands caught at the railing of the Astronomy Tower, a pain seizing his chest like the pressure of a giant hand.
"I said no," Hermione continued, not taking her eyes from Harry's. She paused, essayed a small smile. "So, is there anything you want to say, Harry?"
Harry tried to open his mouth, but he couldn't. His tongue appeared to freeze to the roof of his mouth. Instead he spun away, leaned out over the parapet and stared out at the broad expanse of Scottish highlands surrounding Hogwarts.
"You once said you loved me, Harry."
Silence.
"Ron loves me. He loves me enough to marry me. He knows what I want. A husband to stand by me, to support me in my endeavors. Someone willing to put me first in his life.
"My refusal didn't deter him, you know. Dead stuborn, those Weasleys. He said he'll keep asking until I say yes."
Harry spun around, his eyes a wide, feral green, their brilliance undiminished by his discarded glasses.
"Don't marry him, Hermione! He doesn't -- "
The words caught in Harry's throat.
"He doesn't what, Harry? Doesn't love me as much as you do? Is that what you were going to say?"
"Hermione, I -- I can't -- "
"I know, Harry," Hermione said without malice. "I've heard it a hundred times. I can probably recite it verbatim."
"You don't understand, Hermione! You can't possibly understand! You had a good home, parents who loved you. I had the Dursleys! I lived in a stinking broom cupboard until I was eleven! All I wanted -- all I wanted was to be free!"
"And then you came to Hogwarts."
"Rules!" The word was a growl from the depths of Harry's throat. "Always bloody rules! Wake when they tell you, eat when they tell you, go to class when they tell you! Do this, don't do that! I'm surprised they didn't make us go to the flippin' loo on schedule.
"And it doesn't end here. It just keeps on, like -- like a vice that just keeps getting tighter, half-turn by bloody half-turn. I can't take it any more! Not another day of it!"
Harry turned about, his face strained, his eyes entreating.
"Don't you see, Hermione? I can't stay! I can't! I've got to go! I've got to see everything, do everything! The restriction against underage magic is lifted! I'm free! For the first time in my life, I'm free!"
"Sometimes," Hermione said with the shadow of a smile, "I wish we had never destroyed Voldemort. Things were so much simpler in a black-and-white, good-versus-evil world."
"But we did, Hermione," Harry said in a voice calmer though no less emphatic. "He's gone, and his ruddy Death Eaters with him. I don't need to be an Auror now. The weight of that ruddy prophesy is finally off my shoulders. There's nothing to hold me back. Nothing to tie me down."
"Except me."
Harry felt like weeping. Hermione's words had not been an accusation. Vindictiveness was not her way. It was one of the reasons he loved her --
Harry took Hermione's hands in his. She met his eyes calmly, tranquilly.
"Wait for me, Hermione. Please. If we've ever meant anything to each other..."
Hermione's eyes lowered in thought before rising to meet Harry's once more.
"I'll wait for you, Harry."
Harry's eyes squeezed shut, his shoulders vibrating with pent-up emotion seeking release. Then Hermione spoke again:
"But not forever."
Harry's hands went numb. He scarcely felt Hermione detach her own hands from his. She turned and took Harry's place at the parapet overlooking the Hogwarts grounds.
"I'm going home for two weeks," she said, her voice resounding with quiet strength. "Then I'll be reporting to St. Mungo's. Madam Pomfrey is on the Board. She's arranged an internship for me. I'll be serving for just over a year. Next June, after the students leave here, she'll be returning to oversee my final qualification. And on September first, when she returns to Hogwarts, I'll be leaving as well.
"Molly Weasley will be throwing a party for me at the Burrow. You're invited, by the way. The whole family will be there. Including Ron, of course. And if he asks me to marry him..."
"I'll be there, Hermione! I swear to Merlin I will!"
Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione, burying his face in her hair as his cheek brushed hers.
"The graduation ceremony will be starting soon," Hermione said, her hands rubbing Harry's arms as her eyes embraced the magnificent expanse of the Hogwarts grounds for the last time. "Being as I'm valedictorian, I suppose I oughtn't be late. Shall we save time and Apparate down?"
Momentarily startled, Harry spun Hermione around and gave her a bemused look.
"You can't Apparate or Disapparate on these premises, 'Doctor' Granger. Haven't you ever read Hogwarts: A History?"
"Really?" she said, her eyes wide with exaggerated wonder. "Fancy that. Well, then, we'd better get moving, hadn't we?"
Harry tilted Hermione's head and kissed her lightly. Then, single file, they descended the spiral staircase to the base of the Astronomy Tower and thence to the Great Hall.
Author's Note: Two flashbacks for the price of one! We now know why Harry left Hermione behind. But how is he going to get back in time to prevent her from accepting Ron's proposal?
And what is the secret of the empty phial? Has it anything to do with the Master's tea-time philosophy lesson? In the words of Bugs Bunny, "Eh, could be, doc." Well, only three chapter to go, so we'll learn soon enough.
Thanks to all readers and reviewers, both old and new. I'd linger, but it's after 2:00 a.m. and tomorrow is a work day. See you next week.