Harry Potter and the Perseus Castle
by Ahn Na Blue

Rating: PG13
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 5
Genre: Drama, Romance
Status: Complete
Length: 31,699 words in 6 chapters
Published: 5 Nov 2004
Last updated: 2 Dec 2004

It's the trio's seventh year at Hogwarts and the third war has begun. With Voldemort attacking with increasing ferocity
from the safety of Perseus Castle, it's time to bring the fight to him. What a time for Harry and Hermione to realize
how they feel. What a time for Ron to realize how he feels! Just when they need each other the most, will they be torn
apart?

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/3228/

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1. Chapter One: The Last Train to Hogwarts

Harry Potter and the Perseus Castle

By Ahn Na Blue

Standard Disclaimer: We all know who owns Harry Potter. And we all know it isn’t me.

Summary: It’s the trio’s seventh year at Hogwarts, and the hunt for Voldemort is on. With the evil wizard laying seige
to the muggle world from the safety of the ever-moving Perseus Castle, it is time to bring the fight to him. What a time
for Harry and Hermione to realize how they feel. And what a time for Ron to realize how he feels! Just when they need
each other the most, will they be torn apart instead?

Chapter One: The Last Train to Hogwarts

In the great dining hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a seventeen year old boy was sitting alone, in
Quidditch robes, scratching at the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. These days he would have liked to scratch
it off. Because he was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, and who was also, according to many, The Boy Who Would Soon Be
Killed By He Who Must Not Be Named.

Without that scar, he might have only been Harry, just Harry Potter, not The Boy Who Anything, and maybe it would have
been some other boy sitting here under the ceiling of wrestling thunderclouds, which seemed to be enchanted to match his
mood as much as anything else. He pushed his spoon roughly into the bowl of rice pudding that Dobby the Hogwarts House
Elf had brought him. He wasn’t really hungry. It had just been an excuse to get away from the falsity that had infected
the school since the moment he had arrived.

Truthfully, the whole year had started strangely. He had stayed either at The Burrow or at Grimmauld place for all but
two weeks of the summer, yet, when he and Hedwig had arrived at the station and were just about to go through to the
platform, he felt a strange sensation behind him and turned around. Standing only ten feet away had been his aunt
Petunia, looking as birdlike and uncomfortable as ever, but also, sad somehow. And she was alone. There were no hulking
shadows of Dursley men, just her, shifting from foot to foot and waiting for him to talk. Which he finally did.

“Aunt Petunia. What are you doing here? Did I forget something? Where are Dudley and Uncle Vernon?”

“They don’t know that I’m here. And you’d better not go telling them!” She had added hastily, as if they were the people
he confided in. She had her lips pursed, and her arms crossed, peeking from side to side trying to see if anyone was
watching. “I don’t know why I’m here either.”

At about that time Hedwig had become fed up with being shifted around under his arm, and started to flap around and
click her beak. Aunt Petunia looked horrified. Harry sighed. “Look, could you try to figure it out then? I’m going to
miss the train.”

She had glared at him and took a hesitant step forward. Then she reached into her purse, removed a brown package, and
thrust it at him. “It’s a sandwich,” she snapped when he looked confused. “Chicken salad and watercress.” For some
reason the sandwich had made her emotional. “My sister used to like it.”

Harry put Hedwig’s cage down immediately and took the package in both hands. The paper was too stiff to hold just bread.
He thought there might be a letter from the Dursleys inside and his stomach shuddered at the unpleasantness. He looked
back up at Petunia, who was staring intensely at the sandwich and biting her lower lip.

“My sister used to like it when I would cut off the crust and cut them into small triangles. We’d pretend we were
Edwardian ladies having tea.” Her mouth curled into an unfamiliar smile. “Then my sister would feed the crusts to the
pigeons, like they were the poor.”

Harry noticed how she always said “my sister” and never “your mother.”

Petunia had seemed to regain her resolve then and raised her eyes to his. A little higher actually, so she was looking
down her nose at him. “I know what’s happening. I know about Lord…Lord…the thing that killed my sister. That…that
Dumbledore has been sending me bird mail all summer. Tell him to stop.”

She was actually being nice. Harry wondered if she had flipped her lid. But she was his family, and he could tell that
for once, she was missing his mother, so he reached out slowly, just to take her hand. She jerked away as if from fire.

“No,” she had said tersely, once again looking at the sandwich. “I just wanted to…to give you that. You’ll miss your
train. And don’t tell your uncle or your cousin that I was here.”

“Fine.” Harry said tonelessly, then stuffed the sandwich into his robes and picked up Hedwig. But just as he turned,
Petunia came towards him, and grabbed him by the arm.

“You…you fight him for her.” When she had looked up at him then, her eyes were full of long forgotten grief. She hadn’t
given him a chance to respond, just patted him quickly on the shoulder and walked away, not looking back.

So he had gotten on his last train to Hogwarts. What he found when he opened his sandwich was not a letter, as he had
feared, but an old black and white picture. It was of Petunia and his mother when they were children, apparently playing
dress up, with white gloves and ladies’ hats several sizes too big. They were posing for the camera in enormous, flapper
style dresses, with their arms around each other. It was a muggle photograph, so it didn’t move, but that was probably
better, because the innocent joy that was captured in his mother’s young smile was frozen there perfectly. She was
beautiful. Harry thought he might love his Aunt Petunia forever, just for that.

That had been a month ago. That one scrap of happiness. Of inspiration. Now here he was, alone, sitting in the dark
poking at his pudding. Gryffindor had beaten Slytherin earlier that evening. Harry hadn’t caught the Snitch, but neither
had Draco Malfoy, the other seeker, and Gryffindor had outscored them the hard way, fighting through the hours until the
match was finally called at 400-185. But even after the difficult victory there were no rowdy parties in the halls or in
the Common room. Everywhere was quiet. Quidditch was really the only thing left at Hogwarts that was business as usual;
since Voldemort had started attacking muggles and muggle-borns with increasing fury, attendance at the school had
dropped by half. Hermione was one of the few muggle-borns left, and she was only there because of Harry. Muggle-borns
everywhere were hiding themselves, even Hermione’s parents were sequestered away in the Annexe, a secret place between
the muggle world and the wizarding realm, which was difficult for even Voldemort to find.

Classes were a joke. With the exception of Professor Moody in Defense Against the Dark Arts, most of the professors were
too preoccupied to teach correctly, so, much to Hermione’s displeasure, there hadn’t been an exam all year. It was also
to the displeasure of Professor Snape, who was pushing them in Advanced Potions as enthusiastically as ever, but was
under orders from Dumbledore to suspend any testing.

In fact, many in the wizarding community thought that the school should be closed, that children should be with their
families during wartime, but Dumbledore insisted that Voldemort must not be yielded to, and that the young wizards and
witches were actually safer at Hogwarts, with all of its protective charms, than they were at home. So the school stayed
open. But with studying unnecessary, the halls were usually filled with wandering students, each with hypnotized,
frightened faces, who looked at Harry like he was some kind of savior. It made him want to pitch a tent made out of his
invisibility cloak.

“Am I going to have to take points from my own house? What are you doing here alone in the dark, after hours?”

Harry grinned as Hermione walked over to him with her arms crossed. “Just because you’re Head Girl doesn’t mean you can
boss me around.”

Hermione plunked down on the seat beside him and crinkled her nose at his coagulated rice pudding. “That’s exactly what
it means actually. But I suppose for the great Harry Potter, I can make an exception.”

Harry frowned and turned away from her. The whole school was singling him out, did she have to do the same thing? She
was supposed to be his best friend. Well, aside from Ron. He felt her hand on his arm and looked up to see her big brown
eyes starting to water with regret for her carelessness.

“I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I was talking about your greatness on the Quidditch field today,
you know, pummeling Slytherin and that detestable Draco Malfoy.” She was desperate to assure him of her intentions.

He looked at her fondly. The face he had met on that first train to Hogwarts was older now. A little slimmer, and she
was wearing her hair longer, with the sides clipped back. There was a faint shimmer of gloss on her lips and he caught
himself staring at them, then shook his head and tried to keep from smiling. It was no wonder that Ron had taken to
following her around like a lost puppy. He sometimes joked with her that there was an invisible thread tied between her
and Ron’s robes.

“Where’s Ron?” He asked, and let his smile break through, which put Hermione immediately at ease.

“Back in the Common Room.” Ron had no duties aside from Quidditch. Neither him nor Harry had been made Head Boy,
presumably because of their obligations, or destinies, depending on who you asked, in the war. The honor of Head Boy had
actually gone to Neville Longbottom, of all people. But Harry was glad for him. Neville had been one of the few to stay
solidly at his side throughout his Hogwarts years. Of course Harry’s line of thinking would have also meant that
Hermione should have been excluded from the position of Head Girl. But he rationalized this away with the notion that
there was really no other choice. No one in the school was as anal retentive as Hermione, and of course everyone knew
that she could shoulder responsibility as easily as a mule could haul a sack of grain.

“Harry it’s getting late. You should be getting back to the Common Room too.”

He swung a leg over his seat like he was going to obey her. “What about you? Or don’t Head Girls need sleep?”

Hermione leaned on her elbow and looked at him with her eyebrow cocked. “I have to make one last check of the Astronomy
Tower.”

“Putting a stop to all that reckless snogging? Such serious business.” He then decided that it was serious business.
“Hey, who have you caught up there anyway? I bet there are some strange couples sneaking around this place.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s none of your business Harry.”

“Come on, who? Parvati and Seamus? Pansy and Draco? That’d be a nasty sight,” he continued to guess, poking her
insistently in the ribs and making her giggle, which he sort of enjoyed.

“How about Snape and Mrs. Norris?” he asked, tickling her some more.

She was trying to squirm away from him now, half-heartedly pushing his hands away. “Snape and Mrs. Norris? Harry have
you lost your mind?”

“All right then, if not those two, then maybe Crabbe…”

Hermione giggled under his fingers. “Stop that tickling! Crabbe and who?”

Harry stopped tickling briefly. “I don’t know. I guess Crabbe and…Just Crabbe.”

Hermione laughed loudly and covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s disgusting. If I ever discovered THAT in the
Astronomy Tower I would resign as Head Girl. Now up to the Common Room with you! Out of those Quidditch robes and into
bed.”

“Okay Mum,” he said sarcastically, rising off his seat and wriggling his fingers at her, ready to start the tickling
assault again. “Right after you.”

Hermione reached into her sleeve and whipped out her wand. “Harry Potter, don’t make me stun you.” But she didn’t stun
him. Instead he got to chase her out of the dining hall and up the stairs to the Gryffindor Common Room, delighting in
her feigned squeaks of terror, and smiling more broadly than he had in weeks.

The next morning found Harry and Ron digging into a big breakfast of enchanted kippers and griddle cakes. The kippers
were enchanted to keep them from stinking up the entire school.

“I don’t know about you Harry,” Ron said, almost between mouthfuls, “but I’m liking this no testing thing. It’s bloody
brilliant. I don’t know why Dumbledore didn’t do it long ago.”

Harry grinned. “Probably because he wanted us to learn something.”

“I KNOW that,” Ron said, exasperated. “But you’ve got to admit that it’s nice not to have a certain someone breathing
down our necks at every exam.”

“If you haven’t noticed, Ron, Snape is still breathing down our necks.”

“I didn’t mean Snape,” Ron grinned, and then pulled out his wand and tapped it on his head, making his hair do a perfect
bushy impression of Hermione’s. “ ‘Ron, Harry, are you studying? Ron, Harry, do you need more pages for your organizers?
Do you want to borrow my notes, I know you need my notes, because you both spend more time trading wizard cards in class
than you do paying attention…”

Harry laughed. Ron definitely had the Weasley talent for frivolous magic. He would make a good partner in his brothers’
joke shop one day.

“Ow!” Ron yelped suddenly and his hair went back to its normal shade of red. Hermione had seen the impression, and
whacked a reversal charm on the back of his head. Then she smiled at him sweetly, winked at Harry, and continued
walking, checking the status of the other tables.

“You shouldn’t make fun of her so much. She’s much better at magic than you, she could cause you to relapse into slug
vomiting.”

Ron gave a closed lipped smile, gazing after her. “You know I only pick on her because…” He paused and Harry looked
rather uncomfortably into his kippers. Ron shrugged. “Well, you know, because it’s how we’ve always been. It’s like our
thing.”

Harry didn’t get a chance to respond, because suddenly Professor McGonagall was standing behind him. “Dumbledore has
asked to see you Harry. You are to accompany me to his office at once.”

“What’s going on?” Ron asked as Harry stood. The whole dining room had come to a stop. Everyone had put down their
forks, and no one was even trying to pretend that they weren’t listening. Harry slumped his shoulders and wished for the
millionth time that year that he had his invisibility cloak. Maybe carrying it around wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“I don’t know. I’ll see you in Potions.” He walked out with Professor McGonagall and felt hundreds of eyes on his back.
But he turned around, just once, to see Hermione run back to Ron and question him about what was happening. After he
answered her, she looked worriedly after Harry, and he gave her a brief smile.

“Hurry along, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes Professor.”

Inside Dumbledore’s office, Harry was filled with the same sensations of safety and awe that he always got upon
entering. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, so he walked over to Fawkes and stroked his feathers. A few of them came
off in his hand.

“It looks like you’re about ready to combust again, Fawkes.”

The phoenix squawked softly and nudged Harry with his beak. Harry shook his head in apology. Usually he smuggled in a
pomegranate from the kitchen, but there hadn’t been time on this visit.

“Harry,” came a voice from behind him, making him spin around.

He exhaled and smiled. “Professor Dumbledore.”

“Have a seat, please.” Harry sat down opposite him at his large desk. “Cookie?” Harry shook his head. “Ah yes. I suppose
you’ve just finished your breakfast. Oh well. I’m trying to unload them, as they say,” Dumbledore said, peering down at
the cookies. “Minerva- Professor McGonagall keeps leaving them on my desk. Don’t tell her Harry, but I don’t really like
them.”

Harry smiled, and then grew uneasy. “Professor, I don’t mean to be rude, but, could you tell me what this is about?”

Dumbledore sighed. “I know that when I call you here, it always seems to be to talk about something unpleasant.
Something dramatic. I hope there will be a day when I will ask you to my office to chat about the weather, but-”

“But this just isn’t that day, is it.” Harry clenched his teeth and unconsciously rubbed at the scar on his forehead.

“No, you are right. This is not the day.” Dumbledore interlaced his fingers on the desk. “Harry, you remember Remus
Lupin.”

Harry turned to his right to see his old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher emerge from the shadows. He jumped out of
his chair and shook his hand enthusiastically.

“Hello Harry,” Remus said fondly, and then “Accio chair,” before they both sat down side by side. Harry was beaming. He
hadn’t seen Remus at all that year. Or very often over the last two years. Since Sirius had died, Remus had emerged as
one of the foremost Aurors in the Order of the Phoenix, and his pursuit of Voldemort kept him away for months at a time.

Dumbledore smiled at their obvious fondness for each other, then turned serious. “This morning, Remus returned with some
very interesting news.”

“I’ve discovered where he’s hiding, Harry,” Remus said tensely.

“Voldemort,” Harry whispered, making Remus wince. Although the use of the Dark Lord’s name had become more common since
the onset of the war, it was still an unpleasant thing to hear.

“Yes. He’s gone to ground at Perseus Castle.”

“Perseus Castle?” Harry asked, looking from one man to the other. “Where’s that?”

“That’s precisely the problem,” Remus sighed, leaning back in his chair, obviously still exhausted from his journey.

“Let’s skip the ‘where’ for now, and start with the ‘what’,” Dumbledore smiled. “Perseus Castle is a place of pure
magic. More magical than Hogwarts. More magical than any other place in the wizarding realm. It can be manipulated into
anything by the person who inhabits it. And the powers of the person inhabiting it are magnified, just by being there.
It is the perfect stage for Voldemort to launch his attack.”

“So, where is it?” Harry asked, although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“That’s the trouble Harry,” Remus interjected slowly. “Perseus Castle can be anywhere. It exists and moves in the mist.
So, it can be reached from any body of water, if you know the incantation to call the mists to you, but-”

“But we don’t know the incantation.” Harry said glumly.

“We don’t, I’m afraid. And the Death Eaters aren’t being exactly forthcoming about it.” Remus gritted his teeth. “I
chased Bellatrix LeStrange through six miles for forest, just to see her jump into a stream and disappear.” His eyes
were narrowed as he remembered. Harry narrowed his eyes as well. It had been Bellatrix LeStrange who had killed Sirius,
and nothing would have pleased him more than for Remus to capture her.

“But,” said Dumbledore, smiling at the Auror, “seeing Bellatrix disappear was the thing that led to Remus’ deduction of
where Voldemort is hiding.”

“It’s true. I never would have guessed it. Perseus Castle has been lost to the world for years, ever since the death of
the last of its family’s heirs. I don’t know how he found it.”

“Who knows what strange realms Tom Riddle has been able to travel to during his years amongst the partially dead. He has
always been resourceful.”

Any mention of Voldemort’s strengths annoyed Harry, and for some reason, so did Dumbledore’s referring to the dark
wizard as ‘Tom Riddle’. “Forget about that,” he said rashly. “How do WE find it?”

“I don’t know,” Dumbledore said softly. “It cannot be apparated into, much like Hogwarts, and its presence cannot be
detected unless one is looking for it. At certain points in time, it is most certainly very close to Hogwarts, all
without our knowing.”

“That’s why I’m going back out looking for it,” Remus said, standing suddenly.

Harry stood with him. “But- you just got back.” He started to follow Remus to the door.

“I’ll just make a quick stop with Professor Moody…and then perhaps to the kitchen for a meal-”

“Remus!” Harry half shouted, making him turn and face him.

“Yes Harry?”

Harry looked at him intensely. Remus Lupin was the last of his parents’ close friends. One of his last links to them,
and also his friend. But he felt rather sheepish saying so in front of Dumbledore. “Don’t forget to bring plenty of your
potion. We don’t need you biting anyone. Unless of course it’s LeStrange.”

Remus smiled and walked back to Harry, pulling him into a tight hug. “Don’t worry.” And then he turned and left. Several
moments passed in silence as Harry stared at the closed doors with Dumbledore behind him.

“Harry.”

“Yes Professor Dumbledore?”

“You know that this war is going to end soon.”

“Yes. But I don’t know how it will end.”

“I don’t know either. But I do know that we’ll find a way to Perseus Castle. Hagrid, Remus, Nymphadora, they’re out
there finding ways to help you.”

Harry looked at the floor. “It won’t matter.”

“What was that Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “I said it won’t matter. The prophecy says that it’s either me or him. In the end it will be me
fighting. Me alone. Just like always.”

They paused for a moment, as Fawkes exploded into flames beside them, and fell into a pile of ash. Dumbledore walked
over and poked a finger into the pile, exposing the featherless chick and tickling his chin. “Don’t put too much faith
into the prophecy, Harry. Voldemort believes it with his whole being, which is likely to our advantage, but I am not as
certain of its truth. One must die at the other’s hands. Think back on your life. Although I know it may have felt like
you have been alone many times, is that really the way it has been?”

The conversation with Dumbledore had caused Harry to miss Advanced Potions. He didn’t really care, although he hoped
Snape hadn’t seen fit to pile on homework as a celebration of his absence. He was walking with his hands stuffed into
his robes, his fingers worrying at his wand, ignoring the stares of the other students as he continued to think about
what Dumbledore had said. What had he meant? Of course he had been alone. That time with Quirrell and the Stone, again
with Riddle’s memory and the Basilisk. He had been the one fighting. In the woods defending Sirius from the Dementors.
In the Triwizard Tournament. Harry rubbed his scar in frustration. He knew that Dumbledore was wise. He just didn’t know
why he had to be so maddeningly puzzling.

When he got to the Gryffindor Common Room, Ron and Hermione were waiting. They looked tense. Ron had his hand on
Hermione’s shoulder, and her face was as pale as day old porridge. When she saw Harry, she leapt up from Ron’s grasp and
ran to him.

“You look worried. What did Dumbledore say?”

Harry tried to look chipper and could tell by her expression that he wasn’t succeeding. “They found out where he’s
hiding.”

Hermione gasped and Ron’s jaw dropped open. They were scared. And why shouldn’t they be? Hermione hadn’t seen her
parents for a YEAR because of the war, and Ron’s father had already been badly injured in the fight. He almost frowned
and then stopped himself. He was going to have to put on a brave face for the entire school. It was probably better
start practicing right away.

“Look, they don’t know much of anything yet. It’ll be fine, all right?” He pointed to his scar. “I’m The Boy Who Lived,
remember?”

Ron at least, looked a little relieved. “Yeah, right. Although you might regret being that when you see your Potions
homework.”

“Potions homework?”

“Yeah, Snape took it as a personal holiday when you didn’t show up.” Ron threw his arm around Hermione’s shoulders.
“Hermione already helped me with mine.”

“That’s great,” Harry said flatly. After this morning’s revelations, homework from Snape was something he just couldn’t
face at the moment. “Listen, I think Hedwig was a little stiff yesterday, I’m going to go check on her. Catch up with
you at Quidditch practice Ron.”

The Owlery was thankfully empty when he entered it. He took a seat near the window and called to Hedwig, who flew over
and landed heavily on his forearm. He smiled. She was getting fat. She hadn’t been allowed to deliver any letters that
year, for fear of her safety. Sometimes Harry would take her out flying with him over the Quidditch pitch on his
Firebolt, but apparently she was spending the rest of her time catching and eating too many mice.

“Harry.”

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled at the sound of Hermione’s voice. “Hermione-” I just want to be alone right now, he
was going to say, but for some reason he didn’t. He just let her walk over and sit down next to him. Hedwig clicked
happily as she stroked her wing.

“You know that was a really lame excuse. I know Hedwig hasn’t been out on a delivery since you came back to Hogwarts. If
she’s suffering from anything, it’s not stiffness. It’s high cholesterol.” Hedwig nipped at her finger.

Harry laughed softly and leaned back, looking at her. She wasn’t watching him, waiting for him to speak, or trying to
see if he was upset. She was just petting Hedwig, and smiling gently at her. Of course she knew that Harry was upset.
And she knew that he would tell her why, when he was ready.

It could be that she already knows why I’m upset, Harry thought to himself. Sometimes it seemed to him that he and
Hermione didn’t really need words. They could understand each other with just a look, or a well placed elbow. And he
depended on her. So often her mind, or her ear, or her shoulder was there just when he needed it.

He watched her tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear and reached out for her hand. He held it in his lap and stared
down at it, at her slender fingers entwined with his. When he glanced up, she was looking at it too.

“I want to tell you that everything’s going to be all right, Harry,” she sighed regretfully.

“But you don’t know that that’s going to be true.” She nodded, agreeing with him, and he could see her lips tremble. The
thought of seeing her cry didn’t fill him with annoyance or dread, like most girls’ tears did, but only pain, and
suddenly he needed her very badly, more than he had in all their years together. He set Hedwig down, ignoring her hoot
of displeasure, and touched Hermione’s face, gently turning her to him.

She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she moved into his embrace. Instead she kept her lids demurely lowered, and closed them
completely as their lips met. It was tender and passionate, foreign and familiar all at once, as he crushed her closer
to him and felt her sharp intake of breath. He wasn’t thinking, only focusing on a strange, bright feeling surging up
from his chest and into his throat. He thrust his fingers into her hair and wrestled her lips open, not really knowing
what he was doing but wanting the feeling to last, and to deepen. She had her hand resting in the crook of his elbow and
he wished she would put her arm around him, move nearer.

“Hermione? Are you up here?”

Harry’s eyes flew open and he stared into hers for an instant before he broke the kiss and turned to the door, too late.
Hedwig sensed the sudden change of mood and fluttered away to a more distant perch.

Ron was standing in the doorway, his Advanced Potions textbook under his arm. His face was reddened, from embarrassment
or fury Harry couldn’t quite tell.

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, finding her voice first. “This isn’t- I mean we didn’t- oh I don’t know what I mean to say!”

“Bloody Hell,” Ron growled, and now Harry could see that he was furious. He was staring right at Harry. “You knew. You
bloody knew and you did it anyway.”

“No, Ron I-”

“Don’t bother. Just… Just stay away from me the both of you!”

Hermione was speechless, her eyes wide. She was wringing her hands.

“I’ll go after him. He wouldn’t know what to say to you just now.” Harry quickly touched her cheek, and then ran after
his friend.

To be continued…

AN: Buried in there is a small tribute to the webmistress of Harryloveshermione.com. It’s not meant to be a stealing
sort of thing. Just a tribute sort of thing, and if you haven’t gone to the site and seen her skewed shipper screen
caps, then I suggest you do so immediately.

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2. Chapter Two: Hagrid's News

Harry Potter and the Perseus Castle

By Ahn Na Blue

Standard Disclaimer: We all know who owns Harry Potter. And we all know it isn’t me.

AN: Many thanks to everyone who read Chapter One. The reviews were extremely insightful.

Chapter Two: Hagrid’s News

“Ron!” Harry yelled, chasing after him. “Ron!” But the red headed boy didn’t turn around. Harry was a little relieved.
He really had no idea what he was going to say. What could he say to make Ron feel better? He had just seen his best
friend kissing the girl he had loved for years. Harry thought for a moment of how he would feel if he suddenly turned a
corner and saw Ron kissing Hermione, and decided he was lucky not to have a black eye just then.

Ron didn’t stop running until he reached the boy’s dorms. When he did stop, he did so abruptly, almost making Harry run
into him.

“Ron, I-”

“Shut up Harry,” Ron yelled, his face furiously red. “You stay away from me or I swear I’ll-” He paused then, breathing
fast, his fist clenched and wavering in the air. Then he turned and stalked away.

“Ron, will you just listen to me?”

Ron stopped, and turned back to him, his eyes narrowed menacingly.

Harry inhaled and looked into those eyes. He was quickly remembering six years of chocolate frogs and Quidditch
practice, of jokes and botched spells, and he was suddenly, completely, wordless. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh that’s bloody brilliant! You don’t know what to say.” Ron turned around the empty room with his arms outstretched.
“Did everyone hear that? The Boy Who Lived doesn’t know what to say! Someone call Rita Skeeter!” He whirled back on
Harry and advanced, making the other boy back up. “Well I’ll tell you what to say. Tell me that you betrayed me. Tell me
that you were never my friend, that nothing ever matters besides what YOU feel.”

“Ron, that’s not true. I am your friend. I’m your best friend-”

“You bloody knew I loved her! You knew!” Tears were forming at the corners of Ron’s eyes, and it made Harry want to hex
himself. “I went up there to bring Hermione her Potions book. She said she was going to help you with your homework, and
then she forgot her book. But I guess she didn’t really need it then, now did she?”

“Ron-”

“Shut up.” He thought for a moment, and his eyes grew more hostile. “How long has this been going on?”

“This is the first time.”

“Right.”

“Ron, I swear.”

“What does it matter to me what you swear? I can’t believe you did this to me! You couldn’t just keep your hands off the
one thing I wanted most…” He was really crying now, his voice breaking just like it used to in their second year. “She
was supposed to be mine Harry. That was it for me. You get to be the hero, you get to save the world, and I get to be
behind you. Except with her. It wasn’t supposed to-”

Ron’s speech made Harry’s throat tighten with a familiar frustration. “Are you forgetting what it has cost me to be
that? My whole life is fighting, and danger, and destiny, and ‘oh you’d better save the world Harry’! Do you think it’s
what I want? My parents are dead!”

“Oh right, here we go. You lost your parents, you almost died, you have to fight. And because of that everyone is
supposed to give you what you want. Because of that everyone sympathizes with you and thinks you deserve it. They’ll
think you deserve her just so you can have a little bit of the normal life.”

“And you don’t think I deserve that?” Harry asked sadly.

Ron wiped his eyes hastily. “I don’t mean that.” He slumped down on the nearest bed. “But Harry, don’t you see? I’m not
as good a wizard as you. I look funny, with this Weasley red hair. You’re a better flyer, you’re Dumbledore’s favorite
pet. You’re the most famous wizard of your age. My parents love you. My parents. I’m your shadow. Your court jester. And
now Hermione…but why wouldn’t she love you more.” He laughed ridiculously. “I suppose I should really be thanking you.
Because if I weren’t your friend, if I hadn’t been dragged into all these dangerous situations, there’d be nothing
special about me at all. I’d just be the sixth Weasley brother, a penniless, ruddy bad wizard with a long nose.”

Harry stood quietly. It was true he had been focused on his fight with Voldemort. For six years he had focused on it.
And maybe he hadn’t noticed that his best friend was getting pushed to the side by everyone. Maybe he hadn’t paused to
think about how that would feel.

“Ron-”

“Harry,” Ron said slowly. “Just get out, will you?”

***************************************

After looking for Hermione in the Common Room, and the Great Hall, he finally found her still in the Owlery, splitting
her affection between Hedwig and Pigwidgeon. Her back was to the door, which allowed him to stand there for a moment and
just watch her. Everything had happened so fast. Too fast. Locating Voldemort. Kissing Hermione. The blowout with Ron.
The day was like a whirlwind, and he hadn’t had time to think.

“You’ve been waiting here?”

“I didn’t know where else to go.” She turned to him. He thought she still looked a little shaky. “How’s Ron?”

“Not good. He doesn’t want to see either of us.”

Hermione sighed. “What did he say?”

Harry walked over to Hedwig and stroked her feathers, looking at the owl while he talked. “He said a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“He’s really upset.”

Hermione tugged on his robes. “Harry, what did he say?”

“He said that I betrayed him.” Harry closed his eyes and spat out the rest. “He said that he was sick of always being in
my shadow. That he was sick of me always getting what I wanted just because of who I am.”

Hermione looked suddenly outraged. “He didn’t say that! What could he be thinking? It’s as not as if he hasn’t been here
these last six years-”

“I understand what he’s saying.”

Hermione quieted and sat down on the windowsill.

“I’ve been so focused on how hard it is to be who I am, The Boy Who Lived,” he spat the words. “That I haven’t even
bothered to think about what it must be like for Ron. He’s always been there for me, right there behind me, and I…I
guess I took that for granted. I didn’t stop to think that he might think of himself as, second.”

“Harry, you can’t blame yourself for how he’s feeling.”

Harry shook his head. “Hermione, what happened this morning-”

Hermione stood up and walked a few steps. “Don’t say you regret it Harry. Even if you do…regret it I mean, don’t say
it.” She looked down at her hands. “I couldn’t bear that.”

Harry reached out and took her hands, pulling her back to him. “No. I don’t regret it.” He tucked a lock of her hair
behind her ear. “I regret what it’s doing to Ron, but I don’t regret this.” He felt her arms come up around him and
exhaled, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against hers. “Did you know?” he asked quietly. “Did you know how Ron
felt about you?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes closed and frowning slightly. “I’ve known for a long time that he had this, this sort of crush
on me. I didn’t know what to do about it at first. I thought maybe if I just avoided physical contact…I didn’t want to
send him any of the wrong signals. And then, with Viktor, things got really tense…but after that it seemed to be okay.”

“But it’s obviously not.” Harry spoke lowly. He was still upset about Ron, but he was also thinking about kissing her
again. He had his fingers pushed into her hair, cupping her face with his palms. If he just moved forward, an inch,
maybe two…

“Oh Harry, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, and then closed the gap and kissed her. She squeezed him tightly and he was struck by
the intensity of it, and by how natural it felt, this transition after all the years as friends. He showed his
Gryffindor boldness by trailing kisses along her jaw line and down her neck.

“Maybe,” Hermione whispered, a little breathlessly, he thought with some amusement, “Maybe Ron will just adjust to
things…”

He reclaimed her mouth for another long kiss and then pulled back to look into her eyes. “He’s going to have to. Because
there’s no other girl for me.” He watched her blush and thought back over six years of adventures, conversations, and a
little nagging. He might have to save the world, but he knew that she would be the one to save him. “It’s funny,” he
began.

“What’s funny?”

“Looking back I realize that you and I have been moving towards each other since the moment we met on the train. Moving
forward towards this moment together. And we never even knew it.”

Hermione smiled in his arms and shrugged. “Well actually, I knew it.”

Harry smiled back at her. “But then that’s to be expected. You know everything.”

****************************************

Over the next few days it became obvious that Ron was not adjusting. He sat away from them at meals, left for class
early to avoid walking with them, and did all of his homework sitting on his bed with the curtains drawn. He even
requested one on one keeper practice, so he wouldn’t have to talk to Harry during Quidditch. On the few occasions that
Harry had approached Ron, he had been met with only a mute glare. Harry didn’t think that Hermione had tried to talk to
Ron at all.

He and Hermione were sitting in the Common Room, catching up on Advanced Potions before class. Harry was having trouble
focusing. He kept glancing over at the empty chair where Ron usually sat.

“Come on Harry,” Hermione tapped his hand with her quill. “We only have twenty minutes left, and even I need to hurry.”
She blushed and he felt her foot touch his under the table. “You’ve been keeping me too busy to study.”

Harry smiled until Ron came bursting through on his way to Potions. Harry and Hermione both looked up, but he ignored
them, brushing by their chairs and practically diving through the portrait hole.

After he was gone, Harry stared down blankly at his parchment.

“I miss him too,” Hermione whispered.

******************************

When they got to Advanced Potions, they sat in their usual seats near the back. Ron’s spot stayed empty. He was sitting
a few rows ahead of them, with Neville. Professor Snape was already outlining the day’s lesson, a potion that, when
sprinkled into the eyes of a hostile animal, would render the beast cheerful and obedient. It seemed pretty pointless to
Harry. Who would want to get close enough to a hostile animal to sprinkle anything into its eyes?

“There are forty-seven steps.” Snape announced, waving his wand at the blackboard to make them appear. “The potion will
be ready immediately upon the completion of the forty-seventh step. But it is unlikely that any of you will make it that
far without error. When the potion is complete it should be completely colorless and very thin. Remember to read through
all the instructions carefully before commencing. I’m speaking directly to you, Mr. Weasley.” Snape whirled and stared
at the empty space where Ron usually sat. He scowled and scanned the room, his beady black eyes finally coming to rest
on Ron. “Mr. Weasley it is difficult enough to teach you without your flitting all about the room. Return to your usual
seat.”

“But Professor-” Ron interjected.

“Now. And five points from Gryffindor for your objection.”

Ron slumped and gathered his equipment before trudging back to where Harry and Hermione were sitting, holding hands
beneath the table. Hermione made a move to take her hand away but Harry held it fast. Ron would have to come to terms
with things sooner or later. He hoped it was sooner.

They started on their potions. Hermione’s remained brilliantly clear, staying crystalline even as she tapped powdered
moonstone into it. Within minutes, Harry’s potion had turned into a cloudy, somewhat purple mess. Glancing over at
Ron’s, he saw that his was even worse: dark gray and the consistency of mud. It wasn’t looking good for them making it
to the forty-seventh step.

Harry sighed in frustration and Hermione reached for his hand and kissed it, then went back to her work, which was,
Harry noticed with a mixture of pride and envy, still perfectly clear. He looked up at the board again to reread the
instructions. Perhaps he had missed something.

But instead of the chalkboard he saw Professor Snape, who was watching them work with a strange, displeased look on his
face. He saw Snape look over at Ron, and then back at him and Hermione, frowning.

When the period was over, the Potions master walked up and down the rows, grading the results. Harry bristled as he
watched. Whatever Snape had said to Neville had almost made him cry. No matter how much better Neville got at all his
other subjects, Potions remained a mystery to him. Harry thought it was probably due to his fear of the teacher.

When Snape got to them, Harry was glaring openly at him. Hermione reached for Harry’s hand under the table. Snape looked
at her potion, which bore a striking resemblance to spring water. He nodded curtly to indicate that she had done well.
Then he looked at Harry’s potion, which was completely purple and appeared to be steaming. “That potion is laughable,
Mr. Potter. You’ll receive no credit.”

It seemed that he would have to say the same for Ron’s potion, which was black, and so thick that it could barely be
stirred. But instead he paused, and Harry watched as he leaned over the desk and sniffed at it once, then again.

“Try adding this piece of amber resin, Mr. Weasley,” he said, opening his palm and revealing a small golden stone. “And
then heat it with your wand, just to boiling.” Ron had his mouth hanging open in puzzlement, but he did as he was told,
and the potion bubbled the black away and became thinner, until it was the color and consistency of butterbeer. Ron
looked up at Professor Snape, amazed.

“That is a highly acceptable potion, Mr. Weasley,” Snape announced loudly. He glanced down at Ron’s shocked face and
then looked over at Harry and Hermione, his gaze resting on their joined hands. For a moment Harry thought that Snape
looked like he was remembering something, and then he did something strange. He put his hand on Ron’s shoulder and gave
it a gentle squeeze. Then he quickly walked away, dismissing them with a wave.

***************************

Harry was midway through a meat pie when Professor McGonagall tapped him on the shoulder, causing the ruckus in the
great hall to come to a halt. Harry dropped his fork and turned to her.

“It’s like I never get to finish a meal,” he joked, trying to calm Hermione, who was looking at him with the same
worried expression she always got when Dumbledore summoned him.

“This is no time for jokes, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall said sternly. “You are to come with me at once. And you as
well, Miss Granger. And-” she paused and looked around the dining hall. “Come on, you two. We must be quick.”

Harry grasped Hermione’s hand tightly as they strained to walk fast enough to keep up with Professor McGonagall. Her
palm seemed clammy. He couldn’t imagine what had happened that would require the both of them being called to
Dumbledore’s office. Unless…

“Ron!” Hermione whispered, characteristically reading his mind. “You don’t think something’s happened to him? You don’t
think he’s done something?!”

Harry shook his head mutely as they were ushered up the stairs and into the office. But he was worried. If anything had
happened to Ron- he didn’t want to think about it. They heard the passageway click shut behind them and found themselves
alone; McGonagall hadn’t even taken her leave. They looked at each other nervously.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, striding into the room with a rejuvenated Fawkes sitting gloriously on his shoulder. “Miss
Granger.” He looked for a moment at their linked hands and Harry thought he could see a smile forming underneath the
great white beard. “Please have a seat.”

“Could you tell us what’s happening, Professor?”

“Of course Harry,” Dumbledore smiled. “But first perhaps you’d like to welcome back our Care of Magical Creatures
teacher.”

“Hagrid!” Harry and Hermione shouted in unison as Hagrid appeared, stepping thunderously towards them to receive hugs.

“Harry! Hermione!” The half giant laughed heartily. “Where’s Ron?”

Harry’s smile faded and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. Luckily, Dumbledore interrupted.

“Hagrid has returned with excellent news. He has found the weapon that you will use in the coming battle.”

Harry gulped and looked at Hermione, who was turning paler by the second. He wasn’t exactly sure he would call that
‘excellent news’.

“Tha’s right. I migh not be too good at huntin’ Deatheaters, but I keep my ear ter the ground.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore smiled. “Which means that you’ll be departing on a quest.”

Just then the passageway opened and Professor McGonagall entered again. With Ron.

“My apologies, Albus, he wasn’t in the Great Hall. I had to fetch him from Gryffindor Tower.”

“Hagrid!” Ron exclaimed and ran over to him as Dumbledore continued.

“And when I say ‘you’ I mean you, Harry, and Miss Granger,” he looked at Ron. “And Mr. Weasley.”

“What?” Ron asked. “What about Mr. Weasley?”

Dumbledore gestured for them all to be seated, with the exception of Hagrid, who wouldn’t fit into the chairs, and might
break the desk were he to lean on it.

“Hagrid has discovered the resting place of Medusa’s Mirror.”

“What’s that Professor?”

Hermione answered instead. “Medusa’s Mirror. I read about it somewhere. It only reflects the truth, and has amazing
powers of magnification.”

“How’s that going to help Harry fight You-Know-Who?” Ron asked, and then seemed to regret asking, refusing to meet
Harry’s eyes.

“The mirror has many uses, Mr. Weasley. It will be up to Harry to wield it well.” Dumbledore winked at him, and then
grew serious. “But time is of the essence. I’m afraid you’ll have to be excused from classes immediately. You see,
Medusa’s Mirror can only be used by the one who finds it. So it is of the utmost importance that we find it before
Voldemort does. If he gets his hands on it first, there won’t even be any point in our stealing it back.”

“Where is it,” Harry asked, standing.

“It is in the Cave of the Faith, in the frozen north. But be on your guard. Several mirrors are housed there. You must
choose the right one. If you do not, the consequences of the cave will be dire.” Dumbledore rose to signal the end of
the discussion. “You’ll have a few minutes to change into some warmer clothes, and then meet down in the courtyard to
depart.”

“I brought Buckbeak for ye,” Hagrid said happily. “He’ll get ye there in two shakes.”

As they disbanded, Harry asked Dumbledore, “Professor, why are Ron and Hermione going with me? Isn’t it a bit dangerous?
Deatheaters could be on our tail.”

“Harry, have you thought about what we discussed when we spoke last?”

Harry remembered what Dumbledore had said about his fighting alone. “Yes Professor. But I’m afraid I still don’t quite
know what you mean.”

Dumbledore nodded. “You will. In the meantime, on this quest you must remember, that three minds are better than one.”
He paused and stared directly at Ron. “And better than two.”

******************************

When Harry got to the courtyard, Hagrid was already there, feeding Buckbeak several dead ferrets. Harry bowed low before
he approached the Hippogriff, and then walked up to stroke his grey coat. He would always be grateful to the creature
for carrying Sirius to safety.

Hermione was there next, with a long black cloak over her robes and three scarves wrapped around her neck. Her ears were
muffed and her hands were mittened. Harry thought she looked extremely cute. She bowed to Buckbeak and then came up to
pat him.

“Sorry I’m late, I wanted to grab a small reference book to tell us more about the Mirror.” She tapped her cloak pocket
to signify where it was hidden.

Harry turned as he heard Ron’s voice behind him.

“I don’t know why I’m going on this hair-brained mission.”

Harry bristled. “This quest was Dumbledore’s idea.”

Ron looked regretful. “Right. But I don’t know how we’re all supposed to fit on Buckbeak. Why can’t I take a thestral?”

“You can’t see thestrals, Ron,” Hermione pointed out gently.

“Fine. Then let Harry take a thestral and you and I can take Buckbeak.” Harry frowned. Somehow Ron seemed less angry at
Hermione, and he didn’t think that was fair. He also didn’t particularly like Ron’s suggestion that the two of them ride
together. He stepped closer to the Hippogriff and launched himself onto his back, ignoring Ron’s scowl.

“Ye know Ron, ye’d better take Buckbeak. He’s better equipped for the temperatures of the frozen north n’ the thestrals
are.” Hagrid puffed with pride for his knowledge of magical animals.

“I’m not hanging on to you,” Ron sneered at Harry.

“I’d rather you didn’t anyway,” Harry shrugged and held his hand out for Hermione, who climbed up behind him with a
grimace. “Don’t worry,” he whispered to her. “We won’t do any swooping or back flips.” She smiled at him weakly.

Ron was still kicking his shoes into the dirt when Snape strode into the courtyard.

“You weren’t really going to allow them to leave without this, were you?” He hissed at Hagrid. “Here, Mr. Weasley.” He
stuffed three vials of glowing gold liquid into Ron’s hands.

“What’re these?”

For a moment Snape looked like he might give Ron a frustrated reaming for not reading his Advanced Potions textbook, but
instead he looked at Harry and Hermione astride Buckbeak and calmed.

“They are three vials of Flammarion Serum. Taken in small sips, the serum will restore the entire body to a comfortable
temperature. You’ll need it. Trust me.” He turned to go, then paused. “And remember to spare a few drops on a dead
ferret for the Hippogriff. Keep its lungs from freezing.”

“Speaking o’ Buckbeak,” Hagrid grinned. “Who wants to carry ‘is sack o’ ferrets?”

“I’m not carrying that sack of dead things,” Ron declared. “Besides, there isn’t really room.”

“Well he’ll need ferrets,” Hagrid said, worried. “Ye’ll have ter feed im before ye come back.”

“Here, Hagrid,” said Snape impatiently. “Give me the sack.”

Hagrid handed over the burlap bag cautiously, and Snape snatched it and dropped it on the ground. Then he took a small
silver flask from his pocket and sprinkled its contents all over the burlap. The sack shriveled down to one sixteenth of
its original size.

“A shrinking potion,” Hermione said delightedly.

“Precisely Miss Granger,” Snape said without looking at her. “And in this bottle is what you’ll need to unshrink them,
which I’ll put inside the pouch.” He dropped a glass bottle of gray powder into the sack, which was now the size of a
change purse, and handed it to Hermione. “Only unshrink what you need.” And then without another word, he walked away.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched Snape leave, then Ron spun back to them.

“All right, make some room.” He heaved himself onto Buckbeak’s hindquarters and adjusted his stocking cap.

“Ron, maybe you’d better give us each a vial of serum,” Harry suggested.

“I’ve got it,” Ron muttered moodily. “Let’s just get this bird off the ground. Find the mirror so you can save the world
and I can graduate and get a job as an honorary House Elf.”

To be continued….

------------------------------------------------------------------------

3. Chapter Three: Medusa's Mirror

Harry Potter and the Perseus Castle

By Ahn Na Blue

Standard Disclaimer: We all know who owns Harry Potter. And we all know it isn’t me.

Chapter Three: Medusa’s Mirror

Before they had left, Hagrid told them to head straight north from Hogwarts, then to follow the Trail of Tears, an icy
river that wound northeast into the mountains. The river would go underground then, so they would have to fly above the
peaks to the center of the mountain cluster, where they would find Sapphire Pool, the glacial lake that fed the Trail of
Tears. The Cave of the Faith was just above that, hidden in the side of a mountain. It was distinguishable by the
glimmer of reflection that shone off the smoothed ice surface of its entrance.

“You guys warm enough?” Harry shouted over his shoulder.

“Yes!” Hermione answered for both of them. “But don’t you think we should fly lower so we can pick up the Trail of
Tears?”

“We’ve a couple of hours yet, if Hagrid’s directions are right. I thought it’d be safer to fly up here. Less likely to
be seen.”

“And it’s bloody cold!” Ron griped.

Harry ignored him and kept urging Buckbeak forward, tucking his face into his scarf and squinting his eyes against the
biting wind. Behind him he heard Hermione say something, and then felt a small scuffle.

“Hey, be careful,” Harry grumbled. “We don’t need to be wasting time catching you if one of you falls off.”

“Harry,” Hermione said with her arms around him again. “You’d better take Buckbeak lower.” He looked back at her,
puzzled, and she motioned over her shoulder to Ron, who was sipping lazily from his Flammarion vial. “Or he’ll drink all
of his serum before we even get to the snow.”

Harry gritted his teeth. Ron, you great prat, he thought to himself, but used the reins to guide Buckbeak lower, until
they were no longer hidden by clouds. It WAS much warmer there, and their necks slowly rose out of their scarves, where
they had been tucked in like turtles’. Buckbeak seemed to enjoy it too, tossing his head and flapping more
enthusiastically. Perhaps Ron had been right, Harry conceded, after all, he didn’t suppose there was much chance of
being spotted. Most of the area was uninhabited, and they were still too high to be easily identified.

“How was that Flammarion serum Ron?” Harry asked. The wind was softer at this altitude and he no longer needed to shout.

“Oh, I didn’t actually drink any,” Ron said rather smarmily. “I just wanted to get you down here. Much nicer isn’t it?”

“Oh Ron, really,” Hermione scolded. She held out her hand and received two of the vials. She passed one up to Harry, who
felt the golden heat in his palm before tucking it into his cloak.

Harry looked over his shoulder periodically as they flew, to make sure they weren’t being tailed by Deatheaters, and
couldn’t help noticing how tightly Ron had his arms wrapped around Hermione’s waist. He gritted his teeth. He didn’t
know what he was so annoyed about; she was his girlfriend, and she obviously had no interest in Ron. He still didn’t
like it. Funny, he had never thought of himself as the possessive type. But then, he had never had anything to be
possessive of before. He tried to refocus his attention on how tightly Hermione was holding onto him, and scanned the
ground searching for the winding river.

It was two hours before they came upon it, but they could make no mistake. The Trail of Tears cut violently through the
green, splashing up in little rapids, and unlike the other rivers they had seen, it was a light, ice blue.

“Follow that river, Buckbeak!” Harry exclaimed, and the three of them leaned forward as the Hippogriff soared faster,
his head cocked to the side to peer at the water.

After another hour of flying, much of which involved zig zagging to keep to the stream (and Harry trying to comfort
Hermione as she moaned ‘I think I’m going to be sick’ repeatedly into his ear) they reached the mountains and were
forced higher as the river disappeared into the cavernous rock. It was bitterly cold up above the peaks, and this time,
they all took out their Flammarion vials and sipped, tasting cinnamon and then feeling the warmth spread right to their
fingertips. Even Harry’s nose, and the tips of his ears felt toasty and dry.

“This stuff’s fantastic,” Ron shouted, his joy at being unfrozen making him momentarily forget his anger with them.
Harry and Hermione laughed in agreement. I might actually have to thank Snape, Harry thought and grinned.

They reached the center of the cloister of mountains, and Harry pulled on the reins, bringing Buckbeak to a standstill
as they surveyed the peaks, quietly flapping. There were eight mountains, arranged in a jagged circle, and all were
heavily shadowed.

“Well?” Ron asked. “Which one is it?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. Buckbeak was rotating slowly to allow them a look at all of the mountain sides. They
were all dark granite and icy, but none of them reflected anything. Harry glanced up reproachfully at the covering of
clouds, which blocked the necessary light and were also threatening to snow. “We might have to check each individual
mountain.”

“That could take awhile,” Ron grumbled. “How long do you reckon this serum lasts?”

Harry was about to tell him to stop being negative and start being helpful, what on earth had Dumbledore sent him along
for anyway, when Hermione pulled out her wand.

“Lumos Solarum!” she shouted, and a bright, sun-like ball emerged from her wand and flew out about twenty meters away.
“Have Buckbeak take a slow circle past the mountains please,” she said matter-of-factly, and Harry obeyed, flying the
hippogriff past each mountainside to allow Hermione’s miniature sun to light it. On the third mountainside, the one
farthest to the west, the light was reflected sharply back to them, making them cover their eyes. Hermione lowered her
wand and the solarum went out.

“There it is,” said Harry lowly.

Buckbeak slid a little on his landing, his hooves skidding and clip-clopping on the icy ledge. The three of them quickly
dismounted, moaning and stretching their legs. Buckbeak stretched too, flexing his back and prodding Harry indignantly
as if to tell him he had a very bony bum.

“Spending all day on a hippogriff doesn’t exactly put you in the questing mood,” Ron said irritably, rubbing his neck.

“Think of poor Buckbeak,” said Hermione. “He’s the one who had to carry us all. I bet he’s hungry.”

“And cold,” added Harry, observing a thin sheen of ice on the hippogriff’s beak.

Hermione led Buckbeak along the side of the cave, where there was no wind, took the small sack from her pocket and
tapped out twelve tiny ferret bodies, each about the size of a tin soldier. Buckbeak peered at them skeptically as she
added a few drops of Flammarion serum to the pile.

“It doesn’t look like much, does it mate,” Ron smirked, patting Buckbeak’s rump. Buckbeak squawked and pawed in
agreement. But then Hermione pulled out the small jar of powder, and dusted the ferrets lightly with it. The ferrets
seemed momentarily to shake, and then swelled to their original size.

“Wow,” Harry marveled, walking closer. He could feel the heat of the serum radiating from the pile. “And…Ew.”

Buckbeak however, did not share his disgust and clicked happily before chomping down his first ferret.

“He should be all right here until we get back,” Hermione smiled.

“Then let’s get going.”

****************************************

Harry led the way into the cave, which despite the cloudy day, was extremely well lit. The Cave of the Faith was
composed completely of ice and mirrors, so every bit of light that came in was reflected off a million surfaces, giving
the whole place an unearthly blue glow. Ron was looking dismally at the mirrors lining the walls. There were hundreds of
them in various shapes and sizes. Harry mentally agreed with him. It seemed like it would take forever to find the right
one.

“Well, any thoughts?” Ron asked loudly and they were each affronted by booming echoes of his words.

“Quietly!” Harry hissed. They both looked to Hermione, who had moved towards the east wall of the cave, and was studying
each mirror. They appeared to be totally ordinary. She was mumbling to herself and shaking her head as she passed each
one.

As they watched, she passed a mirror that ran from floor to ceiling, and as she did, her reflection was not her own, but
Ron’s.

“Oh!” she cried, startled. “Well, this isn’t right.” Harry walked over to her and nodded. It was extremely strange to
hear her voice and see Ron’s mouth moving as the words came out. And then he gasped as well, staring into the mirror.
Staring back at him was not his reflection, but Hermione’s.

“This is weird,” he said, furrowing his brow and watching the Hermione-reflection do the same. Sure enough, as Ron stood
in front of the mirror, he wasn’t Ron, but Harry.

“What I always dreamed of,” Ron sneered, not quite sarcastically, and Harry shot him a dark glance.

Hermione ignored them. “Medusa’s Mirror reflects the truth,” she said solemnly. “You can plainly see that this is NOT
it. But I think we can rule out any ordinary mirrors as well. Medusa’s Mirror must bear some kind of enchantment, so
only look for mirrors that alter your appearance in some way.” She turned to them. “If you think you’ve found it, don’t
touch it. Just call the others over and we’ll all take a look. We don’t want to risk a catastrophe by choosing the wrong
mirror.”

Harry and Ron nodded, and walked off to separate areas of the cave, watching their reflection as they passed each
mirror. Harry paused at long mirrors that showed him to be very fat, and tiny mirrors that reflected him very old.

“Bloody Hell,” he heard Ron exclaim as he passed a mirror that Harry had just moved away from. “This one makes me look
as fat as Goyle!”

The cave was one long tunnel, and Harry was glad that there weren’t separate passageways. All of the tiny, moving Harry
reflections were starting to make him dizzy and disoriented. He was glad that Ron and Hermione were there; they gave him
something solid to anchor his eyes to when they started to go hazy. He was just thinking how nice it was to be talking
to Ron again, even if it was rather hostile, when he happened upon a strange mirror.

The mirror was large, and rectangular, about four meters by six meters, and the surface of it appeared to be rippling
like water, casting no reflection, just a silver blur. But when Harry walked in front of it, the ripples stabilized, and
there he was.

But it wasn’t him. The Harry that stood before him was ragged and panting. He had an angry but determined look on his
face, and his wand was drawn. There was blood on his robes, and on his hands, and the scar that made him famous showed
starkly against his forehead.

“Her- Hermione,” he stammered, unable to look away. “Ron, come over here.”

Hermione reached him first, and as she stepped in front of the mirror it rippled again slightly, to reveal her
reflection. Harry heard her breath catch in her throat. The Hermione in the mirror was loaded down with magic textbooks
and wearing Muggle clothes. Her hair was uncontrollably bushy and she had a look on her face that was both defiant and
ashamed. When she bit her lip, Harry could see that her teeth were just like they were before Madam Pomfrey had
inadvertently straightened them.

“What is it guys?” Ron asked, stepping in front of them to look. The mirror rippled and then cleared to show Ron’s
reflection. Ron’s reflection was angry and mopey looking, with tattered robes that reminded Harry of Professor Lupin’s
when he had first met him on the Hogwarts Express. Ron’s reflection had his wand drawn shakily; the tip held together
with Spellotape. Ron’s reflection stood behind Harry’s, even though the real Ron was standing in front of him. Harry
noticed that Harry and Hermione’s reflections were now holding hands, and frowned in sympathy for his friend.

“I guess this is it then,” Harry said flatly. All three of them were quiet for several seconds, staring into their
reflection. Ron snapped them out of it by walking away.

“Well it couldn’t have been a worse one,” Hermione mused quietly. “It’s enormous. How are we supposed to get it back to
Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know.” Harry had no idea how they were all supposed to fit on Buckbeak and carry a mirror that large for
several hours in the freezing cold. “But we have to get it out of here soon. It’s getting dark out, and I really don’t
fancy being in here in the dark.”

Hermione appeared to be thinking, pacing back and forth. Then she raised her hands excitedly, just as if she had been in
class. Harry smiled at her affectionately.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

She thrust her hand down and used it to whack him in the shoulder instead. She was blushing. “I just had an idea. The
ferrets!”

“What about the ferrets?”

“They’re covered with shrinking potion! Maybe if we rubbed them along the mirror, we could shrink it down until it’s
small enough to carry!”

“You don’t think that’d harm the mirror?” Harry asked doubtfully. He was less than excited about rubbing dead ferrets on
anything.

“It didn’t hurt the ferrets, now did it?” She had her eyebrow raised at him.

“Well no, but they were dead already.”

Hermione took the bag of ferrets out of her cloak. “Let’s just try it, alright? You take some and I’ll take some. Start
on the right-”

“Don’t touch that mirror!”

Harry and Hermione both spun around. Hermione thrust the ferret bag back into her cloak as if she had been caught doing
something against the rules. Ron had shouted at them loudly, and the echoes were still resonating through the cave.
Harry thought he could see the mirrors on the wall shiver, and stood very still.

“What is it Ron?” Hermione asked.

“That’s the wrong mirror.” Ron was standing with his back to them, staring into a mirror the size of a large textbook.
It was shaped like a shield. Harry walked cautiously over to him.

What he saw in the silver glass seemed at once completely right. The reflection showed him, walking with Hermione and
Ron on either side of him, arm in arm. They were dressed in their school robes, and the sun was shining brightly on
their cheeks. And they were laughing.

No matter which one of them stood in front of the mirror, the reflection never changed. It was always the three of them,
walking, and smiling, and happy. The three of them looked at each other, at their scared, alienated faces, and then back
at the mirror. When Harry spoke, his reflection spoke with him. His reflection wore a wide grin.

“This is the truth. This is our truth. We found the right mirror.” He watched as Ron and Hermione’s reflections nodded.

“At least this one’s easier to carry,” Ron said, and for a moment their reflections were perfect matches as they all
three laughed, looking from one to the other. Harry reached out for the mirror and pulled it off the side of the cave.
It came off easily, as if it had only been held there by a weak magnet.

But then the cave began to shake. Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched in horror as the mirrors nearest to the vacated space
cracked sharply, lines running through them like lightning bolts.

“Oh no,” Hermione cried. “It was the wrong one!”

But it couldn’t be. Harry felt certain that the mirror he had in his hands was the right one. Anyway, there was no time
to think about it, because the entire cave seemed to be preparing to send glass shards flying everywhere.

“Get to the entrance!” He shouted. Ron started off immediately, but Hermione fidgeted, looking back at the mirror they
had been going to shrink. Harry saw her hand dart into her cloak. “There’s no time!” He grabbed her by the arm and
dragged her, clutching the mirror in his other hand.

Behind them he could hear sharp pops as mirrors burst and shattered. “Faster!” He yelled as Hermione screamed. The air
inside the cave was getting colder, and it was getting dark with the light from the mirrors going out.

“Harry!” he heard Ron yell from just ahead of them, “Harry, it’s trying to shut us in!”

Harry looked towards the cave opening. There was a shimmering there, and a gathering of cold that he could feel as he
ran towards it. Ice was beginning to form at the cave’s edges. His lungs stung with the cold air. He fought against it
as he saw the opening of the cave ice over in a thin layer.

“Ron, run through it!”

“No!” Ron shouted back, and then, in a weaker voice. “It’s too cold…The ice’ll cut me if I go through…” Ron was slowing
down.

No it won’t, Harry tried to call out to him, but his voice froze in his throat. He caught up with Ron and pulled him
along, clutching both him and Hermione close. They ran at the wall of ice full force, and plowed into it with their
shoulders.

For a moment Harry thought they’d be frozen like that, like fish surprised near the surface, the cold was so intense,
but then they broke through and collapsed on the other side, their lungs fighting not to break.

Ron had taken a gulp of Flammarion serum, but was still shaking. “D-drink,” he shivered hoarsely. Harry raised his own
vial to his lips, feeling like his limbs would crack with the effort. He poured some down and felt better almost
instantly, although, like Ron, he was still shivering.

“You all right mate?” Ron asked, clapping him on the shoulder. “Got the mirror?”

Harry looked down at the shield-shaped silver glass in his lap. It still showed the three of them, laughing- “Hermione!”
he gasped, looking around frantically.

“I’m fine Harry,” she whispered weakly. She was kneeling behind him.

“She was the first one to the serum,” Ron said brightly. “As usual. Probably had it out before we hit the ice, eh
Hermione?”

She blushed. “Actually, I took a few sips as we were running through the cave. I’m sorry, I didn’t have enough of a
voice to tell you to do the same, even with the serum, it was so cold…” She didn’t say any more, because just then Harry
pulled her close and kissed her soundly. “But we got the wrong mirror,” she moaned.

“I don’t think so. This one still feels right.”

“Then why did the cave collapse?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was supposed to. Like it was cursed or something and didn’t want to lose it’s treasure. What do
you think Ron?” Harry looked down. Inside the mirror, they were still walking and smiling. “Ron?” He looked up. Ron was
nowhere to be seen. But he was just here a minute ago, Harry thought, and then remembered the kiss and kicked himself.
He clutched the mirror tightly in his hands. If that was the truth, then things couldn’t go on like this. He looked up
at Hermione regretfully and saw that she was looking at the reflection as well.

“Listen, Hermione,” he began.

“I know Harry,” she said softly. “He’s our friend and he’s hurting.”

“I just don’t think he’ll ever be able to handle this.” Harry watched her as he spoke, but she was still looking down.
“Not now anyway.”

Hermione was starting to breathe strangely, but she nodded.

“Besides, our being just friends, it wasn’t really so bad, was it?”

She shook her head. “So, you think we should go back to being that then? Just friends?” Her voice was carefully
controlled, business-like.

“Yes. Are you all right with that?” Part of him desperately wanted her to say no, to fling herself into his arms and
give him no choice but to be selfish and stay with her forever. But she didn’t. She just sat there quietly, and then her
breath hitched. Harry reached out to touch her face.

“If that’s what you want,” she whispered.

“Hermione, it’s not what I-”

“I’m going to get Buckbeak!” she cried shrilly, and rose to her feet to run to the side of the cave. Harry watched her
go sadly, then stood himself. Once on his feet he could see her with Buckbeak, leaning against him and crying. On the
opposite side of the cave he could see Ron, staring out into the distance and hunched over miserably. He looked into the
mirror, at all of them happy together, and sighed. If this is the road back, he thought, it’s a bloody rough one.

To be continued…

------------------------------------------------------------------------

4. Chapter Four: Draco and Buckbeak?

Harry Potter and the Perseus Castle

By Ahn Na Blue

Standard Disclaimer: We all know who owns Harry Potter. And we all know it isn’t me.

Chapter Four: Draco and Buckbeak?

When the three of them returned to Hogwarts, Harry was quickly summoned by Dumbledore. He didn’t even have time to talk
to Hermione, who turned down Hagrid’s offer of tea with Buckbeak and ran to Gryffindor Tower before anyone could say
another word. Ron however, accepted the offer, and walked with the hippogriff down to Hagrid’s hut.

Once Harry was inside Dumbledore’s office, with the mirror tucked under his arm, he plopped down into a chair without
being asked and grabbed the plate of Professor McGonagall’s cookies off of the desk. Dumbledore watched him swallow
nearly a dozen before he finally spoke.

“Judging from the mirror beneath your arm, I take it the mission was a success?”

Harry swallowed hard. Very hard. The cookies really weren’t all that good, but he tried to smile, because Professor
McGonagall had just entered the room, looking pleased to see him eating. “I’m not sure Professor. I don’t think we found
the right mirror. When I took it off the cave wall, the whole place exploded, started quaking and tried to seal us in.”

Dumbledore’s brow furrowed. “May I see the mirror, Harry?”

“Of course.”

The white bearded wizard studied its depths for several tense seconds before smiling. “This is Medusa’s Mirror.” Behind
him, Harry could hear McGonagall’s sigh of relief.

“It is?” Harry asked excitedly, wondering what Dumbledore had seen to make him so sure.

“Wouldn’t you say so, Minerva? The shape is precisely as described in all of the texts…the reflection is true…you can
feel a low force emanating from it…” Dumbledore set the mirror face down on his desk. “Excellent Harry. And your
companions, are they well?”

“Yes,” Harry said, thinking of them. “I think so. Professor Dumbledore, how am I supposed to use that against
Voldemort?”

“Medusa’s Mirror has many uses. Most having to do with true reflections…but also with true projections. In the right
hands, a witch or wizard’s true power can be projected through the mirror, and thus magnified a thousand fold.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

Dumbledore smiled. “You will Harry. However, it is somewhat of an awkward shape. Difficult to wield. Professor
McGonagall? Would you be so kind?” He handed the mirror to her, and she drew her wand.

Harry watched quietly as Professor McGonagall ran the tip of her wand around all sides of the mirror, leaving behind a
glowing, green trail. Then she tossed the mirror into the air, spinning it end over end.

“Refinitum!” she cried, and as the mirror spun it glowed greener and sparkled, transfiguring itself from a mere plane of
glass into a fancy shield-shaped dressing mirror, complete with handle, by which she caught it. “Here you are, Potter.”

“Perhaps you would like to try projecting your Patronus,” Dumbledore suggested. “That would be an impressive sight.”

Harry glanced down at Medusa’s Mirror, which was angled slightly away from him. The surface was shimmering with energy.
For some reason, he didn’t feel like he could do it. “But, Professors,” he asked them both, “if this is the mirror, why
did the cave seal up?” He saw them exchange looks.

“I don’t know Harry,” Dumbledore answered. “But that is without a doubt, Medusa’s Mirror, and the weapon you will need
to face Voldemort.”

********************************

Harry was getting very tired of leaving Dumbledore’s office so confused. He wanted to talk to Hermione about it, but he
couldn’t seem to find her anywhere. Although admittedly, he did not check the Owlery, because finding her there would
have been a bit too painful, and it might have been enough to make them both go back on their decision.

She’s probably asleep, he thought. They had each slept in shifts on the journey home, the others holding the sleeper up
with the help of a binding charm, but it was still exhausting, all the searching and running and bitter, bitter cold. He
had just made up his mind to return to Gryffindor Tower himself when out of the corner of his eye he saw a shape dart
into the shadows.

“Ron? Hey, Ron!” Harry waved his arm. “Wait a second.”

Ron stopped hesitantly. “Look I just wanted to find out about the mirror. Did we get it? Is it the right one?”

“Yeah,” Harry paused. “At least Dumbledore’s pretty convinced. Listen, about the reflection-”

“Where is it then?”

“It’s in Dumbledore’s office. Listen, Ron-”

“Right. Fine. See you in the Common Room.”

Harry lost his patience and grabbed Ron’s arm, spinning him around. “Look, if you’d just stop being such a bloody awful
git you’d be able to hear an apology!”

Ron was shaking his head and looking at the ground grudgingly. “Harry, I don’t want an apology from you.”

“Well you’re going to get one. After what we saw in the mirror, Hermione and I agree. The three of us…Our
friendship…That’s what defines us. It’s like…” Harry struggled with his words. “It’s like the whole point. And it’s more
important than any one or two of us alone.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that me and Hermione…That’s over,” he felt his stomach jolt painfully. “I guess it was never much to begin
with. Stress you know? About Voldemort and the war and…and it wasn’t as though I could kiss you for comfort, now was
it?” Harry forced a smile and hoped it was convincing. He wished he had put a cheering charm on himself before he had
attempted this speech.

Ron gave a hollow, embarrassed laugh, but still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Harry was starting to get angry. Wasn’t this
what he wanted? Why wasn’t he cracking a joke already?

“So, things are back to normal then? The three of us, just like always?” Ron asked doubtfully.

“Yes. Definitely. Just like always.” Harry thought of Hermione, of the way she rolled her eyes and then grinned right
after. Then he pushed the thought away as Ron feebly suggested that they go get a bite in the Great Hall. “Just like
always,” Harry muttered.

**************************************

But it wasn’t just like always. Not for any of them. The three of them were rarely together except in classes, when
Harry and Hermione would sit on either side of Ron not speaking. In the common room it was always one or the other of
them with Ron, and soon enough, Hermione started drawing away from Ron as well, burying herself in books and
disappearing into a dusty corner of library, or so Harry supposed. He didn’t dare go looking for her.

Things weren’t the same between Harry and Ron either. There was a tenseness that wouldn’t quite let go, and Harry was
constantly wondering if such an uncomfortable bond was worth losing Hermione. But they were Quidditch pals again, and
there were jokes enough to ease their minds.

For weeks he didn’t see Hermione alone. Sometimes he suspected that she had somehow gotten hold of a Marauder’s Map and
was using it to avoid him. But then, on one of his solitary walks through the castle after hours (the Prefects had
stopped bothering him on account of the war, and Neville would only stammer ‘Hello, Harry, nice night for walking’ and
then scurry away) when he bumped right into the Head Girl.

“What are you doing wandering the castle-” she started, and then, recognizing him, fell silent.

“Hermione,” he said, trying to sound happy and failing miserably. “We never see you. They must be working their Head
Girls too hard these days.”

“Well, no,” she said quietly. “I’ve been helping Madam Pomfrey. She’s helping me study field medicine.” She bit her lip.
“Just in case.”

Harry thought she looked dreadfully tired. And sad. Her hair was loose and almost as unruly as his, like it was trying
to hide her pale face, and the shadows beneath her eyes. He wanted to think of something to say. Something clever.
Something genius. Something like she would say, to make things all better. He gritted his teeth in frustration. If only
magic were like that, wave your wand and everything was perfect. Everything was okay. But she was starting to walk away
already, using the silence as cover.

He grabbed her arm; he couldn’t stop himself. Her body was close to his but her face was turned. She wouldn’t say
anything.

“I can’t regret it, you know,” he said, burying his fingers in her hair. “I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. The way it
felt…the softness…”

“Stop, Harry,” she whispered. She was shaking.

But he couldn’t, not now, when he had her so near to him, the scent of her washed away all his resolve. “Hermione,” he
said, leaning his forehead against her. She wanted to turn to him. He could feel it. She was crying with the effort of
resisting. She raised her hand. Stroked his cheek. Then pulled softly away.

“I do regret it,” she said tearfully. “I’ve regretted it ever since you…you…at that stupid cave!”

“I did that because nothing was right. Because the three of us need to be together. Ron can’t handle this now, and
besides, I’m probably going to die anyway and I don’t want to die with all of us fighting!”

“Harry don’t say that!”

“I just wanted everything to go back to the way it was.” She was crumpling before his very eyes, falling apart, but he
knew he couldn’t be the one to put her together again when he’d only have to let her fall back down. He couldn’t go back
on his word to Ron, even though he could plainly see that they had all lost. Things would never be the way they were
before, and by breaking Hermione’s heart he had probably succeeded in losing not one of his friends, but both.

He sighed, feeling miserable. “I’d kiss you again, Hermione. I’d kiss you forever if I could.” He didn’t know why he
needed to say it. “But I can’t. So that morning in the Owlery will have to be my best memory.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling as fresh tears fell. “And mine as well. But this is the price isn’t it? Funny, I always
wondered…” She wiped her eyes, and he fumbled in the silence for something to say. “Back to Gryffindor Tower, Mr.
Potter.” She turned and faded into the shadows. “If I see you here again I’ll take points from the House.”

*************************************

The next time he was summoned to Dumbledore’s office was a few days later, just after dinner in the Great Hall. Harry
was frankly surprised that he had made it through the meal. He was even more surprised when he entered the Headmaster’s
office.

Standing behind a wing backed chair, looking serious as always, was Professor Snape. And sitting in the chair before
him, was Draco Malfoy.

Dumbledore was seated behind his desk opposite them, and motioned for Harry to take the other chair.

“Surprised to see me, Potter?”

“Say it, don’t spray it, Malfoy,” muttered Harry as he sat. Dumbledore was looking from one to the other with a twinkle
of amusement, which vanished as he spoke.

“Something very disturbing has happened, Harry.”

“What is it Professor?”

“Lucius Malfoy, has escaped.” He paused as Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Or rather, he was released. Voldemort
is calling his soldiers home to him. He is preparing for the final phase of the war.”

Harry felt his spine tighten. “When do I leave?”

“You’re not going anywhere, Potter,” sneered Draco contemptuously. “I am.”

“What?!”

“Now, now, Draco,” Dumbledore said softly, but in a tone that demanded respect. “Harry will indeed be leaving, and soon,
but not, I think, before the Holiday Feast and the Yule Ball.”

“We’re holding a Yule Ball?” Harry blurted, thinking of Hermione. “In the middle of a war?”

“Don’t question the Headmaster, Potter,” Snape snarled.

“It’s quite all right Severus,” Dumbledore assured him. “Harry’s confusion is well founded. A party is the last thing
one would expect on the eve of such serious conflict. But I think, that it is just the thing.” He smiled at Harry
knowingly, then turned to Draco. “Sadly, Mr. Malfoy will have to miss the Ball.”

“Does that make me Cinderella?” Draco smirked and Snape kicked the back of his chair, but Dumbledore only laughed at the
Muggle joke.

“Why does Draco have to miss the Ball?” Harry asked.

“Aww, were you hoping for a dance, Potty? Fat chance. That dancing stuff is a bit sissy for me.”

Harry glared at him, so Dumbledore continued. “Draco is leaving tomorrow morning.” Harry looked from the Headmaster to
Malfoy questioningly.

“I’ve volunteered to capture my father. I wouldn’t want him causing you any extra trouble when you have to face off with
You Know Who.”

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. “Professor,” he sputtered. “You can’t let Draco go after his father! He’s more likely
to help him than capture him!”

Draco exploded from his chair, drawing his wand. Harry was on his feet as well, his own wand pointed between Draco’s
eyes. The professors, sat and stood quite still.

“This is what you’ve been aching for, isn’t it Malfoy? A chance to help your good old Dad make a fresh start of it!
Looking to become Voldemort’s top new recruit, are you?”

“If you weren’t the weapon that will turn this war I’d put you on your back for that, Potter. You think you’re so smart,
that just because my father is a Deatheater that I am too.” Draco sneered at him. “Well you’re wrong. I never knew my
father was a Deatheater. And now that I do, my whole life, everything he taught me, was a lie.”

“Nice act, Malfoy. You’re lying.”

“If I was going to lie, I’d do a much better job than this,” Draco hissed. “I’m actually glad my father raised me to be
who I am. Because what you said was right. I don’t intend to capture him.” Draco bared his teeth. “I intend to kill him.
And that’s the truth. Not that you deserve to know it.”

Harry looked hard into the eyes of the boy he had hated since the moment he had seen him over six years ago, and lowered
his wand.

Dumbledore smiled. “Now then. The Yule Ball is being announced as we speak by the heads of each house. Except for the
Slytherins, who are being notified by the honorary Head of Slytherin.”

“Honorary Head of Slytherin?” Harry asked as Draco smiled.

“Yes. Slytherin will need someone to oversee it while Professor Snape is away.”

“Away?”

“Yeah,” Draco grinned. “Professor Snape has agreed to come with me. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.” Draco was
positively beaming. “And we’re taking Buckbeak.”

**************************************

Harry walked into the Common Room in a stupor. He had greatly upset the Fat Lady by mumbling the password and then
ignoring her requests that he repeat himself. After five minutes of shouting at him she had given up and swung herself
open in a huff. His mind was so full of swirling thoughts that he didn’t immediately register Ron and Hermione sitting
near the fire.

“Hey, mate!” Ron called out to him. “Aren’t you going to tell us what happened? Ginny will you sit down already and make
your move?!” Ron’s little sister, Ginny, was pacing slowly across the Common Room. She didn’t look at all interested
about where Harry had been. Strange, since there had been a time when she would have been obsessed with what Harry had
eaten for lunch. Ron shook his head at her as he looked down at the chessboard. “This is the worst game of Wizard Chess
I’ve ever seen. Harry’ll have to take over for you, you know, if you don’t get your head on straight.”

Ginny ignored him, and Harry walked over to where he and Hermione were sitting. Hermione was staring into the fire as
though it were the most interesting thing she had ever seen.

“Just look at this chess board,” Ron was shaking his head. “Even her own bishops are confused.”

“Lucius Malfoy’s escaped,” Harry croaked. Behind him, Ginny was still pacing. Hermione finally looked at him, her face
sharp with concern.

“What are we going to do?” She asked simply.

“Nothing. Draco and Snape are leaving tomorrow morning to go after him.”

Ron released an incredulous laugh, and Hermione looked nonplussed. “So let me get this straight,” Ron smirked. “We’ve
got Snape and Malfoy going after Malfoy. Who’s the thick one who came up with that plan?”

“Dumbledore,” Harry snapped.

“Oh,” Ron muttered.

“And they’re taking Buckbeak.”

“Buckbeak!” Hermione cried. She had very strong feelings for the hippogriff ever since she had helped to save his life
during their third year. “But he hates Draco Malfoy! Does Hagrid know?”

Harry shrugged. He couldn’t seem to wrap his brain around it. Draco and Buckbeak and Snape of all people. Fighting
together and on the right side…

“So they’re leaving in the morning you said? Well I don’t know about you, but I think I’m willing to wake up early on a
Saturday to see them off. Might get to see Draco bucked off a hippogriff! We’re are they taking off from?”

Harry shook his head mutely to signify he didn’t know.

“Ron, we might not be welcome,” Hermione whispered. “If Malfoy and Snape really are doing the right thing, we don’t want
to make them angry right before they leave.”

“Why not? Come on Harry, where are they leaving from?”

Ginny Weasley smacked her brother on the back of the head and scowled at him. At that moment she looked very much like
her mother. “They’re leaving from the clearing on the far side of the Quidditch Pitch. Show up there if you want, but
don’t tell anyone else,” she hissed before stalking away and ducking through the portrait hole.

“What is she talking about? How does she know?” Ron wondered aloud. Harry wondered about it as well, but then stopped
himself. He was far too tired, and was already wondering about far too many things.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said weakly, and walked towards the stairs, not caring that they were whispering in his
wake.

******************************************

It was barely light out when Ron woke Harry the next morning, shaking him vigorously. He was really serious about going
to see Buckbeak off. Harry moaned and opened his eyes to see the blurred face before him, red-haired and grinning, and
already fully dressed.

“Rise and shine mate, time to go wish little blondie bear good journey,” Ron said, pulling back Harry’s bed curtains.

Harry fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table, grumbling about not being dressed, but before he could swing his
feet off the bed, a pair of socks were being charmed over his toes, and slacks and a shirt were walking towards him as
if they were clothing an invisible man. Harry jumped back, startled, and tried to bat the shirt away as it tried to
wrestle itself onto him.

“I still have my pajamas on!”

Ron was laughing, controlling the little scene with calculated swishes of his wand.

“Ron!” Harry shouted, and Ron lowered his wand, causing the enchanted clothes to fall to the floor quite suddenly.

“Better hurry,” Ron said over his shoulder after he turned to go. “I’ll meet you out there. We can get some breakfast
after they’re gone, eh mate? I need some bacon and eggs, some cinnamon toast, a real proper griddle cake…”

Harry could still hear him as he walked down the stairs. What on earth is he so chipper about? Harry wondered. Harry
didn’t think that having Lucius Malfoy, one of the most dangerous Deatheaters known, on the loose was anything to be
joking about. But all of a sudden, Ron as acting like nothing had ever changed between them, being the jolly goof he
usually was. It was strange…

************************************************

Ron’s mood swing was still bothering him as he crossed the Quidditch Pitch, and he didn’t know exactly why. Shouldn’t he
be glad that he and Ron were friends again? Wasn’t this a good sign that Hermione might be quick to follow his example?
But something didn’t add up. He scratched at his scar. Something about the way Ron and Hermione were sitting last night…

Harry was snapped out of his thoughts by Buckbeak’s shrill cry of greeting. The hippogriff had seen him coming and was
tugging happily at his rope. Ron was there, standing near the hippogriff’s hindquarter, and so was Ginny, who was
patting his neck. Draco Malfoy stood at his head, his hands gripping the rope.

“Easy Buckbeak,” Draco said imperiously. No matter whose side he’s on, he’s still a jerk, Harry thought.

“He’s not trying to kill you,” Harry said begrudgingly, reaching up to stroke Buckbeak’s forehead.

“We reached a bit of an agreement over a plate of dead raccoons,” Draco grinned. “Now he’s as sweet as my own puppy.”

“You have a puppy?” Ron snorted.

“Sod off Weas-” Draco started, and then, for some reason, bit back his words.

“Looks like we won’t get to see his face in the dirt after all, Harry,” Ron said, sounding gravely disappointed. Ginny
was looking at her brother scathingly.

Harry turned to Draco, trying to strengthen his stomach enough to be able to wish him good luck. He struggled with it
for a few moments, and then settled on, “So, when are you leaving?”

“As soon as Professor Snape arrives. Hey, look who it is,” Draco sneered, peering over Harry’s shoulder. Harry turned,
and there was Hermione, walking quickly over the wet grass, looking nervous and unsure that she wanted to be there. She
smiled weakly at Harry and then went to stand by Ginny and Ron.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered without meaning to, and Draco grinned. Harry quickly looked away.

“Come to give me a goodbye kiss, Granger?” Draco, said, giving Harry a surprisingly playful elbow.

“I came to say goodbye to Buckbeak,” Hermione growled, stroking the hippogriff’s side.

“Time to go, Mr. Malfoy.” Harry gave a start as he heard Snape’s voice coming out of the forest. Buckbeak stomped and
squawked; Snape was leading a thestral, and Buckbeak wasn’t sure how to feel about the other creature. Snape noticed the
hippogriff’s discomfort and tugged the skeletal horse to a halt, throwing the reins over its head and adjusting its
saddle pack. Harry could tell by the way Snape was handling the creature that he could plainly see it. Harry could see
it as well, but to the others, Snape appeared to be petting thin air. Only people who had seen someone die could see
thestrals. Harry wondered how Snape was able to see them, and then thought of all his years as a Deatheater and decided
he’d rather not know.

When Harry turned around, Draco had mounted Buckbeak, who was flapping his wings, showing off for the thestral.

“Well, Potter, it’s been fun,” Draco smiled. “I’ll be sure to give my father your regards before I kill him.”

Harry paused, then approached the hippogriff and held out his hand. “Don’t die,” he said half-sarcastically.

Draco snorted as he shook it. “What, and leave all the golden snitches for you? I think not.” He laughed as he whirled
Buckbeak around, making Harry jump back. He was staring down at the small crowd, for a moment Harry thought he was
staring at Hermione and clenched his fists. But then he said, “Sorry I have to miss the Ball. Weasley, you give your
sister a dance for me, will you?”

Harry saw Ron start to step forward, his face going red, but Ginny leapt in front of him, staring at Draco. Draco was
grinning. “What are you looking at, Ginevra?” Harry thought she would scowl, but instead she started to giggle, and as
Draco and Buckbeak walked off, following Snape on his thestral, she walked with them.

Ron was muttering angrily to himself and started to stalk back to the castle, shouting “See you at breakfast!” over his
shoulder.

Harry watched him go. Ron had just left him and Hermione alone together, and he hadn’t seemed at all upset about it. A
flutter of hope started in Harry’s stomach. Maybe a reassurance of their friendship was all Ron needed, and now he
wouldn’t be angry if he and Hermione were together!

He also noticed, with another spark of joy, that Hermione wasn’t walking back to the castle. She was standing there
quietly, looking after Draco, Snape and Ginny, but also giving him furtive glances, like she was waiting for him.

“Hermione- would you…would you like to go to breakfast?”

Hermione bit her lip, then nodded quickly and started walking with him. Harry felt a strong wave of relief. Having her
by his side again…he hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. He wanted to take her hand.

“Hermione, about the Yule Ball-”

His words seemed to turn her legs to stone.

“What? What’s the matter?” She had gone very pale, and was staring at the grass and wringing her hands. Harry felt a
pang of guilt over the grief he had caused her. And now it appeared that it had been for nothing, that Ron was fine
after all.

He took her hand. “Well, I was wondering, I mean, if you can forgive me for being such an idiot…”

“I’m going to the Ball with Ron,” she blurted, and he dropped her hand as quickly as he had reached for it.

“You’re what?”

“I’m going to the Ball with-”

“I heard you!” Harry exclaimed, exasperated.

“Then why did you-”

“Why? Just- Why?!”

“He asked me last night, and I said yes, I thought that’s what you’d want me to do,” she said, talking very fast, her
voice rising in desperation.

“What I’d want?” Harry couldn’t believe it. Maybe she was under the Cruciatus Curse. “You think I’d want you to just
forget about me and pick right up with Ron?”

“No!” Hermione’s lips trembled. “I mean, that’s not what this is! We’re just going as friends, do you understand? Just
like you wanted, all of us friends again-”

“Right. Just like I wanted. You two together and me left here-”

She rounded on him, suddenly very, very angry. “What did you expect me to do? You can’t have everything both ways you
know! You can’t tell me I need to forget about you one minute and then stand there and tell me that I shouldn’t be going
to the Ball with anyone else!” She was screeching at him, and he was reminded faintly of Hedwig pecking at him, which
would have been funny if he wasn’t so angry. “You make me miserable and then expect me to stand still and wait until
you’re ready and you’re so selfish sometimes Harry that I can’t…I can’t-” And then she seemed to erupt, the tears flying
down her cheeks, and ran off across the Quidditch Pitch.

“I never told you to forget about me,” he hissed, his scar starting to tingle. Standing alone on the field he didn’t
know if he wanted to cry or punch something. Hermione with Ron…Dancing…Close…He growled in frustration. No wonder Ron
had been in such a good mood.

Harry began to stalk towards the dormitory. He wouldn’t be joining that backstabber for breakfast any time soon. His
scar was burning now; he was positively seething. He cursed Ron in his head, mumbling things like, “Can’t believe I fell
for that nonsense… ‘oh I’m in your shadow, Harry’ ‘oh you’re such a great wizard, Harry’…what rubbish…just wanted to
steal my girl…”

Back in the castle, he almost bowled over Neville, who quickly apologized and excused himself. Harry barely glanced at
him. He was too busy thinking about his EX-best friend, and how sorry he was going to be at the Yule Ball, when Harry
took Hermione back.

To be continued…

AN: Thanks for the reviews. They’ve been terrific and very observant. It’s nice to see people sticking along for the
ride. Two more parts to go.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

5. Chapter Five: The Yule Ball

Harry Potter and the Perseus Castle

By Ahn Na Blue

Standard Disclaimer: We all know who owns Harry Potter. And we all know it isn’t me.

Chapter Five: The Yule Ball

Immediately after the announcement of the Yule Ball, the castle took on a semblance of the normal routine. Gossip was
flying everywhere, particularly from the lips of Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who were spreading information,
founded and unfounded, through the school like they were generating Hogwarts’ version of the Daily Prophet. In all of
that ‘who’s going with whom’ melee was the steady buzz surrounding the subject of Harry and Hermione, who had obviously
broken up. When Lavender discovered that Hermione was going to the Ball with Ron, the steady buzz escalated to a dull
roar.

The student body seemed to find this level of normalcy comforting. Boys with sweaty palms could be seen lingering in the
hallways, waiting around for a particular girl that they intended to ask. Girls were often huddled in protective
gaggles, tossing their heads prettily, then whispering to each other and giggling.

To Harry, this kind of normal was just as annoying as the tense hush that had occupied the school before the Ball
announcement. He still got the stares, only now there were pointing fingers as well, and sniggers from most of the
Slytherin boys, who had come up with a new rendition of “Weasley is Our King” just for the occasion of Ron stealing
Harry’s girlfriend. Hermione didn’t seem to be faring too well either. She always bolted from the classroom the moment
they were dismissed, her head bowed like she might ram through anything that got in her way.

The Yule Ball and Holiday Feast was in three days. Harry still hadn’t asked anyone. After his initial anger about Ron
and Hermione had faded, he didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t even said anything to Ron, who was still acting as though
they were best mates. Hermione wasn’t speaking to him.

Harry walked desolately down a deserted side corridor on the way to lunch. Just ahead of him, the corridor joined a main
hallway, and a throng of students was rushing past. He’d have to merge into it in a few steps, and cringed at the
thought of being so near the other students. What a change from years past, when he had rather enjoyed being popular and
had loved being near his friends. He scuffed his shoes along the stone floor.

“Why in the world are you going with that Weasley anyway?!”

Harry’s head snapped up as he heard a sneering girl’s voice, just in time to see Hermione dart past him in the crowd,
ducking low and trying her best to be invisible. Harry thought maybe he should lend her his cloak.

“I bet Harry dumped you, didn’t he? Can’t imagine he’d want to hang around very long, with you being so terribly ugly!”

Harry bristled. The voice belonged to Pansy Parkinson, a particularly nasty Slytherin. He opened his mouth to tell her
off, when a red headed girl flew onto the scene. It was Ginny.

“Shut your fat mouth Parkinson!”

“Oooh, it’s Weasley number seven! Nice to see that you’ve inherited the family looks.” She crossed her arms across her
chest. Harry noticed that Millicent Bulstrode, an enormous girl who had given Hermione a fair walloping during their
second year, had emerged from the crowd to back Pansy up. Harry moved quickly to stand behind Ginny.

“Do you have a problem, Pansy?” he asked, startling Ginny as she realized he was there.

“Oh no Harry!” Pansy simpered. “Little Miss Weasley and I were just talking about poor Hermione, having to go with the
Weasel after you dumped her…”

“Hermione doesn’t need your sympathy,” Harry spat.

“And she certainly doesn’t want it,” Ginny added wrathfully.

“Well, I suppose,” Pansy sighed. She was mean, but also cowardly, and didn’t have the nerve to continue her insults
before the two of them. “I guess I’m just moody because I don’t have a date for the Ball yet,” she batted her thin
eyelashes. “After all, with dear Draco off on this dangerous mission…”

“He wouldn’t have asked you anyway!” Ginny screamed, and then, as Pansy’s mouth flew open in enraged surprise:
“Petrificus Totalus!” She threw a double full body bind at her and Millicent, who was making to charge. The two girls
fell to the floor with distinct thuds, (one much more distinct than the other) and lay there powerless, their furious
and frightened eyes bulging out of their heads.

“Nice,” Harry mused as they walked away towards the Great Hall.

“Learned that one from Hermione,” said Ginny proudly.

Harry smiled, then thought of something. “Hey Ginny, why don’t you come to the Ball with me this year?”

Ginny stopped in her tracks and looked down at her toes, obviously uncomfortable. Harry put on his best boyish smile,
trying to win her over. It would be perfect, Ron would be weirded out, and Hermione might be a little jealous… and Ginny
knew what was going on, so he wouldn’t be hurting her feelings.

“Come on, what do you say? You’re not going with anyone, are you?”

“I think I’ll probably go with Neville, as soon as he works up the courage to ask me.”

“Neville? Oh, right, sure. You two went together before right?” Harry was floundering awkwardly. He hadn’t thought she’d
say no. The entire Ball was shaping up to be a nightmare. He’d be there alone, and Ron would be snuggling close to
Hermione…

“Harry? Are you all right?”

“What?” Harry hadn’t noticed that his hands were balled into fists and he was shaking. “I’m fine. I’ll see you at
lunch.” And then he pushed past her and stalked into the Great Hall.

Ron waved to him from the table, his plate already heaped with cheese soufflé. Harry hadn’t walked more than three steps
toward him when he heard Professor McGonagall’s voice.

“Mr. Potter, you are to come with me at once!”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and turned to her, his shoulders slumped. “You have got to be kidding me. I didn’t even
make it to the table this time. Can I at least grab a sandwich first?”

****************************

Harry munched gloomily on his sandwich as he walked with Professor McGonagall to Dumbledore’s office. It was chicken
salad and watercress. He had become extremely fond of that type of sandwich since Aunt Petunia had told him that it had
been his mother’s favourite. Now Dobby made several of them every day at the midday meal. Harry stuffed the last bit of
it into his mouth as he entered the room.

“Here he is, Headmaster,” Professor McGonagall said softly, and then gave Harry a little bow and left without meeting
his eyes. Harry frowned. What had that little bow been for? He had never really seen Professor McGonagall stoop before.
Part of him had just assumed that her spine was incapable of bending.

Despite the announcement, Dumbledore hadn’t turned to face him. The formidable wizard was standing before Fawkes’ perch,
stroking the Phoenix, who had his head low and was chirping softly. Harry glanced at the large desk. Medusa’s Mirror
laid upon it, face down. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Why was everyone acting so strangely? What had
happened?

“Professor,” he said as politely as he could. “What’s going on?”

Dumbledore’s only response was a sigh.

Harry’s heart began to thump. Was it Lupin? Or Hagrid? They had yet to return to the castle. “Professor Dumbledore!
What’s happening?” Harry heard the note of urgency in his own voice. He really hoped that Dumbledore would answer
without riddles.

The gray-bearded wizard swished gracefully past him to sit behind his desk, motioning for Harry to sit as well. There
was a particular weariness in the way that he walked.

“Every Auror in the Ministry’s service is en route to Hogwarts.”

“What? Every Auror?” Harry’s mind fought to digest the number.

“To stand against every Deatheater. We will need them all, and more.”

Harry felt a panic rise in his chest. It was a new panic, and yet familiar, because all his life (well, at least since
he was eleven) he had known that it was coming.

“Lucius Malfoy has been captured,” Dumbledore continued. “I received a message from Professor Snape just before dawn. It
seems that young Draco did not kill his father after all. Although,” he added wryly, “according to Severus, it is not
for lack of trying.”

“They’re bringing him back,” Harry whispered. “He can get me into Perseus Castle.”

“That is what we hope. Professor Snape will administer the Veritaserum as soon as Lucius is safely inside the Dungeons.”

“How long do I have?” Harry asked levelly. This was his destiny; there was no running now, even if he had to physically
hold his legs down to prevent them from running from the room, out of Hogwarts, and back to the Muggle-world. To any
Muggle. Even the Dursleys. Even just Dudley.

“A few days,” Dumbledore replied solemnly.

Harry’s heart and stomach were doing somersaults. At this rate, not even Madam Pomfrey would be able to disentangle
them. But the news was too fast. It wasn’t sinking in, that in a few short days, the war would be over, one way, or
another. He would be facing Voldemort, the end at last, the chance to avenge his parents, and Sirius…but the chance to
die as well. His mind raced over the text of the prophecy that he had memorized the moment he heard it, trying to find a
loophole, a clue…

“Not only Aurors will be fighting, Harry.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“This is the final battle. It will require everyone who can be gathered, all of the remaining members of the Order of
the Phoenix, the champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.” He peered intently at Harry through his tiny spectacles.
“And members of your own D.A.”

Their images flashed quickly into Harry’s mind. “No.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I wish it were not so. But it is necessary, I assure you.”

“If I had known what I was training them for, I never would have done it,” Harry said with surprising bitterness. “I
only wanted them to be able to protect themselves.”

“And so they will. And in doing so, they will protect others.”

“But Professor. People are going to die!”

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment. “Your concern is never for yourself, Harry.”

Harry ignored the subtle compliment. “This is what you meant, isn’t it? When you said I wouldn’t be fighting alone? You
knew all along that the D.A. would be there, and all of the Aurors.”

As Dumbledore nodded his gray beard shook. “Yes, Harry, I knew. Professor Trelawney had another of her rare, but very
detailed, true visions. But that is not, exactly, what I meant when I said you were not alone.”

Harry didn’t have time to consider the riddle. He had only days to live. The initial feeling of panic was subsiding to a
dull sadness. In a few days, people would die. Well, Harry thought, if I die, I’m taking Voldemort with me. He thought
of being gone, of the things he would miss. “Hermione…”

“What, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes met Dumbledore’s with determination. “Hermione. You can’t let her fight.” Dumbledore looked unconvinced.
Harry scrambled for an excuse. “What I mean is, she’s been studying field medicine with Madam Pomfrey. She’ll be much
more useful tending to the wounded.” Please don’t put her in in danger, please don’t put her in danger…

“Hermione Granger is the leading member of the D.A. She is needed.” Dumbledore said, raising his eyebrows gently.

“I’ll lock her in a closet,” Harry said simply.

“Harry- she is needed. As is your friend Ronald Weasley.”

“No, not Ron either. I’ll break his wand, I swear it.” Harry’s mind was racing. At least Ron would have his parents
there to look out for him. Hermione would be alone…he’d be fighting Voldemort…he wouldn’t be able to protect her.
“Professor Dumbledore please! You’re the Headmaster of Hogwarts! You can keep them out of this!”

“I assure you I cannot,” Dumbledore said with sincere regret. “And I doubt very much that my forbidding it would keep
them out of the fight, even if I had the authority. They are true Gryffindors, your friends, and-”

“I love her!” Harry half-shouted, and his mouth clapped shut after the words. For a moment his mouth twisted down and he
felt like he might cry. Not in front of Dumbledore, he ordered himself.

But Dumbledore looked extremely pleased. Like he had been trying to coax exactly that response out of Harry in the first
place. “Have you told her?”

Harry shook his head.

Dumbledore sighed. “Young love is never easy, Harry,…LOVE is never easy. I think that it will take three days for us to
prepare…in that time, I strongly suggest that you make your peace…that you leave nothing to regret,” Dumbledore paused.
Harry thought his voice sounded funny. Like he was trying to control his breath. “Well,” the old wizard said,
straightening his hat and redirecting the subject. “For those three days, you are excused from all classes save for
Defense Against the Dark Arts. Your other time will be spent honing your skills with Medusa’s Mirror. I have asked
Professor Moody to help you.”

Harry looked at the mirror with some concern. Somehow, he didn’t feel connected to it. Dumbledore rose to his feet and
handed it to him. Harry rose as well, then turned to go. Halfway to the passage, he turned back.

“Professor Dumbledore?”

“Yes Harry?”

“I just wanted to- I just wanted to thank you.” Harry tried to smile; he was sure it looked sheepish. “For always being
there. For protecting me- for showing me this world.” Dumbledore was smiling sadly. “I want you to know, that it’s all
worth it. I wouldn’t trade it. Not even if it did only last for seven years.”

“Do not resign yourself to death!”

Harry was surprised by the note of urgency in the Headmaster’s voice.

“You are the best hope for us all, Harry, and your parents would be so very proud of you.” Dumbledore straightened, and
looked as commanding as Harry had ever seen him. “And I am proud of you. This is not an easy thing for me to do, sending
you to fight, not easy at all-”

“But there’s no other way,” Harry finished for him. They looked at each other gravely, and then Harry took his leave.

*********************************

The next two days passed with a surreal pace. Harry spent most of his time practicing wielding Medusa’s Mirror with the
help of Professor Moody. But no matter what they tried, he couldn’t get it to work. The mirror just sat in his hand,
shimmering, and reflecting the image of him, Ron, and Hermione walking together and smiling. He couldn’t use the mirror
to project the simplest of spells; he couldn’t even use it to make ‘lumos’ brighter. Trying his Patronus was a joke.

By the middle of the second day, Professor Moody was uttering words that Harry had never heard spoken by a professor.

“We only have one more bloody day!”

“One more day?” Harry asked, feeling the now extremely familiar panic rise above his exhaustion.

“Dumbledore’s prepared the Aurors. Knows the incantation. That ruddy Malfoy spit it out after one sip of Veritaserum.”
Moody clenched his fists and shook them, cursing. “Medusa’s Mirror,” he spat. “What bloody useless-”

“Maybe there’s some kind of incantation we need to activate it,” Harry suggested hopefully.

Professor Moody just grumbled. His magical eye was spinning with rage as it surveyed the mirror. Then he stalked out of
the room, shouting over his shoulder that he was going to put some of the staff to work researching.

Harry stared down at the mirror and fought the urge to break it. He needed it to face Voldemort. He needed it to win, to
avenge his parents, and Sirius, and so many others. He needed it to save the world, and it refused to work.

“If only Hermione were here,” he whispered dismally. She would know what to do. She always knew what to do. Except that
she didn’t even know that he was here.

Dumbledore had insisted that only select members of the student body be informed of the coming battle. A general
announcement would be made after the Yule Ball, but until then, only those directly involved would be told. Therefore,
Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Parvati Patil, and Luna Lovegood were the only ones who knew.

Harry had asked to be the one to tell Ron and Hermione. But so far, he hadn’t. It wasn’t that he was trying to avoid
them, he told himself. It was just that, he didn’t know what to say.

*************************************

The day of the Yule Ball dawned to find Harry crying soundlessly into his pillow. The strain was getting to him, and he
was embarrassed about it. He had been in serious scrapes before, and it hadn’t made him cry. But this time, he carried
the burden alone.

“Good morning, Harry,” Ron chimed, drawing back Harry’s bed curtains. Harry rolled away quickly and began discreetly
wiping his eyes.

“Good morning, Ron. Ready for breakfast?” The affection in his voice was genuine. In the wake of the news, Harry was
much less angry at everyone.

“What kind of question is that? You know I’m a bottomless pit. Why do you think I’m waking you?” Ron chuckled, and then
stopped abruptly as he looked down at Harry’s bed. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, Harry threw the blankets up over his tear-stained pillow. “Nothing.”

“Come on. Out with it. Haven’t you found a date for the Ball yet?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m going alone.”

Ron looked incredulous. “Harry Potter! Going alone?! What kind of ruddy plan is that? Just yesterday Parvati told me
about six pretty Ravenclaws that wanted to go with you, and four stunning Hufflepuffs, not to mention any one of our own
Gryffindors…” Ron leaned down. “She also mentioned a pretty Slytherin was interested, but you and I both know that there
aren’t any pretty Slytherins!”

“Look Ron,” Harry snapped. “I’m going alone, and I’m fine with it.” I’m better than fine with it. That’s the way it
should be, he thought, and his temper cooled with sadness.

Ron looked uncertain. “Are you sure, Harry? Is there- is there maybe something else going on?”

Harry looked up at his friend. There was definite fear in Ron’s voice. “No,” Harry said, forcing the smile that always
convinced him. “Nothing. I’m just an awful moody prat this morning.”

“Well, then let’s get something in your gullet. Hermione’s probably already in the Great Hall.”

**************************

Harry managed to choke down a fried egg and a glass of juice. Ron was chattering away happily with Seamus Finnigan, and
after some hushed whispers, decided to get up and go pull an exploding griddle cake prank on Parvati, Seamus’
girlfriend, who according to him, needed some cheering up. Harry didn’t think that her breakfast blowing up in her face
would do the trick. He knew why she was upset. She would be standing in the ranks of an army tomorrow, scared to death
that the aim of her stuns would be off.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered from across the table, where she had been observing the way he picked at his food. “What’s
wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re barely eating. Ron might be ‘the bottomless pit’, but you’re ‘the pit with the very very deep bottom’.”

Harry didn’t trust himself to look up at her. She’d see right through him. And he couldn’t tell her. Not yet. He wanted
her to have one last night free, before she had to grow up.

“I’m still upset about you and Ron going to the Ball tonight.”

“No, that’s not it.”

Harry smiled, and hid it with his hand and another bite of egg. Why did she have to be such an adorable know-it-all?
“Yes, that is it,” he tried to snap at her. “Why wouldn’t I be upset about it?”

Hermione blushed. “Well of course you’re upset about it. But that’s not what’s bothering you the most.” Her voice
dropped to a whisper. “You haven’t been coming to all of your classes.”

Harry’s eyes watered. She had been watching for him. She hadn’t forgotten about him after all. He smiled sadly. He
supposed he had never really thought that she had.

“Oh Harry,” she whispered, trying not to attract attention to them. The gossip mill was still in full production.
“Please, please tell me.”

More than anything he wanted to. He wanted to break down and have her come to his side of the table so that he could
lean on her, like he always did. He wanted her to hold his hand, and touch his face, and somehow make everything all
right in that Hermione-way of hers. And she would do it. If only he would tell her. If only he would crack. He drew
himself up and slugged down more juice, ready to leave, but she stood up, knocking her plate askew, and grabbed his
hand.

The room went completely silent, so even her whispers couldn’t hide the conversation. All eyes were upon them as Harry
stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

Hermione’s eyes were searching, but Harry didn’t think that they looked scared. In fact, Harry thought that they looked
mostly determined; determined to get whatever he was keeping from her out of him.

“Harry James Potter, I know that something has happened with that mirror, and you had better tell me what it is!” she
hissed.

Harry grinned. He wanted to vanish the table that separated them, but instead, he did something he had never done
before, and leaned close to kiss her on the cheek.

“Have a good time at the Ball tonight, Hermione,” he whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ron watching
intently, so he added, “And you too Ron! I’ll see you both there; I’m just going out flying, the wind is great, I’ll be
out there all day!”

Ron quickly shook the jealous look off of his face and called out, “Okay Harry!” and waved. Harry waved back and left
the Great Hall, hearing the room erupt with noisy speculations the moment he left.

Of course, he wasn’t actually going out on his Firebolt. He was going back to Professor Moody to practice with that
blasted mirror. He glanced back at Ron and Hermione over his shoulder. Hermione was staring after him, and Ron was
looking from him to her and back again. He waved one last time. Oh well, he thought. What they don’t know can’t hurt
them. Not yet anyway.

********************************

The Yule Ball was to be a Ball to end all Balls. And it was, Harry thought as he walked in alone. Sprigs of Holly and
Mistletoe hung suspended in midair, each accompanied by a candle that was enchanted to burn gold, or green, or a rich
red. The air smelled crisp yet laced with spices. The ceiling shone only bright white stars, but along the walls danced
the green and blue hues of the Aurora Borealis. And of course, large, cool snowflakes fell and melted without leaving a
trace of water.

Harry stood in the crowd, wearing black dress robes and looking at the smiling faces around him. They looked blissful.
They didn’t know. And Harry was glad for it. The dancing had not yet commenced, and the couples stood lining the floor,
most hand in hand. Harry’s eyes lingered on the faces of Draco and Ginny, who were standing close by. He watched
Parvati, and Neville and Luna, who had come together. Draco and Ginny’s faces were stone against the laughter of the
rest. Parvati looked like she might cry. Neville looked like he might pass out. Even Luna’s dreamy gaze looked
distracted.

Harry’s attention turned to the Head Table. Dumbledore was rising to his feet, and straightening his hat. The students
immediately quieted.

“Students of the noble houses of Hogwarts,” he said, his voice strong like Harry would always remember it. “Students of
Hufflepuff,” he said and for an instant the candles and the Aurora Borealis shimmered a vibrant yellow. “Students of
Ravenclaw,” he said, and the colors changed to a bright blue. “Students of Slytherin,” caused green to appear. “Students
of Gryffindor,” he said finally, waving his hand for a brilliant mix of red and gold. “Come together tonight at this
Yule Ball not as members of a particular house. Nor as students of Hogwarts. But as witches. And wizards. And friends.”
There was a sentimental murmur through the crowd as he paused. “To begin the night, I wish to request a very special
dance. Would the following people please proceed to the dance floor for a traditional rendition of ‘the Midwinter
Waltz’.”

As Dumbledore read the names he knew so well, Harry watched them file onto the dance floor. Not only students were
called. Teachers too, joined Draco and Ginny, Neville and Luna, and Parvati and a befuddled Seamus, as the band began to
play. The sight of Snape waltzing with Professor Sprout might have been enough to send Harry rolling on the ground
laughing, if he hadn’t been rendered speechless by something else.

Dumbledore had called a final couple to the floor: Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

Harry had known she would look pretty. He had guessed that she would look beautiful. What he hadn’t counted on was her
being absolutely breathtaking.

She was wearing a Muggle dress. It was a silvery dove grey, with matching evening gloves. It fit and flared in all the
right places, and Harry silently thanked the Muggle seamstress who had made it. Silver jewelry sparkled at her wrists
and throat. Her hair was piled in curls on top of her head.

Harry watched her dance awkwardly across the floor with Ron. He instinctively knew that it wouldn’t be that way if it
were his arms she was in. He knew that they would fit together like to pieces of a puzzle, that they would drift and
sway perfectly to the music without even listening to it. He knew that she would be laughing, and smiling, instead of
making uncomfortable faces when Ron stepped on her toes.

“It would seem that young Draco is not Cinderella after all.”

Harry jumped. “Professor Dumbledore! How did you-”

“I am very quick for an old man, Harry. Though some are even quicker.” Dumbledore was looking at Draco and Ginny,
dancing close, slower than the music.

“Yeah. I never saw that one coming,” Harry admitted, feeling very weird seeing the two of them together.

“Mr. Malfoy has seen something that he wanted. Something that was meant to be his. And he has taken it. He did not
hesitate, he did not pay attention to the wills of others. And he won himself a girl who will stand by him. Come what
may.”

Pretty lucky for a stupid git, Harry wanted to say, but when he looked back at Dumbledore, he noticed that the wizard
wasn’t watching Draco and Ginny anymore, but was staring at Hermione and Ron. They were spinning close, and Harry
thought he saw Hermione look at him longingly over Ron’s shoulder. Ron must have seen it too, because he quickly turned
her around and whirled her to the other side of the floor.

“Hermione Granger, is the brightest witch of her age,” Dumbledore mused. “And you have not yet told her of the coming
battle, like you said that you would.”

Harry blanched, embarrassed as Dumbledore went on. “She has grown to be a lovely girl. So different from when she first
arrived, caring for nothing but books and studies…And Ronald Weasley is her very good friend…But I do not think that it
is he that she wishes to dance with tonight.”

“I don’t know what I should do,” Harry said miserably, watching his girl dance with his best friend.

“I think I did a rather nice job, with this Ball,” Dumbledore mused, seeming to veer off topic. “The Aurora Borealis was
a nice touch, don’t you think? And you know, you must try the punch. It has three different flavors; a different one
each sip.” Dumbledore chuckled. “As for Miss Granger…I hesitate to use the phrase, ‘last chance’, but then, a very
knowledgeable Muggle once said that every chance should be taken like it is your last.” He laid his hand onto Harry’s
shoulder. “You know, Harry, I held this Ball for everyone. For some it will be a last celebration. Perhaps for many. But
most of all, I held this Ball for you.” And then he turned and walked away through the crowd in a whisper of Christmas
colored robes.

Harry looked out at the dancers with a mixture of inspiration and sadness. The Midwinter Waltz had faded into a new
song, and most of the crowd was on the dance floor. Harry stared at Hermione, and she offered him a brave smile. Ron
spun her away, and Harry could see his face going red as he talked angrily to her. Harry’s fists clenched.

As Ron and Hermione danced, she kept stealing glances towards where Harry was standing, and each time Ron got angrier
and angrier, until he was more dragging her around than waltzing.

Finally, they walked off the dance floor, and Ron stuffed Hermione into a corner before heading past Harry towards the
punch bowl. Harry could see silvery tears on her cheeks.

“Ron!” he growled, following him to the punch bowl.

“Oh, hey Harry,” Ron said as though nothing was going on. “Are you having a good time? What about that first dance,
weird eh? What do you think that was all about? There were a lot of us from the D.A. out there.” He was scooping up two
glasses of multicolor punch.

“Ron, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting some punch, mate, it’s bloody hot out there, even with the snowflakes falling.”

“I’m not surprised you’re overheated, with all the wrestling that’s going on!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hermione!” Harry half-shouted. Was Ron blind? “You’re making her cry!”

To Harry’s fury, Ron waved it off. “You know Hermione. She cries at the drop of a hat.” He turned from the punch bowl
and looked out onto the dance floor. “But the one who’s going to be crying is that ferret-faced twit Malfoy! What does
he think he’s doing dancing with my sister!?!”

Harry looked out at Ginny’s sad but smiling face. He hoped that Ron wouldn’t ruin the evening for her. But then, Ron
didn’t know what was coming. He didn’t understand the importance of this last dance. And that, Harry supposed, was his
fault. He should have told them sooner. Both of them. He had wanted them to have more time to be normal, to be unafraid,
but he had also cost them time to come to terms, and make their peace. For all he knew, they’d never see each other
again, after tomorrow.

Harry inhaled deeply. No more procrastinating. It was time. He turned purposefully to Ron and laid his hand on the
taller boy’s shoulder. “Ron, you know you’re my best friend,” he said. “But you also know that I have to have a dance
with her.” Ron started to sputter protests, so Harry poked him in the ribs with his half-concealed wand. “Don’t make me
immobilize you.” Ron’s face turned red, and Harry walked across the dance floor to Hermione.

At first he was afraid she would turn away. He was scared that he’d get tongue-tied and wouldn’t be able to find the
right words. But there was nothing to worry about.

“Forgive me,” he said simply, and held out his hand. She took it, and smiled, and he forgot the end of the world.

Harry had been right. They danced together lightly, perfectly, like they had been partners for years. He twirled her,
then pulled her back in close to him, and she giggled.

“Harry,” she said with some surprise. “You’re a wonderful dancer!”

“I erm, I enchanted my shoes,” he lied, thinking back to a humiliating summer spent helping Dudley learn to tango (which
of course he never did).

“That’s good thinking. I wish you’d told Ron about it; if I were wearing open-toed shoes, there’d be blood on this dance
floor by now.” She smiled at him brightly. The music was slowing down, and he pulled her even closer, their cheeks just
touching. He breathed in her perfume and realized that it was the one that Ron had gotten her for Christmas. Harry
smiled. She was thoughtful; she had known that Ron would appreciate her wearing it.

“Hermione, there’s something I have to tell you.”

He felt her grow tense. “It’s not unpleasant, is it? Can’t it wait until the end of this song?”

He sighed. “All right.” Her waist was so small; he could almost fit his hands around it. And her arms felt so good,
locked behind his neck. She was the reason he would fight tomorrow. No matter what other noble causes there were; she
was the reason.

“You look amazing,” he said. “Better than amazing. I couldn’t breathe when I saw you tonight.” Harry’s own words
surprised him. Where was the fumbling nervous boy with sweaty palms? Miles away from here, he thought with relief.

“It’s my mother’s dress,” she whispered with quiet pride.

“It’s lovely. But it’s not just the dress. It’s you.”

Hermione stopped dancing. Harry stepped back to look into her eyes. They were brimming with tears. Harry smiled. “Ron’s
right. You do cry at the drop of a hat.”

Hermione cried and laughed. “Oh Harry…”

And then he did it. On the dance floor. In front of everyone. He leaned forward and kissed her, her lips cool and soft.
The gentle pressure awakened him, and he thought for a moment that maybe he could tell her everything in that kiss, that
she would just somehow know, like she often did. He opened her lips with his, trying to convey everything he felt in
that instant.

And an instant was how long it lasted.

“Enough!” Ron yelled, causing the music to stop as he forced them apart. “Immobulus or no immobulus I’m not about to let
you go kissing my date while I’m stuck at the punch bowl!”

“Ron, stop!” Hermione cried, grabbing his arm.

He whirled on her, shaking her off. “And you! Some date you are! Supposed to be here with me and you keep stealing
bloody looks at him all night!”

“Ron, you don’t understand,” she pleaded.

The entire ball room was staring at them. Dumbledore was watching with particular interest.

“Don’t yell at her,” Harry growled.

Ron didn’t pay any attention. “What don’t I understand? I understand that you and Harry betrayed me! And then you took
it all back, which was obviously a lie!”

“Of course it was a lie!” Harry interjected. “We lied for you, you great bloody git! We couldn’t bear to see you
hurting.” The glare faltered on Ron’s face. “And then you go and stab me in the back. We broke it off so that we could
all be friends again, not so you could have Hermione!”

Ron looked furious. “If I had my wand, I’d-”

“You’d what?” Harry challenged. The three of them were standing in a small circle of students. None of the teachers were
seeking to intervene. Ginny was pleading with Draco to stop them, but he looked like he’d much rather enjoy the show.

The note in Harry’s voice sent Ron over the edge. He lunged forward, grabbing Harry’s robes and shaking him. But that
was as far as he got, because Seamus and Neville (shouting “I’m Head Boy! I’m Head Boy! Stop it at once!”) grabbed him
by the arms and hauled him off.

In the fray, Harry’s hand had gone to his wand, and there it rested, waiting to be drawn. The feel of it under his
fingers and the knowledge that he had almost used it cooled his temper. This is Ron, he told himself calmly, as he
watched his friend try to struggle free from Seamus and Neville. This is Ron Weasley, and I want to hex his legs off
like he was a Malfoy…

“Hermione,” he said softly and let his hand fall away from his wand to be held out to her.

“Harry,” she said pleadingly, looking at him, then back at Ron, her hand lifting ever so slightly.

Come with me, he thought desperately. We have to have this night, even if we’ll have no others. “Hermione,” he said
again.

“Don’t you go with him,” Ron warned, still being restrained.

She looked at Ron apologetically, and then reached out to Harry.

He gripped her tightly and they ran, listening to Ron’s shouts of ‘Stop!’, out the wide doors and through the halls, and
then into the night.

***********************************************

Harry kept on running until they reached the lake and its protective covering of trees. They were both breathless, and
shaking, and Hermione was clinging to him, so he kissed her quickly again and again like he hadn’t seen her in months.
It was impossible for Harry to believe that for six years, she had held the key to this fire in him, and he had never
known.

“Hermione,” he whispered her name, and heard his whispered back as they leaned against the rough bark of a tree.
Dumbledore’s words at the Ball rang in his ears as he pulled back to look at her. Oh, she was beautiful. The moonlight
danced across her gown as it danced across the ice of the lake, and a faint rosy glow could be seen on her cheeks. Their
breath rose in fast, white puffs.

“Keep me warm, Harry,” Hermione said, smiling, and Harry enfolded her within his robes, shivering as her chilly hands
came up to rest on his back. He looked into her bright eyes, then down at her lips, slightly parted. Dumbledore was
right about last chances.

“I love you Hermione Granger.” He watched her and waited with bated breath, and her eyebrows rose and crinkled. She
hadn’t expected that.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?”

“Does that mean you want to say it back?” Harry asked hopefully.

Hermione kissed him slowly, rocking him back on his heels. “Of course I love you, Harry Potter.” Harry had the unique
sensation of a boy at once on top of the world and at the end of it. He leaned his forehead against hers, kissed her
again. Her nose felt very cold.

“We need to get somewhere warmer.”

“I could stay here forever,” she sighed.

Forever. Harry frowned. He couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to know. “Hermione-”

“What?” she asked with concern, noticing his expression.

He told her everything, everything he knew about the end that was coming, steadily and quickly. There was no need for
pauses because she didn’t interrupt. She just absorbed it, and her arms tightened around him. He felt a great weight
lifted as he told her the last bit.

“And I’m scared- I’m scared, Hermione. It doesn’t matter that I’ve known it was coming…”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I can’t make the mirror work. I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t do it…”

She didn’t say anything, for once Hermione Granger was completely without helpful suggestions, but reached out
tentatively and traced her forefinger along his scar. She had never touched it before.

“I want you to get away from here,” he said simply. “Go back to your parents. Hide until everything is over.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, Harry.”

“Hermione-”

“No.”

There wouldn’t be any arguing with her; he could see that. Dumbledore was right again. She was a true Gryffindor. “We
have to tell Ron.”

Hermione nodded. She was completely still in his arms. “But could we stay here for a little while longer?” Her voice was
strong, but in the moonlight Harry could see a tear slip down her cheek.

Voldemort, Harry thought with sudden hatred. Why did it have to be tomorrow? Why couldn’t they have just one week, one
trip to Hogsmeade on a proper date, one day to spend in each other’s arms. His scar burned even in the cold.

“It just doesn’t-” Hermione said, reading his mind, her breath finally hitching. “It just doesn’t seem quite fair, does
it?” She was really starting to cry now, and truly Boggart-worthy images flew through Harry’s mind as he held her. If
she died…He couldn’t lose her. Thoughts of his own death paled against the idea of being without her.

“Shh, I love you, I love you,” he whispered.

“But no matter how many times you say it,” Hermione said tearfully. “We can’t pack a lifetime into a couple of hours,
can we?”

****************************************

In the midst of his commingled joy and pain, Harry didn’t notice the shrub to their right, full to the brim with a
certain red-head, who had been listening, and who was crying as well…..

To be concluded….

AN: So nears the end. This one got a little long. Sorry about that. Thanks so much for reading. And for the reviews.
Flames are welcome you know…as long as they’re tons of fun.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

6. Chapter Six: Perseus Castle

Harry Potter and the Perseus Castle

By Ahn Na Blue

Standard Disclaimer: We all know who owns Harry Potter. And we all know it isn’t me.

AN: Here’s the end, which got really long! But I needed it in one part, so please bear with me! I usually save the AN
for the end, but I wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed. I really appreciate it, and have responded to each one,
and will continue to do so, it’s the least I can do since you took the time to write it! Thanks for sticking with me.
Hope to see you at my next fic!

Chapter Six: Perseus Castle

Harry woke up in Ron’s bed with a start, and for a moment, didn’t know where he was. Beyond the drawn bed curtains, he
could hear a definite bustling, and snippets of tense conversation. Leaning over, he carefully threaded a finger through
the curtains and squinted against the bright light of morning.

On every bed lay an open trunk, most nearly full with belongings, socks hanging out at odd angles, and new Christmas
sweaters jammed in without folding. On the bed next to him, Colin Creevey was leaning on his trunk, trying to force it
shut.

“What’s happening? What’s happening? Colin, do you know?” Harry heard a small frightened voice ask, and a thin, black
haired first year came into view.

“Lean on this for me, will you?” said Colin, his trusty camera around his neck. He wasn’t about to risk it being crushed
with the rest of his things. The first year looked at the bulging case uncertainly for a moment before throwing his
weight onto it, and the few extra pounds were enough to allow Colin to latch it shut. Then the two boys stood quietly
against the scampering of the rest. “I don’t know what’s happening, Benjamin. I have a good idea of it, but-” he laid
his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, and Harry thought that he was staring towards Harry’s empty bed. “Look, all I
know for sure is we’ve got to get you packed and ready. We’re supposed to be down to the coaches in fifteen minutes to
catch the Hogwarts Express.”

Harry let the curtain fall closed again, and plunked his head quietly back onto Ron’s pillow. The students were being
evacuated.

“Harry?”

Harry jumped slightly as Hermione’s head came up beside him. Although his arm had been around her, he hadn’t yet
registered the fact that she was there. He kissed her softly on the forehead before putting his fingers to his lips and
motioning through the curtains with his eyes. She blinked, and then her eyes opened wide as she remembered that she was
in the boys’ dormitory. She grimaced and pulled the blankets up over her face.

Harry smiled as he felt Hermione’s hand sliding across his chest as she snuggled closer, still sleepy. It was so
tempting to stay there, in the warm bed. With the curtains drawn it felt like they were in another world, even with the
sounds of panic going on just a few feet away.

They had only gotten a few hours of rest. After it had become too cold to stay by the lake, they had searched the castle
for Ron, but were unable to find him. So, after a bit of puzzling about what to do next, Harry had smuggled Hermione
into the dormitory, and they had gotten into Ron’s bed to wait. Eventually, they just fell asleep, and now it was
morning. And still no Ron.

But certainly he had to know now, Harry thought. The whole school was being cleared out, except for those fighting.
Someone must have found him, and told him.

Outside the curtain, things were quieting down. Harry could hear trunks being dragged down the stairs, and further away,
could hear the shouts of the Fat Lady as people crammed themselves through the portrait hole.

“Ron never came back,” Hermione whispered.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Harry?”

“What?”

“I’m-I’m a little glad he didn’t come back,” she said shyly. “I know he shouldn’t be alone just now, but, I’m
glad…well…it was nice being here alone with you.”

Harry grinned at Hermione’s blush. He had been thinking the same thing, and feeling a little guilty about it. “I know.
Me too.” Hermione squirmed, and beneath the blankets their legs slid against each other’s, where they had been
inadvertently entwined. Harry looked around uncomfortably, suddenly very aware that they were in a bed together.

“This bed smells like Ron,” Hermione giggled, crinkling her nose. “Doesn’t he ever wash his socks?”

“Only for special occasions.” Harry smiled and peered through the curtain opening. The other beds were in disarray but
had been abandoned. Reluctantly, he lifted himself off the bed and stepped into the morning, holding his hand out to
Hermione, who was wrestling against the sheets, still in her full length gown.

“Oh, hey Harry, I thought you were Ron, so I told the others to let you alone. You know how peeved he gets when we wake
him early.”

Harry froze, and Hermione’s eyes looked like they might fall out. Neville was sitting on his bed, just a few rows away.
His trunk was still beneath it, but he was dressed and his hair was combed. He had his wand out, and was playing with it
nervously.

“Hello, Neville,” Harry said. He was wondering how he was going to get Hermione out of the dorms; Neville didn’t look
terribly keen on moving. But Hermione solved the problem by bursting through the curtains. Harry looked at her, shocked.

“Hi, Neville,” she said with forced normalcy, smoothing some curls down around her face and standing very straight,
trying with all her might to look dignified and not like some tart who had just spent the night sleeping in a room full
of boys.

“Hi Hermione,” Neville said nonchalantly, and then, “What’re you two doing in Ron’s bed?”

“Well,” Harry stammered.

“We were-” Hermione started.

“Waiting for Ron,” they finished together.

“Oh,” Neville said tonelessly. He didn’t ask any more questions. He wasn’t even looking at them. He was just scared, and
pale, and alone. Harry felt for him.

“Hermione, we should get cleaned up.”

She looked from him to Neville, and nodded. “But Harry,” she said with apprehension in her voice.

“No matter what happens, I won’t go anywhere without you. We’ll meet back in the Common Room.” She was looking at him
uncertainly, so he added, “I swear.” She walked away slowly, her hand sliding through his down to the fingertips, and
then ran from the room, and down the stairs, successfully smuggled.

Harry walked over to Neville’s bed. “Did you have a nice time at the Ball?”

“What?” Neville said, startled as though Harry had just appeared. “The Ball? Yeah. Luna’s great. Weird, but great.” He
exhaled deeply. “I never thought I’d be here, Harry. At the end of it all. Me, almost a squib.” He shook his head like
he couldn’t quite believe it.

“You’re nowhere near a squib, Neville,” Harry assured him. “Your parents were great wizards. And so are you. You just
don’t have much confidence. But you remember that year at the Department of Mysteries. You were brilliant.”

Neville didn’t look convinced.

“Dumbledore wouldn’t have chosen you to stay otherwise.”

“I almost wish he hadn’t,” Neville croaked, sounding a lot like Trevor.

“Listen Neville. I’m sorry if I haven’t exactly been a good friend these past few weeks.”

Neville looked up, surprised. “No, Harry, you’ve always been a good friend, I know you’ve been busy…”

“That’s no excuse to forget my friends. You’ve really stuck by me, so, you know,” Harry cleared his throat, “thanks.”

Neville’s chest puffed with pride. “Sure.”

Harry smiled. But speaking of friends, where on earth was Ron?

*************************************

When Harry returned from the showers, he was met on the stairs by Neville, Parvati, and Professor McGonagall.

“Potter! There you are. The members of the D.A. have been summoned to Dumbledore’s office,” said the professor, her eyes
shining nervously behind her square spectacles.

Harry’s heart began its familiar pound. “Yes, just a moment, I have to go back to the Common Room-”

“I’m afraid there’s no time for that. Your presence is required by the Headmaster almost immediately!” In a billow of
dark green robes, she began to usher him back down the shifting staircase.

He slid past her. He had promised Hermione that he would meet her. She would be waiting. “I’ll be right there,
Professor!” Harry called out over his shoulder. “I forgot-er, I forgot the mirror!” Behind him, Professor McGonagall was
sputtering with exasperation that Medusa’s Mirror was safely in Dumbledore’s office, which Harry knew, of course, but he
had reached the portrait hole.

The Fat Lady stared down at him expectantly as Harry racked his brain. The password had changed frequently during the
past week, even more frequently than it had when Sirius had been on the loose.

“Password please,” The Fat Lady said sweetly.

Harry suddenly knew how Neville must have felt all these years. “How about a hint?” he asked hopefully.

“Password please,” she repeated, crossing her chubby arms.

“Oh come on, you know who I am!” He shouted crossly, and then, it came to him, the most simple password of all.
“Dumbledore’s Army, Dumbledore’s Army!” he snapped, and pushed her aside.

He almost fell through, into a deserted Common Room. Hermione wasn’t there. She will be, he told himself. But the room
felt so empty. There were no discarded books, no half-played games of Wizard Chess or Exploding Snap. Not a hint
anywhere that anyone had ever lived there. As the minutes ticked by, Harry started to pace. Where was she? It didn’t
take that long to get showered and dressed, and she had left long before Harry had. He paced faster. What if something
had happened? What if she had been taken? What if-

“Harry!”

His head spun around as she dove through the portrait hole. “Hermione!” She ran to him, and threw herself into his arms.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” she said breathlessly. “Professor Snape caught me in the hall and tried to drag me up
to Dumbledore’s office. It took me forever to get away, in the end I just stepped on his foot, disarmed him and ran…and
I talked to Ginny in the girls’ lavatory and no one’s seen Ron, and-”

Harry grinned at her and pressed his forehead against hers. “Slow down, slow down,” he said, and kissed her lightly.

Hermione’s eyes were jewel-like with emotion. “Oh, I wish I could slow down, Harry. I wish everything would slow down. I
wish this weren’t happening.”

He kissed her again, lingering this time, inhaling her scent and committing it to memory. He knew that she was doing the
same. His hands stole up her back, and she arched into him, and for a moment Harry contemplated finding his cloak and
stealing a thestral, and running, to the ends of the earth if he had to, as along as he could be with her, and they
would be safe.

“We have to go,” he said.

**********************************************

Harry and Hermione walked into Dumbledore’s office unescorted, their hands linked tightly together. The other members of
the D.A., and Draco Malfoy, were already there. Parvati, Luna, and Ginny smiled tremulously at Hermione. Parvati was
crying. Draco gave Harry a haughty sneer, but Harry thought that it lacked conviction, that if Draco hadn’t been holding
onto Ginny, he would have been shaking like a leaf.

Dumbledore had apparently been in the middle of a speech, and looked up to see them enter, a pleased expression on his
face.

“Mr. Potter, at last,” hissed Professor Snape, who was standing to his right, beside Professor McGonagall.

Harry didn’t spare him a glance. “What do we do, Professor?” he asked Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had none of his usual quirky silliness. He spoke just as he did at Harry’s inquisition at the Ministry of
Magic at the start of fifth year. “The Aurors have assembled themselves near the lake. We will join them shortly.
Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and Trelawney will perform the incantation with me. We will hold the castle for
you as long as we can, Harry.”

“Hold the castle? What, you’re bringing it here?”

“Yes. It will float above the mists of the lake. And once it arrives,” Dumbledore said gravely, “Professors Snape,
Moody, Firenze, as well as Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Hagrid, Madame Maxime, Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum, the
Aurors, and of course, all of you, will stand against whatever is to emerge.”

Harry looked around at the disbelieving faces. Hermione had started to shake, so he dropped her hand and wrapped his arm
around her.

“How many Deatheaters are inside?” Hermione asked.

“We don’t know,” Dumbledore said gently. “We don’t know what is inside.”

Professor Snape stepped forward. “We’ll be blasting cover for you to get into the castle. It’s unlikely that Voldemort
will leave the safety of its walls.”

Harry’s palms were sweating. He thought he might drop his wand, and tightened his grip. “But what if I can’t get
through? I mean, what if I can’t get in?”

“I think, Harry,” Dumbledore mused. “That we are lucky that Voldemort believes wholeheartedly in the prophecy. I think,
that he will want you to enter.”

“Harry,” Hermione said into his shoulder, barely above a whisper, and leaned against him.

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked suddenly. No one had mentioned him, and in all the commotion, Harry had forgotten that he was
missing.

The question seemed to stun Professor McGonagall, and she seemed embarrassed, that she could have forgotten about one of
her own Gryffindors. “I- I don’t know,” she stammered.

“Has anyone seen him since the Ball?”

There were only shaking heads for an answer.

“We’ll have to be a man short,” Professor Snape snapped.

“A man short?!” Harry exclaimed. “Ron’s missing, and that’s all you can say? What if he’s been taken? You’ve never cared
about any of the Gryffindors, only your precious Slytherins mattered, it’s a wonder you didn’t just feed the rest of us
to Fluffy-”

Professor Snape had turned as red as a Weasley, but he carefully controlled his tone. “Harry,” he said, making Harry’s
eyes bug out at the use of his first name. “If Ron has indeed been taken, then he was taken by the Deatheaters, and we
will recover him during the battle.” Snape smiled in what Harry thought must have been an attempt to be reassuring, but
only made him look like he was baring his teeth. “But you have to be focused on the fight now. Let the rest of us look
after Ron.”

“Okay,” Harry said uncertainly, wishing Snape would stop doing that curling lip grin and go back to being his regular,
greasy, mean, creepy self.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, and stared into Harry’s eyes. “We must go. Every second we lose is a second that Voldemort
gains.” So, one by one, they filed out of the room, with Hermione, Harry, and Dumbledore bringing up the rear.

***********************************

Harry and Hermione clung to each other against the winter chill. “Oh,” Hermione said softly, looking out onto the misty,
icy surface of the lake. No less than a hundred Aurors were gathered on the shore.

“Get a good look at each other,” Dumbledore called out. “We don’t want any unfortunate mishaps.” His hands went out to
the shoulder of each frightened student walking around him. “Notice that the Aurors are all wearing white scarves; aim
your hexes well.”

Ten yards from the bank, Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Trelawney were huddled beneath a tree, waiting.

“This is where I leave you, Harry.” Professor Dumbledore turned to him, and reached into his robes for Medusa’s Mirror.
Harry took it, gingerly. He still couldn’t work it. The older wizard looked down on him kindly, and patted his upright
hair. “Not even the strongest charm could tame it,” he said, ruffling it fondly. “I will be quite occupied with the
holding spell. I won’t be of much assistance when it comes to protection.” He looked from Harry to Hermione and then
back again. “I trust you two will look after each other?”

“We will,” Hermione nodded, and Harry watched her proudly. She was standing very straight, her face determined. Even
though Harry could see the panic fluttering behind her eyes, she looked to the rest of the world completely composed.

“The brightest and the bravest,” Dumbledore smiled as he walked away.

“This way, this way,” Professor Snape said, leading them towards the center of the group of Aurors. Hagrid, Madame
Maxime, and Fleur Delacour were standing off to the right; Harry and Hermione offered up a wave, and then continued.
They didn’t want Hagrid to start to cry.

Professor Snape stopped them towards the front, just at the ice’s edge. Moody, Remus, and Tonks were beside them. Remus
clapped him on the back. Moody stared straight ahead across the freeze, but his magical eye was spinning at the mirror.
Finally, his other eye gave in.

“Any luck with that bloody mirror?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Harry said, his stomach tightening. He tried to look brave. He wanted to be brave; he was a
Gryffindor after all, and everyone was counting on him. Hermione was there, standing beside him, and that was good,
although he also wished for Ron, and any moment now, something would happen…

“Don’t waste your time on weak curses,” Professor Snape was saying. “Deatheaters are nothing to throw a jelly-legs hex
at. They’ll just throw them off. But don’t do anything, unforgivable either,” he added, looking at Draco.

“This is wartime, Professor,” Draco said, smirking. “Surely anything is forgivable during a war…”

Professor Snape had no time to discipline him. As they watched, wide-eyed, the mist began to roll over the frozen lake
in earnest. Thick, white mist, like a creeping milkshake swirling on the surface, and swallowing their feet. And on the
wind, Harry heard Dumbledore’s clear, noble voice: “Vocate venti fortunate/ ex rege Perseus/ et hic navis flugem regate/
ad orae ubi status!”

The mist lifted, curling like a cloud high into the sky, and there was a collective gasp as it parted all at once, to
reveal Perseus Castle, black and hulking.

****************************************

The castle was monstrous. Shadows danced along its walls even in the bright light of day, and its form seemed to shift
without moving. It was black, very black, but somehow, Harry thought that the color looked false, that the castle wasn’t
really that color at all underneath. The whole place definitely gave him the creeps.

And then the castle opened, revealing its interior with a lowering of a drawbridge of black mist. The silhouettes of
countless Deatheaters were lined up inside.

“Wands at the ready!” Snape shouted to the students. Harry barely had time to lift his hand before the first throng of
Deatheaters came seething through the mist towards them. The battle cries rose, and at once, curses were flying through
the air.

“They’ve got swords!” Moody shouted back to them. “Swords for hand to hand combat! Don’t let them close!” He was
snarling, disarming their attackers right and left.

“Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!” Harry could hear Neville yelling from behind him, and turned to see him blasting out
curses, catching an enemy every time.

Harry was momentarily frozen. He had subconsciously stepped in front of Hermione as the onslaught began, and then stood
there, blinking, trying to see through the mass for a route into the castle. A bright purple light flashed to his left,
and he spun just in time to see Parvati struck. She crumpled, dead before she hit the ground.

“Parvati!” Hermione squealed, and started to go to her.

Draco Malfoy got there first. “Avada Kedavra!” he hissed, and the Deatheater that killed her clutched his chest and
fell. “Don’t just stand there, Potter! Go!” He stood, flinging another unforgivable curse into the crowd. “And don’t
mess up. Don’t leave us dying out here for nothing.” Then he was gone, wrestling through the struggling bodies.

“I have to get in that castle,” Harry shouted to Hermione above the noise. “Can you cover me?”

She shook her head emphatically.

Hermione, he thought desperately, you have to be brave now!

“No, Harry, I’m not leaving you! We’re going in together!” She had grasped onto his sleeve.

“GET DOWN!”

Harry and Hermione ducked just in time to see a green flash of light pass above their heads.

“STUPEFY!”

The Deatheater that had been advancing on them while they spoke fell to the ground in convulsions. Harry turned to see
the source of the hex.

“Ron!”

“You’d better watch it, mate, these Deatheaters are a shifty lot,” he grinned, panting.

“Ron,” Hermione gasped happily. “Where have you been? We thought you were gone, that you’d been taken-”

Ron waved her off. “What? And miss the last charge of Harry Potter and his immortal D.A.? Not in a million.”

Harry was beaming. His best friend was back. “The last charge of the Trio,” he corrected, looking at them proudly.

“Right,” said Ron. “Well, it’s not too bright to push through them, what with those swords.”

“Best to go over them, then,” Hermione supplied, and the three of them raised their wands as six dark robed figures
descended on them, swords and wands pointed.

“IMPEDIMENTA!”

All six, plus more, were blasted back off of their heels. “Run!” Harry screamed, and bolted, with Hermione and Ron just
behind on either side. He could hear Snape and Moody shouting to the others to blast them some cover. They ducked and
cast counter curses, sliding on the ice, and threw themselves into Perseus Castle.

****************************************

“Ouch!” Ron exclaimed. He had thrown himself in rather overzealously and had smacked against a wall. Behind them, the
drawbridge of mist drew closed with a soft, sucking sound. They stared at it for a moment, the finality of the situation
starting to sink in.

“Well, there’s no going back now,” Ron grumbled.

Hermione was looking around. The inside of the castle was the same dank shade of black as the outside, but again
falsely, like another color could be seen just below the surface. They were in the middle of a long oval hall, with
seven darkened doorways along its sides. Torches of green flame flickered brightly above each one, but the combination
of green light against black walls made it difficult to see much of anything.

“You shouldn’t have come with me,” Harry said, squinting at the dismal surroundings. The entire castle felt like one
gigantic dementor; just being inside it made him feel like he’d never again see the sun.

“There’s no way I was letting you come in here alone,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “And besides,” she added, looking
at Ron. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, although maybe the stupidest team in history,” Ron said doubtfully, looking around and tugging his robes, inching
closer to Harry. “What do we do now?”

“Find Voldemort,” said Harry fiercely.

“Better find our Patronuses first!” Hermione squealed, running to Harry and grabbing his arm in fright. He felt Ron also
back against him more tightly.

In the green flickering light, all of the dementors that had vacated Azkaban prison were sliding out of the shadowy
doorways, quickly filling the room and making it go incredibly cold.

“Where’s the Flammarion Serum when you need it,” Ron screeched, his voice cracking.

“That won’t help. The only thing that will save us now are Patronuses. Do you remember how to cast them?” Harry was
fingering Medusa’s Mirror gently. They had backed all the way up to the closed drawbridge.

Hermione nodded, but Ron looked unsure.

“I can’t think of anything happy! I can’t think of anything but madness!”

“It’s the dementors! You have to fight it!” But Harry’s own head was beginning to swim, there were so many, more than he
had ever seen, more than twice the number he had faced with Sirius…

“Harry,” Hermione moaned beside him, making his eyes fly open. “Use the mirror, cast your Patronus…hurry…”

Harry drew the mirror out from within his robes. “Hermione,” he said, procrastinating, knowing the mirror wouldn’t work.
“You have to cast yours too.”

“I’m trying,” she cried. “I’m trying to think of kissing you, of last night, but it’s too tinged with sadness!”

“Then you have to think of something else!”

“I can’t think of anything else!”

The first dementor was bearing down on them, raising its dead hands towards its hood, preparing for the kiss…

Harry searched his mind desperately, and relived the moment that Hermione had told him that she loved him. “Expecto
Patronum!” he shouted, touching the mirror with his wand.

Nothing happened.

Stupid mirror, stupid mirror, Harry thought, as a dementor reached out to grab Ron, who began screaming. It’s over,
Harry thought with defeat, feeling the hope leak out of him. It’s all over.

He gathered Hermione close to him, trying to shield her. “I can’t make it work,” he whispered to her as she went mad.
“It’s the wrong mirror, that’s why the cave collapsed when I took it off the wall…”

Hermione suddenly came alive in his arms. She appeared to be focusing very hard, and then, “Expecto Patronum!” She aimed
her wand at the dementor holding Ron, and a few silvery whisps shot forth, not much, but enough to knock the sick
creature back. Ron fell to the floor with a thud.

“Harry, give the mirror to Ron! Hurry!” Harry did as he was told, and Hermione continued. “Ron! Use it. Cast your
Patronus!”

Ron looked at Harry doubtfully.

“I know you can do it, Ron,” Hermione said strongly, fighting against the pull of a dementor sliding up beside her.

Harry nodded. “Try.”

Ron looked down into the mirror uncertainly. His face brightened at once. Harry knew what he was seeing: the three of
them. Walking and laughing. Together, as they should be.

Ron touched his wand to the mirror’s shining surface. “Expecto Patronum!”

A blinding silver light filled the room, and the dementors shrank back at once. A Patronus, in the shape of a bear,
three times the size of a large Kodiak, erupted from the mirror, grasping the shadowy shapes in its massive forepaws.

Harry felt the life return to his limbs. He and Hermione looked into the surface of the mirror. Smiling, they cast their
charms as well, and Harry’s stag and Hermione’s otter joined the battle. Within minutes, the dementors had returned to
the recesses of the castle, hissing in otherworldly pain.

The stag and otter reared and chattered respectively, and Ron’s great bear gave a mighty roar and slashed the air before
they all disappeared.

“That was bloody incredible!” Ron exclaimed. “Did you see that, Harry? My Patronus?”

“Amazing Ron,” Harry agreed.

“It was so obvious,” Hermione was saying. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.”

“What?” the boys asked.

She shook her head at them, exasperated at their cluelessness. “Of course Harry couldn’t use the mirror. He wasn’t the
one who found it.” When their perplexed expressions didn’t change, she went on. “Don’t you remember? Dumbledore said
that only the person who finds the mirror can use it. And Ron found it. Remember? We were looking at the other mirror.”

“Geez, that’s literal,” Harry grumbled, annoyed at having spent so much time practicing for nothing.

“Rules of magic often are,” Hermione scolded. “That must also be why the cave collapsed when you tried to take it. If
Ron had taken it, I doubt that it would have done anything.”

“Well that’s fantastic,” Harry said sarcastically. “I need that mirror to defeat Voldemort. What am I supposed to do
now?”

Ron looked sheepish, the mirror in his hand. Hermione bit her lip. “Well, either way, we should get going, who knows how
long the others will be able to hold the castle.”

“Right,” Ron said, looking suddenly determined. “I don’t fancy being lost in the mists in this bloody creepy castle,
with Voldemort at the helm.”

Harry was staring at the doorways. Each one looked just as shadowy and forbidding as the rest. At the end of one,
Voldemort was waiting. And that’s the one that I’m supposed to choose, Harry thought sourly.

“Try the mirror, Ron,” Hermione said, and Ron turned his back to the doorways, flashing the mirror at every one. In the
mirrors reflection, the doorways had doors on them, and they were all closed. Except for the doorway just to their left.
“That’s the one,” he said, focusing on keeping his voice steady.

“Off we go then,” said Harry.

“What’s the hurry, little ones?” Came a cackle from behind them. They spun to see Bellatrix LeStrange emerge from the
shadows.

********************************************

Harry’s scar was burning. “Look we don’t have time for you. We’ve got to go kill your boss.”

Bellatrix looked as though she might explode. “WE?!” She screeched. “WE?! I don’t think so, little Potter! The Dark Lord
wants only you. The rest are expendable!” She raised her wand.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry yelled, making it fly out of her hand. “Why aren’t you out helping your cronies?” He advanced on
her, thinking of Sirius, ready to hex her into oblivion, or at least immobility. Too late he heard the diabolical laugh
behind him, as the Deatheater he hadn’t seen lurking threw a killing curse at Hermione.

She spun and gasped, seeing the light come at her, unprepared. She had been too busy watching Harry and Bellatrix.

“NO!” Harry screamed, and ran, time moving molasses slow, as the curse descended. I’m not going to make it, his mind
whined. I’m going to lose her…

“HERMIONE!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron dive, throwing Medusa’s Mirror out in front of him. The curse intended for
Hermione reflected off of it, and magnified itself as it rebounded on its caster. Antonin Dolohov burst into flames and
exploded.

Harry reached Hermione and snatched her out of the way, his arms around her, feeling her shake. Ron hit the ground hard,
and Medusa’s Mirror shattered into a hundred shimmering pieces.

“Oh, Harry, it was just like the last time,” Hermione whispered, quivering.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” he soothed her, kissing her forehead, feeling dizzy with relief.

“Ow, hey mate, are you guys all-”

Ron never got the chance to finish. Bellatrix’s curse caught him full in the side, a red light tearing him apart. Harry
heard Hermione screaming as she ran to Ron, but he turned on LeStrange, hitting her full force with “IMPEDIMENTA!”

She flew back into the wall, but he wasn’t done, he kept on stunning her, making her body twitch as though it were being
electrocuted. You killed Sirius, Harry thought venomously. You hurt Ron…

She was no longer moving, but he cursed her anyway. “Stupefy. Stupefy. STUPEFY!”

“Harry!”

He turned at the sound of Hermione’s voice, which was frightened and weak.

“Harry, I can’t stop the bleeding!”

He ran back to where they were. Ron was lying in a steadily growing puddle of his own blood, and Hermione was kneeling
beside him, trying her best at clotting charms, without much success. Ron was moaning feebly.

Harry knelt across from her and looked down at his friend in panic. Ron was pale, clammy, he was sliding quickly into
shock. Harry stared at Hermione helplessly.

“I can’t heal this,” she cried. “The damage- it’s too extensive. We need Madam Pomfrey!”

“We have to get him out of here,” Harry said, looking towards the drawbridge and thinking of possible curses to blast
through it.

“No…”

They looked down. Ron’s eyes were open. “No,” he repeated. “You heard Hermione before. They can’t hold this place
forever. It’s up to you to finish it, Harry.”

“Ron, you’re hurt.”

Ron smiled. “I’m all right. Hermione can handle it until you get back. But you have to go. You know it.” He looked
fondly up at Hermione. “Hey, this is just like first year, remember?”

Hermione was crying openly. When Ron closed his eyes for a moment, she looked at Harry and shook her head.

Ron can’t die, Harry thought stubbornly. It just isn’t possible. But it was Voldemort who did this, Harry realized. And
the wizard had to pay. For everyone. And Ron was right. There was no one to do it but him.

“You can’t really be thinking of going!” Hermione cried. She was looking in panic at the shards of broken mirror.
“Medusa’s Mirror, it’s-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “Ron was the only one who could use it anyway.” He was staring down the darkened
doorway. He had to go. If he didn’t, one day Voldemort would come to kill them all.

He looked across at Hermione, wiped the tears from her face, mouthed, ‘I love you’.

“Oh, bloody say it out loud,” Ron laughed weakly.

“What?”

“I’ve- I’ve been a big stupid git, all right? I know that-” Ron paused, wincing. “Well, I know what you…what you mean to
each other. And what you mean to me.” He smiled up at them, and Harry squeezed his shoulder. “So you go and save the
world, Harry. And if you don’t kiss her, then I will!” He grinned, and Harry could see traces of blood in his mouth.

Harry didn’t know what to say to Ron. Nothing seemed to be enough. So he leaned across, and did what he was told,
kissing Hermione like he had never kissed her before, tasting her, crushing her to him. He broke the kiss once, then
kissed her again, finally stopping to rest his forehead against hers, her face between his hands.

“I love you.” He drew away but she threw her arms around him.

“I love you too, Harry. You’re a great wizard, you really are, please, please come back-” she sobbed, and reluctantly
released him.

“I will,” he promised. “I’ll be back here for both of you.” He rose, and walked away, not daring to look back. As he
disappeared through the door to Voldemort, he heard Ron say:

“You two! I think I almost got a little drool on me!”

“Oh Ron!” Hermione answered, laughing, and crying, and trying to scold him. Just like always.

*****************************************************************

Walking away from them down that dark corridor was the hardest thing Harry had ever had to do. Along the way several
disturbing thoughts entered his mind, that there might be more Deatheaters waiting, that he was leaving them
unprotected…But he had no other choice.

Ahead of him, the corridor emptied into a very plain chamber, outfitted in the same shade of black. The fire in the
fireplace glowed a menacing green. The only piece of furniture was a high backed armchair, facing the fire. Harry didn’t
have to guess who was sitting in it.

“You got what you wanted; I’m here on my own.”

“To die on your own.” Harry heard the cackle. “Brave like a Gryffindor. Stupid like a Gryffindor.”

Harry had no patience. He fought to conquer his fear, make his voice steady. “Stinky like a Slytherin. We could do this
all night. Are you going to get up, or do you want me to just kill you in that bloody tasteless chair?”

The figure rose with more quickness than Harry could have imagined, and it took all his resolve not to step back. But
the man standing before him was his destiny. There would be no running.

Harry studied him in the green light. So different from the young, handsome, Tom Riddle he had met in the Chamber of
Secrets. This man was twisted, gruesome with cruelty that shone through his even features. Nothing in him was good.

“I have waited, so many years for this, Harry Potter,” Voldemort hissed. “Gaining strength, all the while my only
thought, the thought that has kept me from truly dying, was of the joy of killing you.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Harry said flippantly, trying to cover his panic as Voldemort drew his wand. “You, with that thought
keeping you alive, when I’m the one who’s going to finally kill you.”

Voldemort cast a hasty curse. Harry dodged it, but barely. His arm struck against the wall, making him wince.

“Pain!” Voldemort announced gleefully. “Yes, pain is what I want from you before you die!” He shot out another curse,
and this time he was too fast: it caught Harry in the back and sent him sprawling.

“Foolish boy to stand against the Dark Lord!” He hexed Harry again, twisting his leg this time. Harry cried out in pain.

“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person!” Harry said, regaining his feet. But something in him was changing. The
pain was making his panic subside. He was thinking of Hermione, of Ron, and knowing that whatever he suffered, he had to
win, the pain was nothing, the pain would pass, but those two, his dearest friends, were waiting for him on the other
side of the battle. He couldn’t lose.

Voldemort cast his green light into Harry’s body, driving him back against the wall and twisting his heart. Harry
thought that the pain would drive him mad. He screamed shamelessly for any help that would come, and Voldemort was
laughing, the green light glowing ever brighter. And then, suddenly, Harry wasn’t screaming anymore. His curse faded.

Harry wasn’t even looking at him. He was looking to his left, into the eyes of Sirius, his Godfather. The pain was gone.

“What are you looking at?!” Voldemort shouted, but Harry ignored him.

“This isn’t how it should go, is it, Harry?” Sirius asked him, in his usual confident tone.

Harry shook his head, and smiled, then looked to his right, into the eyes of his mother, and his father.

“You are everything we hoped you’d be,” Lily said, her eyes beautifully bright.

“Everything you need, you have with you,” James added, giving him a wink.

“Thank you,” Harry said, and stepped off the wall, looking at Voldemort at last.

“Who are you talking to?” Voldemort demanded, then smirked as Harry raised his wand. “You cannot stand against me at my
full power!”

“If this is you at full power, then death must have really done a number on you. You look bloody awful.”

Voldemort seethed, and Harry felt, rather than heard, Sirius’ laugh. He knew that if he looked, they would no longer be
there, but it didn’t matter. They were always there. They had never really left him. The power that welled inside him,
that was love, the kind of love that could not be shed. Not by death. Not by anything.

“So many have died for me, because of you,” Harry whispered.

Then he dropped his wand.

“What are you doing? Foolish boy! Have you given up so easily?”

Harry raised his hand, free from hate. He could feel the love of his parents, of Sirius, as surely as if they had been
resting their hands on his shoulders. They were with him. Farther away, but not too far, he could feel Hermione, and
Ron. This is what Dumbledore had meant, Harry realized with a wash of joy. He had never fought alone. Not once.

“Prepare yourself for death, Harry Potter,” Voldemort sneered, spitting his name.

Harry met him with brilliant green eyes, making the older wizard step back. His hand was raised, and he could feel the
power growing within him. It was almost there…He thought of Hermione and Ron, his parents, Sirius…

Harry closed his eyes and uttered an incantation he didn’t know that he knew.

“FULMENOS VENITE!”

Lightning shot from his hand, from his scar, it seemed to emanate from his whole body, surging into Voldemort, making
him scream, destroying him in a blast of blinding white light.

Harry smiled as the power flowed through him easily. He didn’t need that mirror. He was the mirror.

*********************************************************************

“Harry!” Hermione shrieked when she saw him emerge, nearly unscathed, through the doorway. She was crying, but she was
the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. With Voldemort dead, the castle was displaying different colors: ivory white
with orange gold flames emanating from the torches. “When I saw the colors change, I knew, I knew you were all right,”
she sobbed.

He knelt beside her, kissed her lips, her face. Her hands were covered with Ron’s blood. Harry didn’t quite dare look
down.

“What?” Came a feeble voice from below. “No kisses for me?”

“Ron!” Harry laughed with relieved surprise.

“You did it, didn’t you,” Ron smiled weakly. “I told Hermione…I told her…Not to be scared…” Ron’s eyes were swimming.
His pupils were very large.

“Ron?” Harry said uncertainly.

Ron seemed to snap back. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “Have I told you that yet?”

“You don’t have to,” Hermione said softly.

Harry held Ron’s hand. It was ice cold.

“This is just like first year,” Ron whispered. “When you went on ahead and beat the stuffing out of Voldemort. I played
us across the chessboard, do you remember?”

“Yes, Ron, I remember,” Harry said, trying to hold him there, but he was slipping away. “You played us across the
chessboard. You saved us. And now again. Just like first year.”

“Yeah,” Ron smiled, and then his chest spasmed painfully. He quieted. “You know, I love you guys, I really do……Mum’s
going to be mad, these robes are ruined…” And then his head fell to the side, limply.

“We love you too Ron,” cried Hermione desperately. “Do you hear me?”

Harry could plainly see that he couldn’t. Not anymore. He let out a strained moan, feeling something break inside him
that would never be fixed. But Hermione was crying harder, so he tugged her to him, away from Ron’s body, holding her
tight.

As he comforted her, he gave one last look into Ron’s fallen eyes, and smiled sadly. There was a peace there that hadn’t
been there before. And Harry understood. Ron would never be afraid again. He would never have to worry about not being
as good a wizard as Harry. He would never think that he was behind them, in their shadow. Now he would always be walking
beside them, and he would always be a hero.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered gently. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” she cried. “He’s dead…”

Harry just held her. He would try to explain to her someday. But for now he just wanted to ease her pain, keep her warm
and safe. “Let’s get him out of here,” Harry said softly.

**********************************************************

They were met on the drawbridge by Dumbledore, McGonagall, Remus and Moody, and the scattered members of the D.A.

“You’re not holding the castle,” Harry said to the Headmaster.

“With Voldemort vanquished, there is no need to,” Dumbledore said simply. “You control Perseus Castle now. It is yours.”

Harry nodded, although he wasn’t sure that he wanted it. He was holding Ron’s still form in his arms.

The scene on the battlefield was grim. Bodies were scattered everywhere. Down the bank, he could see Madame Maxime
sobbing as Hagrid pulled the body of Fleur Delacour off of the ice, and farther up the hill, lay what looked like a
palomino horse. But he knew it was Firenze. Harry looked at Remus. “Tonks?” he asked, and felt a tightening in his
throat as Remus shook his head. The battle had cost so much.

Professor Snape was stalking towards them, holding his side and limping, trying to bat Madam Pomfrey away with his wand
as she tried to doctor the wound. When he reached them, his eyes rested on Ron, his lip trembling. “Mr. Weasley?”

“He saved us,” Harry said simply watching Professor Snape purse his lips and nod tersely.

“Then he will be honored.”

Harry nodded, looking past Snape to Draco, who was holding an unconscious Ginny in his bleeding arms. Neville and Luna
appeared to be breathless, but okay, except that Luna was crying and humming “Weasley is Our King.” McGonagall was
weeping openly for her lost students.

“You did it, Harry,” Hermione said, forcing Harry to feel some triumph over all the sadness. He smiled at her, the
center of his universe.

“And if he ever comes back, I’ll do it again, I swear it,” Harry said bravely, the wind ruffling his hair.

“I do not think that he will ever come back,” Dumbledore said with wonder in his voice.

Harry looked up. Everyone was staring at him, in a rather strange way.

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione gasped, staring at him as well. “In all the commotion, I didn’t even notice…”

“Notice what?” he asked again, and then let his hand follow where their eyes were looking. He gingerly touched his
hairline, once, then twice.

He gasped with relief, looking smilingly down at Ron, then over at Hermione.

On his forehead, there was no scar.

THE END