Harry Potter and the Death of the Old Rule

HP AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author warning: for the first few chapters, there is two distinct time threads going on. One concerns Hermione, and the other Harry. There is a few switches between the two, so readers, be attentive! A clue: when Harry is present, it is the thread relating to him (I mention that because Hermione appears in Harry's thread). Good reading!

Chapter 1

The pain of moving on

"The month of August is really beautiful this year", Hermione muttered to herself as she looked out the window, trying desperately to contain her tears. Her heart was aching, and she was doing her best to control the slight trembling that had just a few moments ago taken hold of her. She had just been profoundly hurt, and didn't know why. As the plane gained in altitude, she could see the meadows and the hills in the distance, and was wondering why the path she was choosing should be so painful.

-----

It had been an excruciatingly difficult decision, one that had almost driven her insane for weeks. She had asked her parents, trusted teachers, and even Dumbledore, at first. She had then consulted some members of the Order, and nobody had helped. Everyone had been quite nice about it, but "It's your choice" was the common, recurring theme, and she had felt like everybody wanted to keep out of her business, and let her make this crucial decision on her own. Ron had avoided the subject altogether, and she had been hesitant to talk to him about it. Their relationship had gotten somewhat… complicated during their last two years at Hogwarts, mainly due to the fact that they had dated for most of the sixth year. They had more or less broken up during the following summer - but without actually doing it or talking about it. Their final year had been mostly occupied by preparing for final NEWT exams, and by the ongoing conflict between the Order and Voldemort that had finally climaxed into what the Prophecy had said: Harry, barely escaping with his life, had managed to vanquish Voldemort by breaking, after two days of sheer mental battle, the Cruciatus curse that his mortal enemy and two other Death Eaters had managed to inflict upon him. Hermione had been the first to get to Harry, left half naked, bloody, dazed and confused, and shaking violently with pain on the edge of the Forbidden forest. It had taken him a month to recover, and she could still see, at times, the throbbing pain that he still felt whenever he remembered the events. The healers of St-Mungo's had told him he would suffer the repercussions of this encounter for the rest of his life.

It was nevertheless Harry who had helped her decide. She had been at his side every day during his recovery, and during the third week of his stay at St-Mungo's Hospital - seeing he was feeling much better - she had decided to bring up her dilemma.

"Well, it looks like we're gonna have to choose between job offers soon."

Harry looked at her, bemused. "Do you mean you already have some?"

"Well yes!" she said enthusiastically. "Don't you?"

Harry sighed, and suddenly realized that his vision of what the future might hold was rather narrow. Ever since Lord Voldemort's return, he had been living one day at a time.

"I've been rather preoccupied with more urgent things", muttered Harry harshly. "Like fighting Lord Voldemort, for example."

"Of course, Harry, how insensitive of me," said Hermione mortified at the implication of what she had just said. A flush of pink slowly appeared on her cheeks.

Harry regretted his words right away. He didn't want to take away the sense of accomplishment she may have felt; yet, at the same time, looking for employment had not even crossed his mind during his last school year. He felt bad - the ongoing war of the last three years had also taken away some softness from him, and he had answered rather aggressively.

"I'm sorry Hermione, I didn't mean it like that", Harry said with a forced smile. He knew that behind the strong façade she put up most of the time, there was a soft, vulnerable side to Hermione - and he despised himself when that softer side was shaken because of something he said or did. "I mean, it's great that so many people would want to have you working for them, they will be in for a treat! Tell me what the offers are! "

"Well, it's not like there's a crowd lining up, but here's the deal", she said timidly. "The first offer is right here. Right here at Hogwarts, I mean. McGonagall is thinking of switching subject in a year or two - you now, she finally wants a new challenge after some forty years! She would take me on as an assistant-teacher for her Transfiguration class. When she switches, I would become the new Transfiguration teacher."

"Wow!! That's great." Harry imagined himself in a class taught by Hermione, and smirked. He then frowned, like he usually did when he was thinking hard about something.

"What's the matter? Spill it, I know you too well, what's wrong?" Hermione said, apprehensive about what he was about to say, yet at the same time was hoping for an insight that would help her with her gut-wrenching decision.

"Nothing, really. Teaching would kind of be THE logical route for you, wouldn't it? But don't you feel like seeing the world, instead of staying here? That's what I would do myself. I've loved my stay at Hogwarts, don't get me wrong, but I long for something else now. Besides, our seven years here have not been what you could call - uneventful - and I think you'd miss the adventure."

"Well, there's the other job offer. Remember Viktor Krum?"

"Of course, dear ol' Vik! Still after you, is he?" Harry said with a malicious grin, knowing this was bound to set her off.

"Get off it", Hermione answered irritably, "I have enough of Ron to make snide comments whenever he hears the name. He could never -" Hermione suddenly caught herself, as if she hadn't wanted to start that sentence. Harry noticed the sudden shift, but continued looking at her as she seemed to be trying to get back to what she had been saying. He was definitely curious about what had happened between Ron and Hermione, but didn't want to pry.

Hermione continued. "Well, after he graduated from Durmstrang, he started his own broom company, and made a fortune overnight. He called me last week to offer me a research position in his company, something to do with the charms needed to make his particular make of broom more aerodynamic."

Harry laughed, with a hint of glee in his eyes. "It may be useful to remember that you're not the best flyer, Hermione!"

"Well, they have people to test the brooms, if I cannot manage it myself, you know."

Harry suddenly paused, and seemed to realize something. "What if Viktor's interest is more than professional? Didn't he almost have you kidnapped, that summer after our sixth year? You're my friend, Hermione, and I wouldn't let him do that again."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and sighed heavily, discouraged at the question that obviously had been asked many times before. "We sorted that out already! It was a misunderstanding on you and Ron's part, and I didn't feel like giving details at the time. Ron was obviously jealous, and you were too protective". Hermione seemed suddenly perplexed by her own comment about Harry.

Harry's mood suddenly dropped, a burst of anxiety finding its way to the pit of his stomach. "So Romania and Viktor's charms are pulling on you, are they?" He started trembling. Somehow, the thought of Hermione working for Krum in far away Romania was grabbing at something inside.

"I haven't decided anything yet, I'm so unsure." Having noticed Harry's tremors, even though he was trying to hide them, she continued. "I probably should go, you seem tired. You've been through a lot, and here I am burdening you with my stupid choice. I'll see you."

She got up to go, and kissed him on the cheek, as she often did. Harry took this opportunity to whisper in her ear: "Nothing about you is stupid, Hermione. You'll make the right decision."

As she left, he caught himself watching her. As moralizing and self-righteous as she could be sometimes, there was a sweet side to her, especially visible in the way she cared for her friends - more to the point, in the way she worried about him. He would miss her a lot, if she decided to leave.

----------

Harry was running, trying to get free from the maze. Right, then straight, then left. He kept hitting the same dead end, and yet, the piercing screams were getting louder and louder. He then heard it: "NOOOOO, PLEASE ! DON'T, NOOOO. HARRY, HELP - aargh!!" The shriek was suddenly interrupted by a loud thump, too much like the sound of a huge potato sack dropped from one's shoulders directly to the ground. Still running, Harry managed at last to reach the center of the maze, where the cup stood and the screams had been coming from. Too late - Krum was already there, standing over a limp body, a green halo still glittering at the end of his wand. From where he stood, paralyzed, Harry could only see the tangled mass of bushy hair on the ground underneath Krum's muscular frame, and through the curly and bloody strands, the terrified, empty look of those bright brown eyes that had seemed to be looking for him instants before... Instantly, he was sure that ice was now running through is veins, and that his whole body had been cast into a paralyzing coffin of cold, freezing stone.

"HERMIONE! HERMIONE!" Harry screamed as he jumped up from his hospital bed, covered in sweat, shivering uncontrollably and panting as if he had just ran the 100 meter dash. Slowly, reality crept back in. It had just been a dream, a ghastly, horrible nightmare. The same one - it was the third night in a row. He didn't think it a coincidence that the day of his last conversation with Hermione had been followed by the first night where she had started "dying" in his sleep.

It was still dark, but the moonlight coming in from the skylight cast dancing shadows all over the walls. The clock on the side of his bed said 3:45 am. Harry wiped the sweat on his forehead with his forearm, wincing as he went over his scar. It was constantly painful, since his last battle with Voldemort. He was learning to live with the constant, dull and throbbing ache, and trying to function normally.

As Harry caught his breath and reflected upon his dream, he remembered it wasn't the first time that his obsessive fear of Hermione's passing had found a voice in his dreams. Remembering, he traced back the first of these occasional, yet vivid nightmares to the summer following their fifth year - year of the High Inquisitor - during which he had faced great dangers and lived intense emotions with Hermione at his side. During a brief moment in battle, he had really thought her to be dead. He remembered the ripping of his heart at the thought, for that instant in time, that he had lost his best friend forever.

Their relationship had changed, after that fifth year. Though it had seemed deeper because of what they had shared facing Voldemort, they had somewhat been estranged by circumstances, and by her and Ron's personal choices. During the following summer, Dumbledore had strongly insisted that he come to live at Twelve Grimmaud Place with other members of the Order, despite the painful memory of Sirius - and the Dursleys, of course, had been happy to give their blessing. When he had arrived, the first thing he had stumbled upon was Hermione and Ron holding hands, and announcing very awkwardly that they were, well, dating.

The sight had not been shocking to Harry. After all, he had noticed the tensions between Ron and Hermione. They were always bickering and fighting, but yet showed jealousy at each other's involvements with other people.

The relationship, however, had dramatically altered the dynamics of their friendship, and he had felt more or less isolated during the whole school year. That year of solitude had been illuminating in one aspect, though. For the first time, he had realized that his friendship with Ron was very different from his friendship with Hermione. It seemed that with Ron, it could only go skin deep. Sure, they were buddies, partners in crime, they shared a lot together, but it seemed to stop there. Hermione, on the other hand - and despite her tendency to be moralizing and judgemental - knew his thoughts, his worries, his hurts even, often before he could even verbalize them himself. He had always thought it came from the fact that she was a girl, and had generally brushed it aside, but now that he had been away from her most of the time, he noticed he missed her presence. He missed her.

Somehow, she is always the first face I see when I wake up from a life and death situation, Harry thought to himself. He had been trying to avoid thinking about this for the last three weeks, but memories of his last brush with death sent a shiver down his spine. Leaning back and staring at the moon, he recalled the incidents.

Voldemort and his Death eaters were surrounding the grounds of Hogwarts. There was no escaping this time, and the final conflict was unavoidable. They were all stuck inside the castle, ready to fight to their death, when Harry had an idea: if he could just run to the Forbidden Forest, and manage to rally Aragog, the giant spider, and his children, he could perhaps create a diversion; meanwhile members of the Order and students could switch from a defensive position to an offensive thrust for the final attack. Harry thought that if they could force the Death eaters into one area somewhere around the castle, they could then concentrate all their power and give a decisive blow to Voldemort's army. Ron and Hermione were strongly against the idea, since it would mean that Harry would have to be an open target from the moment he'd pass the castle door to get outside. Harry was a step ahead. Before his friends could say anything, he ran to the Gryffindor tower and grabbed his Firebolt. He opened the window, and jumped out as Ron was stepping into their dormitory, screaming, "Don't do it Harry, you'll get killed!"

He got into a high speed dive, the warm summer wind rushing his face, and immediately headed towards Hagrid's cabin, in the back of which he planned to enter the Forest. This was exactly the kind of blunder Voldemort had been waiting for. He knew Harry was keen to rash, impulsive and falsely "heroic" moves, and surrounding the castle had been a strategic step into forcing Harry in a position where he would sooner or later make a mistake.

"I'm almost there," he thought, "C'mon, just a bit faster," he said to himself as a leaned forward on his broom as much as he could.

And then the booming voice came, echoing in the distance. "CRUCIO!" A blinding flash of reddish light appeared out of nowhere on his left side, and he was instantly overtaken by unfathomable pain, as if thousands of white hot knives had just been simultaneously plunged into his flesh. He fell from his broom, which had been shooting at high speed about ten feet high above the ground. Harry landed hard on the grassy meadow just before the entrance to the Forest, writhing with pain, as two other voices resonated in the distance, almost in unison. "Crucio!" Harry had now the distinct impression of being milled between two enormous boulders of uneven, jagged-edged rock, and that he was being skinned alive in the process.

Harry decided he wouldn't go without a fight. If his number was up, he would die as a warrior, just as Sirius had done. But his body had already begun to shut down, his brain unable to process the intensity of the pain that was upon him. Blinded, he could no longer see where he was - but just as if time had suspended its course, his thoughts slowly came into a strange focus, and images from his life started appearing in his mind, as if he were watching a movie : he saw his parents, loving and smiling, then Hagrid, bringing him the letter of admittance to Hogwarts; soon he was on the Hogwarts Express, and witnessed the scene of his first meeting with Ron, followed by the unusual encounter with a high-nosed, snobby and condescending girl that was looking for Neville Longbottom's toad. Somehow, his thoughts locked on that face. It was changing though. Slowly, the large teeth were being replaced by a more proportioned, more natural, and less pronounced overbite. The mass of bushy hair was slowly evolving into a more groomed, wavy, stylish head of hair. The plump, round face narrowed and cheekbones, ever glowing with a subtle tint of pink, appeared. The eyes, however, remained the same. Big, bright brown eyes, that you could get lost into, that could either show you unconditional love and unrestrained approval - or utter disdain. He had focused on the eyes, and forgetting everything else, he had just thought to himself, "NO! I will look into these eyes again."

The pain suddenly lifted somewhat. "I can fight this", he thought to himself, and concentrating with all his might on the eyes, he fought back. Not aware of time, Harry forced himself to think, "No, I will not be defeated." And after two days of this intense battle of the mind, there was an apocalyptic explosion of white light.

Everything after that was somewhat of a foggy sequence of memories. He remembered seeing Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, hovering over him. The Cruciatus curse had been broken, and he had slowly had regained his sight. He still couldn't move, though: every physical part of his body had been severely put to the test, and he had soon started convulsing. The last thing he had seen, before waking up in the hospital, were - again - those brown eyes. They had been filled with tears, and they had seemed to speak to him. "Harry, Harry, oh my God Harry, you can't be gone. I can't lose you, I - I love you." Everything had gone black after that, and he had woken up a week later in the hospital.

That face, those eyes, Harry knew it now, were Hermione's. She had saved him, in a way. But had she really said that, or had he imagined it?

Harry had mused the words in the days that had followed, and had concluded they hadn't been real. He remembered few details of his battle with Voldemort, and memories came back in little pieces.

The clock showed 4h00 am when Harry looked at it again.

"Once again, one of the few persons that really gets me is leaving me." Harry said out loud, and suddenly he felt more depressed than he had ever felt. It seemed people kept exiting his life, that loved ones' departures were the lyrics of the anthem of Harry Potter's existence - his parents had left him, and just recently Sirius. Hagrid had been forced to go into hiding in the last few months, and now... Hermione would probably be leaving him too.

Harry buried his face in his pillow, trying to go back to sleep. After an hour or so, he fell asleep, his face wet from the tears he could no longer hold back.

-->

HP AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author warning: still two distinct time threads going on. Bear with me, there will converge at some point! Remember: Hermione appears in Harry's time sequence!

Chapter 2
Undisclosed secrets

From the cloudless view she had from the airplane window, Hermione had been able to watch the sun set over the Swiss Alps. It was completely dark in the aircraft now, and she was grateful that she could easily conceal herself from the few passengers in the row across.

Her tears had turned to sobs, and she was trying very hard not to make a spectacle of herself. "Why did he say these things?" she wondered. "They're not true! Doesn't he know it was always for him, for Ron, never for me? How could he be so mean?"

She still could see the anger in Harry's eyes as she had left the airport terminal to catch her plane. She didn't understand: after all, she had made her final decision following their talk at the hospital. It seemed to her that Harry would have had no problem with her leaving "to see the world", as he had put it. Granted, they had issues to resolve in their relationship, especially considering their last meeting and what had happened after. But nothing had prepared her for this, or given her any subtle hint that something might have been so wrong.

But obviously, something had been. The biting words still echoed in her head.

"You're so selfish! From the first day that Ron and I met you, I knew you considered yourself above us, and I see now that you've come full circle! You're leaving without a care in the world for your friends. Well! Have a nice life, Hermione."

-----

Harry woke up the next day feeling exhausted. He was going to turn eighteen in a week, but he felt older - much older, in fact - and his body seemed tired beyond any ability to rejuvenate itself. For the first time since the beginning of his hospital recovery, he was letting himself be overwhelmed by the whirlwind of emotions he had forcibly and willingly put aside during his last year at Hogwarts. The truth was he had no energy left to contain them, and like a twig floating desperately on a rushing river, he was being overtaken - and perhaps even in danger of drowning under the intensity and force of his repressed feelings.

Thinking out loud, Harry attempted to sort his emotions. "Let's see, Sirius died at the end of our fifth year, then my friends left me alone for most of my sixth year for the sake of "romance" - the year, incidentally, when I had to come to terms with Sirius's death and was forced to kill in battle for the first time; and this year, well, again I nearly died in battle, Hagrid disappeared into hiding and is nowhere to be found, and now Hermione is leaving." Harry felt a surge of rage mixed with despair mounting within him, and yet crying was all he felt able to do.

Harry closed his eyes and whispered, to himself and to the walls, "What a mess you are, Potter."

His brooding was interrupted by Ron's entrance.

"Good morning, mate!" Ron had arrived for his usual morning chat, and seemed in a cheery mood today.

"Hi Ron", whispered Harry. The dark circles under his eyes did nothing to conceal that he had not slept much the night before.

"Man, you look absolutely terrible. What are they doing to you, aren't you supposed to get better ?" Ron's face showed concern. "Are you getting better?"

"Yeah, I am, it's just. I haven't been sleeping well this week. Nightmares, you know?" Harry didn't really expect Ron to probe further, but to Harry's surprise, he did.

"Even with Vol-Vol-Voldemort gone, you still have them?" Ron had never been comfortable with saying the name, even now that this dark chapter of their lives was finally over.

Harry hesitated before answering. Doing so involved talking about a sensitive subject for Ron: Hermione. All three of them were still undoubtedly "best" friends, but there was a new form of 'political correctness' in the way Ron and Hermione interacted these days, and Harry didn't know just how far he could push the subject.

"Oh, the hell with it", Harry answered, tired of lying, weary of wasting energy on sparing other people's feelings. "The dream was not about Voldemort, Ron." Harry held his breath for a moment, then took the plunge. "It was about Hermione, mate."

"Hermione. Oh, right. Okay." Ron's jaw muscles started twitching nervously, and for a moment he repeatedly combed his hair back with his hand. He opened his mouth to continue, but oddly, nothing seemed to come out.

"It's not what you think, Ron", Harry interrupted urgently as Ron's face seemed to be positively loosing all hint of color. He was no longer combing his hair back, but rather tugging at it quite vigorously. "I dreamed she was killed; and by Viktor Krum, of all people. Can you imagine that? It was horrible, actually! ."

The only reaction on Ron's part was a faint "I see," his face becoming more and more aghast. Harry seized the opportunity, and said with a hushed voice, "How are you two doing, by the way? The last two years have been somewhat of a blur, and we never talked about you and her"

Eyebrows raised, Ron looked at Harry, sighed heavily, and slumped his shoulders. Harry could read remorse and confusion on his face, but at the same time he appeared relieved to finally have a chance to talk about it.

"Well, you know we dated during our sixth year. It started about a week before you arrived at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, two summers ago. Hermione had come a few days early, and she told me she needed to talk to me. She took me upstairs to Buckbeak's room, and told me she liked me - just like that, out of the blue. Before I could say anything more, she kissed me. It felt nice, my heart started beating fast, and I kissed her back. After a while, I said to her, 'Does that mean we are - together?' She laughed, and her smile was so contagious that she didn't have to answer. That's when I noticed, I think for the second time since I had known her, just how pretty she really was. The day you arrived, though, she hurriedly told me that we had to keep it low profile, so that your feelings would not be hurt."

Harry wondered, "Why would my feelings have been hurt? I kinda had seen it coming."

"That's exactly what I told Hermione at that time!" Ron replied, surprised that he and Harry had been - at that time, anyway - on the same page. "But she kind of fumbled her words, and said something about you having just lost Sirius, feeling abandoned, etc., so I didn't go further. So in a nutshell, that's how we started 'dating'."

"Right", replied Harry, "I remember well enough! I got really close to Ginny, Luna and Neville that year."

The smile on Harry's face showed that he wasn't trying to make Ron feel bad. Nevertheless, Ron was well aware they he and Hermione had in fact left Harry to fend for himself that year. He felt somewhat guilty, but just like an infected, painful sore needing to be drained to heal, Ron needed to talk and would not stop - even if it meant making Harry feel uncomfortable.

He continued softly, "It was kind of weird, to say the truth. Sure, at the beginning it seemed to be 'romance', we held hands, we kissed. But then, we were just - Ron and Hermione, there was no sparks, no chemistry - we bickered and argued like we used to, she lectured me on my homework, I told her to get lost… Harry, I kid you not, at one point we were arguing, and I abruptly told her 'Oh stop it Ginny!' That's when I - in fact, we - realized we were only good friends trying to make it into something more."

"So you guys ended it or something?" Harry had been completely left out of the whole scenario, and now curiosity was getting the best of him.

"That's were it gets REALLY awkward, mate. Around May, we kind of both knew it was over. We had stopped meeting in private, we no longer exchanged 'love' notes, and generally tried to avoid one another. It wasn't difficult, since there was so much studying to be done for our final NEWT exams. Then, the year ended, we left for the summer holidays, and I suppose - still - it was the end of it. No owls, no visits, and then no mention of anything the next time we saw each other, when we met you at the Leaky Cauldron at the end of last summer."

"That's not right. Don't you think you two should talk it over, at least?" Harry suggested.

Ron pondered the idea for a moment. "Yeah, but I haven't had the heart to initiate that conversation, and neither has Hermione. We're in a stalemate position."

Harry smiled as he imagined Ron in front of a board of Wizard's chess - his favourite game - trying to figure out his next move in this crazy game of 'love'.

Suddenly, Ron looked at his watch. "Wow, I have to dash, mate, I've got to get ready for the tryouts!"

Harry already knew, from one of Ron's excited visit the week before, that he had been invited to the training camp of the Chutney's Cannons, his favourite professional Quidditch team.

"Go, then, and make us all proud!"

Ron left in a flash, leaving Harry to his reverie. He pondered why Hermione and Ron had not "worked out". Since their fourth year, when they had been unequivocally jealous of each other's date at the Yule ball, Harry had been convinced they had some kind of genuine love chemistry for each other.

"But then again, what do I know?" Harry admonished himself. "I had been so anxious to date Cho Chang, and when the chance came for that relationship to take off, everything went awry". Harry had more or less decided after Cho that dating would have to be put off. First of all, he just didn't share the whole excitement of his schoolmates about the whole process, and secondly, he had more pressing matters weighing down on him - self- preservation and fighting Voldemort being the topmost on the list.

"Perhaps", he thought, "that is also why Hermione did not connect well with Ron. She and I shared some pretty intense moments in battle - unfathomably more than Ron - and facing Voldemort does make everything else look so superficial."

His head was throbbing. He cautiously laid down to rest, nesting the back of his head comfortably on the palms of his outstretched hands.

He gazed at the ceiling. "Girls!", Harry mused out loud, lost in thoughts. "Maybe we scare them. In my case, it's not that difficult to do! It comes naturally! Hey, who wants a date with Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the one who killed Voldemort?” Lowering his voice, he continued, "Yeah, Harry Potter. The freak who lived."

"I know of one girl who doesn't think of you as a freak", a sweet girlish voice said, and Harry straightened up on his bed in a flash, recognizing at once the long flaming red hair floating around a malicious, conniving, freckled face.

"Er, hello Ginny. Ever heard of knocking?" Harry, for one rare moment in his life, blushed at the thought that Ginny might have heard him talk out loud.

"Well, the door was wide open, so I assumed I didn't need to", she said with a sly grin on her face. "I now see that you were having a pretty intense conversation with yourself!"

Harry attempted one of his most scary-looking face. "You must swear you'll never repeat anything you heard, or else..." He failed miserably, however, at containing a huge smile. He and Ginny had gotten closer in the last two years, since she had conveniently filled in for him as seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team when Umbridge had banned him from playing. They truly enjoyed each other's company. He felt safe with her, since she had assured him that her first year crush on Him was long gone by now.

Ginny replied with a well rehearsed, fake expression of terror on her colourful face. "Pleeeaaaase, I will not tell, please do not kill me!"

"Now. What was that piece about a rare 'someone' who doesn't think me a freak? Do tell!" Harry's curiosity had been aroused, but he was sceptical; in his mind, there existed no girl who wasn't - at least a little - scared or insecure of being left alone with him.

"Well. Hermione, of course."

Harry rolled his eyes and let out the breath he was holding in anticipation. He had been expecting someone - anyone - else, and now was rather frustrated. "Ginny! You're such a git! She doesn't count! She's my best friend, AND she's probably as much as a freak as I am!" Harry realized what he had just said, and continued immediately. "Well, in a good way, of course!"

But Ginny was no longer paying serious attention. She continued, "The reason I'm saying that, though, is that Hermione and I have talked a lot in the last two years, and I know things that most people don't. Why, for example, she could never get comfortable in her relationship with Ron."

She suddenly had Harry's full attention. He, himself, had wanted to know that since the previous year, but Hermione herself had never talked about it - and probably wouldn't. Furthermore, he had just heard a bit of Ron's version of things, and eager to know more, he decided hearing Hermione's version - distorted it may be because of Ginny's interpretation of it - might be enlightening.

"So why?"

"I've been asked never to tell you this, but my better judgement is prompting me to tell you now." Ginny winced as she said the words. "It was because of - you, Harry."

Harry raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "What exactly do you mean, because of me?"

Ginny kept silent for a moment, trying very hard to choose her next words very carefully. "Well, Hermione's heart is a deep and mysterious well; my assessment is that she's an intense, complex and somewhat insecure human being. Even with me, she never discloses most of her personal feelings. But from the conversations I've had with her, I've drawn some conclusions."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his bed, sitting up to better look at Ginny while she was talking. He cared about Hermione, and agreed that she was sometimes hard to figure out. He also vividly remembered the time when Ron, during their first year, had made a snide comment that had made her break down in tears. He had seen, back then, that behind the façade, she was very sensitive.

"So, what did you conclude?"

"Before I tell you what I think, let me ask you a few questions. Who knows you more than anyone else, even Ron?"

"Hermione", Harry answered, "but only because she's seen me at my worst and my best!"

"Who - with the exception of yours truly - is not afraid to confront you, and tell you exactly what they think?"

Harry had to concede, again, "Hermione".

"Who, in our fifth year when you first thought you were 'possessed' by Voldemort, refused to accept your momentary self-pity 'episode', in your room at number twelve, Grimmauld Place?"

"Hermione", Harry murmured.

Ginny continued relentlessly. "On that one date in Hogsmeade with Cho Chang, what was the subject of your argument with her?"

Harry gasped. "The fact that I had to interrupt our date to go meet… Hermione!"

Ginny jumped to her next questions. "When Umbridge took over the school, who rallied people around you to form the DA? Who made sure your name was cleared by arranging the interview with The Quibbler?"

Harry was trying to put all the questions together. He had to agree with Ginny, once again, but insisted on another idea.

"It was Hermione, of course. But you know, she's my friend, we established that. These are things friends do for each other!"

"Maybe you should ask yourself if Ron ever did things like that for you… Okay, one last question. In our fifth year, who never left your side from the moment we started our DA meetings to the moment you fought the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries?"

Harry didn't know what to think. Of course, the answer was - once again - Hermione. However, what was he supposed to make out of what Ginny was getting at? Did Hermione have 'feelings' for him he had no idea about? The next thought scared him even more. Could HE have 'feelings' for Hermione? One question was now burning in his mind more than anything else.

"Ginny, you're confusing me. Hermione has never shown anything more than friendship towards me. What are you getting at?"

"Harry", she said softly, "from some of the things she told me, and the way I've seen her interact with you, I think - I think she's in love with you. And I think she has been for a very, very long time."

Harry was at a loss for words. He looked at Ginny in utter disbelief. All of the sudden, a deep surge of warmth came over him, from the pit of his stomach all the way to the roots of his messy hair. He suddenly had an overwhelming desire to see Hermione, to throw his arms around her and hold her real tight like he often did when they played around outside with Ron and the others. But this time, the motivation was different. Out of the blue, he then had a flash of teary brown eyes looking over his bruised body, saying "I can't lose you! I love you."

He composed himself, and snapped himself back to his senses. "Ginny, that can't be right; she's the one that helped me - even pushed me - to get a date with Cho, she NEVER said or did anything to even remotely suggest that she likes me. And when she has such an interest for someone, she goes after it: she did with Krum, and again with Ron."

"Harry," Ginny concluded as she got up to leave, "That's probably because - I'm not even sure she grasps the true nature of her feelings for you."

"Or, more likely, because I'm just a friend to her!" Harry concluded out loud.

Ginny left. Harry was left to entertain this new theory, but somehow it just didn't make sense. Hadn't Ron just told him that they had broken up because they felt more like brother and sister than boyfriend and girlfriend? Besides, hadn't Ginny said that it was her own conclusion?

Hermione was probably going to visit him today. He decided he would try to probe the issue then, but had not idea what to expect. He didn't even know what `love' was, really. At the thought of seeing Hermione, however, Harry was again overtaken by a surge of warmth…

-----

"I'm going! I can't believe I'm doing it, but I'm going to Romania!"

As expected, later that afternoon, a flustered - yet beaming - Hermione came running frantically into Harry's room after having opened the door with a loud bang.

Harry woke up from his nap, wide-eyed and bewildered; his heart accelerated slightly at the sight of Hermione. He suddenly regretted having spoken too quickly about her going "away", to "see the world."

"Man, has anybody been raised to knock before they enter a room?"

"I'm sorry Harry, but the nurses always tell us to just walk in, so that's what we do. And besides, I'm so excited, I wanted you to be the first to know, I can hardly contain myself!"

Harry had rarely seen Hermione so enthused. "So Romania, uh? You're sure this is what you want?"

Hermione looked at him quizzically and answered, "Well, of course I want to go! It won't be easy being far away from friends and family, but you know, it's what life is all about, right?"

"Right," answered Harry, painfully remembering the pattern of his life. People leaving him.

"Look, I found this really great house - well, it's small, but it's just perfect for me - to rent, I've got a picture in -"

Harry interrupted her. He had longed to see her, and somehow he had to talk to her. Looking directly at her, trying to pierce her soul with the gaze of his intense, emerald green eyes, he went straight to the point.

"Hermione? I know this is completely off the subject, but I've been thinking a lot about this during my stay at the hospital. Why did you and Ron, er, break up?"

Had she been a Quidditch player, Hermione's face would have given the impression she had just been winded by an unexpected bludger. Her cheeks instantly turned to a deep shade of purple, and she literally fell on the chair next to the bed, her hands on her mouth and her eyes looking down to avoid Harry's searching gaze. "Uh, it's hard to explain, I think. I'm still sorting out myself all the reasons. I'm not sure I'm even ready to talk about it, to tell you the truth," she said looking up at Harry. "Not with you, anyway." She defiantly held the intense interrogatory look coming from his eyes.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Harry spoke again. He continued softly, "Did I have anything to do with that? Was it because of me?"

Hermione gasped, and tears immediately filled her eyes. Evidently, he had struck a deep nerve, and she had not been expecting the question. "Harry, I - I can't talk about this, not now, not here. Not like this! You wouldn't understand!"

"Try me, Hermione. We're friends, aren't we?" Harry was suddenly more insistent, and he felt a wave of anger mounting within him. He wanted her to say something, anything, about her true feelings - whatever they were.

"I can't Harry, I really can't!" she said wiping her tears with the sleeve of her jacket.

"You mean you won't", Harry replied coldly. He was getting angrier, without knowing exactly why.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Hermione fumbled with the papers she had been so anxious to show Harry, closed her bag, and stood up to leave. She almost sprinted to the door, and then, without thinking, spun around and blurted the answer Harry had been hoping for.

"If you must know, you're right, Harry Potter! It WAS because of you!" She slammed the door, and departed.

Harry was clueless. He realized his anger had something to do with the fact that she was planning to leave without letting him know anything about this. He started feeling that her going to Romania was just an excuse to escape something - something that involved him, and that she wasn't willing to discuss.

-----

"Boy, it feels good to be home again!" Harry was radiant as he crossed the threshold of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, having been released from the hospital at last - after four long weeks. He was greeted by Dobby, his devoted house-elf.

"Good morning, Harry Potter, Sir! Dobby has prepared breakfast, and it will be served soon. Dobby invites Master Harry to sit down at the kitchen table."

Harry had really missed being home. Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, was now legally his. Unbeknownst to Harry then, Sirius had redrafted his Testament upon rejoining the Order of the Phoenix. The revised will stated that Harry was to inherit everything he possessed. Little did Sirius know that his last will and testament would - sadly - have to be carried out just a few months later. To Harry, it meant that he was now financially free and owned a valuable piece of real estate. On top of the small fortune he had officially received from his parents on his eleventh birthday, he had now been bestowed with the entirety of the Black estate, and that meant — well, that he was ridiculously wealthy. With school now over, he would soon need to consider many options in regards to his affairs and, even though it seemed uncertain, his future.

"Not today, though." Something weighed on his mind as he began to eat the delicious breakfast prepared by Dobby.

He had not spoken to Hermione since the day before, and Ginny had come to him that very night - his last evening at the hospital - in a state of panic.

"Harry, what did you tell her?" Ginny had asked.

"Well, to summarize, I asked her if I was the reason for her break-up with Ron," Harry had answered truthfully. "As soon as I asked, she had a meltdown of tears - I seem to cause that a lot - and she almost ran out, but not before blurting that I was right."

Ginny looked at Harry, worried. "I was right, she REALLY didn't expect THAT question. One thing for sure, I just saw her, and she worries me. I've rarely seen her so - broken, for lack of a better word."

Harry had immediately gotten up and started to dress. "I'll go see her, it's my fault, I'll go and straighten this out!"

"No!" Ginny had shrieked, panic-stricken. "She may not want to talk to you, and that will only make things worse. Send her a note, and wait for tomorrow, let her sleep on it."

Harry was nearly finished his breakfast. He couldn't wait any longer. He got up and went upstairs to a room he was now calling his "study": he had decorated the breathtaking mahogany bookshelves that adorned all but one wall of the large room on the last floor of the mansion with all his books from Hogwarts, and many others he had collected from various areas of the house. In the middle of the room, facing the door, was a beautiful, skilfully crafted mahogany work table, on which he usually left papers and other important things he needed to attend to. He sat down on the high-backed, old and comfortable dragon leather chair, took out a roll of parchment and his favourite quill - the gold- trimmed one Hermione had given him as a gift for his seventeenth birthday - and started to write.

Dear Hermione,

I'm writing you because I'm afraid of what may happen if I go to you in person - which was, in fact, my first intention. By sending you this note, I can tell you what I want to say clearly, and avoid the risk of our emotions getting in the way.

I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, or put you in a difficult situation. It's just - I've been trying to find out what happened between you and Ron, it's a year of both your lives I'm missing, and I just wanted to know a few details. I thought I had a general picture after talking to Ron, and that hearing your version would more or less fill in the blanks.

But your reaction has completely thrown me in the dark. Why would I be the reason of your break-up? I've had to live with the fact that I often put you and Ron in danger just because you two are "the friends of Harry Potter", and that's okay. But now, I must bear the burden of being the cause of your unhappiness, as well? I don't feel it's fair, but I don't think I'm getting the full picture either.

Hermione, know that I love you, and that I care deeply for you. I would die before I would let anything happen to you. I can't bear seeing you hurt.

Talk to me, please.

Harry

Harry let out a deep breath. He read the note a second and third time, making sure it couldn't be misinterpreted in any way. He called Hedwig, who seemed to be napping on the top of her cage in the corner of the study. With one flap of her large wings, she crossed the room and landed on Harry's shoulder. She let out a small hoot, and nibbled Harry's ear affectionately.

"Take this to Hermione, please. Make sure you stay with her for a while, I think she needs comforting." Harry knew the white owl had a soothing effect on people, and particularly on Hermione. He gently stroke the bird's feathers, and then let her go.

Hedwig took flight gracefully, slowly rising towards the corner of the huge skylight in the middle of the study's high ceiling, that was left open for that very purpose. Harry looked at her go, and hoped that he had done the right thing this time.

-->

HP AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author note: thank you for all the reviews, and for those who have read chapter 1 and 2 already and were waiting (anxiously I hope) for this one, I suggest a quick second read of chapter 1-2. I made one minor change to clarify the sequence of events, and have put warnings at the beginning to clarify the time threads. For all other readers, welcome to the story!

Chapter 3

New perils in the shadows

The small enclosure was dark, humid, and saturated with the acrid odours typical of old underground tunnels. One could detect the blended aromas of rat and other animal droppings, the acrid smells of a wide range of fluids leaking down from the city above, the fetid smell of sitting water, as well as the putrid stench of decomposing flesh — all this stewing in the hot and damp stillness of an enclosed space that was never refreshed with outside air. In the distance, deep rumblings from the underground trains of London could be heard, mixed with deafening screeches of steel wheels against the tracks and switches, that echoed from every corners of this complex maze of tunnels.

In the corner of the faintly lit room — it had once served as a rest lounge for train conductors, to allow them to sleep and change between shifts — was a shabby bed, on which a form resembling a human body was laid. Another man, wearing a large cloak with a large hood, was calmly tending to the maimed individual, from which a faint moan seemed to be coming.

They both had seemingly been through a difficult ordeal: their cloaks were torn in many places, and dried blood could be seen on the thin lips of the man still standing. There seemed to be little hope for the individual on the bed: he was rasping, trying to catch his breath, and when he turned his body in a supreme effort, the light caught a face that confirmed that death was already starting to settle itself on the ragged body: ashen and white, it was also obscured by contusions due to the lack of oxygenation, and ruptured blood vessels were showing around the eyes and lips.

“Master, please, you shouldn't strain yourself that way, you are very weak”, said the man with the hood, as he put a damp cloth on his accomplice's forehead. There was now a hint of worry in his voice.

“There is no time”, whispered the dying form… “Come here, close to me, before it is too late!”

The tall man kneeled beside the bed, and moved closer in an attempt to hear his master better. He lowered his hood, and his pale, blond hair — somewhat filthy with sweat, dried blood and mud — shined under the flickering light of the candle slowly burning on a pile of old bricks in the corner of the room.

“Faithful Lucius”, murmured the man laying down on the bed, “Potter has grown strong indeed in the last few years… I thought I had conquered death, but — ”

The murmur suddenly became a menacing hissing sound. “I was wrong! I grossly underestimated his powers, and now I will pay the price for my foolishness!”

“MASTER! Do not speak in such a way; you shall live on forever, to uphold all that is pure, all that is beautiful, and all that is unadulterated in the Magical World. I will do anything to help you achieve that purpose, we must further everything we stand for!”

The eyes of the dying wizard — nothing more than ophidian slits, really — were closing and opening with increasing difficulty. “It is true, Lucius, that I will live on. However, I have been mortally wounded. Potter's strength… I should have known from the start to kill the source of it. That's what must be done to defeat him. It is now too late for me, but there is still hope.”

Lucius Malfoy's face became solemn and grave, and if showing emotions had been forthcoming to Malfoy, perhaps one could have detected a hint of sadness. But he was in no case one to give in to girlish tears.

“Master”, he continued with a rigid face, talking between gritted teeth, “tell me what must be done, and your death will be avenged.”

The shadow of a wizard that was left of Lord Voldemort lifted himself up in a supreme effort; he managed to sit up on his death bed.

With a rasping, gurgling voice, Voldemort spat, “Lucius, I have chosen you to be my heir… In the last two years, I have shown you much of what I have mastered in the realm of Dark Magic. You are ready. However, there is two things that you must do before you can take over.”

“But Master, I am unworthy of your greatness”, Malfoy replied with obvious false humility. His eyes were shining with triumph, and if he could have screamed with glee he would have done it. He contained himself, however.

“Malfoy”, blurted Voldemort, “there is no time for nice form and such stupidities. We both know that's what you have wanted all these years. Power — the kind only I possessed. Be glad: your time has come at last!”

Malfoy smirked, and said. “Master, I will ensure that your name will continue to live on, and that a new generation of wizards everywhere will be even more terrified to speak it —”

Urgency appeared on Voldemort's dying face. “There is very little time, Malfoy, let's get to it! First, you need to know how to get rid of Potter for good. When you leave here, you will go straight to my secret hiding place, in the dark forests of Serbia. There is a book there —”

Voldemort had to pause, to catch his breath and try to muster enough energy to finish what he had started to do.

His voice was barely a whisper now. “In this book, in which you'll find the explanation of the one thing that Dark Wizards of all times have feared beyond anything else — it is called `The Old Rule', and it is the reason why Potter has survived our attempts to kill him. Find it, and you'll discover the key to destroying Potter, and avenging my name.”

Malfoy was now grinning with evil satisfaction. “At last! There will be NOTHING to stand in the way of my — er, your greatness, Master! Pure-blood wizards will rule once more!”

Unexpectedly, Voldemort's body did a sudden jerk, and he grabbed his chest in a last gesture of survival. Seconds later, a trickle of dark, almost black blood started oozing from both corners of his mouth and his nostrils, slowly making its way down his chin. Wincing from the pain of death about to take him away, he continued, in a barely audible whisper.

“One last thing… I — I must perform one final, ultimate curse. It will be on myself, but you — you must put your hand on my body, and look — aaargh!” His face twisted into a pitiful expression of sheer torture, as he fought to keep death at bay. “You — you — you must look at me straight in the eyes. Your — your eyes, Malfoy, must NEVER loose contact with mine — or it will all have been in vain.”

Malfoy nodded, and slowly put an unsteady hand on Voldemort's shoulder. He looked into the yellowish, serpentine eyes, and blurted firmly, “I am ready, Master.”

Voldemort took out his wand with difficulty, and prepared — almost with relief — to utter his final words. “Malfoy, this curse will end my life — and transfer all my powers, all my knowledge, all my memories, to you… You — you will become the most powerful and feared wizard in the world…”

Malfoy stiffened, filled with anticipation, excitement, and terror — all at the same time. Without blinking, he continued staring into the eyes of the dying man.

Voldemort then pointed his wand towards his own heart, and with everything he had left, he pronounced the curse: “Avada Kedavra — Heritamenta!!”

The room literally exploded into a blinding flash of green light. Malfoy gripped the shoulder of his master and was suddenly overtaken by a flood of images and memories — he heard for a moment the screams of every victim of Voldemort, relived their terror and, with disgust, felt their desperation and last pleading for the sparing of their pathetic lives. The sheer power of the experience would have been enough to kill any ordinary wizard, but after two years of intense training in the Dark Arts, Lucius Malfoy was no longer “ordinary”. The light then switched to a mixture of gold and red and Malfoy was levitated from the ground into midair. Images from Voldemort's life started appearing all around, and Malfoy saw Tom Riddle during his years at Hogwarts, he saw Harry's parents dying, he relived the painful road to restoration, and scenes of every confrontation with Harry Potter. Hundreds of images were now appearing and disappearing, images from Voldemort's life that were now being integrated into Malfoy's own memories… Suddenly, he heard a deep, powerful and cavernous voice speaking to him: “LORD VOLDEMORT IS NO MORE. HE HAS PASSED INTO THE REALM OF THE DEAD. BUT HE LIVES ON, THROUGH THE POWER OF THE HERITAGE CURSE. YOU, MALFOY, SHALL NOW BE KNOWN AS… LORD MALDEMORT!!”

A sardonic, devilish laugh suddenly resonated, and it seemed to echo endlessly throughout the tunnels of London's underground…

As instantly as it had started, the curse came to an end, and the room went dark once more; slowly, Malfoy descended to the ground. He felt more powerful than he could have ever imagined. The sensation was elating, and yet frightening at the same time: he was all Malfoy, but all Voldemort — it was like he had lived both lives, the two fused together. His eyes, no longer pale blue, were now of a shiny yellow. Pure evil was now palpable around him. Unable to contain himself, he started laughing, with an evil, hysterical laugh that would have made anyone shiver with terror.

“Potter! HARRY POTTER! You have stomped me for the last time! I will find you, and kill you, once and for all! And it will be a slow, painful death, I promise that!”

Malfoy-Maldemort picked up Voldemort's wand, lifted his hood over his head, and left the room. Only one thing remained on the bed in the corner — the only proof of Lord Voldemort's very existence: an old torn cloak, soiled with mud and blood. One minimal trace, the only testimony left to the fact that a baby had been born, a baby boy who had lived when all others had perished… The boy named Harry had grown-up, and at the tender age of seventeen, despite all odds, had managed to finally put an end to Voldemort's days.

Of Harry Potter, a wise old wandmaker had once said, so long ago it seemed, that the world should “expect great things” from him, hence setting a standard by which Harry — almost instinctively — would live. Harry had no idea, still, of the greatness of his accomplishments to date.

And even less of the path that laid ahead on his way to even more greatness.

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

“Draco! Come here at once, son! We have work to do.” The booming voice resonated throughout the mostly deserted castle.

With a start, Draco Malfoy abandoned his new broom, that he had just a few days ago convinced his father of purchasing, to promptly go meet him in the mansion's hallway downstairs. Lucius Malfoy was not someone to be disobeyed, particularly now. Draco wasn't sure exactly what was happening, but his dad had not been the same for about a week. He spoke harshly, he looked angry most of the time, and his air of superiority had given way to a downright evil — almost murderous — demeanour, and Draco was positively terrified of him, even if it pained him to admit it.

At seventeen, Draco had become one fine specimen of the wizarding kind. Well above six feet tall, he carried himself with the distinction and the poise of a self-assured young man. He was very athletic, and he couldn't help being noticed when he walked in a room. His muscular frame, his blond hair and narrow, pointed face was rarely ignored by his surrounding — particularly, of course, by young women. His presence was commanding, and he had inherited his father's ability to look down on people he believed to be of lowly origins. He had unfortunately become nastier with words than during his school days, when Harry and his friends had been his favourite targets. He knew better now — he was scared of Harry Potter, and knew that Harry could pin him to the ground with one wave of his wand, and even take his life — if that had been the character of Harry Potter. Fortunately for him, it wasn't. He nevertheless detested Harry, for a multitude of reasons. First and foremost, Harry was a celebrity when they had both entered Hogwarts, and for seven years he had constantly stopped Malfoy from being the sole center of attention, more or less relegating him to the shadows. Secondly, Harry's dealing with Voldemort had exposed Draco's father, and even though he was in Slytherin, being the son of an active Death Eater had its disadvantages in school. And finally, he just couldn't stand that Harry seemed to have everything handed to him on a silver platter. That is why they had become, over the years, enemies — and now, more than ever, mortal enemies.

“DRACO!!” Lucius' voice boomed for the second time.

“Here I am, father”, Draco answered, panting after his race down the stairs.

“Prepare a travelling bag, we are going on a trip. And we might be a while, so I suggest that you bring you might need for at least a month. And Draco?” Maldemort's face was now showing signs of impatience.

“Yes, father?” Draco replied, unsure of what his father had in mind.

“No questions, please! You'll know everything you need to know in due time. I'll wait for you outside. Hurry, we must set off before nightfall.” Maldemort spun around, and showed himself to the door…

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

The mountains of Serbia were unwelcoming, to say the least. Jagged rocks, tangled surface roots that made walking and climbing treacherous, steep inclines, and tall, thick trees that were so close together that daylight never completely made it to the forest floor. The foggy, rainy weather also took its toll: the forest was always damp, freezing cold, and dark — pitch dark, even when the sun was at its peak. Trekking the mountains of Serbia was no walk in the park, and many had gone in never to be seen again. Countless legends and stories had been told and retold about the area, which was riddled with tales of mythical proportions: vampires from Transylvania finding refuge in the mountains centuries ago, tales of werewolves, giants, trolls, and other magical creatures escaping or making their home within the confines of the forest, to name a few. The popular folklore surrounding the mountains gave them an aura of doom and foreboding to anyone who entertained any thought of venturing within its limits. The truth was to be found somewhere in the midst of all the folk tales and legends. The fact was the forest was so dense and inhospitable that it had become, over the centuries, the ideal hiding place for all those who sought to disappear from sight and civilization for a time (or forever), for a variety of reasons — generally not commendable motives. Criminals, outlaws, escaped convicts, magical creatures and other marginalized individuals or groups had often found relative security in the mountainous forests of the Balkans, and most of the stories told about them had some elements of truth at least.

Voldemort himself had found the woods of Serbia to be the ideal place to establish his hidden headquarter; after a journey of many weeks, Lucius Malfoy — Lord Maldemort — and his son Draco had reached, without serious injury, a cave located near the very heart of the forest, hidden from view by a thick cluster of fir trees. Behind the trees was an entrance, the size of a man hole, where the select wizards who even knew of the hideout's existence had to perform a tricky spell in order to be able to get through. Lucius Malfoy had been Voldemort's right hand for the last two years, and only he, Voldemort himself and two other Death Eaters knew the spell.

“Wow”, said Draco, looking at the austere looking room after passing through the entrance. “This is no ordinary cave, father… Where are we, exactly?”

They had stepped into a circular space about forty feet in diameter, and about fifteen feet high at its highest point; it looked like an austere yet somewhat distinguished study, not entirely dissimilar to the Slytherin common room at Hogwarts: half the walls of the cave, which would normally have shown bare granite, were covered with dark green tapestries intricately embroidered with silver designs of snake-like creatures, that hung from the point where the walls started caving in towards the center all the way to the cave floor; the other half of the walls seemed to be hidden behind tall bookshelves, but a closer look revealed that the shelves were carved directly within the black granite. They were filled beyond capacity with books of all sizes, parchments, scrolls and all sorts of study materials; the attentive eye could easily pinpoint their one common denominator — they were all, without exception, about the Dark Arts. Their was little light in the cave except for a huge stone chandelier hanging from the ceiling and some candles near a sitting area on the right side of the entrance, made up of a few rigid wooden chairs surrounding two large black granite tables, destined for visitors who wished to sit down and read — or research. Further towards the far end of the cave there was another granite table, behind which a dark dragon leather chair rested — Voldemort's desk, or study table. Behind it, in a small recess of the cave wall that formed a nook almost totally hidden from view, was a bed and a night table. The dark colours, the lack of lighting and the general stony outlook of the cave gave it a morbid, sinister aura — one absolutely needed to be a Dark Wizard to feel at ease in the place.

Lord Maldemort sat down at what used to be Voldemort's desk, and addressed Draco sternly and gravely.

“Son, the time has now come for you to understand the reason of our journey… It is time for you to become a man, an adult — and choose for yourself a side on which you will fight.”

Draco squinted, as if trying to gauge what his father was saying… “But Father, I will always be on your side!”

“That is exactly the point. I will speak to you as your father for the last time, Draco”, Lucius said with a somewhat menacing tone. He went on to explain the passing of powers that had occurred a week before.

There was a long pause when explanations were finished. Draco seemed at a loss for words, and yet a malicious grin was slowly forming across his pointed chin.

Maldemort continued, “You will now know me as all my followers will — Lord Maldemort, rightful heir to Lord Voldemort, and soon to be the all-ruling Wizard over the Magical World! That is why it will become crucial that you choose a side, and that you pledge your allegiance to me!”

“Father, why don't we — ”

“SILENCE! YOU WILL ADRESS ME AS LORD MALDEMORT — LUCIUS MALFOY IS NO LONGER, EVEN TO YOU!”

Draco quickly corrected himself. “Forgive me, Great Lord, this is sudden, I meant no disrespect… I swear, before you and every member of our noble family and everything that will have stood for over the centuries, that I will serve you — even to death!

Maldemort seemed pleased. “Very well, very well. Now —“

“Will our first objective be to get rid of Harry Potter, Master?”

“Indeed, Draco, indeed. There is a way — and it is to be found in this very room! We must look for a very old Dark Magic Grimoire, entitled `Imperium Antiquus' — `The Old Rule' … Let's get to it now.”

It didn't take them long to come upon the book, since it was one of the thickest and oldest volume in the whole cave, and was adorned — once the dust was removed — with a bright burgundy leather cover. Lord Maldemort laid it with great care on the stone desk, sat down solemnly and perused it with a malicious grin. He finally stopped at a particular chapter, and started to pay more attention. He read the chapter carefully, and then read it again. After reading it a third time, he got up and carefully closed the book.

He lifted up his arms towards the ceiling in a gesture of triumph, looked up, fire in his eyes, at the big stone chandelier hanging from the highest point of the cave, and started laughing out loud, without stopping — “Potter, this is the end! You are MINE, and you will pay! Revenge will be sweet to all Pure-blood Wizards!”

Draco was extremely excited and jumped with enthusiasm, and started towards the desk to look at the book for himself. He tried to open it on the table where Maldemort had laid it down.

Maldemort turned around very swiftly, and a split-second later pronounced the curse: “Crucio!” Draco was catapulted on the wall behind him and fell to the floor, writhing with pain, that fortunately for him didn't last very long.

“YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS in this book, Draco! Only I can have access to it — and those who try will pay with their life! This was a warning! You heed my orders, and do not try to interfere! Your time will come, just as it did for me. But you will first learn to submit yourself to the Dark Lord!”

With a faint whisper, Draco replied, “Yes, Master!” He painfully got back up, and even though his pride had been quite beaten, he managed to sit down on one of the chairs, panting. He shot a glance at Lord Maldemort, who had gone back to studying the book. His yellowish, serpentine eyes turned again to Draco, and with a malevolent smirk, he got up and started walking back and forth across the room, like an elated teacher about to give the most important lecture of his life.

“Draco, listen! This book, Imperium Antiquus, is the foundation upon which the Magical world has existed for thousands of years. In it are enunciated many unbreakable principles, that make the Wizarding world possible — without them, we could not and would not exist. They were set down, at the dawn of times, by the first men who discovered they had abilities that surpassed those of their fellow human beings. One of the most foundational — if not THE most important — of them all is the one they call `Imperium Antiquus', `The Old Rule' — so crucial is it that the whole book was named after it. It states, to put it plainly, that Wizards and Muggles co-exist in a delicate, very fragile balance. And more importantly, the Old Rule explains that to give Muggles a chance — since they have no magical powers —they were given, at the beginning of times, ONE ability that Wizards would never have fully. It is the power of community, the power of unity, the ability they have to sustain one another — as a race, and as individuals — through the most formidable obstacles. In short, it is the power of determined, unbridled, unconditional love. It is that power, manifested by his mother dying to save his life, that allowed Potter to survive Voldemort — and later, to defeat him at such a young age… Voldemort said he should have known to kill the SOURCE of it, and I am now seeing what he meant.

Draco's face showed he didn't quite understand how this fact, which he considered a weakness — caring for others — could help them get rid of Harry Potter.

“I see you don't quite follow, but wait — here is the key. The founding wizards also stated that to insure there would always be a balance between the two worlds, the Wizarding kind would also be linked forever through this Muggle power of `community'… And to make absolutely sure of that, the founding Wizards performed a complex charm that propagated itself to the entire Muggle race. This charm allowed that once in a while, at random, a full-fledged Wizard would be born from two Muggle parents, a cross-over — and this would be enough to keep the two worlds inextricably linked together, without one taking the other over. The presence of cross-overs amongst the pure-blood wizards would make sure, they figured, that the two worlds would survive alongside each other. But! Listen carefully to what the rule says after.”

Maldemort walked back with excitement towards his table, where the book was laid, and started reading from it.

“But reader, beware! Should there be a sinister day when not one single cross-over is left, one should cry out for a black plague to sweep the land and shorten the sufferings. For the death of the last of the cross-over will bring dark skies, and allow for evil forces to fill the land. The Old Rule will be no more, and those who would seek power, for power's sake, will reign free.”

Draco was thinking furiously hard, but couldn't still quite see the big picture. He was starting to get an idea, though, and looked inquisitively at his master for more insight.

“DON'T YOU SEE? There lies the key to killing Potter, and to establishing our true kingdom as Dark Wizards! Potter's power comes from this `love', from this energy he gets from Muggles! His mother was one, he's a half-breed. But better yet — if we eliminate all the cross-overs, the wizards born from two Muggle parents, we will bring about the death of the Old Rule. And we'll be able to take over the world, and establish ourselves as rulers, once and for all!

Draco finally — and quite suddenly — got it. His years with Crabbe and Goyle hadn't helped his power of reasoning… “Mudbloods! We have to kill the Mudbloods!”, he snickered to himself, wide-eyed. He immediately got up from his chair and a twisted, malicious smile stretched from one side of his face to the other as he looked straight at Lord Maldemort, who seemed to enjoy seeing Draco finally grasping the big picture.

“Oh, I know just where to start, Master! Please, let's kill that filthy Granger Mudblood! Potter never admitted it, but he always had a thing for her, and she for him. We'll kill two birds with one stone! We will launch our master plan, and we will weaken Potter at the same time!”

“That”, Maldemort said with a decisive look, “is an excellent plan, Draco, an excellent plan. That is EXACTLY where we'll start...”

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HP AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author warning: Hermione and Harry's thread are still here, beware! And Hermione is present in Harry's, so be attentive. The good news is that they are converging in this chapter. Thank you for bearing with my creative writing!

Chapter 4

Of love and wounded pride

“This is your captain speaking, please fasten your seat belts, our plane will now be starting our descent towards Bucharest International Airport!”

Hermione opened her eyes. She had dozed off. She looked out the window again, but all she could see was a menacing black sky, and pouring rain. She started gathering her things slowly, and as she was putting her latest purchase away in her handbag — a thick book entitled “Advanced charms for scientific research” — the note she had been using as a bookmark slipped out. Seeing the familiar writing on it jabbed at her heart — the painful heartache she had suffered a few hours earlier came back with a vengeance.

The plane finally landed, and Hermione slogged her way through the terminal, waiting patiently to take care of the formalities associated with Muggle traveling — it wouldn't have been her first choice, but her parents had insisted and even purchased the tickets: they felt more at ease with her traveling this way. They were somewhat scared since the happenings of the previous years in the Wizarding world, and even though Professor Dumbledore had done his best to explain much of what was going on to them, the general picture they had gotten was enough for them to be concerned with Hermione's safety.

The customs officer, a burly man with no neck and a stern face, examined her passport thoroughly, then looked at her, and repeated this manoeuvre a few times before letting her go through. She started looking at once for the person that was supposed to wait for her. As she eyed around the terminal, she saw someone — not Viktor — holding a huge sign that just said “GRANGER”, in large colourful letters.

Slightly embarrassed at the sight of her name in such bold letters, she ran quickly to the man that was waiting for her. He was dressed with a black suit and tie, over an impeccable white shirt. By the hat he was wearing, she determined he was some kind of driver.

“Miz Granger, I prezzume?” He produced a flashy identification card, on which a picture of himself was smiling and waving enthusiastically… The card also indicated he was Otto Kraspen, from “Krum Broom Supplies International Inc.”

“Yes, I am, thank you.” Hermione lowered her voice. “But you should be discrete with this magic picture… We are in a Muggle airport!”

“Ov course! I'm not uzzed to this”, replied the driver, now looking around him nervously with suspicion in his eyes. “My name iz Otto; Mizter Krum could not come perzonally to pick you up, and he requested that I drive you to your hotel room. He will communicate with you next Monday, after you've had sufficient time to rezt.”

“Oh, that's so nice of Viktor, make sure you tell him I appreciate that very much!”

Today was Wednesday. Hermione felt suddenly grateful that she would have a few days to be by herself. She needed to sort a few of her feelings out, and also to take care of her personal affairs. The house she had rented would not be available for another two weeks, and she still needed to sign the lease. She gladly followed Otto through a large door, adorned with a gold-trimmed sign that said “VIP only”, and after following a long and narrow corridor, they arrived to a seemingly very exclusive indoor parking area, where a long stretch limousine was waiting. Otto opened the door, and Hermione took her seat in the spacious car. She let out a long sigh, and closed her eyes for a moment. As the car sped along the expressway en route towards her hotel, she reluctantly took out Harry's note from her handbag, and read it again.

Hermione, know that I love you, and that I care deeply for you. I would die before I would let anything happen to you. I can't bear seeing you hurt.

As she read this last sentence over and over, Hermione broke down completely, and didn't even try to hold back her flooding tears. She knew, somewhere deep within, that Harry hadn't meant to hurt her. She also felt responsible, well aware that she hadn't been forthcoming with Harry about her real feelings. “But all this can't happen now”, she muttered to herself… “It — it just can't!”

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

Harry had received the letter a couple of days after he had sent Hedwig from his study. He had been relieved to see that Hermione seemed to have come back to her senses.

Dear Harry,

Thank you for your note. You made the right choice, because seeing you would have made me more upset, and I don't know what would've happened… For sure, I owe you some kind of explanation.

I would like us to talk more about this, but I'm honestly quite scared. Nevertheless, if you're free tonight, let's meet at the Leaky Cauldron around 7pm, and we'll sort this out.

Hermione

“At least we'll put this matter to rest”, he said to himself as he looked at himself in the mirror. He spent a few minutes studying the features of his face, concluding he wasn't too bad looking. The hair however remained the same, unruly and untidy, a thick black mane sticking up on his head in every direction. He had given up on it a long time ago.

He exited the house through the backdoor, and jumped on his broom, a brand new Firebolt that had proven to be — to him, anyway — the best broom there ever was. He looked around, and felt at peace seeing the restored water fountain, and the multiple gardens; Dobby had been working hard to bring back their original, astounding look, and his efforts were now being rewarded: flowers of all sizes and colours were blooming in full force all around the walled enclosure. On top of being a space where Harry could come and relax, the yard had yet another feature, a practical one: with the help of Professor Dumbledore, Harry had charmed the high brick walls surrounding the yard in such a way that anybody taking off towards the sky would be concealed until he reached an altitude of around a thousand feet, which was sufficiently high to keep any flying wizard from prying Muggle eyes. He had taken the habit of flying whenever he could, and since the roof of the Leaky Cauldron was protected in the same way, he usually flew there.

Just before taking off, Harry was struck by a crazy idea. He impulsively dismounted his broom, and approached one of the rose bushes adorning the middle of a spectacular flowerbed. He waved his wand, and murmured “Accio rose!” An astonishingly spectacular pink rose, with hints of dark red on the edges of its petals, detached itself from the bush, and came to rest delicately on his hand. He secured it gently inside his flying cloak, and went back to his broom.

He suddenly felt stupid and embarrassed. “Come on, Potter, get a grip! This is not Cho, or anyone like that… This is your friend!”

He reasoned, however, that the gesture could help Hermione feel better after the way she had left him at the hospital.

“Besides, I don't think anybody ever gave her flowers — except Krum, of course…”

Harry took off with a swift kick of his ankles, amazed at the colours of the night sky above him in this early evening of July. After twenty minutes of an exhilarating flight in the cool summer air, Harry landed lightly on the roof of the Leaky Cauldron. He checked his watch, and noticed he had nearly half an hour to spare. Entering the Cauldron, he went down the familiar wooden stairs and entered the main room through the back. Tom, the wizard with whom Harry now owned the place, saw him at once. Since he spent a lot of his time there, Harry had thought it a good idea to invest some money into the place. He was now a proud co-owner, but left most of the management duties to Tom and his staff, who did an excellent job. Harry's investment, however, had been used to give the place a refreshed, younger look, and a more modern one as well. Business was soaring, and had never been better.

“Hello Harry, how are you tonight? Are you going to be using your usual spot?”

Harry thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, Tom, I'll take one of the private parlours in the back. I'm meeting Hermione Granger, and we need to talk about important matters — away from prying ears…”

“Sure Harry, take the corner booth in the lounging area, there's nobody in the section, and we're not expecting a big crowd tonight…” Tom added, “I'll make sure to tell Mrs. Granger where to meet you.”

“Thank you, Tom.” Harry sat down in one of the squash, comfortable leather chairs and took out the rose to make sure it hadn't suffered from the flight. He delicately rested it on the small table beside him, and saw that it was intact — and still breathtakingly beautiful. Tom soon came back with a tall mug of butterbeer, and Harry took a long gulp, thirsty after taking in so much of the evening's fresh air.

His thoughts wandered to Hermione, and the reason he was there. He felt weird about meeting her, and scared at the same time. They were going to talk about personal issues, which was a rare occurrence with Harry — and Hermione. He tried to remember when was the last time he had had an open talk with Hermione about anything else than school, Voldemort, Ron, or other subjects of the same genre.

Harry came to the conclusion they had never — ever — taken time to discuss feelings, emotions, and such. “Wow! I guess this will be very inter —“

“Hi Harry, I hope you haven't been waiting long…” Hermione said as she approached the booth.

For a moment, Harry was taken aback. Hermione was wearing a light blue dress, and had tied her hair into a neat bun, a style that for once allowed her best features — her face and eyes — to really shine. Made of a jeans-like fabric, the dress itself was very simple, with long sleeves, a high neckline and a slight pull-in at the waist; it fell nicely in a narrow line that stopped just above the knee. Yet, it was so rare for Harry to see Hermione in a dress that he thought she just looked radiant. For one rare moment since becoming Hermione's friend, Harry saw her for what she really was: very simple but yet, beautiful, charming, and very attractive.

“Wow, Hermione, I didn't know this was a formal meeting”, Harry said with a pretend sarcastic-tone, “I would have dressed a lot better!”

Hermione looked down at herself, then back up to meet Harry's eyes. “Oh, no, no! I had to meet people from Krum Broom Supplies today in London, and that WAS a formal affair, so that's why I'm dressed this way. I came straight here after, and didn't have time to change. I'm much more comfortable in jeans and a sweater, as you know.”

Harry replied, “I'm just kidding, of course. You look…” Harry became very much aware, all of the sudden, that he was about to pay Hermione — his friend — a gentlemanly compliment. “You look beautiful — stunning actually — I hope you know that.” He now caught himself really looking at her anew — still his friend, but nevertheless a really cute and attractive girl. Harry thought she had nothing to envy Cho, or Parvati Patil, or any of her classmates.

As she sat down, Hermione bit her lip and gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder. “Oh, get off it! You don't have to be extra-nice with me, I don't deserve that.”

There was a moment of silence. Harry didn't quite seem what to say. Why was it now difficult to start a conversation, why was there a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach? He then remembered the last time they had met, and focused on the fact that the air needed to be cleared. But then, he suddenly remembered something else.

“Oh! I almost forgot, I brought you something, I thought you might like this, I got it from my backyard,” he said as he gave Hermione the rose he had clipped from his garden.

Hermione's eyes went wide, and she instantly blushed into a nice shade of purple at the sight of the rose. She took it from Harry's hand, her eyes now shining with tears. She looked at it for a very long, awkward moment, trying to compose herself.

“Thank you, Harry, it's so beautiful… It's lovely!” she said finally, in a whisper barely audible. Hermione's heart was pounding, as she was completely overwhelmed by the gesture. With the exception of Viktor Krum, who gave flowers like a factory, nobody had ever given her flowers —not even Ron — in a gesture so simple, and yet so meaningful and heartfelt. Harry had taken the time to choose a flower from his garden, with the sole purpose of giving it to her. She fought back the tears as hard as she could, not wanting to make Harry uncomfortable. She took out her handkerchief, and wiped her eyes delicately.

Harry had expected a more cheerful reaction. He didn't do well with tears… Why did girls — and now, even his best friend — absolutely want to cry when they were around him? He seemed “gifted” in that area, and that was exactly why he had NOT enjoyed his few moments with Cho a couple of years back.

But this is Hermione, he thought to himself. I should be able to deal with HER tears, at least. He tried to stay with it, feeling as uncomfortable as ever.

“Hermione… Are you okay? You seem somewhat… on edge these days… What's going on?”

Hermione looked up at him with a forced smile, despite her puffy eyes. “Oh, Harry, I'm just… These last two years have been really draining, and now my emotions are getting the best of me. And I had this HUGE decision to make, and the stress of it all has been a bit too much…”

Harry got the impression she was carrying a heavy burden, and that she wasn't telling him everything. He could relate, however, to her last statement.

“Yeah, tell me about it! I've been wrestling myself with wanting to yell and scream at someone, and yet I feel so empty that I could just wail until I have nothing left… Everybody thinks I'm this big hero, this amazing wizard, but inside I feel like I've been deceiving everybody. I feel like I'm dead inside, like I've nothing left to give.” Harry had spoken with some shame, gazing at the table in front of him; looking up at Hermione, he was surprised to see her hanging to his every word… The background faded and all he saw, suddenly, were her bright brown eyes glittering with tears. He read trust, compassion, desperation, and even — it couldn't quite grasp it — something deeper in them. He felt his heart race as a memory flash of his last battle with Voldemort came back to him… The same eyes, speaking to him, saying “I… I love you!”

Hermione's voice brought him back from his thoughts. “You're still my hero, you know. I learned courage and strength of character by looking at you. I learned to fight by fighting with you. And… I am still here because you saved my life, so many times… No matter how discouraged or how despondent you get, I know who you truly are.” Hermione choked, and bit her lip quite hard. She finished her sentence in a whisper. “And that's enough for me.”

Somehow, these words had a very profound effect on Harry. He took in Hermione's words, and it dawned on him that he didn't need to do things people expected of him. He just had to be true to himself, true to what his parents would have raised him to be… True to what his best friend, a ravishing young girl he was barely beginning to discover in depth, knew of him. And that was enough for him too.

Harry started laughing, and called Tom. “Bring us a round of butterbeers, mate…”

Hermione looked at him in a strange way, as if she didn't get what had just happened, and not sure whether to feel upset or not. “Did I just say something funny? Why are we celebrating?” Didn't Harry realise that she had just spilled her guts on the table? That she had come very close to revealing a big part of the deep secret she was carrying?

Harry gently cupped Hermione's face with his hands, and looked at her straight in the eyes: “Hermione, YOU may have just saved ME, for once! This is why we must celebrate!”

Hermione didn't quite understand, but remained silent. The beverages arrived, and after they had both taken long gulps, Harry was suddenly taken with an idea.

“Hermione, are you hungry, did you have supper?” Harry himself hadn't had anything to eat since lunch, and his stomach was starting to remind him.

Hermione smiled, and with glee replied, “As a matter of fact, no!”

“Then, let's order! My treat!”

Harry called Tom back, and they ordered dinner from the menus he provided. They ate, talked and laughed about life, about becoming friends and their successes and failures in school, and they reminisced about their adventures and the high — and low — moments of their relationship. Time seemed suspended, when suddenly, after desert, Harry kept silent and locked his eyes on Hermione's, looking at her somewhat differently than he always had.

He broke the silence. “If I didn't know better, I'd think we were on a date!”

Hermione blushed and smiled timidly, but sighed heavily and looked away without replying. Somehow, Harry felt the time had come to talk about the question that was the reason of their meeting.

“So… About me breaking you and Ron up. Would you care to elaborate?” Harry was grinning, and had a sparkle in his eyes as he said it.

Hermione nearly choked on her drink. “Right, that IS why we're here, isn't it…”

“Indeed.”

Hermione bit her lip again, apparently torn by what she was about to say. “Well, as my intimate relationship with Ron progressed, I increasingly felt that you, Ron and I worked well as friends… Ron and I argued, and you were the buffer between us. But without you — Hermione looked down, apparently embarrassed — Ron and I could not sustain a relationship. You were the glue that held us. So that's why I said it was because of you…”

Harry was perplexed. Her answer didn't seem to validate the emotion with which she had said it at the hospital. “I don't understand your reaction, then… If it was so simple, you could have just explained it to me!”

“It's just that I didn't expect such a direct question about this, and I have a few unresolved issues on the subject with Ron… I just took me by surprise, that's all.”

Unsure, Hermione looked up at Harry for a sign that she was off the hook. She desperately hoped that Harry would not want to go further.

“Yeah, Ron is somewhat in the dark for the reason of your break-up”, Harry brooded, looking at the wall behind Hermione, and trying to add everything up.

Hermione's face turned aghast with disbelief and anger. “What do you mean, he's in the dark? He's the one that told me he couldn't compete with you… That he refused, in his love life at least, to always be second-best. And that I had to rethink my friendship with you if he was going to stay with me…” Hermione was fuming, and her eyes were teary again. “What did he tell you, anyway?”

Harry was as dumbfounded as Hermione. Why would Ron lie to him, and play this whole “I don't have a clue” part?

“Er, Hermione, I don't know what to say. Ron just said that you both came to the conclusion that you were just friends, and that there was never an `official' break-up. He told me that you both left for the summer holidays, and that was it!”

Hermione was almost screaming now. “That stupid, selfish, mean git!! That's not the half of it! I can't believe him!”

“Why don't you calm down, and try to explain to me what happened?” Harry had never seen Hermione so upset, and suddenly felt like he had ventured on a field of land mines, and that he was about to cause a chain reaction from which they could perhaps never recover.

Hermione closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, and started her story. “Well, we started dating and everything was fine for a while, I guess the novelty of it and all. But Ron is right on one thing — we did realise, after Christmas, that we couldn't continue as boyfriend and girlfriend. We were sitting together at some point in January, reminiscing about when we met and how we became a trio after the troll incident in the girls' bathroom, how life as friends of Harry Potter had impacted us. I was about to bring up the dilemma of our own relationship, but I first made a comment that I intended as a joke — I said, `I guess our life will always have to include Harry!' Right after I said that, Ron became red in the face and exploded. He started ranting about the fact that he would not let himself be overshadowed by you again, and that he was tired of living up to your image. And then…”

Hermione choked, and paused for a moment. She looked up at Harry with a pitied expression on her face, as if she was about to say something that would probably hurt him. “And then he told me that I should look deep within myself to find out what you really were for me. He said that he was fed up of always hearing me talking about you, that the sound of `Harry this, and Harry that' was driving him nuts, and that he thought maybe I should be with you, not him. I was appalled, of course, and I gave him a piece of my mind. That's when I told him that if he really thought that way, we'd best go our separate ways…”

Harry couldn't believe it. Ron, his best friend, had not only lied to him, but he had managed — once again — to use him as a scapegoat for his own insecurities. Not that he was entirely surprised: Ron had done it before, in their fourth year, and they had spent quite a bit of time not speaking to each other.

“What did he do after that?” Harry asked.

“Well, he just said `fine, then', and that was it. After that, we were so busy with exams and other things that we avoided each other…” There was a long, awkward silence. Hermione was clearly uncomfortable, and looked at her watch. “Oh, my, look at the time, maybe we should call it a night. I still have a lot of things to take care of tomorrow, I'm leaving soon as you know.”

Harry felt a pang in his stomach as she said it. But there was one thing in her explanation of their break-up that was bothering him, and before he could stop and think about how to say it, it just came out.

“Hermione… Um, is there any truth in what Ron told you? Do you think, maybe, that he was onto something?”

Hermione's face turned beet red, but she quickly tried to hide behind her usual self-righteous attitude. “Of course not, Harry Potter! You're my friend — even my best friend, I must admit… But I would never do anything to jeopardize what we have. To imply otherwise is ludicrous!”

There was something ambiguous in her statement that left Harry really puzzled… He replied tentatively, looking at the floor. “Cause, er, Hermione, if there was something more, I would be more than —“

Hermione now looked like she was going to have an anxiety attack. “BUT HARRY, DON'T WORRY! There's nothing!” Hermione quickly interjected, “we're FRIENDS!”

Harry realised he was hitting a wall, and that he wouldn't be able to get through — at least not tonight. He even got scared of what he had been about to say.

“Well, I guess it's getting late, like you said. Let's go.”

Harry walked Hermione to the front entrance. She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, as they usually did when they parted way, and she walked off into the night. As he climbed the stairs to the roof of the Leaky Cauldron, Harry wondered if their evening — as nice as it had been — had solved anything at all. One thing was becoming certain though; their relationship was changing, and Harry had no idea what to expect next.

As he got to the roof, Harry sighed as he looked at the stars… Something else was definitely wrong with Hermione. Tonight was Friday, July 31^st. For the first time in six years, she had forgotten his birthday…

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

“Cm'on, mate, we're going to be late !” said Ron as he ran by Harry's room. Harry had invited Ron to live at Grimmauld Place for the summer, since Ron had to wait until he knew for sure if he was going to play Quidditch professionally. It was more convenient for him to be in London, and Harry was glad to have at least one other person, besides Dobby, living with him in the huge mansion.

Harry had decided not to confront Ron yet with his version of he and Hermione's break-up. Ron had been training really hard to make the Chudley Cannons, and they would announce in only a few days if he had made the team or not. Furthermore, he didn't want to cause a stir just as Hermione was about to leave for Romania. There was enough unresolved issues between the three of them without adding a few more.

Today, however, would be dreadful anyway. Hermione was finally leaving for Romania, and they were preparing to all go and bid her farewell at the airport. Harry had to face the fact that he was going to lose Hermione, at least a little bit. The thought made him sick to his stomach, and yet he couldn't fathom exactly why. I should be happy for her, he thought. I shouldn't be so self-involved that I can't rejoice with my friends. But the pattern was the same, it seemed, as it always had been: someone he cared about was leaving him, and he was almost incapable of accepting it. Furthermore, there was something about his feelings for Hermione since their evening at the Leaky Cauldron that made her departure even more painful. Without being able to tell what it was exactly, he definitely felt he was loosing more than a friend.

“I'm coming, I'm coming!” They had to be wearing Muggle clothing to get to the airport, so Harry had chosen to wear jeans and sneakers, and a loose fitting shirt on top of a white t-shirt; as always, there was nothing he could do with his hair.

As Harry was coming down the stairs towards the entrance hall, members of their gang started entering the mansion one by one. They had all insisted to be a part of Hermione's farewell “committee”. Of course all the Weasleys were present, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Fred and George and Ginny; Neville and Luna had also wanted to be there, and Harry was glad to see that even Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, as well as Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown had shown up to bid her goodbye.

Always the pragmatic man, Mr. Weasley had made arrangements with the Ministry to set-up a portkey to get from the house to the airport. It was going to bring them at the lowest level of the indoor parking garage, where nobody ever reached anyway.

“Okay, gather round, gather round, all of you. Place your hand on the back of this chair, and make sure you don't let go! We don't want to lose you somewhere and have to send a search party!”

After ten or twelve seconds of friendly pushing around, everybody was set and good to go.

“On the count of three: one, two — three!!”

Harry felt the familiar jerk in his stomach area, and everything around him faded in a whirlwind of colours and sounds. That didn't help his already queasy stomach. When they landed on the hard pavement of the parking garage, Harry had to really concentrate and take a few deep breaths to not vomit right there. After a few minutes, he got up and everybody made their way towards Terminal #21, where Hermione was to take her flight to Romania.

Apprehension was mounting within Harry as they approached the waiting area near terminal #21. He had let the others walk ahead, trailing behind so he could avoid any surprise. He kept looking left and right, and all of the sudden she was right in front of him.

“Hermione!” Harry said, “Where were you, I was looking all over for —”

He didn't have time to end his sentence. She grabbed his arm, and dragged him aside towards a sitting area where the others couldn't see them, at least for a few minutes. He looked at her, and thought she was more beautiful than ever. Why, he wondered, was this the first thought that came to mind these days?

“Harry,” she started, “There's no other way to say this. I — I'm so sorry — I lied to you the other night… About my break-up with Ron, I mean. The fact is, I didn't tell you exactly everything.”

Harry looked at her indignantly, and blurted, “What?? Are you nuts? What if I had gone to Ron to confront him, what would he have said? Hermione, you almost never lie, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Hermione's face showed genuine guilt, and she looked childishly embarrassed. “I — I didn't mean to do it, it's just that I was really scared of your reaction.”

Biting his lip and trying to look past what Hermione had just told him, Harry replied, “So what is it that you `forgot' to tell me?”

“I didn't tell you what I answered Ron when he accused me of always talking about you…” Hermione was looking really frightened now, and she kept avoiding Harry's gaze. “I did give him a piece of my mind, but then I — when he told me `maybe you should be with Harry', I simply said… `Maybe you're right, Ron.'”

At the very same moment she said this, her flight number was called on the intercom, beckoning all passengers to prepare for boarding.

Hermione's face became panic-stricken, as she realised she had started something that she wouldn't be able to finish. “That's my flight, I have to go Harry! We'll have to write each other or something…”

Harry was aghast with confusion, anger, fear and — strangely — a slight hint of giddiness or happiness, he couldn't tell which. Not thinking, he did something he had not planned to do at all. Overtaken by something deep within him, he threw his arms around Hermione, and held her in a strong, powerful hug. He buried his face in her hair, and whispered, “Don't leave Hermione, please don't leave.” As he said it, he started sobbing, and found that he could not stop. After what seemed to be an eternity, he pulled back and looked straight down in her bright brown eyes, and thought he saw in them something he felt himself…

What followed happened as naturally as it could have. He slowly moved his head to kiss her on the cheek, but somehow their lips met, softly and tenderly, and he felt Hermione's arms wrapping themselves gently around his neck. Time froze, and they were soon lost in the most amazing moment of both their lives. Harry felt like his heart would burst if he continued, but yet couldn't imagine getting away. This was extraordinarily wonderful — even in his wildest dreams, he couldn't have imagined how sweet and the amazing this feeling was.

But suddenly, flustered and horrified, Hermione drew back, and said — in a barely audible voice — “Oh no, what have I done! I can't, I have to go… I really can't! I'm sorry, bye Harry.”

Harry was shocked, and hurt. Not realizing what he was doing, he let the pain his wounded pride and his anger get the best of him.

“What? You're just going to leave like this? First my parents, then Sirius, and now you? You're just going to LEAVE? You're so selfish… From the first day that Ron and I met you, I knew you considered yourself above us, and I see now that you've come full circle! You're leaving without a care in the world for your friends. Well! Have a nice life, Hermione.”

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HP AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

CHAPTER 5

DUMBLEDORE'S PROPOSAL

“HARRY! HARRY! Where are you, mate?” Ron screamed as he set foot in the kitchen of number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Everyone was back, but most were remaining silent, still in awe of the scene they had witnessed just a few moments before.

Ginny herself was on the verge of tears and flustered; her face showed she wasn't at all happy with the current situation.

“Ron, you better find him, because if I do, I don't know what I will do to him!” she hissed under her breath, obviously furious at the way Harry had treated her friend.

“Did you see her, Ron? Did you SEE her? She was bawling her head off, she didn't even stop to say goodbye to us!! What on Earth did he tell her?”

Ginny was seething, hardly able to contain her anger.

“Let me handle this, Ginny, please … I'll get to the truth!” Ron replied, and he started up the stairs towards Harry's room. He then stopped abruptly after four steps, and changed direction. “The garden!” he said to himself, “he must be in the garden …”

The gang had been anxiously waiting in the lounging area of terminal 21 at the airport, searching for Hermione to make sure they bid her a proper goodbye, wished her the best, and even gave her small presents. It was Ginny and Ron that had seen Harry and Hermione first, from a distance. Harry had seemed really upset: red in the face, he was barking at Hermione quite loudly, with very animated hand gestures. Hermione's reaction to his last statement had been desolating to witness: apparently horror-struck, her mouth had opened, and she had instinctively covered her face with her hands, eyes aghast, and — almost instantaneously — had started walking backwards in slow motion, as if repulsed by what Harry had just said and attempting to put a safe distance between them. She had then spun around and started walking rapidly towards the boarding gate, and she would probably have never seen Ron and Ginny if she hadn't ran right into them. They had tried to stop her, but apparently unable to control herself, she had just shoved past them and waved them off with one hand while keeping the other on her face as a desperate attempt to hide the intense emotional turmoil she was in. As she had passed by, both of them had been shocked to see her whole face shining with tears — she was also crying uncontrollably. Helpless, they had watched her go, entirely in the dark about what had just taken place.

The rest of the gang had looked even more clueless, shrugging their shoulders and nodding their heads, unable to understand what was going on. When Ron and Ginny had finally had the presence of mind to turn around and see where Harry had gone, he had apparently already left the airport.

Ron forcibly swung open the door to the garden, but to his surprise, Harry was nowhere in sight. He made sure to search around every corner: the yard being somewhat like a jungle of flowers these days, it was easy to remain concealed behind some of the flowerbeds and trees. As Ron retreated to go back in, however, he noticed that Harry's broom was missing from the rack installed to that effect right to the left of the backdoor.

“I should have figured he went flying,” he muttered to himself. Ron decided to wait a while, and made his way towards the patio area further inside the yard. He sat down, and started to think about the last week's events.

He was feeling somewhat guilty about not telling the entire truth about his relationship with Hermione. Maybe she had told him the real version, and he had misdirected his anger at her … Harry had seemed so anxious to find out what had happened.

First, Ron felt somewhat ashamed of the way he and Hermione had ended things, and didn't feel Harry needed to know about that, since it was mainly a matter of his own stupid pride. Secondly, there was also something else Ron had told no one about. His relationship with Hermione had ended, but he was still debating what his true feelings towards her were. He still cared a lot for Hermione, and felt they had left too many things unsaid.

Hermione's admission that maybe — just maybe — she was “supposed” to be with Harry a couple of years ago had been unequivocal, though. And Ron knew it: she loved Harry, even if she didn't admit it to herself. He sighed heavily, and rolled his eyes. Even in his relationships, Ron felt he came second-best to Harry.

Ron was ashamed to admit that it was becoming increasingly hard — for him, at least — to be Harry's friend. Harry didn't look for it, but his fame and exploits did follow him everywhere — and as Harry's friend, Ron had to live somewhat in the shadows. He had been secretly trying to decide, for the last two years, if he would continue living the rest of his life this way. He was torn: he genuinely loved Harry, and couldn't bear loosing his friendship. But his own pride was telling him otherwise, that he should be making his own way, which just didn't seem to be possible with Harry around.

“If only I could get this gig with the Chudley Cannons, it would change everything”, Ron mused out loud … To his extreme satisfaction, Harry had not pursued Quidditch as a post-Hogwarts career. Ron was hoping that he could finally get recognized for what he was and his own talent, without being overshadowed or compared to Harry.

Ron was suddenly startled from his brooding by a small, fast-approaching silhouette up in the cloudless sky … Harry, it seemed, was on his way back.

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

Harry was flying up, trying to get as high as he could, as fast as possible … The blue sky was now starting to turn into a darker shade of purple, stars seemed to be getting closer, and his breathing was becoming shallower. His own sweat were starting to settle in icicles around the neck of his robe, and the cold was biting him cruelly in the face — he even doubted he could pry his hands off his broom handle. Had he been able to look beneath him, he would have been able to make the outline of Great Britain through the disparate clouds, well visible against the dark blue of both the Atlantic and the North Sea.

He didn't care, though, and didn't want to stop. He just wanted to lose himself within the stars, and find peace … Forget what had happened not even an hour ago, forget that Hermione had been there, forget that his stomach was now completely in knots, forget what a cowardly, selfish, insensitive and arrogant jerk he had been. And especially, forget — that Hermione was gone, perhaps forever. The same Hermione he now missed terribly, more than anybody else, if it were at all possible …

Coming to grips to the fact that he wasn't really equipped for space travel, he tilted his broom downward with a jerk of his shoulders, and started to leave the starry sky behind him. As he undertook his descent, he let out a loud, savage and piercing scream into the firmament, trying to expulse the pain, the shame and the sorrow that were eating at him inside…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!”

Harry laid himself flat on his broom, and plunged downwards towards London. He was falling like a shooting star, and the rush of it felt incredibly amazing. For a moment, he thought of nothing else than the dizziness and elated sensation of the free fall, and felt content. It didn't last long, though — he started levelling his fall at around a thousand feet, knowing full well that he could lose consciousness if he let himself fall too long without restraint.

The buildings of London started to come into view, and he finally arrived in sight of the enclosure of number Twelve. He saw, in the distance, a tall, lanky red-haired figure sitting on one of the chairs…

“Ron”, he thought to himself. “Great, now I'll get a lecture from the dishonest red head!”

He pulled his broom up, slowing down his descent, entertaining thoughts of turning away. Did he really feel like facing the music, especially if Ginny decided to show her face too? He didn't know what to do at first, but with the little energy he had left, he finally decided to get it over with. Hermione was gone, there was almost no hope she would ever speak to him again, and he determined he might as well get this done so that he could be left alone to cry and sulk, and to try to piece what was left of his life back together.

He landed softly on the tip of his toes, and deliberately went past Ron without a word to put his broom back on the rack.

“I hope you're happy, mate … Goodness! You sure made a spectacular exit at the airport!” Ron said with bitterness and harshness.

Harry smirked, and replied coldly, “As horrible as it may have been, I didn't try to hide, and I didn't lie to a friend to cover up my blunders!”

Ron's face turned red instantly, but he managed to contain himself.

“We'll talk about me later!! What the hell, mate? You hurt her Harry, you REALLY hurt her! I've never seen her like that, not ever! What happened?”

Unexpectedly, Harry fell down on the chair beside Ron's, bent down and laid his face in his hands, then suddenly started sobbing hard, to the point of uncontrollable shaking … All he could manage, between sobs, was a barely audible “I know, I know …”

Ron was furious, but he was nevertheless moved by this breakdown of Harry's. He had never seen him broken like this, and from his standpoint it looked genuine.

“Mate, let's calm down, and talk about it”, he said on a more conciliatory tone. He let him cry for a while, until Harry finally managed to get it back together sufficiently to sit up, wipe his face, and look up at Ron.

“I'm — I'm so sorry, Ron, I — there's no way to rationally explain what happened … I just snapped, I guess … I have a hard time controlling my temper, and Hermione — well, she … — she's so hard to figure out these days, and I just couldn't bear the thought of — oh, my God, Ron, I — ”

Harry paused and looked at Ron, who seemed quite intrigued at what Harry was trying to say. Ron shifted in his chair, and with a tilt of his head encouraged Harry to continue.

“Go on, mate, I — we all — want to know what happened!”

Harry looked down, and with a whisper, continued. “I couldn't bear to see her go, not after what had just happened … and — and then it hit me : my parents left me, Sirius left me, Hagrid is gone too, and she was about to do the same … Why would she? After a kiss like that, and our evening together a few days before … Why is it that everyone who say they love me end up leaving me? I just got really angry, and lashed out with everything I could grab onto.”

Ron's heart sank for a short moment, as he pondered some of the things Harry had just said. Had he really heard the word “kiss”?

“Wait — what exactly did you say —”

“THERE YOU ARE! YOU JERK!” Ginny had had enough of waiting, and burst into the yard like a raging tornado.

Harry was caught by surprise. His reflexes made him get up and go towards Ginny to try to calm her down. “Ginny, please, I was just telling Ron that —”

SMACK!! Ginny slapped Harry real hard across the face, and despite his tall frame he buckled under the blow. Speechless, he backed up a few feet and just sat back down on his chair … Looking at the brick tiles of the patio, he gently massaged his cheekbone with his hand, right where Ginny had hit him. He knew he deserved it.

“Good one, this may leave me with a black eye”, he whispered as he tried to look up at Ginny with a forced smile.

“And I hope it hurts, too! I am SO angry Harry! If I had known how you would behave today, I would have never told you what I did the other day!

“GINNY PLEASE!” Ron interjected, standing up between his sister and his best friend, possibly trying to shield him from another blow. “Look, Harry and I are talking about this, okay? One more person will not help, especially you! You are way too upset, just … Just let me handle this, all right?”

Ginny shot her brother a fiery look of disbelief, and spun around and left as abruptly as she had arrived …

Ron looked at Harry, whose eye was already swelling. “She really decked you, mate … Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'll live… Can't say I don't deserve it!” Harry tried to laugh, despite the seriousness of the overall situation.

“Hey, what's this?” Ron interjected, looking up.

They were interrupted by a huge, tawny owl swooping down to deliver a letter to Harry. On it was the official Hogwarts crest, and Harry recognized the writing at once.

“This is Dumbledore's writing”, he said, looking perplexed … “Why would Dumbledore write me, I thought we were finally finished with school!”

Ron had apparently forgotten all anger, and was as excited as they had been back in school when mail arrived. “Well open it, mate, let's see!”

Harry hesitated, caught unaware as a painful memory crept on him. When they were at school, Hermione was almost always there when they opened their mail together. He finally tore the envelope open, and took out an official looking letter written on Albus Dumbledore's personal stationary.

Dear Harry,

I am sure that you were not expecting to hear from Hogwarts this soon. However, there are some important matters needing to be discussed before the start of the next school year for which your presence would be greatly appreciated.

I suggest a meeting this coming Friday morning, at 9 am, in my office at Hogwarts. Let me know by return owl if this is suitable for you.

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore

“Wicked”, Ron whispered, a hint of worry appearing on his face. “What do you reckon it means, Harry? Could it have anything to do with Vol — You-Know-Who?”

Harry's mind was now working frantically. Voldemort had died shortly after he had managed to break the Cruciatus curse … His shrivelled up body had been found on the grounds at Hogwarts, and though his face had been barely recognizable, there was no mistaking what was left of the remaining corpse. Or was there?

“I have no idea, Ron … I don't think so, I mean — I killed him, er, he died trying to kill me just a few weeks ago. There's no way … No, this must be about something else.”

Harry was trying to fathom the reasons that could prompt Dumbledore to request a meeting with him, less than a month before school start. Then his stomach sank as he realized there could only be one reason …

“I must have failed one of my NEWT exams, that's got to be it! Great! I'm going to have to take more classes to make it up! Yeah, that's got to be it, I see nothing else.” Harry's mood positively went down the toilet as it dawned on him that he would have to be in school without his friends. He'd be laughed at by all those who were looking for flaws in the great Harry Potter — the boy who couldn't even graduate from school.

Even Ron's face, which showed a sad mix of sadness and pity, confirmed that this had to be the reason of the summons to Dumbledore's office.

“Come on”, Ron said apprehensively, “it won't be that bad … Ginny still has a year left, and you know a lot of people still …”

Harry smirked as he blurted, “Yeah, sure, the same Ginny who just now almost knocked me out … This is going to be a great year! Just amazing …”

Conveniently abandoning their conversation of before, Harry got up and went in the house, still shaking his head in disbelief.

Ron was left by himself, and started wondering why he was so jealous of Harry's life after all …

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

Harry was pacing Dumbledore's office nervously, waiting for the Headmaster to show up. Professor McGonagall had let him in, but had warned him that Dumbledore had had to tend to an urgent matter in the morning, and that he was due any minute — but nobody knew where he had gone.

Harry's anxiety level was at an all time high. He had expected the morning to be dreadful, but so far it had been absolutely disastrous. He had first woken up at dawn with a start, his scar burning and throbbing with such excruciating pain that he had thought he would faint ... He was the used to a continual, dull ache, but this was new: it was quite reminiscing of the days when Voldemort was alive, and Harry felt his every emotion; yet, it wasn't exactly the same — it seemed more intense, more deliberate. He didn't quite know what to make of it, but knew for sure that it couldn't be good.

Secondly, he had come to Hogwarts with mounting apprehension only to find out that he had to do some more waiting … And third, there had been this weird look on Professor McGonagall's face as she led him to the Headmaster's study, a sort of ominous stare that he had never seen before, in his seven years as McGonagall's student.

“This day”, Harry said to himself, “is going to be worse than the one before yesterday the airport …”

The familiar instruments in Dumbledore's office seemed more agitated than usual. There was smoke coming from some of them, and one was spinning particularly fast. Another one, comparable to some kind of gyroscope, was whirring intensely. And in the corner laid the Pensieve, from which a white, billowing vapour was coming; even though he was tempted, Harry knew better this time than to peek inside for a look …

“Good morning, Harry”, said a soft, very calm voice.

Surprised, Harry turned around and almost lost his balance at the sight of Professor Dumbledore, who had just stepped in and was immediately behind him. The old wizard looked really tired, and worry was clearly visible in his face. He slowly went behind his desk, and with calm, deliberate gestures, he invited Harry to sit in one of the chairs facing his desk.

“Er, good morning, professor”, Harry replied as he sat down.

Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, and joined his hands in front of him before he spoke. He went straight to the point.

“Harry, I have summoned you here for a very important reason … As you know, you have now completed your regular years of schooling at Hogwarts, which were focused on a path of study that could allow you to begin training as an Auror … However, a quick look at your school file, including your latest exam results, and also your — how shall we call it? — record of `extra-curricular' activities has shed, I believe, new light on the matter …”

Harry bit his lip, took a deep breath and braced himself to hear what he had been expecting for the last two days — that his results had not been up to par.

“Mr. Potter”, continued the Headmaster, on a rather unexpected deferential tone, “I have obtained a unanimous agreement from the Board of directors of Hogwarts to extend you an official invitation to become our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, for the school year beginning next September.”

Dumbledore paused, and smiled broadly at Harry, seemingly amused at the look of shock on Harry's face.

It took a few seconds for the statement to sink in. Harry's jaw fell, and he let out the breath he had been holding … “I — I — I beg your pardon? Are you telling me I DIDN'T fail any of my NEWT exams?”

“Certainly not, Harry, you actually obtained spectacular results … And it seems to us that having someone who almost single-handedly obtained victory over Lord Voldemort would know a thing or two about defending oneself against the Dark Arts … Not to mention you've taught such a class before!”

Harry was at a complete loss for words. He wanted to speak, but was in such a state of shock that he wasn't able to utter any intelligible word whatsoever.

But Dumbledore was now looking at Harry more intensely.

“This decision was made a week ago. At the time, I had been instructed by the Board to give you a few days to think about it before you gave us an answer. However, a new situation has arisen that prompts me to request an answer by the end of today …

Dumbledore's eyes came into an intense focus, and the Harry recongnized the familial piercing gaze that usually went right through him.

“It seems, I am afraid, that Voldemort — or at least, his essence — has risen once more … I don't know exactly how or when it happened, I have a few theories, but I must consult with other sources first.”

“WHAT? So — that's why my scar hurt this morning! But I don't understand, I thought he had died when I broke the curse! We found his body — how is it possible?” Harry's heart was beating extremely fast, and he found himself reliving the entire last year.

The Headmaster's face expression had become terribly grave, and there was a sense of urgency in his voice. He kept looking at the clock on his desk.

“Harry, we will talk about the matter in more details in a few days. But for the time being, I must urge you, Harry, for the safety of our students — and yours — to accept becoming their teacher. Furthermore, I can't tell you exactly why, but my instincts tell me to insure that you keep close to Miss Granger, don't let her too far out of your sight.”

Harry's heart instantly skipped a beat. “What? Is Hermione in danger?”

Dumbledore smiled faintly; he obviously knew that Harry's relationship to Hermione was … challenging, these days to say the least.

“Just make sure you can keep close tabs on her. She'll be okay if she is close to you. And — if I may?”

Harry was really dumbfounded now. What was going on with Hermione? Even Dumbledore seemed to want to involve himself with that whole mess.

Dumbledore looked at Harry with fatherly compassion, and said softly. “I once gave your father this advice, a long time ago, concerning a young girl going by the name of Lilly … Listen to your heart, it will tell you what to do — then do it, don't delay.”

Harry was didn't quite know what to say. “Er, — Sir? What exactly does —”

But Dumbledore cut him off, apparently not finished. “And last, but not least …”

Harry looked up at Dumbledore. He saw the familial face expression that usually preceded the revelation of something important; he had seen it often when Professor Dumbledore had been about to share a life-changing fact with Harry, something he had done quite a few times during his seven years at Hogwarts.

“I am convinced”, continued Dumbledore as he stood up, “that becoming an Auror would greatly limit your potential as a wizard … I have come to glimpse, in seven years, what you true destiny might be. That is why I intend, starting this year, to start training you personally in some of the powerful magic I have come to master myself. That is, of course, if you are willing …”

Once again, Harry was speechless. He managed to catch his breath, and whisper, “I accept, I accept … Both propositions …”

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

“HARRY, HARRY! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!”

Back from Hogwarts, Harry had just walked in the kitchen when he had been almost knocked over by a definitely excited Ron, who was jumping and screaming all over the place. Harry noticed he was holding a letter with a big red and gold crest on it … There was no mistaking where it had come from.

“Read, mate, read it!” said Ron excitedly … He had obviously been waiting for Harry to return to tell him.

Dear Mr. Weasley,

We are please to inform you that your performance during the Cannons' try-outs were absolutely impressive, and we would like to offer you the position of number one keeper on the team.

Season starts officially on October 1^st. We request that all players who have been selected to present themselves at the entrance hall of the Chudley Cannons' offices in London, where they will be fitted for their uniform, and meet the members of the management team to discuss salary issues.

The first team practice will take place on October 2^nd, and the training schedule will be handed out at the same time. The first official Quidditch game is scheduled for Saturday, October 24^th; the Cannons will be receiving the visiting team from Ireland at Chudley's International Quidditch Stadium.

Once again, congratulations, and we look forward to having you on the team.

Yours truly,

Jerome Banniston

General Manager and Head coach

The Chudley Cannons

Harry was overcome by a deep, genuine feeling of happiness. If anybody deserved it, it was Ron. “Congratulations, Ron, that is EXCELLENT news!” Harry said, with the widest grin he had ever produced.

Ron couldn't stay in one place for more than one or two seconds. “I guess I really impressed them with the saves I made against their best chaser, Ian Finkle, or — perhaps it was the way I can really turn quickly on my broom … No! It must have been when I turned upside down on my broom to stop a really strong quaffle throw from Angus McPharlane, another excellent chaser. Harry, d'you know what this means?”

Harry was truly enjoying the moment, he had rarely seen Ron this happy. “No, mate, what?”

“I can get you free tickets to the games!! It will be like old times at school!”

Harry's face dropped as he finished Ron's thought process in his head. “Except for Hermione, of course … She — she's not here anymore, it's not like she can travel here for games.”

A shadow fell on Ron's face as he thought of this problem. But he replied as if he had just been struck by a genial idea. “Yeah, that's too bad! But you know, we will play against Romania at some time! We can organize a trip there, and it will be great!”

Harry smirked. “You really have this all figured out, mate! You know, Ron … Hermione … She will really be proud of you. And —”

Harry paused, and Ron saw by his face that he was trying to hold back some tears.

Ron motioned him to continue. “It's okay Harry, things will get better with Hermione, it's just a matter of —”

“No, that's not what I wanted to say, Ron … I just wanted to tell you that I'm proud too. I know it's hard to be my friend sometimes, and I know I get a lot of people's attention. Thank you for sticking with me, all these years! And for once, I'm really glad you got the spotlight, and not me!”

Ron could hardly believe it. Not quite knowing what to say, he just threw his arms around Harry and hugged him. Harry hugged back, and down deep inside they both knew, right then and there, that they would always be friends.

Ron slowly backed away, and his eyes lit up suddenly as he remembered something. “Hey, how did that meeting with Dumbledore go? What was it about? Tell me!”

Harry didn't want to take Ron's moment away. “Oh, it wasn't that bad after all, I won't have to take classes, I passed my exams … But I'll tell you the details later! Why don't we go to the Leaky Cauldron to celebrate your news!”

“Great, let's go!” Ron was almost already out the door …

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

This should be easy, Harry thought to himself as he re-read the letter. He looked up at the clock on his desk: it was almost two in the morning, and he was really tired — but couldn't sleep. They had celebrated Ron's newly found fame all afternoon at the Leaky Cauldron, and on the spur of the moment, someone — nobody remembered exactly who — had suggested they organise an impromptu game of Quidditch for the evening. It had been exceptionally fun: owls had been sent, news had travelled really fast, and almost all their school friends that were still in the London area had managed to show up for the game, almost as if they were back in school. Angelina Johnson had left work early to join them; Alicia Spinnet who was already at the Cauldron, had stayed and of course, Fred, George and Ginny had been more than willing to take part. Harry had proven once more that he was still the best seeker not playing Quidditch professionally, by catching the snitch for Ron's team after a gruelling match of almost five hours. And this despite Ginny, who played seeker on Angelina's team, and who had been quite happy obstructing him all evening.

But despite the amazing events of the day — he still couldn't believe he was going to be the next DADA teacher at Hogwarts in less than two weeks — and all the celebrating, Harry felt knotted inside. Many times during the game, he had looked instinctively at the sidelines where many friends were cheering them on, looking for the one face that truly mattered. But of course, she hadn't been there. Hermione would have been really glad to hear about Ron's good fortune, she would have been proud of Harry for becoming — despite everything — a teacher, and she would have really enjoyed the day. But there was more to Harry's despair than just Hermione's absence.

For one thing, he felt absolutely horrible. Sure, over the years, he and Ron had said or done some things that had made Hermione unhappy, or that even hurt her feelings one way or another. But he kept reliving his last moments with her over and over, and he couldn't understand why he had been so harsh with her. He was feeling a mixture of rage, sadness, profound guilt, and most of all, his heart was aching just knowing he had really — really — hurt Hermione this time. This was an insoluble paradox to him — countless times he had risked his life without ANY hesitation for her, so often he had acted instinctively to shield her from harm … But this time had really counted, and he had been unable to protect her … from himself.

And then there was the other thing … Hermione was now more than a friend, he could at least admit that. Harry had been sitting at his desk for nearly an hour now, going over and over the events of the last few days. Was he falling in love with her? Harry wasn't sure, but one thing was certain: he couldn't stop thinking about her, he longed to wrap his arms around her, he would have given anything to just play with her hair and bury his own face in it — more than anything, he just desperately wanted to be with her. The true reason why he hadn't told Ron about his new position at Hogwarts was that he wanted to tell Hermione first. And their kiss goodbye had been — well, it had been the single most wonderful moment of his life, unlike anything he had ever felt … He suddenly had the very sickening impression that he had lost something precious that day at the airport.

“Come on Potter, you've got to break the ice … Just write, and see what comes out!”

But Harry couldn't bring himself to do it. After another half-hour of staring at a blank roll of parchment, he gave up.

“I can't apologize in writing, the whole idea is ludicrous … I have to do something more meaningful”, Harry said to himself.

He started pacing his study, wondering what he could do to convince Hermione that he felt horribly bad about his behaviour, and that he was miserable.

He was suddenly struck by an idea. He ran to the drawer of his nighttable in his bedroom, opened it, and took out a small jewelry box. He carefully opened it, and looked at a delicate, beautiful pearl necklace, with a small heart shaped medallion in the middle, on which the word “forever” was engraved … When Harry had inheritated Sirius' estate, he had found a chest in the attic with Sirius' most prized possessions. The necklace and its box had been inside, with a small note in James Potter's handwriting attached to it.

Sirius,

This is what I intend to give Lilly this year for our wedding anniversary. I can't keep it at our house, because she will find it, you know how she is! I will come and get it from you soon.

Thanks a lot!

James

Harry couldn't hold back tears as he gazed at it. This would have belonged to his mother, had she not been killed a couple of days later by Voldemort. He paused for a while. His mother would have loved Hermione — from what he had learned over the years, Lilly Potter had been a lot like her.

Finding it had meant the world to Harry, but now, he just knew deeply that he wanted to give it to Hermione — not as a “bribe”, but because he truly felt she should have it.

He carefully wrapped the box, and wrote a small note to go with it. After Hedwig had left with the package, he hoped that perhaps Hermione would get what he was trying to tell her.

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

Breakfast the next morning was quiet. Harry and Ron had both woke up late, and were enjoying their meal silently. Ron, however, seemed absorbed by something, and kept casting furtive glances at Harry.

Harry himself was somewhat preoccupied. He kept thinking about Dumbledore's insistance on keeping an eye on Hermione. With a sense of foreboding, Harry was becoming increasingly worried.

Harry noticed Ron's glances, and at first, said nothing. But after a while, he couldn't take it anymore.

He looked at Ron. “What's the matter, mate? Is everything okay?”

Ron's cheeks went pink, somewhat. “Er, Harry, did you —” Ron was clearly uncomfortable. “The other day, did you say you and Hermione, er, kissed?”

Harry sighed. I miss her so much, he thought to himself. He couldn't believe it had just been three days.

He stared at Ron dreamily. “Yeah, just before I lost it at the airport … But it wasn't just — a friendly kiss, it was … It was more than that.”

Ron gave Harry a worried look.

“Harry, do you … Do you have feelings for her? Besides being `friends', I mean …”

Harry thought about it for a moment.

“Well, I'm confused, Ron. All I know is — I miss her terribly, and long to be with her. I've always liked her a lot, but it's — I feel different about her somehow, and yet, it's like I've been feeling that way the whole time. Is that love? Man, I wish Sirius was still here!”

Ron was grinning from ear to ear, and was surprised to find out that this piece of news didn't bother him as much as he had expected. In fact, he felt genuine happiness for both his friends.

Harry suddenly brought his hand on his face. “I'm sorry, Ron … Maybe I shouldn't be talking like this to you about Hermione … She told, me you know.” Harry hesitated and looked up at Ron before he continued. “About your last fight, and your break-up, I mean.”

Ron looked embarassed. “Yeah, I figured it out by what you said the other day. I'm sorry I didn't share that part, I didn't feel too proud of it.”

Harry suddenly realised what he was doing. “Look, Ron, if this is weird to you, just say so! Maybe you and Hermione need to work things out, I won't stand in the way …”

Harry's heart, however, sank at the thought of letting go of Hermione that way.

Ron started laughing out loud.

“It's okay, Harry. I do need to talk to Hermione, but for another reason. But I can let you in on a secret, I think.”

“What?”

Ron whispered as he said it. “She is madly in love with you, Harry. She refuses to see it or even admit it, she's terrified of it, but there's no denying it. I saw it, from up close.”

Ron looked down, ashamed to look Harry in the eyes. “It really bothered me at first —”

He paused, searching for the right words to finish his sentence.

“— but I see now that it's meant to be that way”, he continued, meeting Harry's bewildered gaze.

Harry was in awe of Ron's maturity about this. He was about to say something when Ron stopped him.

“I'm really happy, Harry. Hermione is more like a sister to me, there's no doubt — I was just jealous of you, of the fact that things always go your way …”

Harry didn't know what to reply. Maybe Hermione did fancy him, but that was before the airport.

But one thing had become undeniably urgent now.

Harry had to see her.

-->

HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's note: I had a great time writing this one. What I love the most about JK's novels are the little moments you find hidden within the story itself. Moments that reveal, one bit at a time, where the story is headed, and — especially — where the relationships are headed. This chapter is dedicated to “moments”. I hope you enjoy it!

CHAPTER 6

THE SECRET OF HERMIONE'S HEART

After two weeks of working for Krum Broom Supplies, Hermione knew she had made a terrible mistake. First of all, her first meeting with Viktor Krum had been very telling about his true intentions. Without any subtleties at all, he had invited her for dinner for the following Friday, to talk about old times and “get caught up”, he had said with a smile. At first, she had thought it a joke. She wasn't too sure, since Viktor had changed quite a bit, and she almost didn't recognize the man she had once accompanied to the Yule ball. The most noticeable change was his accent: the business world had pressed him to improve his English, and he now spoke with a very obvious Oxford accent. There were other few minor changes in his overall appearance. He now sported business suits, and was generally more sophisticated.

He was serious, however, about taking her to dinner. She went reluctantly, feeling like she at least owed him that for hiring her. He had been, however, a perfect gentleman, and the evening had been pleasant — even if uncomfortable at times.

But it was the work itself that Hermione hated most, and that had turned out to be very disappointing. Her so-called “research position” was in fact a quality-control job, and all she was required to do all day was to take samples from new broom lots and make sure they were responding the way they should to a series of predetermined test charms. Even though Viktor had explained to her that she had been given this position temporarily until she became familiar with the inner workings of the company, Hermione knew this was not the way it had originally been explained to her — in short, it looked very much like she had been lured into accepting any offer, so that Krum could have her close and try to rekindle a relationship with her.

That, of course, was out of the question for Hermione … The Friday morning of her second week, she immediately went to Viktor's office to resign from her position.

When he saw her enter, Viktor welcomed her with a beaming smile.

“Good morning! Your are the perfect ray of sunshine to start my day!”

Hermione looked down, and fumbled her words as she started talking. “Er, I don't think for long, though … Er, Viktor? I don't think this is going to work out … It's not at all what I expected, and I'm really not happy about the work. I thought it over, and I just — I just can't continue.”

She handed an enveloppe to Krum, which he knew was a letter of resignation.

Krum's smile vanished, and a certain sadness filled his eyes.

“Hermione, you've only been here two weeks! Don't quit now, wait some more, you'll see that soon the work will be more to your expectations!” There was, however, a slight resignation in his voice, as if he had expected it.

Hermione bit her lip, and decided to be honest. “Viktor, I'm sorry. You've been very kind to me, but — there is also … another reason. I thought I was coming here for a new challenge, but the truth is I was really escaping a difficult situation in my personal life … Staying wouldn't be fair to your company, and to myself.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, and smirked as he replied. “Ah, let me guess. You miss the great Harry Potter, don't you?”

Blushing furiously, Hermione nevertheless tried to look offended. “Viktor, how dare you!? Harry is my friend, I told you times and times again. No, it's like I said, there are things at home I must face once and for all!”

Viktor smiled, and replied softly. “You're a bad liar, Hermione. I know that Harry is too important to you, I don't think you can be that far from him and be happy. I had hoped that — perhaps — things had changed, and that you had moved on …”

He sighed heavily.

Puzzled, Hermione had the distinct impression that she had heard concern and genuine affection in Krum's voice.

“Viktor, are you trying to say something?”

Krum really liked Hermione, but wasn't selfish to the point of denying the obvious. After all, Hermione had been straight with him. He couldn't bring himself to be anything but entirely truthful with her.

“Look, Hermione, it is undeniable that you and Harry have a special bond, and it's a lot more than friendship. Now, maybe you or him — or both of you — have a hard time conceiving it, but it's there, and eventually it's going to torture you both. Go back, and tell him you love him already! You did even when I was with you guys at Hogwarts. Go, Hermione, go be with Harry!”

Hermione was floored. “Thank you, Viktor, you are a true gentleman.” She painfully recalled her last encounter with Harry. “I — I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but I'll keep your advice in mind.”

After a warm handshake, Hermione left.

She decided, before heading home, to wander off in the open-air market of Bucharest, to try to clear her mind about her situation. For the first time, she had managed to make a wrong decision, and fail at something. Her parents and friends would be disappointed, and she had a difficult time facing it …

The bright and colourful market streets were exactly what she needed. The place was bustling with the sounds of cars, of vendors advertising their products, and of people negotiating and discussing potential purchases. Crowds were checking out the different booths and tables set-up by a wide variety of merchants. One could find almost anything he was looking for: there was a wide assortment of clothes and jewellery, artifacts of all kinds, and numerous sorts of used merchandise. True to herself, Hermione immediately stopped at the table of the first antique book seller she came across, always curious about what she could uncover amongst the piles of discarded old volumes. Hermione, not yet familiar with Romanian, instantly noticed as she was browsing the different books an old familiar song was playing on a radio somewhere — in English.

When I'm feeling blue, all I have to do
Is take a look at you, then I'm not so blue
When you're close to me, I can feel your heart beat
I can hear you breathing near my ear
Wouldn't you agree, baby you and me got a groovy kind of love

Hermione paused as she heard the familiar lyrics, and put down the book she had been perusing. She remembered the song very well: her parents had played it so often when she was a child, and had even danced to it on their fifteenth wedding anniversary party. Hermione had only been nine years old at the time, but that particular evening had been a magical moment — for the first time of her young life, Hermione had seen what it was like to be in love with someone: her parents were staring passionately into each other's eyes, were holding each other close, and after the dance, they had both hugged her and told her that it was “Mommy and Daddy's song”…

From that moment on, Hermione had been hoping that she would one day find someone to love, a man that she could dance with as her parents' song — and hopefully, one day, her song — played on.

Tears started welling in Hermione's eyes as she sat down on a bench to fully take in this moment. All of the sudden, the precarity of her situation hit her like a freight train. She was in the middle of a city where barely anyone spoke her language, in a country far away from her home and the people who loved her, and she felt overwhelmed by anger, frustration, sorrow and loneliness — not to mention a bruised heart.

She thought about Krum's comments. “Yeah, Harry, you sure have a cruel way of showing your love …”

Anytime you want to you can turn me onto
Anything you want to, anytime at all
When I kiss your lips, ooh I start to shiver
Can't control the quivering inside
Wouldn't you agree, baby you and me got a groovy kind of love, oh

Her mind wandered to the last few weeks. She felt like she was really losing it, emotionally.

All her life she had been strong, fearless, and overachieving. Her parents had always pushed her to be the best that she could; and to her, that especially had meant being the best in school. Consequently, she had always gotten top grades, and she had also found most of her self-esteem in her ability to achieve academically.

She had been lonely growing up, though. Her parent's busy dental practice kept them away for long work hours, and her looks — ordinary at best, she had always thought — had often isolated her in school. You had to wonder about the irony: she was often snickered at and teased because of her large front teeth, and yet, her parents were … dentists.

And then … Out of the blue, she had been invited to come to Hogwarts.

It had changed her. More precisely, she had met someone at Hogwarts that had made her change … He had not set out to voluntarily change her, but it had happened nevertheless. Harry Potter's influence on Hermione Granger's life was obvious, and she was starting to feel that she couldn't pretend she didn't see it anymore.

The song was still playing on the radio, and Hermione found herself listening more closely, gazing into the throngs of people, wondering what to do next …

When I'm feeling blue, all I have to do
Is take a look at you, then I'm not so blue
When I'm in your arms, nothing seems to matter
My whole world could shatter, I don't care
Wouldn't you agree, baby you and me got a groovy kind of love
We got a groovy kind of love …

It suddenly dawned on her that for one very short moment at the airport, she had felt exactly that way. She had been in his arms, and nothing else had seemed to matter …

“Why am I so scared”, she muttered to herself, unable to bring herself to even fathom the fact that this is what she had been waiting for, for seven long years …

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

After a long afternoon of walking, Hermione finally made her way to her place, expecting to arrive to an empty but warm and cozy house.

To her astonishement, a tall guy with unmistakable red hair was sitting on the front porch, apparently waiting for her.

Hermione suddenly went into a panic. “Ron! What — what are you doing here? Oh my goodness, is Harry —”

Ron jumped up and ran to her, smiling. “No, no, don't worry! Everyone is fine, Hermione … But — how are you?”

Seeing Ron brought her emotional turmoil violently back to the surface. She immediately threw her arms around him, and started sobbing heavily.

Ron closed his arms around her, holding her tight, and whispered in her ear. “It's okay, just let it out, all right?” After a few minutes, he gently walked her back towards the porch, his arm still around her shoulders, and they sat down.

Oddly to Ron, she remained tightly clutched to him, and leaned her head on his chest just below his shoulder; her tears didn't seem to be stopping.

After a few minutes, she slowly straightened up, and looked at Ron with a faint smile, and gratefulness in her bright, wet brown eyes.

“Thank you, that felt good … Let's go in, I'll make some tea.”

After bringing the tea, she sat down with Ron on her couch and stared at the table for a long time. On it, a small package was resting, unopened. Hedwig had brought it the week before, and she hadn't been able to bring herself to open it.

Ron noticed the package too, and also Hedwig on a small perch in the corner; she was eating a small mouse, and seemed quite content in Hermione's care.

“Harry is worried, Hermione … He sent this almost two weeks ago, and he's been hysterical about not getting an answer … I reckon he'd already been here to see you if he hadn't been so busy with Hogwarts …”

Hermione looked up at Ron quizzically. “Hogwarts?”

“Yeah, Harry's being summoned there all the time by Dumbledore since you left; he's not very forthcoming about it either … I think that maybe he failed some of his NEWT last year, but he doesn't want to tell me.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Ron, did Harry send you here?”

Ron shook his head vigorously. “No, goodness no! In fact, I think he'd be positively furious to know I'm here. He doesn't know, I came here from my own accord. I — I really need to talk to you about, er, our relationship.”

Gazing into space, Hermione nodded, as if she knew she had to face the unavoidable. She reflected for a moment …

“It's really hard, moving on, isn't it? School was so fun, with you and Harry, I really miss it … Now, all these difficult decisions.”

Ron didn't quite know what to say. He just nodded, and softly put his arm around her shoulders. In a quite natural way, she slowly laid her head on his shoulder, happy not to be alone.

After a rather long silence, Ron broke the ice.

“Hermione, what happened? I know, that at the end, our relationship wasn't going anywhere. But when did it change? I remember our fourth year, and the Yule ball, and it seemed so obvious that we liked each other … I didn't like Krum being around you, you quite didn't like Fleur being nice to me. But then, at the end of the year, you kissed Harry goodbye, not me. Our fifth year was really weird … It's like I had all these accomplishments — I became prefect, I made the Quidditch team, I helped Gryffindor to victory — and yet you barely noticed. And the summer after, all of the sudden you did want to get together, but —it wasn't really the same, it's like you had changed, or something.”

Ron had said all this really fast. Hermione looked away, and silent tears started streaming down her cheeks.

She looked up at him, with an imploring look. “Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry! I never meant for you to get caught in the middle of my …”

She paused, having a hard time to speak through her sobs. She managed to get a hold of herself, and with a more resolute voice, started explaining herself.

“Ron, the year of the Yule ball was quite difficult for me. I discovered, to my surprise, that I might be attractive enough for guys to notice me. When Viktor told me he had been coming to the library just to try to talk to me, I was so flattered I accepted his invitation right away … But I had expected that you or Harry would — ask me to go, or at the very

least wonder if I was going with someone. But neither of you did …”

Ron looked down at the floor, his face flustered with remorse of the whole misunderstanding that year …

Hermione continued. “I could understand why Harry didn't, I mean, he was all about Cho that year, and he had the Triwizard Tournament to worry about … But my feelings were really hurt when you came at the last minute, assuming nobody would have asked me. That's why I was so upset that night, and I took out my frustration on you, and harped you about it all year.”

Ron realised that even when they were dating, they had not talked about this. “I'm sorry Hermione, it was — well, I always had seen you as `one of the guys' up to that point, and all of the sudden, you were … Well, a girl like all the others! So I — I just felt all awkward with you, and it never came out right.”

Hermione smiled indulgingly at Ron, and went on.

“Something else happened, that night … It was very subtle, but — it was Harry. Harry and I saw each other on the dance floor, and his face was different. He noticed me, but not as just a friend. There was — a twinkle, in his eyes, for just a moment.”

Hermione stopped briefly, took a gulp of tea, letting Ron digest what she had just revealed him.

Ron's face reddened. “What? Does that mean that the whole time we dated, you really liked Harry?”

Hermione had expected this, and quickly interjected. “Well, it's a little bit more complicated, Ron. The Yule ball opened my eyes to the fact that both of you could see me as more than just a bookworm and a partner in crime, and I was confused. For the rest of the year, it made me furious to see Fleur Delacour being extra-nice to you — AND Harry …”

Ron's face went from a hard frown, of someone who doesn't quite understand, to the enlightement of someone who has seen the light.

“Blimey, Hermione! So you loved us both at the same time?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Your emotional range has not evolved very far from the tea spoon, now has it? DIDN'T you notice, after the ball, when Rita Skeeter wrote I was Harry's girlfriend, that it was Harry telling everyone that I wasn't, and not — me?”

Ron's eyes went wide. “So I was right before — you … really fancied Harry better then?”

Hermione couldn't avoid blushing this time. “I don't know, it was confusing at the time. I just liked the idea of being Harry's `girlfriend'. He didn't share the same feelings then, though. And — you were constantly jealous of Viktor, so I didn't know what to think. But — I just couldn't sort out who was `friend', and who was, well, more.”

Ron's face had suddenly become very difficult to read. “So, I guess I never had a chance against Harry, hey?”

Hermione couldn't lie to Ron anymore. It had been her mistake, she had to face the consequences.

“Ron, please believe me! I've been doing some soul-searching lately, and I'm just coming to terms with some of my true feelings. I never meant to hurt you, but —”

Hermione's voice seemed to get caught up in her throat, and became a barely audible whisper.

“I've — I've loved Harry from the first time I've met him, I think. At the end of our fourth year, when I kissed him, I already knew.”

Right then and there, Hermione's worst fear came true. She had been looking at the floor, and glanced at Ron from under her hair. He wasn't saying anything, his face was as cold as a brick wall.

He finally spoke. “You should have told me this a long time ago, I mean. It's weird to find out it was all fake —”

Hermione's voice climbed up. “No, no! It wasn't! You've got to understand! Harry didn't seem to want to be anything more than my friend, and … I really love you Ron, you were a natural choice.”

Slowly, Ron smiled in a dumbfounded kind of way. “I was just playing with you just now, Hermione … I've known for a while you love Harry, I knew when we broke up, remember?”

Relieved, Hermione nevertheless gave Ron a small punch on the shoulder. “You git! Why were you torturing me like that?”

Ron's grin became even wider. “Well, I did want to know about this whole Yule ball thing, it was confusing for me too. But I know you love Harry, it's undeniable. And now, please answer his owl, he's going nutters in London. He thinks you're never going to speak to him again.”

Hermione looked up in Ron's eyes, and paused. “Well, he was really mean to me, you know. What he said really hurt …”

“I know, but he's miserable. He didn't mean it, he just —”

Ron wondered if he should say anything more. He decided just to tip her off.

“I think he's just discovering that, well, he may be in love with you too.”

Hermione's face lit up. Was it truly real, after all this time?

“Thank you, Ron, you're really a good friend, you know! Don't — don't tell Harry anything, okay? I need to sort this out on my own.”

“Of course, of course,” Ron said looking at his watch.

“It's getting really late, I'd better go. I'll see you soon, I hope!”

After kissing her goodbye, Ron walked into the night, and with a loud cracking sound, he disappeared into the night.

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

Harry was coming undone at the seams.

He was completely alone in his house at number twelve, Grimmaud Place, except for Dobby. Ron had left early in the morning, mentionning some “errands” he had to run; Harry looked up at the clock: it was now ten thirty-five in the evening, and he was still nowhere to be found.

“Where has he gone?” muttered Harry, who usually didn't keep tabs on Ron, but thought strange that he would be gone all day without telling him anything.

The last week had been a whirlwind … He had been spending the biggest part of his last week in and out of Hogwarts, meeting secretly with Dumbledore and other members of the Order of the Phoenix as they had worked to recall the order into active duty — not that the last truce had been very long. It felt weird for Harry, who was now a full-fledged member of the Order. They had put him in charge of field operations, which meant he was supervising the activities of more or less everybody.

Harry hadn't told Ron what exactly was going on. Truth be told, he just hadn't had the time. He hoped, all of the sudden, that all the mystery wasn't the reason for Ron's absence. He would need him soon enough.

The kitchen table was full of newspapers, and Harry was growing increasingly worried as they all hinted to one thing: some kind of offensive was on. The numerous news reports were all different and discrete, but yet shared the same characteristics: an oddly high number of “unexplained” deaths, multiple acts of “terrorism” and so-called “vandalism”. The reports often indicated weird “lights”, and explosions of “greenish gases”.

“Why Muggles? … Why on earth are they such a target to Dark Wizards?” Despite his feelings about the Dursleys, he didn't think they would deserve, if it came to that, to be pulverised by the blast of an Unforgivable Curse.

In the sequence of events and bad news of the last two weeks, it was nevertheles Hermione's silence that weighed the most heavily on Harry's heart and mind. He had sent Hedwig almost two weeks before to Hermione, and was still awaiting a reply.

Harry was now clenching his jaw tightly, gritting his teeth. “Something must be wrong … Yeah, something is definitely wrong. I must get over there, and — ”

The doorbell was ringing.

“Who could this be, at this time of the night?” Harry thought out loud as he jogged to get to the entrance hall to greet whoever would be.

Harry was disconcerted to find Dobby at the door, greeting … Luna Lovegood!

“Luna!? Hi! What — er, what brings you here at such an — odd time of the day?” Harry was trying to be polite, but was dumbfounded about Luna's visit.

Luna looked around dreamily, her eyes darting around as if looking for something — or someone. “Oh, hello Harry. I'm sorry about the time, I didn't realize … Is Ronald here? He told me I could come and see him here.”

“Oh, okay! Uh, Ron is not here now. He's been gone all day, actually, and I'm not sure when he will return.”

Luna looked positively disappointed. “Oh, that's too bad. I guess I'll be going then. Well, bye Harry.”

“Wait! Don't you want me to give him a message or something? Should he get back to you?” Harry was so in shock still that he didn't quite know what to do.

Luna frowned for a moment, and then gave a big, sheepish grin. “Tell him that I miss him a lot!” On this, she spun around and left.

Harry looked at Dobby, and started laughing.

“Dobby always thought Miss Luna was a bit funny”, the elf said, grinning as well.

Harry loved Luna, she was a good friend, and she had been a good ear for him at important times. But she remained — well, Luna! Still giggling, Harry made his way back to the kitchen, where his dilemma of before came back as he saw the newspaper and everything else on the table.

Harry had been torn for the last two weeks: on one hand, he missed Hermione so much that it would have taken nothing for him to apparate in the blink of an eye in Romania to find Hermione; on the other hand, he remained hesitant, wanting to leave her some space after their last encounter — and let her tell him how she felt.

But Dumbledore's word of caution about Hermione was haunting Harry; he couldn't help thinking she was vulnerable, and that she was sufficiently isolated to be some kind of easy target.

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay, if I have no news from Hedwig tomorrow morning, I'm apparating over there.”

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

Hermione had Harry's package on her lap, and was hesitant to open it.

“Oh well, let's do it!” she finally said, trembling slightly.

Her thoughts wandered to what Ron had said. Even though there was nobody in the room, she blushed furiously at the thought that Harry — Harry Potter — did, in fact, love her, and that their kiss at the airport had not been just a mistake.

She unfolded the small note that had come with the package, and read it.

Dearest Hermione,

Once again, I have to apologize in writing, but I can't do it.

I know I hurt you this time, and it's killing me. I love you so very much, I once again took out my anger on you, and you don't deserve it.

Hermione, I can't bear the thought of losing you. You mean more to me than anything else.

What's in a package is a part of me. You've seen it once before. Truth is, I've really wanted you to have it all along; please accept it as my lame attempt to convince you that you mean more to me than anything else in this world.

Please forgive me.

Love, Harry

Hermione was suddenly apprehensive about opening the package. What on earth had Harry sent her? She delicately unfolded the thick paper, and saw a velvety box with gold trimmings. She gasped, knowing exactly what it was — she had seen it before, when she and Harry had found the chest in the attic. Her heart racing, she delicately opened the box, and saw the necklace.

“No! Harry, you can't! You didn't! I — I'm so not worth that!” she wailed, knowing it had been destined for Harry's mum, and that he treasured this beyond anything else.

Rivers of tears came — once again — streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, Harry! I love you so much, you stupid git!”, she said softly … “I love you so much it hurts.”

After a while, Hermione put the necklace on, and smiled dreamily.

She had taken out her old diaries from school just before. She started reading them, and immediately came across her first entry, the day of her first meeting. Softly playing with the necklace around her neck, she smiled.

“I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you? …”

“I'm Ron Weasley,” Ron muttered.

“Harry Potter,” said Harry.

“Are you really?” said Hermione. “I know all about you, of course -— I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

She had felt so stupid after she had left their compartment on the Hogwarts Express. All she had been able to do on her first encounter with Harry Potter — typical of her — had been to quote something she had read in a book.

“No wonder he thought I was a know-it-all”, she whispered to herself as she petted Crookshanks, who had joined her on the sofa.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to go to bed. More and more, she knew the time had come to reveal the secret she had been harbouring for seven long years: she had to let Harry — and the world — know that she had been madly, desperately, and secretly in love with her best friend, Harry Potter.

It had started, as everything typically did with Hermione, with what she had read. Learning about the Wizarding World was fascinating, and she had bought stacks of books to better acquaint herself with her new reality. In many of them, she had come across the story of a little baby who had defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of the last hundred years, Lord Voldemort.

She had been quick to compute that he had to be a few months younger than she was herself; he had to have turned eleven years old during that summer. Perhaps he would even be entering Hogwarts this year …

Hermione had first been intrigued by the idea of Harry Potter. She was curious, but realistic. He surely wouldn't want anything to do with her — after all, she was quite ordinary, she didn't do well socially, and she came from a non-magical family line. In her mind, the baby had grown up to be a tall, handsome and dashing prince that wouldn't look twice at a girl with large teeth and messy, bushy hair.

But then, she had met him. The “prince” was small and skinny, had unmanageable hair, wore glasses, and seemed so — shy. And yet, something powerful and reassuring emanated from him, a quiet strength that seemed to radiate from his very character. Her first meeting with Harry on the Hogwarts Express had been an unexpected experience: her heart had raced and she had been suddenly so nervous that all she had been able to tell him was that she had read about him in a book!

But the more she discovered him, the more she liked him. She hadn't deliberately set out to become Harry and Ron's friend. However, her insecurities and desire to please — this was a new world for her, and she wanted to be the best she could — had landed her in trouble again. People had quickly pegged her as a teacher's pet, a know-it-all, and just like it had been in her previous schools, she had found herself alone. And when Ronald Weasley had remarked, in their first year, that she “must not have any friend”, he had hit a nerve. Wounded, she had hidden in the girls bathroom, until Harry and Ron had come to rescue her from the Mountain Troll they had — she had only learned of this years later — themselves locked in with her.

And so they had become friends, and Hermione had remained quite content with that relationship. Yet, it had made her see Harry from up close, and the more she saw, the more she liked. It also dawned on her that there was a price to being Harry's friend: he was a wanted man, and his life was constantly threatened.

With shivers running down her spine, she flipped her diary and came to an entry at the end of their first year, when they had been together trying to get to Quirrell and Voldemort.

“Well — I was lucky once, wasn't I?” said Harry, pointing at his scar. “I might get lucky again.”

Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

“Hermione!”

“Harry — you're a great wizard, you know.”

“I'm not as good as you,” said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him.

“Me!” said Hermione. “Books! And cleverness! There are more important things — friendship and bravery and — oh Harry — be careful!”

She read, in her diary, the line following the description of the incident:

“It's really hard to admit it, but I think I'm in love with Harry. Is that possible? He's so wonderful and brave … I'm really scared.”

She had started falling for Harry at that very moment. He was no longer someone she had read about in a book, he was no longer just a stranger in a train. He was someone that was ready to risk his life for the people he cared about, and someone who could face danger despite his fear, well on his way to becoming great. And more to the point — he was the only one whom she wanted to be loved by.

And yet, Hermione had made every effort, from that point on, to hide her growing admiration and love for Harry.

First of all, Harry didn't show any interest in girls when he had entered Hogwarts, and she didn't want to risk the possibility of an eventual relationship with him before it even had a chance to start. And to her dismay, Harry's first crush had been Cho Chang, not her. Despite the fact that she was deeply upset at this, and more generally speaking, at the fact that neither Ron nor Harry seemed to “see” her as a girl who could, potentially, be attractive and an interesting partner, she had made sure she remained supportive to Harry. She suspected that his attraction to Cho was only superficial, and that eventually it would become obvious to him. Time would prove her right, of course.

Second of all, Hermione felt powerless about the fact that if she was ever to love him romantically, there would be always be the unbearable risk of losing him. This actually terrified her to the point she had recurring nightmares about it, and it had been increasingly showing in her worry and drive to make sure Harry was always as safe as he could be.

By the end of their fourth year at Hogwarts, she had become more aware of her real feelings for Harry: she had fallen intensely in love with him, but remained terrified of what it meant. For a split-second that year, she had hoped he would ask her to the Yule Ball, but knew better. Harry was still not noticing her, infatuated as he was with Cho. Furthermore, even Ron had started showing a certain jealousy towards her, a fact that had really caught her off guard. Their argument at the Yule ball had made her more upset and confused than she could ever imagine … Maybe Ron made more sense for her? Maybe she was just fantasizing about Harry, when all this while she could have a comforting, safe and more predictable relationship with Ron? That question would haunt her for the next two years, and would eventually become the motivation behind one of her biggest blunders — dating Ron.

She remembered that evening quite vividly for another particular reason, though: when she had appeared with Krum that evening on the dance floor, she had seen Harry's eyes and his astonishment; and for the first time, she knew he had noticed her — and with more than just the eyes of a friend. So there was hope, she had thought.

And Harry's feelings towards her had seemed to change the next year: all year he had been miserable, but he had also been very protective of her, she had fought at his side, and she had noticed that he seemed to value her opinion more than in the past. Despite the Cho incident — the kiss — their fifth year had been a victory for Hermione: Cho had been eliminated as a real threat, and Harry and her had grown very close. But yet, she had remained scared of what a relationship with Harry could mean, since his life constantly hung in the balance. She had been torn by this, and the next summer she had reasoned herself into trying a relationship with Ron.

“That was the worst year of my life”, Hermione remembered, and her eyes became glittery again.

Not only did Hermione realise quickly that her and Ron weren't meant to be more than friends, she experienced for the first time what it meant to be somewhat cut off from Harry — she felt alone, vulnerable, and like something was missing.

“I never told him how I missed him that year”, she thought …

But when they had reunited just before their last year at Hogwarts, Harry had hugged her for an extra-long time, and they had both been scared to move for a while. It seemed that Harry had missed her at least as much.

Their seventh year had been excruciatingly difficult. The Wizarding world was at war, Harry's life had been threatened many times, and he had saved her own life twice during the year. Without his protection and quick-thinking, she would not be alive to enjoy this moment.

There had been something new, however. Despite the fact that Harry had lost some softness, that he was harsh and lost his temper more often than she had been used to, she had noticed a definite change in the way he interacted with her. He was certainly more vocal about the way he felt about her: he told her he cared, he told her he loved her (as a friend), and his instincts had changed — whenever he was in close proximity, he often touched her, hugged her, and — this had been something new — he had taken to the habit of playing with her hair. This was very disconcerting, since she didn't know if he was doing it consciously or not. She enjoyed it very much, however, and longed to just let herself go and tell him how much she loved him. But at the same time, she was still terrified of losing him, and of letting herself becoming a weakness for Harry, that would have given weapons to Voldemort and his kronies to get to Harry.

And, for an instant, she had seen her worst fear become real: she had seen him dead, lifeless on the ground, for what had seemed an eternity.

Hermione tried to catch her breath, her heart racing and hurting. She started sobbing, and couldn't stop the tears as she recalled his last brush with Voldemort. The heartbreak had been insufferable, and for the first time of her life, she had thought of dying herself. If Harry was gone, what could she do?

She had been the first there, and certain he was about to die, she had told him her secret … “I can't lose you — I love you!”

To her immense relief, he had opened his eyes, and smiled.

“But now,” she mused as a conclusion to her evening, “I have to tell him again. Face to face.”

She was going to apparate back in London the next day. She had to go back. She couldn't spend one more minute away from Harry, and — at long last — there would be no more secrets.

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HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

CHAPTER 7

CASUALTIES OF WAR

“I'm telling you, she's not here!” Krum's face was livid, both with anger and terror. He knew that this early on a Saturday morning, he was the only one in the building.

It was Karkaroff — a face that Krum was completely astonished to see again, after his sudden disappearance of a few years back — who had spoken first. He was accompanied by Maldemort, who was yet unknown to Krum. There was also a young man with them, that looked somewhat familiar, but Krum couldn't quite remember where he had seen him before.

“Viktor,” Karkaroff spat between his teeth, “I would urge you, as your old Headmaster and friend, to listen to me very closely … This here, is Lord Maldemort — our new master. And he doesn't like people who don't comply with his demands. I strongly suggest —”

Maldemort cut him off, and with a deliberately glacial tone, continued.

“Mister Krum, my people don't lie … We know that a certain” — a look of loathing and disdain appeared on Maldemort's face as he spat the name — “Hermione Granger has started working for you last week. Now, I will not ask again. Where is she?”

Krum, a successful businessman, was not easily intimidated. But there was something so evil about this man, that he was really fearing for his life, though fighting really hard not to show it.

Maldemort pushed on with an amused smile. “Fear … It's no use trying to hide it, I can smell it in you, Krum … This is no Quidditch game, now is it? NOW … Where's the filthy Mudblood?”

“First of all, it's Saturday today, and people don't usually work on Saturday. But most importantly, she no longer works here”, he finally answered, seeing that he had little choice. Krum liked Hermione very much, but he had to save his own life for now. “She handed in her resignation yesterday, said she had made a terrible mistake. What do you want with her anyway?”

Karkaroff continued. “Viktor, it would do you good not to ask too many questions … Now, surely your employee records show an address for Miss Granger?”

Indignation appeared up on Krum's face. “Those are confidential! I can't just let you have information like that!”

In a blink of the eye, Maldemort had his wand in the air and calmly pronounced the spell. “Crucio!” Krum's body fell to the floor just like a rag doll, and his face twisted into an expression of sheer agony.

“Now, mister Krum”, Maldemort continued, “I am a patient man … We could stay here for a while, and see how much resistance Quidditch training gives a man. Or, we could get that address, and everybody would be happy! Either way, it's your choice …”

With great effort, Krum nodded, and the pain stopped.

“Just promise me you won't hurt her!” Krum pleaded as he painfully got up.

Maldemort snickered. “Don't worry, mister Krum. She has something we want very much. Once we get it, we will go on with our business …”

As they exited the premises with Hermione's address, Maldemort turned to Karkaroff. “Kill him, we don't need any witness.”

A few minutes later, a flash of green light illuminated the otherwise dark corridors.

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

Harry was happy to see Ron sitting at the breakfast when he came back from his newspaper “collecting” expedition. He had purchased ten on this Saturday morning; that was not counting, of course, the Daily Prophet, who was delivered directly to Harry's house by owl.

“Good morning mate!” he said cheerily, as Ron was wolfing down his piece of toast.

Ron was smirking, as if he knew something Harry didn't — which, of course, was the case.

“What? Do I look funny or something?”

“No, everything's fine. I'm just quite happy this morning!” Ron's looks suddenly shifted to the pile of newspaper under Harry's arm, eyes wide.

“Can you tell me what have you been doing with all these newspapers, lately? It's almost like you're looking for something bad to happen …”

Harry hesitated before he answered. The time would come soon when he would have no choice but to let Ron in on what was happening.

He resolved he would do it that very day, although not during breakfast.

“Well, I'm just making sure the world is safe again, Ron …”

Harry then remembered a fact that could help him change the subject quickly.

“Oh, by the way, you had a visitor last night!” Harry chuckled as he remembered the scene with Luna.

“Oh, really? Who was it?” Ron said between bites of his toast.

Harry looked at Ron, and with a mock-voice that he intended as dreamy as possible, he whispered, “Luna came for you …”

To Harry's bewilderment, Ron's ears instantly turned into a shade of crimson red. The color slowly started making its way down to his cheeks.

“Oh … And — and what did she … What did she say?” Ron was avoiding Harry's gaze.

“Well, er, she told me to tell you that … that she — missed — you … In fact, that she missed you, er, A LOT!?” Ron couldn't hide a childish, giddy smile, and Harry caught on right away.

“Ronald?” Harry continued sarcastically, “why would she … miss you? I know we're all close friends and all, but we saw her a couple of days ago at the airport — well, I didn't really talk to her much, but I'm sure —”

Ron replied quickly without taking his eyes off his plate. “Well, if you must know, we had — we went on a date, okay?”

Ron had said this in a low voice, seeming almost afraid to say it out loud. He was also looking left and right to make sure Dobby or some other person was there to hear it.

While listening to Ron, Harry had started laying some of the papers on his side of the table. He stopped with a start.

“A date? With Luna? You're kidding, right?” Harry had started laughing really loud, and then realized by Ron's disappointed face that he was serious.

Biting his lip, Harry quickly continued, “Er, I'm sorry Ron, it's just — I kind of never thought, you know. But seriously, Luna is very sweet, and can be very cute when she doesn't look lost in … thoughts.” Harry had wanted to say “outer space”, but had decided that this particular choice of words could be somewhat misinterpreted.

Obviously uncomfortable, Ron tried to offer some form of explanation. “Well, you know, I thought that at first, but we had a really good time, she's very nice, and — and — don't laugh — I'm actually kind of growing quite fond of her …”

Harry had managed to retrieve his serious tone.

“Well, Ron, if I hadn't had Luna to help me deal with the loss of Sirius, I'm not sure I'd still be `sane'. She was great, in fact. Good for you, Ron!”

After getting coffee and a piece of toast from Dobby, Harry opened the London Times first, and scanned the cover page. Nothing, other than the fact that England's Prime Minister had handed in his resignation, one week after the scandalous revelation that he had been secretly conducting illicit affairs with no less than five women.

Harry smirked. “Uncle Vernon must be really glad about this one!” remembering his Uncle's dislike for anything that went against proper etiquette.

He flipped the second page, and after reading the three or four headlines, felt a stabbing pain in his stomach as his eyes moved across to the top of page three:

“GAS BLAST DESTROYS PROMINENT DENTISTRY CLINIC IN LONDON”

Harry had read about a lot of “gas blasts” in the last few days, and knew they were — usually — no gas explosion at all. They were just the way Muggles perceived attacks from Wizards, since the colors of the “explosions” were similar.

But it was obviously something else that troubled Harry, and made him read on; Hermione had never told him where exactly her parents practiced their professional activities. Could it only be a strange coincidence that Dark Wizards had attached a dentist's office?

Harry, now mortified, didn't think so.

“It can't be, please … There are probably hundreds of dentists in London!” Harry said out loud read on, on the verge of becoming physically ill.

Harry's worried tone of voice caught Ron's attention, and he also started reading the paper — upside down. When he managed to decipher the headline, he dashed across the table to read with Harry, and shrieked, nervously combing his red hair with his right hand.

“Blimey Harry! Could it be Hermione's parents clinic?”

Harry's face showed panic as he read out loud.

“At eleven thirty P.M. on Friday, a violent explosion” destroyed one of the most renowned dentistry clinic of the greater London area, the —” Harry gasped, and closed his eyes as a deep sadness welled within him.

He continued in a very low murmur. “— the Granger clinic ...”

Harry's heart was beating really fast now, and his legs were quickly becoming like jelly. He pressed on his reading:

“Witnesses say that a bright, greenish light preceded the explosion, a fact which leads investigators to believe that a faulty gas pipe could be the original cause of the blast. The Fire Department, called on the scene, could do very little more than control the peripheral fires that came about as a consequence of the main explosion. Sadly, the Fire Department has confirmed as of late last night that at least twenty people were killed by the explosion. The owners of the clinic, Dr. Stephen Granger and his wife, Dr. Eleanor Granger, have not yet been located and it was impossible to confirm at the time of going to press whether they were in the building at the moment of the blast.”

Harry literally fell on the chair besides him, as if he had just been hit by the Hogwarts Express itself. He suddenly felt nauseous, and struggled not to retch his breakfast.

Ron was aghast, and tears were running down his cheeks. “Oh no, oh no …”

Harry suddenly got up; he had to act quickly. This was no gas explosion for sure, and if Hermione's parents had been targeted, it meant that Hermione was probably in extreme danger.

With urgency in his voice, Harry immediately turned to Ron: “Ron, I can't explain now, but I need you to get to Dumbledore as quick as you can, and show him this newspaper. I have to get to Hermione right now, she's in danger.”

Bewildered, Ron tried to argue. “What? What do you mean, in danger? I —”

Harry was frantic now. “RON! THERE'S NO TIME! Just trust me, okay? I'll explain later. I HAVE to get to Hermione!”

“Okay, all right, I'm going.” Ron rushed through the door.

Harry checked for his wand, and started concentrating really hard; after ten seconds or so, he disappeared from the kitchen with a loud crack.

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

Hermione had been awake for a little while, but had remained on her couch. The nice blanket was warm and comfortable, and with Crookshanks purring at her side, it was almost impossible to just give up the coziness of that moment instantaneously. She had unconsciously brought her hand up, and was playing delicately with her necklace.

“Hopefully, I'm going to see Harry today”, she told Crookshanks dreamily, who replied by stretching his front paws and closing his eyes in satisfaction as she pet him lovingly.

She finally got up, and decided to finish her packing. Not that there was a lot to be done, as she had stayed up quite late to prepare for her departure this morning. But there still were a few odds and ends that needed to be taken care of.

She went to the bathroom, took a shower and got dressed, before she really started putting what was remaining to be packed in her traveling handbag.

After maybe fifteen minutes, she was finished. Her trunk was packed neatly, and her handbag was stuffed and ready to go.

A television set stood in the corner of the living room, and Hermione was suddenly taken with the idea of watching the Saturday morning news bulletin, in order to see what was going on in the world. Since her arrival at Krum International, she had been completely disconnected.

She flipped the channels until she got to the BBC, and started listening to the news. After ten minutes or so, she had had enough.

“Nothing worth listening to this morning”, she muttered to herself. She was about to run the dial off when a moving caption flashing at the bottom of the TV screen caught her attention. It said simply “Stay tuned for a special report on the blast in London.”

Intrigued, Hermione approached the TV and sat down on the edge of the small living room table. The images switched a few seconds later to a reporter standing in front of what looked like a ravaged area of London; she could see smoke everywhere, panic-stricken people running around behind the news reporter, mixed with the eerie reflections and flashes of the emergency lights from the fire trucks and ambulances. The reporter was speaking, but she wasn't paying much attention, focused as she was on the images of the sinister damages.

Suddenly, her heart sank, and she covered her mouth with her hands in surprise: as the camera panned to show the wreckage of what seemed to be the effects of a huge explosion, she noticed what was left of a small coffee-shop, and distinctly saw “Chez Antoine” still hanging from the storefront brick wall … She gasped, and suddenly felt unable to breathe properly as the shock and anxiety of what she was seeing overtook her. She knew this café very well: every morning when she was little, she would have breakfast there with her Mum and Dad — it was right across her parents' dental clinic.

Trembling as a leaf, she turned the volume up, and listened more closely.

“Yes Nigel, it was exactly here last night, at around eleven-thirty P.M., that a devastating explosion almost instantly destroyed this building. It was well known to the residents of the London area, being one of the most reputed dental clinics in the city. It is believed, according to investigators, that some kind of gas leak was the main cause of the explosion ...”

Hermione had started crying uncontrollably, her hands grabbing at each side of her face in utter desperation. A weird, horrendous, twisting pain seemed to be constricting her chest cavity, making her heart ache and her breathing extremely difficult.

Hermione managed to get up, trying to grab a hold of herself; she started pacing nervously in front of the television set. “No, no …” she reasoned, in a small, high-pitched voice. “It was late, they had to be gone, it's not … They are safe, I know they —”

It was the news anchor that spoke next.

“Peter, for the listeners who just tuned in, can you tell us about casualties? Were there people in the building at the time of the blast?”

“Well, Nigel, information is sketchy, because there are a lot of confidentiality issues here. Unfortunately, inspectors for the Fire Department have confirmed that as much as twenty people may have still been in the building at the moment of the explosion — they are all believed to be dead. Some bodies have already been recovered, but names have not been released to the public yet. But wait —”

Someone had approached the field reporter, and was whispering in his ear.

“We have just learned, Nigel, through undisclosed sources, that both owners of the clinic, Dr. and Dr. Granger, were in fact still inside last night and are amongst the deceased …”

Hermione felt as if the floor had been violently yanked from under her feet. Her knees buckled, and she crumbled to the floor. In the blink of an eye, her entire body seemed to shut down and go numb. It was as if she could no longer feel or move, she was frozen — her brain seemed no longer able to process anything. She wanted to scream, but the air didn't seem to want to reach her lungs. Gasping for breath, trying to fight off her dizziness, she finally managed to take in a gulp of air.

A shrieking, howling sound came out of her, but she remained on the floor leaning on her hands, as if about to vomit. She wailed what seemed to be everything she had inside.

“Noooo! Not them! Not Mum and Dad! Oh, my God, I — I — I can't breathe, …”

At the same moment, a thundering cracking sound was heard from the street. Hermione looked up with a start, but couldn't even stand up to see, feeling as if her insides were dying.

The door suddenly flung open, and from the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a tall, athletic frame crowned with an untidy mess of jet-black hair running towards her, and her name being screamed out loud by a warm and familiar voice; she felt herself being wrapped around the shoulders by two wiry, muscular bare arms. Looking up, she saw her own reflection in two shiny emerald green mirrors …

“Harry …” Hermione whispered, barely audible through her tears.

Harry drew her closer, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder just below his chin.

“Oh Harry, my Mum and Dad, they're —”

As he had entered the house, Harry had seen the news report from the corner of one eye and Hermione on the floor with the other; he had immediately understood what the desolating scene he was witnessing meant.

He looked at her as she lay on his shoulder, silently crying. She was a mess … He gently bend his own head, leaning his face in her hair. She grabbed his t-shirt with her hand, and suddenly exploded in sobs and started shaking convulsively, crying with no holding back.

“Mum … Dad … Harry, they're — gone! Why, why? I — I — What did I do?” She was clutching Harry really hard, and her whole body was suffering from the blow.

Harry was now crying himself. “I — I know, I'm so sorry Hermione. I'm here now, I won't let you go. Don't worry … I'm here, you're not alone.”

They remained on the floor for a long while, Hermione sobbing, and Harry tenderly holding her, silently. There was nothing to say. Yet, Harry felt that if anyone could have a hint of Hermione's sorrow, it was him.

Hermione was shaking slightly less now, and looked up at Harry, who had somehow managed to lean back against the wall, still cradling her in his arms. His eyes were of shining green, wet from the tears of sharing Hermione's pain.

Harry smiled faintly as he gazed at her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face flustered from all the crying, and she was still shining with tears — and yet, Harry thought, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever known. Looking at her bright brown eyes, Harry saw for the first time just how vulnerable she was. In his arms wasn't the strong, courageous and fearsome girl soon to turn nineteen. Rather, he was seeing a frightened and lonely little girl, who had just lost her parents, and who desperately wanted someone to take care of her.

Harry felt a formidable jolt in the pit of his stomach, that quickly became a fluttering sensation. Harry brushed her hair delicately, and murmured softly in her ear: “My timing is awful, as usual, but … I love you Hermione, oh, I love you so much!” Pulling back just ever slightly, he kissed her forehead.

Hermione softly laid her hand on his cheek. She looked at him through her veil of tears, and sobbed back, “Oh Harry — I love you too, I've loved you for so long. You have no idea … I am so —”

Harry put his finger on her lips, as he looked at her intensely in the eyes. His hand moved on hers, and he gently stroke her arm. He then delicately wiped her cheek, and moved forward … He kissed her lips softly as he brushed her hair back … His hand moved gently to the nape of her neck, and he kissed her again a few times, and before long the intensity of the moment took over. Both Hermione's hands were now in Harry's hair, and — if it was at all possible — seemed to be furiously trying to make it even untidier. They locked in a desperate embrace, their lips fused together as their love and repressed emotions of the last couple of weeks finally found expression.

“WELL! Would you look at that? How very touching!! Gee, Potter, why did you deny it all these years? You DID have a thing for the Mudblood!!”

Draco Malfoy was standing in the doorway, holding a wand menacingly and wearing a smug smile on his face.

Harry reacted out of sheer instinct. He instantly laid down on top of Hermione, and started rolling the both of them towards the living room table, intending to use it as shield — while at the same reaching for his wand in his back pocket; before he had reached the table, his arm was already extended fully, and he shouted, “Expelliarmus!”

Draco's wand flew, and before he knew what was happening to him, a red stream of light had hit him in the forehead. He fell flat on his back, completely taken out by the hex that Harry had sent his way.

Harry looked up from behind the table, and knew he only had seconds to spare, seeing a bunch of Death eaters running towards the door.

“Can you fight, Hermione?” Harry's face was intensely concentrated, and his eyes showed so much anger and determination that for the first time, Hermione felt he was more than just a great wizard. He emanated something, at this very moment, that she had only seen before in … Dumbledore.

Harry looked sideways, only to see Hermione already kneeling in a fighting stand and her wand already in her hand. They had the same instincts, it seemed, despite the emotions or circumstances surrounding them.

“Of course I'll fight, Harry. Listen, there's a back door, maybe —”

“No, they'll have it covered. Our only hope is to get down the basement and apparate out of here. Okay, on the count of three, we start running, and we send stunning spells towards the door. One!”

Two death eaters came bursting in and streaks of fire and light started crossing the room in all directions.

“TWO!”

Harry and Hermione had a slight advantage in the fact that the coming Death eaters didn't know where they were: they were concealed behind the table, which was itself partially hidden from view until someone moved further into the house.

“THREE!” They both jumped up to their feet, remaining crouched down, and started running towards the basement stairs on the far side of the kitchen area. In almost perfect synchronization, they both sent powerful stunning spells towards the door. Harry's spell managed to stun the first Death eater, but Hermione's missed. It was that second Death eater who screamed “Crucio!” — instantly, Hermione's knees buckled and she fell down, crashing into a pile of rusted old metal cans that were intended for the trash. She started screaming and yelling, her face twisted in a horrible expression of unfathomable pain.

Harry spun around quickly and screamed, “Petrificus Totallus!” The Death eater keeled over and fell hard, as a wooden board would.

“Oh my goodness that hurt!”, cried Hermione, trying to get up. Harry realized with horror that her knee was bleeding profusely: she seemed to have cut herself badly on one of the cans.

Then — out of nowhere — Harry felt something new. It was like a warning bell had gone off inside his head, and all he could hear was “GET DOWN!” Immediately, Harry plunged towards Hermione, and half a second later, he heard it.

“Adava Kedavra!” — the flash of green light just missed his head, and he knew there would be no second miss. Energized by a sudden jolt of strength, he extended his arm back, gave a quick look to aim and shouted, “Adava Kedavra!”

To Hermione's horror, the jet of green light took off from Harry's own wand this time, and hit a tall silhouette at the entrance of the kitchen right in the middle of the chest. Another Death eater had entered, but his slightly pulled down hood showed that he still smiling when his body started falling to the ground. The whole exchange had taken less than one second.

They didn't have time to dwell on what had just happened. Harry got to his feet, and lifted up Hermione. Her leg was now covered in blood, and she could barely walk. They could hear more footsteps and angry screams coming from outside. Harry just lifted Hermione in his arms, and flew down the flight of stairs more than went down it.

They huddled in a corner, and caught a breath or two before Harry started talking again.

“Okay, we have to apparate” said Harry, panting, “concentrate on Grimmaud Place, quick!”

There was a deafening cracking sound, and everything went black for a moment.

Harry opened his eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the familiar surrounding of the kitchen of his house.

“Harry! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Ron and Ginny screamed and rushed to Harry's side, both their face horrified at the amount of blood on his clothes.

“Gosh, that was way too darn close, Hermione!” Harry said turning around to look at Hermione.

He gasped and shrieked in horror.

Hermione was not there.

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HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

CHAPTER 8

REFUGE IN GODRIC'S HOLLOW

Hermione opened her eyes, and let out a piercing shriek, shocked — she was still in the basement of her house in Romania! She looked around frantically and her already fragile heart missed a beat when she didn't see Harry anywhere. Something had gone very wrong with her apparating! Trying to move, she felt as if a huge cerated knife was permanently lodged in her knee, and winced in pain — this had to be more than a cut. Her whole leg was excrutiatingly painful, and covered in blood. She tried to concentrate again on Grimmaud Place, but she was suffering way too much. Her emotions were in a whirlwind also, another factor that had possibly contributed to her inability to apparate, she reasoned.

“I have to get up, I have to move!” Hermione said to herself. She could distinctly hear more footsteps and noises upstairs, and knew that Death Eaters would get to her soon enough.

The door on top of the stairs was suddenly flung open. To Hermione's horror, she recognized Draco Malfoy. Halfway down the steps, he caught a glimpse of her huddling in the far corner. A sadistic, cruel smirk immediately formed on his face.

“Where's your boyfriend, Granger? He left you? You weren't up to his standards? I guess he finally decided a Mudblood wasn't good enough for him!” he said laughing, and immediately followed with a shout, “Expelliarmus!”

Slowed down by the pain in her leg, Hermione's reaction wasn't nearly quick enough: her wand flew out of her hand, out of reach.

She gritted her teeth, ready to fight with bare hands if she had to, and looked at Malfoy with seething anger. “Shut up already, Malfoy! You're a worm compared to Harry … You never were anything more!” She started hoping Harry would appear now — surely, he would apparate back to come and get her.

Draco's smile vanished. “You're in no position to talk like that, Granger …” He was coming down the stairs slowly, waving his wand dangerously in front of him.

Hermione desperately attempted to get up. She managed to hoist herself on her good leg, but couldn't even bend the other one. All of the sudden, she felt dizzy, and had to grab the wall to remain standing. There was a lot of blood on the floor, and for the first time, she feared she could die if that wound wasn't tended to. Little stars were flashing in front of her eyes, and for a moment she thought she would faint. She also saw that more Death eaters were coming down the stairs. She counted five in all.

“LEAVE HER TO ME! I want to have … a little fun!”

“We are to take her to our Master alive, Draco — DON'T forget that!” hissed one of the Death Eaters between his teeth, obviously disgusted at this display of childishness.

Ignoring him, Draco made three steps towards her, and yanked her by the hair as she tried to hop away from him on one leg.

“Finally! I've been wanting to grab that dirty mane for years! It's surprisingly soft though, I would have thought otherwise …”

Hermione screamed. “Ouch! You disgusting animal! What the hell do you think you're doing?” Hermione spun around and punched him on the face with all her might, but unfortunately he didn't let go.

A surge of rage and disgust, however, suddenly took over Draco's face, as he felt his upper lip — now bleeding — with his finger. “You filthy Mudblood, wait til you get what you deserve!!”

Still holding Hermione with a solid grip in her hair, Draco deliberately tucked his wand back in his belt, and without warning, with the palm of his open hand, pelted her face with all his might.

Hermione let out a muffled scream, convinced her head had just exploded; yet, the pain became even more intense a split-second later: her head had jerked sideways with the force of the blow, but was violently and forcefully pulled back by Draco — who still had a firm hold on a large chunk of her hair. Before she could think of anything else, the hand came back in the opposite direction, smashing her cheekbone on the other side of her face. This time, she felt a horrible burning sensation in her cheek as well, and a warm trickle of blood going down the side of her nose. A few more blows followed, as Draco seemed to be in some kind of incontrolable fury.

Hermione had never been hit before, and thought she was going to die. Blinded, barely conscious, her whole face throbbing in pain, she braced herself for the next blow. When it didn't come, she attempted to open her eyes; she was swelling and her vision was blurry, but she still caught a sight of Draco, his face gleeful with sadistic pleasure at beating her up. He had finally let go of her hair, and was routinely wiping and adjusting a huge metal ring on his finger.

Hermione, bloodied and on the verge of collapsing, still managed to remain standing and whisper defiantly, “I guess you're a big man now, hey? Beating up an unarmed, injured, defenseless girl?”

“SHUT UP, MUDBLOOD!” It seemed that Draco's suppressed rage of all his years at Hogwarts were coming out all at once. “I'll show you a real man, Granger! This is what you should be looking for in your choice of lovers!”

He leaned forcefully against her, sliding one hand behind her neck and closing it like a claw, and jerked her body against his with the other. His face was so close now she could smell his breath on her face. He physically forced her to look at him as she tried to turn away.

“What's the matter, Granger? Afraid Potter won't pass the test after this?”

His lips were almost touching hers now, and — as disgusting as it was — Hermione realized that he was about to kiss her. She felt somewhat nauseous.

She murmured, barely strong enough to shake her head and try to avoid his mouth, “You're so — disgusting, don't you dare — you're such a low life, eurk!”

A flash went through Hermione's mind as Draco's lips started touching hers: he no longer had his wand in hand! Hermione mustered everything she had left, and shot her injured knee up his groin. She nearly fainted from the pain: it was as if someone had just hammered a huge nail in her knee.

But it worked nevertheless: taken by surprise, Draco immediately backed away and fell on the floor bent in half, winded, groaning deeply and trying to catch his breath. Hermione looked around, but despite her impaired vision she saw that there was no hope, as the Death eaters were now coming closer and drawing their wands to put an end to this charade.

She was backed against the wall, with nowhere to go.

“Harry, oh Harry, where are you?” she cried between her gritted teeth, sensing ominously that death was probably next. She closed her eyes, convinced the end had come. She forced herself to summon the mental picture of two bright, loving, emerald green eyes: it would be the last thing she would think about before snuffing it.

But unexpectedly, a blinding light filled the room, and a red and gold bird appeared in mid-air, hovering around and — apparently — setting the room in some kind of gold and silver fire. Two people appeared at the top of the stairs, and hexes started flying everywhere around the room.

An eerie silence soon fell upon the musty basement. When Hermione opened her eyes again, she saw with an overpowering wave of relief the familiar face of her old Headmaster coming towards her.

He still looked towering and menacing, but nevertheless managed to smile at her softly. “Well, Miss Granger, for once it isn't Harry Potter that is in need of my assistance …”

Dumbledore, seeing she was struggling to stay up, quickly put one arm around her shoulders.

Overcome and exhausted by pain, grief, the conflicting emotions of the day and this last ordeal, all Hermione managed to get out was a feeble “Thank you!” before she went limp and collapsed, losing consciousness. The Headmaster swiftly put his other arm gently under her legs, and lifted her up with surprisingly no effort, given his apparent age.

Dumbledore turned around, and looked where Remus Lupin was standing quietly, his wand still glittering with sparks.

“Come on, Remus, let's take her home. I'd say she's been through enough for one day, wouldn't you agree?”

Lupin didn't say anything, but nodded, as a silent tear escaped the corner of his eye and slowly trickled down his cheek.

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“Harry? Weren't you going go get Hermione? Where is she? Oh no — don't tell me you didn't get to her in time?”

Ginny had spoken, but both her and Ron looked horrified.

Harry got up in a state of panic. His throat was numb, and he felt a wave of despair coming over him.

“I must go back, I must go back for her. We were in her house, fighting Death Eaters, but we apparated together — she should be here!!”

Harry looked at Ron, desperate. “Didn't you go to Dumbledore, like I told you?”

Ron got up to stand with Harry. “Yes mate, he told us to come back here, that he was taking the matter into his own hands. And —”

Ron looked at Harry with deep concern, shifting uncomfortably.

“What? WHAT?” Harry was going crazy.

“You can't go back, Harry! Dumbledore told us that whatever happened, if only one of you two made it back, we were to keep whoever it was … here.”

Ron quickly drew his wand, and pronounced a binding spell. Harry was immediately tied down by the hundreds of tiny ropes shooting out of Ron's wand.

“Ron? RON! What are you doing? I HAVE to go back, you don't understand! They're going to KILL her!”

Ginny spoke next. “That is exactly why Dumbledore told us to keep you here at all costs — he was going to meet you guys, didn't you see him? Anyway, Hermione is a great witch, she can defend herself until they get there!”

Harry was furious, and trying with all his might to undo the ropes stopping him from rescuing Hermione — the love of his life, he knew it now — from a bunch of blood-thirsty Death Eaters. But the more he struggled, the tighter the ropes became — he had a hard time breathing by now.

“You don't understand, she's INJURED! She can't move, where do you think I got all this blood? Come on, now, don't be a couple of morons and get me out of these ropes!”

From the corner of his eyes, Harry caught a glimpse of Luna sitting terrified in the corner of the room with Neville. He hadn't noticed them before. They both seemed too afraid to say anything.

“Luna, come on, talk some sense into him — they have to let me go back, Hermione's life is hanging in the balance!!”

But Luna looked at Ron, who shook his head vehemently; she said nothing, and hid her face — on which there was nothing dreamy now — between her hands.

Disheartened, Harry turned back to Ron. “Come on Ron! Since when do we follow rules in a situation like this? You had no problem breaking them in school? What's the matter?”

Understanding the real underlying urgency, Ginny went beside Harry, and forced him to sit down on a chair. She gave him a big hug, and looked at him straight in the eyes : “She's going to be okay, Harry. Dumbledore and Lupin apparated right away to Romania after Ron told them, they had to be seconds behind you guys.”

Harry took in a deep breath, and looked at Ginny imploringly. “You don't understand, Ginny. We talked today, we … made up. She's more to me now, she's … I love her, she loves me, I can't lose her. I must —”

Ginny gazed at him compassionately, and said calmly, “I know Harry! You'll see her soon …”

Harry couldn't speak anymore, and collapsed on his chair, sobbing deeply. Ginny leaned against him, holding him. There was something extremely powerful about the wave of emotions going through Harry at this very moment. Ginny felt awestruck, and was surprised to find herself envious — for just a moment — of Hermione for being the object of such passionate, unaldurated love.

A melodious, high-pitched song suddenly became audible, and Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, appeared in mid-air and landed on Harry's shoulder. An overwhelming wave of relief washed through Harry, who quickly looked around, searching for the familiar wave of brown, bushy hair.

Dumbledore had entered the room with Remus Lupin, but there was — still — no sign of Hermione.

Harry gasped when he saw Dumbledore's dark green robe stained with blood. “Oh, no! You were too late! Where is she? Did they — hurt her?”

The Headmaster smiled at Harry, and spoke softly. “Miss Granger is safe, for now. She is at the hospital wing of Hogwarts, where she will have to stay for the time being. Her injuries are extensive, I'm afraid. Harry? A word, please?”

Harry, finally free from the ropes — Ron had made them vanish when Dumbledore had arrived — followed the Headmaster in the living room adjacent to the kitchen.

He looked at Harry with great concern in his eyes. “Harry, before you go and blame yourself, I want you to remember that you undoubtedly saved Miss Granger's life today. Now, I will take you straight to her in a few moments, but there is something you must know first.”

Harry's heart sank — what on earth had happened to her?

“What is it?”

“I'm afraid Hermione is in extreme danger; it makes no doubt that she is being targeted by Dark Wizards. This new `Dark Lord' has shown he will stop at nothing to get to her …”

He paused, and continued with a grave tone. “You saw what he did to her parents …”

Dumbledore appeared somewhat disturbed, but resumed his train of thoughts.

“She will need to be protected, but —” Dumbledore paused, aware that what he was about to say would be difficult to hear.

Harry looked at him quizzically. He was still wondering why this `new' Dark Lord was targeting Hermione, and not him.

Dumbledore continued, “But — it can no longer be by you, Harry — by JUST you, I mean, no matter how much you're going to insist on it. I must now involve the Order, and myself personally, in her protection … It's the only way to keep her safe for the time being.”

“Well, I have — no … problem with that …” Harry replied, not sure at what Dumbledore seemed to be getting at.

The old Headmaster sighed. “Well, Harry, you must realize what it means: first of all, I need her to be — for a while, at least — constantly under some kind of surveillance, by you AND someone else … And this might be difficult for you in the light of the new `nature' of your relationship with her …”

Undoubtedly, one couldn't hide anything from Dumbledore, Harry thought.

His heart went numb. It meant that they wouldn't be alone for a while, even if they seemed to be. There were so many things — private, intimate things — they needed to talk about, but to do it with people around?

“Well, if it's to keep her safe, I'm all for it!” Harry said, with resignation.

“Second of all”, Dumbledore replied, “it means you will have to leave Twelve, Grimmaud Place … I suspect that it has been compromised, given Hermione's failure to apparate there.”

Dumbledore continued. “I'm afraid I have to ask you to do something difficult: revisit a deep wound of your past for a while. The safest place for Hermione right now — and you, for that matter — is a place rich in connections, in connections of unconditional love — and the best place for that, in my opinion, is in your parent's old house in Godric's Hollow, because of the bond between you and your mother, and the new one between you and Miss Granger.”

Harry had not expected this. He tried to catch his breath for a moment, thinking fast.

“But Professor … Aren't I supposed to start teaching in a week? And what about —”

Dumbledore waved Harry to silence with his hand.

“You will make appearances at Hogwarts to teach your classes, along with Miss Granger — yes, we have managed to make room for her on the teaching staff — but I want you to both spend the last week of the summer in Godric's Hollow, and as much time as possible thereafter. We will see how things develop from then on.

Harry was kind of puzzled at this, but couldn't say much.

“And Harry? One last thing … Do not let Miss Granger take off that necklace — ever. It could very well save her life one day.”

Harry was speechless. Once more, he felt Albus Dumbledore was many steps ahead of him. He had the distinct impression that his Headmaster had not at all been taken by surprise by all by the events that were just now unfolding.

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Hermione was breathing softly, looking very peaceful despite her ghastly appearance. The moonlight coming from the tall window in the far corner illuminated her face, and gave her a milky white color, momentarily taking away the darkness of her bruises. Harry was lying on the bed beside her, watching her as she lay sleeping, holding his head up with his elbow, gently caressing her hair with his free hand.

Harry checked his watch: it was 3 AM. She had been sleeping since the morning before, when Dumbledore had brought her from Romania. Even though he was exhausted, Harry's mind was reeling, and he hadn't been able to sleep all night. He had stayed at her side the whole time, going over and over what had happened. Weary, he laid down his head just above hers on the pillow, and buried his face in her hair, slightly wetting it as he cried silently, his heart broken at the sight of Hermione and the thought of what she had been through. The bruises on Hermione's face were horrible: her eyes were so puffy they probably could barely open, and she had a huge bloody gash across her right cheek, stretching from the tip of her ear to the side of her nose. Most of her face was swollen and discolored to a purple, blueish shade.

Anger was mounting in Harry. Who had done this to her, and why? She looked like she had been purposely beaten up physically, instead of being hit with a spell or some kind of hex. Her leg was held temporarily in a makeshift cast to stop her knee from moving. When she had fallen on the pile of trash, a shard of metal from one of the cans had lodged itself right under her knee cap, severing ligaments and many blood vessels; she had been lucky — a few minutes more could have meant death due to loss of blood.

And despite what Albus Dumbledore had told him, he felt responsible: he should have made sure she could apparate with him, he shouldn't have assumed she would follow.

Harry knew, of course, that her bruises would most probably start to heal as soon as Mrs. Pomfrey could start working on her. She had to regain some strength first, though, and she had been given a sleeping draught to make sure she wouldn't wake up before her body had completely recuperated. She stirred in her sleep, wimpering softly, and muttering words that Harry couldn't understand. She tilted her head slightly towards Harry.

“Harry, is that you?” she whispered softly, with a hint of panic in her voice.

“Yes, Hermione, it's me. You're safe now.”

She moved, but winced and started crying. “Oh, my God! I — I'm in so much pain, Harry … Please hold me, okay?”

Harry drew closer, and tenderly put his arm around her, carefully trying to avoid her face which seemed to be extremely fragile.

He felt her shivering, and realized she was crying. He kissed her head softly, and held her a bit tighter. She grabbed his hand, and clutched it tight, holding it close to her face. She kissed his hand, despite the bruising on her lips.

“I love you,” she wimpered, obviously in agonising pain.

Harry's heart jumped. He still wasn't used to the shift in their relationship, and to hear Hermione say this felt so wonderful.

He found her ear through her hair. He kissed it softly, and whispered back, “I love you too … I — You were very brave yesterday. You need to rest now.”

“Don't leave, stay with me, okay? Don't … Don't let me go!” There was such fear in her voice as she said those words that it dawned on Harry just how traumatic their separation of the morning before had been.

“I'm not moving, Hermy, I'll be right here when you wake up, okay? I promise …”

Hermione didn't reply. She had fallen back asleep, and Harry, after a while, fell himself into a deep, restful sleep.

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The house in Godric's Hollow showed it hadn't been used in years. It was dusty, the windows had been boarded up, and the grass and other greenery ornating the lawn was at least chest high. The white picket fence surrounding it had fallen into disrepair, and was in bad need of a paint job and of a few new pickets here and there.

The house belonged to Harry, of course, but he had never visited it. In fact, the very thought of coming back here had never even crossed his mind. The emotions he felt, however, told him that this place was special. There was something in the air, a kind of aura, that gave Harry a sense of utmost security.

Dumbledore had called up a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix in Godric's Hollow for the Monday night following Hermione's escape from Romania. He had also invited Ron and Ginny, as well as Neville and Luna to join in the meeting. Of course, Harry and Hermione were already there, having used the same Portkey to get to the house during the afternoon.

They were all sitting in the living room now: Ron was sitting on a comfortable, squash leather chair, Ginny was curled up on the two-seater besides Neville, and Luna had taken to squatting on the thick rug on the floor, leaning not so discretely against Ron's legs. Harry was sitting on a large sofa with Hermione, who despite great improvement still bore the ghastly traces of her encounter of the weekend — her face was still very puffy and discoloured, and she was still wearing a brace on her leg to make sure her knee didn't move too much. She was lying down on the sofa, her head resting on a large pillow propped on Harry's lap. Harry was absent-mindedly caressing her hair with one hand, while holding her hand with the other. There were giggles and looks of approval around the room as they all waited for Dumbledore and other members of the Order to arrive.

Harry came out of his reverie, and suddenly noticed the smiles and smirks. “What? What's the matter?”

Ginny burst in laughter. “Well, Harry, it's just that — we're SO not used to this, it's going to take a while!” She pointed at his and Hermione's hand together.

Harry blushed, and fumbled his words. “Er, does it — bother you? I — I didn't realize I was doing that ...”

Hermione just smiled dreamily. But despite her happiness of the moment, the redness of her eyes showed she had been crying. She was only beginning to fathom the death of her parents.

She nevertheless broke the silence that had ensued. “Well, guys, this is — this has been long in the making, and —”

She turned her head up to smile at Harry, who returned her gaze, beaming.

“And it's just so — it's so wonderful!” she finished, tucking her face into Harry's chest. Harry bent down and kissed her shyly, still apprehensive of his friend's reaction.

There was a spontaneous round of applause.

“Seriously, it's about time! I don't think we could have taken a lot more of you two dancing around the obvious!” Ginny blurted, a wide smile across her cute, freckly face.

“Good evening, all of you!”

Dumbledore had entered the living room, with Remus Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody at his side.

Dumbledore immediately sat down on a large chair, and opened the meeting on a very deferential tone.

“We have very serious matters to discuss tonight, so I will not waste any time. There are quite a few people that couldn't attend this meeting because they were on duty for the Order. We have summoned only those who actually need to be here tonight.”

Dumbledore continued, as if pressed for time. “Our first order of business is to officially receive new members into the Order. As of this evening, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood are official members of the Order. I have, of course, obtained their consent on a personal basis before doing it officially tonight. Does anyone object to these appointments?”

Dumbledore looked around, and saw smiles of pride all around. Mad-Eye's magical eye was spinning quickly in all directions, apparently making sure everyone was sincere.

“Of course, there is no need to welcome Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, since they have been members `by exception' for the last year, due to their exceptional contributions during the last conflict …”

There were nods of approval, and those present turned to Hermione, giving her compassionate looks.

“Excellent! We now need to talk about the new threat that is upon us.” Dumbledore had gotten up from his chair and was pacing the living room, his eyes shining and showing a new level of intensity.

“A new Dark Lord has risen from the ashes of Voldemort. I have good reasons to suspect he is no other than our old friend, Lucius Malfoy. However, he seems to have acquired new powers — powers that used to be Voldemort's …”

There were murmurs of shock across the room. Everybody looked at each other quizzically, wondering how that was possible.

“Yes, I can sense the question everyone is dying to ask … Well, there is an old, black magic curse, called the Heritage curse, that allows one to — `live on', shall we say — through another. It has its advantages — the main one being that all memories, powers and personality traits are transferred into the recipient …”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “But, it has disadvantages, I take it?”

Dumbledore smiled faintly. “Yes, although I doubt very much that Voldemort shared that information with our unfortunate Malfoy. The downside of it, mainly, is that the human brain — even a wizard's — must be `short circuited', in a sense, to accommodate for the new information. It is often more than the recipient can take, and many do not even survive the curse. For those who do, there is a price to pay: their life expectancy is often dramatically cut short, sometimes by as much as half! So Malfoy could have as little as five or six years left before he is forced to transmit Voldemort's knowledge to someone else.”

Ron smirked triumphantly. “I always knew the Malfoys were stupid gits!”

Dumbledore looked at Ron with a reproachful look.

“The worst mistake in war, Mr. Weasley, is to underestimate the enemy! He could know about this already, and be planning to prepare his son, Draco, to take over. And then, we would have to deal with him for a much longer time.”

Hermione jumped at the name of Draco being pronounced. Harry, who still had no idea who had attacked Hermione, put his hand on hers to soothe her. She clutched it nervously, and Harry could swear he had heard her utter a very faint wimper.

But Dumbledore was not finished. “Now, Lucius Malfoy has taken on a new `identity', of sorts. He now calls himself … `Mal-de-Mort' …”

Again, Ron laughed. “Isn't that incredibly cheesy? I mean — Malfoy plus Voldemort, equals Maldemort? He could have been more original, no?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and spoke with authority for the first time.

“Ron, did you never pay attention in French class when you were young? `Voldemort' is French for `Flight of Death'. Now, `Maldemort' is French also, you could translate it as `Plague of Death' … Which would imply, I think, that this new `Lord' is even more evil and destructive …”

“Well I'm sorry — `My parents don't take me to Paris every year for vacations, and —”

“RON!” Ginny blurted, looking at him scathingly for his obvious lack of sensitivity.

Hermione's mouth opened, but she didn't have the strengh to berate Ron; tears just started streaming down her face. She hid, again, in Harry's chest, and she grabbed his sweater with her free arm. As she shook with violent sobs for a while, nobody said anything. Her muffled screams of despair were almost unbearable.

Befuddled, Ron whispered, “I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean …” He stopped short, seeing that any apology was useless.

After a few minutes, Hermione's tears relented. Dumbledore spoke again.

“Yes … What Miss Granger said is quite correct: a `plague' is indeed upon us. The terrible, unfortunate attacks on her parents — and on scores of Muggles in general — show they will stop at nothing to achieve their goal, which remains unclear at this time. However, one part of their plan seems to include targeting Miss Granger. I am researching this further, and will share my findings at our next meeting. In the meantime, I want Harry and Hermione to remain here, and each and everyone of you to continue your daily activities. I will assign you with specific tasks when the time is convenient …”

Mad-eye spoke, with surprising softness in his voice. “Dumbledore, I think that out of respect for Miss Granger's grief, we should conclude the meeting now.”

Dumbledore agreed. “Indeed, I believe the time has come to leave these two alone …”

Slowly rising, everyone bid Harry and Hermione goodbye, and gathered around a tea pot on the kitchen table — the Portkey that Dumbledore had used for transportation — and an instant later, they had left.

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Harry came back and sat back down besides Hermione, who was no longer lying down. She had laid her leg on the small table in front of the sofa, and seemed lost in her grief. It was, however, the first time they were alone together since they had fought in Romania.

Harry remained silent for a while. All of the sudden, he wasn't sure quite what to say.

Hermione didn't seem in the talking mood either. After Harry sat, she just leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Oh, Harry, what is happening to me? My parents are dead — and — and … look at me, I'm a mess … I'm in pain, I'm hideously disfigured, I can't walk properly …”

Suddenly, she hid her face with both her hands, and blushed furiously.

“Do you still love me Harry?”

Harry gasped. “Of course, Hermione! Why would you think otherwise?” He immediately put his arm around her, and held her silently for a while.

She finally whispered, with a desperate voice, “Look at me!”

Harry looked at her, and then kissed her slowly, cupping her fragile face softly with his hands. He felt a rush of extreme happiness as he finally pulled back. He looked at her straight in the eyes, and spoke gently.

“Hermy, these are just bruises … They haven't changed anything, you're still … The love of my life, and you will always be. I'm just sorry it took so long for me to see it.”

This seemed to cheer Hermione up, bringing a faint smile to her face. “I love it when you call me that, Harry! It's definitely better coming from you than Grawp!

They both laughed at the thought of Hagrid's half-brother and giant, who still lived in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. He had been the first to call her “Hermy”.

Gloom suddenly appeared on Hermione's face, as if she had just remembered something painful.

“Harry!? When we were back at the house … You — you killed someone!”

Harry had not forgotten, but had hoped she wouldn't bring it up. It had been bothering him somewhat, but it had been — after all — necessary.

“Hermione, it's … It wasn't the first time. I've killed in battle before, during our sixth year, when you and Ron were, you know … `together' … I never talked to you about it then …” He paused before continuing, seeing that Hermione was clearly uncomfortable.

Hermione was now avoiding Harry's gaze.

“Dumbledore explained to me that when we are at war, rules of war apply. Rules of engagement, of sorts. When the enemy attacks, one is allowed to defend himself and the cause for which he is fighting. This applies to life-threatening hexes or curses — I had no choice, Hermione! The Death Eater nearly missed me with the Death curse, it was him or me — or worse: you.”

Hermione looked at him, aghast. “Harry, I'm so scared! I … I don't want to lose you, not now!”

Harry's throat suddenly clenched. “Hermy, I — I thought I lost you the other day, and I couldn't bear the thought of it. I'm — I'm terrified too, now. But we can't just give in!”

Hermione snuggled up closer, wincing as she moved her leg, and leaned on his chest. Harry gently stroke the outline of her jaw, ending at her lips, with his free hand.

“Does it still hurt a lot?”

Hermione gave him a conniving, voluptuous grin. “Not when you touch me like that, it doesn't!”

Harry felt a rush of warmth and emotion overpower him. He started kissing her passionately, and she gave in, wrapping her arms around his neck. For a while, there was nothing else that mattered in the whole world for either of them.

“Harry?” Hermione whispered, after what seemed an eternity. “Did you … miss me, when I was with … Ron? I mean, that whole year, we barely talked. I know it almost killed me, being away from you like that … That was such a mistake!”

Harry smiled. “Well, I think it was the beginning of … this, to tell you the truth! Being away from you made me realize how much you meant to me. When I saw you at the end of the summer of our sixth year, my heart nearly stopped. I never thought I'd miss someone so much, but there you were: bushy hair, rosy cheeks, and especially, those shiny brown eyes, and that smile. And — you weren't holding Ron's hand. Somehow, it made me feel good to see that.”

“Well, you nearly killed me with that hug, that's for sure!” Hermione grinned.

“I missed you horribly, to answer your question … That whole year, I felt really alone, abandoned even.”

This made Harry think of a more recent event. He looked at Hermione with a stern, guilty look on his face.

“Hermy? I'm — I'm so sorry I left you down there last Saturday … I assumed you were following me, I should not have left you alone …”

Hermione shuddered. “It's not your fault, Harry, I couldn't apparate! How stupid is that?”

Harry gave her a reproachful look. “You heard what Dumbledore said, the house has been compromised!”

“Well, you were able to apparate!”

Harry paused. “Yes, but I live at Grimmaud Place, and I was perhaps — more focused — at that moment … Maybe I was just lucky.”

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes as she thought of that day, and of her parents.

“Why me, Harry? Why Mum and Dad? They never did anything, except … love me! Oh, I miss them so much, Harry! Why is this Maldemort after me? Why does Draco hate me so much?”

Harry's anger suddenly rose. “What did you say? Why would you think —”

And suddenly, understanding struck him in the stomach like a ton of bricks.

“Hermione?!? Did … Did Draco Malfoy do this to you?”

Hermione looked at Harry imploringly, and just melted into tears. “Yes! He wouldn't stop hitting me, I thought my head was going to explode, and I thought he would kill me. And then! Harry, he tried to force me to … kiss him, but I —”

Harry was seething with rage now. “He did WHAT?”

Hermione was wailing. “Why, Harry? Why would he be so … cruel to me?”

Harry couldn't answer. He was fuming, and had never felt such fury.

He looked again at Hermione, burning in his mind the image of the bruises on her face. He pulled her towards him, and hugged her for a long, long time. She didn't move, and neither did he … Each moment, it seemed, was so precious, that they both didn't want any of them to end.

But he muttered under his breath, low enough that Hermione didn't hear him.

“Malfoy, your time will come. You WILL pay for this …”

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HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

CHAPTER 9

THE DARK SIDE OF HARRY POTTER

“CRUCIO!”

Draco Malfoy started writhing in pain, screaming and desperately fighting to remain conscious. His Master was pacing around the center of the cave nervously, and his face showed he was in a blinding fury.

“How could you let her escape? We had her!!” spat Maldemort, white with rage. Behind him stood a dozen Death Eaters, including the ones who had witnessed the scene between Draco and Hermione.

Draco's face twisted as he volunteered an excuse. “I just wanted to make her suffer a little, Master! I — I — I wanted revenge! From her and her friends, W — Weasley and P — Potter!”

Maldemort was hysterical. “FOOL! You stupid fool! If you had just taken her, and followed the orders, she would be here now! And we could be moving to the next phase of our plan! But instead, we are back to square one! What is even WORSE, you have awoken the suspicions not only of the dreaded members of that foul Order of the Phoenix, but of Potter as well! They will make sure they protect the Mudblood now! It will be almost impossible to get to her! AND … THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” Maldemort's wand was still raised, and the curse was taking its toll on Malfoy. Some blood was now oozing from the corner of his mouth. But Maldemort didn't care. He tightened his grip, and tilted the wand forward cruelly.

“AARGH!!” Draco screamed, his body twisting backward as if the wand was trying to break his back.

Arched in a ridiculous posture, Draco managed to muster enough strength to talk. “Master, please! Please forgive me, I will not fail you again …”

“NO! A punishment is required this time! Your actions have severely hindered our efforts to capture the Granger Mudblood! Let's see … Oh, yes! The Incendiarus curse should teach you a lesson!” Maldemort's mouth transformed into a sadistic smile; he ended the Cruciatus curse, and slowly backed up a few steps … Then, he raised his wand high above his head and threw his arm forward as if cracking a whip. At the same time, he hissed the spell between his lips, with disdain on his face.

“Incendio!”

A yellowish orange wave of light came out of the wand, looking like an irregular strand of raging fire. The tongue of fire headed directly towards Draco, and slowly wrapped itself around his right hand. Settling around it, the tip of the flames suddenly morphed into a ball of fire, engulfing his entire hand and wrist. Draco raised his arm in horror, his face twisted in a pitiful expression of shock and pain, his mouth opened wide and yet unable to speak even the faintest of sounds. He tried, desperately, to shake off the flames now eating at his fingers. It was a ghastly sight: the strand of fire was connected between Maldemort's wand and his own hand — distinctly visible inside the ball of fire — in a strange arch of blazing flame. Or, more precisely, what was left of his hand … Indeed, the flesh of his fingers was starting to liquify, and thick, oozing drops of melting skin and muscle started streaming down his wrist, somewhat evoking of lava coming down the sides of an erupting volcano. Slowly, some drops began falling on the floor where he was still laying. Blood gushed out as the vessels were litteraly being burned open, only to quickly vaporize as it met the heat of the flames.

After a few minutes, bones started appearing through the strands of melting flesh, and Draco finally managed a way to express the pain … He screamed and yelled in agony, pulling mightily at his arm to try to wrench his hand away from the hold of the spell — but to no avail. There was almost no flesh covering his hand now, as if it had been replaced at the wrist by a bony, charred, squeletal hand. Draco's face was wet with tears as he continued tearing the room with horrible shrieks of pain, still clutching his arm. The bones finally caught fire and disappeared in smoke. Draco passed out, shaking on the floor like a ragdoll with convulsions.

Maldemort, after a few seconds or so, flicked his wand upward. The beam of fire instantly disappeared … He approached Draco's limp, unconscious body, and kicked it rather violently to the side, turning the body over. One could still see the expression of agony on Draco's face, but especially, one could not fail to notice that his remaining hand was still gripping his right forearm. But where the hand should have been, only a smoky, smouldering stump remained, crowned all around the tip with horrendous looking half-melted pieces of flesh, reminiscent of the solidified drops of wax remaining around the top edge of a recently extinguished candle.

Maldemort, still enraged, turned towards the Death Eaters; none of them would have dared utter a single word.

“THIS”, he said, “is the price for not following Lord Maldemort's orders! I hope this serves each one of you a lesson! I will NOT be disobeyed!”

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

Harry woke up with a start, a white hot pain searing in his scar. He closed his eyes, and attempted to gauge why the pain in his scar had suddenly flared up.

“Legilimens”, he muttered under his breath … He concentrated extremely hard: Legilimency was very difficult to start with, and even harder when you couldn't look directly into your subject's eyes.

Harry had finally mastered Occlumency during his sixth year, and always made sure to close his mind whenever he felt there might be a threat of a mental intrusion. But he had also started to practice Legilimency during his sixth year, a much more difficult skill that Dumbledore had started teaching him. He had used sporadically during his last year at Hogwarts, and even if he didn't master it perfectly yet, it had been very helpful. He had found himself able to glimpse the mind of Voldemort, especially when his scar erupted in pain — indicating a strong emotion being felt by Voldemort. Even though the channel between them usually closed quite rapidly, he had been able on some occasion to peer into the Dark Lord's mind, getting a few insights that had proven to be life-saving.

He immediately felt intense anger, like he had rarely experienced before, and for an instant a clear enough picture of the house's basement in Romania appeared in his mind, although it remained somewhat foggy. It was as if he was seeing something through a filter, of sorts, perhaps through someone else's mind. He saw Hermione, desperately holding herself on the wooden crossbeam of the unfinished wall, her leg covered in blood from the knee down. There was also a large pool of blood at her feet, and he saw on her face that she was in agonizing pain. And then, there was Malfoy … He was holding Hermione by a thick strand of her hair, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, pulling the hair and forcing Hermione to look at him. And then Harry, horrorstruck, saw him put his wand away and start hitting Hermione violently. He winced at the sight of splattering blood as Draco's ring ripped through her right cheek. But before he could probe even further, everything went black. It was as if a curtain had been pulled over the non-existent stage of the theater of his mind … His scar exploded in pain, and he found himself being knocked down to the floor — he had been blocked out, and quite forcefully.

Harry quickly concentrated, emptying his mind of all emotions and thoughts, and almost immediately the pain in his scar subsided. He slowly opened his eyes, confident nobody could access his thoughts for the time being.

“Wow! Voldemort — er, I mean, Maldemort is really angry!”, he told himself. Harry was quite distressed by what he had seen, even though Hermione had described it to him many times. Somehow, witnessing the ordeal made it painfully real, a fact which only fueled his already seething anger. He shuddered with disgust and rage.

And yet, Harry smiled at the thought that despite his vicious, unwarranted attack, Malfoy had nevertheless failed to capture Hermione, a blunder that was bound to unfuriate Maldemort. At least, there was something good coming out of the whole ordeal: Malfoy would really get it from his own father, his new “Master”.

Harry's thoughts wandered again to Hermione, and the vivid scene he had just witnessed.

A burning flow of rage started boiling inside Harry's stomach. He had detested Malfoy in school. During their last year, Harry and Ron had made it their personal duty to make his life a living hell, especially when he attacked Hermione on the basis of her Muggle lineage. They had decided to turn a deaf ear to Hermione's lectures about being the “bigger” person, and to never let a personal attack from Malfoy go unpunished. Hence, during the whole year, Malfoy had been jinxed, hexed, cursed, and even punched and beaten physically — in general, he had finally learned not to mess openly with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and especially not with their Muggle friend, Hermione Granger. Though Hermione had never said anything about this, and had continued giving lectures about “taking the higher road” to her two best friends, she nevertheless had appreciated being protected from Malfoy. And according to some “witnesses”, she had often blushed during her last two years of school when Ginny or another of her friends told her that Harry or Ron — but particularly Harry — had managed to shut up Malfoy with some kind of hex or curse.

But this was more than a simple verbal attack or insult she had faced in school. This was vicious, cruel and deeply personal. Malfoy had dared attack Hermione with the obvious intent of harming and humiliating her. Furthermore, he had participated — Harry was convinced of it — in the murder of her parents … Even if he hadn't been in love with Hermione, Harry knew he would still have been digusted and infuriated by his behaviour.

Before doing what he had planned to do since the day before, Harry went to check on Hermione quietly: she was still sleeping, having taken a full dose of sleeping draught the night before. She would need the rest, since she was going to St-Mungo's today to get her knee injury straightened out. The healers had examined it, and had assured Hermione that they could restore her leg completely. The process, however, would be exhausting and — unfortunately — extremely painful.

“Will Harry Potter have breakfast this morning?” Harry turned around, and was startled to see Dobby bustling in the kitchen, apparently trying to familiarise himself with the place. He figured Dumbledore had sent him since they would be living in Godric's Hollow for a while.

“Er, not immediately, Dobby, wait until Hermione wakes up, okay? We'll all have breakfast together.” Harry just wanted Dobby to leave him alone for a while.

“Very well, Harry Potter, Sir! Dobby will go around to see what kind of work awaits him in this new house! It is quite dusty and unattended to, Dobby can see!”

Harry nevertheless gave him a look of warning. “Just make sure you're quiet, Dobby, Hermione needs to sleep.”

“No problem, Sir! Dobby will not wake Miss Granger, no Sir!” Dobby then left the kitchen, apparently going towards the stairs that led to the second floor of the house. Hermione was sleeping in a room on the ground floor, to avoid her needing to go up and down the stairs — a complicated and painful ordeal in her situation. Harry had just slept on the sofa since his arrival, wanting to make sure he was able to hear Hermione if she needed him. They had talked about sleeping in the same room, but had quickly both agreed they weren't comfortable with the idea. Their relationship was just starting, it was intense and yet, fragile, and Harry had not even had time to fathom the full impact of their romantic involvement together. He knew Hermione was old-fashioned, and felt himself that some kind of deep commitment was needed before he could even think of anything else than just … loving Hermione with all his heart, and coming to grips with everything it meant. Furthermore, his own parents had married right after Hogwarts, and he felt strongly that this “rite” should also find a significant place in his own life.

Not to say that he wasn't was aware, nevertheless, of a fastly growing, new kind of attraction towards her, a longing for Hermione that was very physical and that he had not really experienced to that level before — not even with Cho. He tried to manage it as best as he could, given the circumstances and the way he felt about Hermione, but these days just holding her was enough to trigger a whole bunch of physical and emotional reactions … But Harry was just coming to grasp with them, and didn't want to add more confusion to their relationship.

“Everything in due time”, he thought out loud, quickly and intently bringing himself back to his thought process of before he had been interrupted by Dobby.

Harry sat down at the table, picked up his quill, and slowly, deliberately, thoughtfully wrote down the words on the piece of parchment he intended to send that very same day from the Post Office :

Malfoy,

You once told me to be careful about the people I associated myself with. I, unlike you, was careful. But you certainly chose “carefully”: darkness, hate, murder, torture, and death. And now, cowardice as well …

I hope you got some sick sense of satisfaction out of your actions, Malfoy, because you will not leave the next battlefield on which we meet. The last thing you will see before passing on to the next life will be my face.

That is a promise.

Harry Potter

Unbeknownst to most, with the exception of perhaps Albus Dumbledore, there was a dark side to Harry that had developed during his last year of battle with Voldemort. Harry's Headmaster was constantly warning him about not giving in to its inclinations, because it was the beginning of the path to the Dark Side of magic. However, it had been Harry's conviction of the last seven years that the end justified the means. He had never let rules, people, or anything stop him from doing what he thought was right — and this had worked for him so far. But since he had killed in battle and used Unforgivable Curses, a black cloud rested upon him: his mood was darker, his temper flared at nothing, and his rage was often difficult to contain. His friends had been the ones to suffer from it, without really knowing where it came from. At some point or another, Ginny, Ron and Hermione had all been the victims of Harry's dark side. Thinking he was just depressed by his years of fighting Voldemort, they had often tried very nicely to talk to him about it, and even though he realized it and apologized for it, he just didn't want to bother with dealing with it. The truth was, he liked it: it gave him an outlet for his emotions. In the last year, however, Dumbledore had been warning him more urgently about its effect and the danger of letting it go unchecked.

But once again, this dark side was taking over … They were, Harry reasoned, in a war. Malfoy was the enemy, and the enemy had gone too far this time: his actions towards Hermione were unacceptable, and the threat he posed to her needed to be eliminated. Despite the personal nature of Draco's attack, it had nevertheless been an act of war.

Harry reread what he had written, and then slowly, ceremoniously, took out a very sharp knife. He approached it from his arm, and winced as he inflicted a small cut on himself, right beside another scar — from which the blood that had sealed Voldemort's return had been drawn three years before. He let the blood ooze out, soaked his right thumb in it, and pressed it upon the parchment, right beside the word “promise”.

Nothing would stop Harry from carrying out his threat.

Not even blood.

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

“I'm scared, Ron”, Ginny said as she gulped down a bite of steak. “Harry is very emotional, and this could be dangerous — for the both of them!”

Ron was looking vaguely in front of him, gazing at the throngs of people coming in the Leaky Cauldron. They had decided to go out to eat. More often than not they ate supper at Number Twelve, Grimmaud Place, where Ron lived for the time being, but Dobby had now been dispatched to Harry's house in Godric's Hollow, and none of them was really keen on cooking.

“Yeah, he's been irrational, somewhat”, Ron replied, and then continued. “Do you really think he can remain cool and objective now? I mean, he had a hard time before, and now … Well, you know, with Hermione being his `girlfriend' and all …”

Ron smiled, and looked successively at Ginny, Luna and Neville. After a moment of silence, they all erupted in raucous laughter and giggles.

It was Neville that calmed down enough to try speaking first. “I mean, can you believe it? After all this time, and all the angst, and all the beating around the bush … Wasn't it obvious to all of you? Why in the world did it take so long?”

Ginny finally calmed herself, and said rather thoughtfully, “Well, Hermione and Harry are both kind of … complex individuals … Now put them together, and it makes for a very, very complicated relationship!”

Neville, however, wasn't satisfied with this explanation. “Yeah, okay, but I'm telling you —she's had for Harry at least since our fifth year, if not before! Don't you remember? She was all over Harry all the time, always making sure she sat beside him, always touching him and hugging him … She came up with the idea of the DA, she jinxed the list to make sure nobody told about it, she somehow managed to get the Quibbler interview … I mean, she was like Harry's conscience that year! Wasn't it obvious? Was I the only one who noticed?”

All three of them looked deep in thought, slowly remembering the events and nodding as if they now connected little details that they had not seen in that light before.

But Neville continued. “And besides, she was SO jealous of Cho! Wasn't it her that subtly — but surely — made sure that their relationship wouldn't work?”

Ron and Ginny suddenly looked at him with bewilderment and disbelief in their eyes. “What? Say that again? That's not possible, not the Hermione we know anyway! She wouldn't — she was always supportive of Harry's relationship with Cho, wasn't she? We didn't see that at all!!” Ginny had spoken, but Ron's expression of sheer amazement proved he agreed with her.

He was the one who spoke next. “Yeah, I mean Hermione would not have meddled like that, I think you're reaching there, Neville!”

Neville grinned maliciously. “Well, perhaps I overheard something that neither of you did … It was right after we had our first meeting of the DA. It was late, and I couldn't sleep, so I went down to the common room — however, I heard a girl's voice coming from the room, so I stopped dead at the top of the stairs. After a moment, I recognized Hermione's voice, but it was rather high-pitched, and she sounded like she was crying. So I came down a few more steps, and that's when I saw that she was going over the list from the DA meeting. And each time she read a name, she would pronounce some words and do a very elaborate flick with her wand.”

Ginny, Ron and Luna were hanging to his every word, captivated: they had never known this, Neville had kept the secret to himself all this time.

Ron's face beamed with understanding. “So that's when she jinxed that list! That sure came handy when Marietta betrayed us all! But come on, mate, what happened next?”

“Yes, I realized much later that's what she had been doing. Jinxing the list, I mean, to protect us. But when she got to Cho's name on the list, she didn't pronounce the spells right away, she paused. Then, I heard her distinctly say these words, `Oh, of course, Cho Chang, Harry's little cutie! What can he possibly see in her?' There was another pause, and I thought she would just continue on with her protective spells, but all I heard then was a muffled sob. Then I heard Hermione say this, with a softer, sadder voice: `Oh Harry, why can't you look at me the same way you look at her? I would give anything …' That's when I realized that I was intruding on something very personal to her, so I made to go back up the stairs, but my foot slipped. I had no choice but to lie and say I had just arrived, since Hermione had heard and was looking up directly at me as I pretended to be coming down. I made a nice show, and asked her if she was okay — her eyes were all red and puffy. She said she was fine, that she was just distressed over the DA meetings and wondering if it was the right thing to do, etc … I don't think she ever suspected I had overheard anything she had said before.”

Ron and Ginny were completely surprised. Luna didn't seem to be so surprised at this new information, but then again, it was hard to figure out Luna's thoughts sometimes.

Ron sighed. “So she WAS jealous of Cho after all … One thing for sure, when Hermione wants to hide something, she's really good at it. I mean, who knew?”

Ginny turned towards Neville, with an expression of surprise and puzzlement on her face.

“Well Neville, you've been keeping secrets, haven't you? What else do you know that you never told us?”

Neville blushed as Ginny looked at him intensely. “Oh, well, you know, I'm good at keeping people's … secrets. Even mine, for that matter!” He looked down, unable to stare Ginny in the eyes, and quickly turned to Ron and Luna, anxious to continue talking about Hermione and Harry.

“Er, to get back to my story … So I knew she was envious of Cho, obviously! But however, when the next Hogsmeade weekend came, Hermione asked me if I would go shopping with her, since Harry was on his date with Cho and you, Ron, had Quidditch practice. I gladly went, since I would have been alone to go anyway. But then, about halfway through our morning, Hermione told me she had set up a meeting with Harry for lunch! I must have reacted, because she then asked me anxiously, `What? What's the matter?' I looked at her with surprise, and just answered, `Hermione! He's on a date with Cho, don't you think it's a … bad idea that he meets with you? Today?!' She just looked at me with a slight expression of surprise, and replied, `Oh! You're right, that was today, now, wasn't it? Gosh, I didn't remember … Well, it's very important that I see Harry today — I guess Cho will have to let Harry go for an hour or so …'”

Neville looked slightly embarassed now.

“At that moment, I was sure she had done this on purpose. But maybe she just figured that Harry would be able to handle Cho better than he did, and I don't think she realized then the influence she had on Harry — something that Cho, on the opposite, seemed to have understood that very day. Anyway, I didn't feel it was my place to challenge her about that, so I just answered simply, `Well, if it's that important …'”

Everyone around the table was amazed that Neville had kept this to himself for almost three years now, yet everyone felt relieved that Hermione had not been, as he had seemed to think, manipulative and meddling.

But apparently on a roll, Neville continued.

“And that is why I was SO shocked to see you —” he looked at Ron hesitantly before continuing, “er, to see YOU and Hermione dating the year after … I mean, from my point of view, it made absolutely no sense at all.”

Ron frowned, as if deep in thought. “Yeah, I guess it never made sense … Isn't it funny I was the last one to realize that?”

Ginny laughed. “Oh, don't pretend to be all offended, you knew early on, you told me!”

“Yeah, I did … It was —”

“Good evening, all of you”, said a grave voice behind them. Albus Dumbledore had appeared in their midst, without any of them noticing. Ron gasped, stopping short of finishing what he was about to say. The others turned around, and recoiled in surprise at the sight of the Headmaster.

“Oh! Good evening, Professor!”, Ginny said, speaking for all of them. “What a pleasant, er — yet unexpected — surprise!”

Dumbledore smirked, and said calmly, “Don't worry, Miss Weasley, I do not wish to intrude on your evening, I would just need a word with your brother Ronald.”

Ron looked even more shocked. “Er, certainly, Professor, we can go at the table over there”, he answered, pointing at an empty corner table.”

They sat down, but neither of them spoke for a few seconds. Dumbledore was looking at Ron with his usual intense gaze, and Ron just wondered how to get out of this absolutely uncomfortable moment. He tried to break the silence first. “So … You need to talk to me, Sir?”

“Yes, Ronald, I do … I'd like to give you your first assignment as a member of the Order. You see, I fear that Harry's objectivity may have been somewhat … compromised as it pertains to Miss Granger. Wouldn't you agree?”

Ron stared at Dumbledore, puzzled. “Well, yes, of course! We were talking about exactly that, just now! I mean, he was impulsive before, and protective of us, but now that he cares for her in a `new' way, he's going to go postal if you ask me!”

“Exactly. Now, that is where you come in. I need you to keep an eye on Harry, to make sure he doesn't act impulsively in regards to Miss Granger. Like you said, he will be overprotective now, and his `impaired' judgement may hurt the both of them … Now, I will work with him on that, but for the next few months, I would need you to act as … his conscience, if you would, to make sure Harry weighs his decisions properly when the need arises.”

“Well … Harry usually does what Harry wants, but okay, I can try … But how exactly do you suggest I do that? I'm going to be travelling quite a bit, and chances are I will be away from Harry and Hermione most of the time …”

The Headmaster smiled, as if he had known all along what Ron was going to say. “Well, we are in need of a flying teacher, since Mrs. Hooch left to become a professional Quidditch referee … The position is part time, so it wouldn't interfere with your Quidditch schedule. And I'm sure our students would be quite delighted and honored — as would I — to have a professional Quidditch player teaching them how to fly! …”

A few moments later, Ron made his way back to the table where Ginny, Neville and Luna were anxiously awaiting his return. He sat down, still in shock, a seemingly permanent smile plastered on his flustered face.

Ginny spoke immediately, using the tone a sister uses when she wants to extract information from her brother. “Well? Talk! What on earth was that all about?”

Ron replied simply, “You won't believe it, even if I tell you!”

He paused for effect, looking at each bewildered face.

“I'm going to be a teacher!”

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

Hermione stirred, and opened her eyes. She delicately felt her cheek with her hand, trying to determine if her wound was healing properly. Despite the excellent care of Mrs. Pomfrey at Hogwarts, she was still in a lot of pain … Her leg was unbearably difficult to move, her knee still swollen and mangled underneath the thick bandaging, and her face was just beginning to find its original colour. There were good news, however: the gash on her cheek was healing, and she had been relieved to learn that it wouldn't leave a scar if properly treated. That was why she was anxious to get to St-Mungo's hospital that day, to finally get all this over with.

Slowly, each movement painful, Hermione got out of bed and found her new mean of locomotion, good old crutches that Harry had gotten for her at a nearby Muggle convenient store. With her knee heavily bandaged and immobilized, she couldn't put any weight on it whatsoever, and the crutches allowed her to move around without using magic all the time. She made it out of the room with much effort, hobbling along and trying not to wince from pain every time she hit her knee on a door frame or some other obstacle.

“It's a good thing I don't have to stay long on these awful things …” she muttered, working up a sweat just trying to move around.

Hermione shrieked as she almost got into a head-on collision with Dobby who was jogging out of the kitchen without looking at all where he was going. Startled himself, but smiling and looking at her with his large, tennis ball eyes, Dobby simply said, “Good Morning, Miss Hermione! Dobby hopes you are feeling better, and apologizes for scaring you!”

“That's quite all right, Dobby!” she said indulgently, patting the elf on the top of the head. Hermione had given up her aspirations about S.P.E.W. a long time ago, but she still believed that elves were more than just slaves, and really liked Dobby.

“Is Harry around?” she asked, suddenly realizing the dead silence in the house and noticing the folded blankets and pillow neatly piled on the living room sofa.

“No, Miss Hermione, Harry Potter had to leave to run an errand. He said he would be back soon, and that is why Dobby must now prepare breakfast!”

Hermione was surprised. What possible errand could Harry have had to run here, in Godric's Hollow, where they had barely just arrived?

Hermione sat down at the table while Dobby started preparing breakfast. She saw a roll of parchment, from which a part had been torn off recently, and Harry's quill lying on the table. She smiled, remembering the moment when she had given it to him the year before for his birthday. He had just turned seventeen, and she had felt really bad because of the horrible sixth year he'd had, when her and Ron had left him alone almost all year. She wanted to give him something useful, as was her habit, but this time she wanted it to have a very personal touch. A gift he would be seeing everyday, and that could remind him of her. She had been browsing Diagon Alley, and had seen the beautiful quill in the window — it was trimmed with gold, and made with a huge phoenix tail feather, something that obviously had a very personal meaning for Harry. It was also charmed to be unbreakable, and came with a lifetime warranty. Hermione had tried it, and had almost been tempted to buy one for herself, since writing with it was so incredibly smooth and pleasurable. It was ridiculously expensive, but Hermione had not cared: she wanted Harry to have it. She had it engraved — boldly, at the time — with the surprising words: “From Hermione. I'll always be there for you.”

She had wanted to give it to him personally, but her parents had insisted she accompany them to France for the summer holidays, and she had not had the heart to say no. She had already skipped a couple of family vacations in the last year and a half, and she didn't want to hurt their feelings. She had reluctantly settled on sending the present with Hedwig, whom had just delivered a letter from Harry. And even though Harry had thanked her warmly the next time they had met, he had not said anything about the engraving. Nevertheless, she had been pleased to see him using the quill every day, and she had caught him more than once smiling as he read the engraving. There had been one time afterwards, however, when he had furtively glanced in her direction after looking closely at his quill. Their eyes had met, Harry had winked at her and pointed at the quill, and then had worded silently with his lips, “I'll always be there for you too!”, pointing successively at himself and her to make sure she had understood. It had been a good thing that Professor McGonagall had seen their little game, and interrupted them:

“Mr. Potter, Miss Granger? Perhaps you could share your amazing silent conversation with the rest of the class? I'm quite sure it would enlighten us all, since I dare not assume it ISN'T about Transfiguration …”

It had been Harry who had muttered, “Sorry! No, nothing enlightening, I'm afraid. I was just, er, trying to convince Hermione to … partner with me for our practical Transfiguration session later!” Ron had turned towards him, puzzled and looking apparently offended. Harry had just rolled his eyes, looked at him and shaken his head, to make sure Ron understood it had to do with something else. It had been a good thing for Hermione that McGonagall had focused on Harry, too, because she had turned in a nice shade of purple after what he had told her.

Hermione picked up the quill, and looked at it. It was still very beautiful, even though it showed some signs of wear. The gold engraving was still very much there, and her heart leapt at the thought that it was no longer a dream, that they were both there for each other now, to the fullest extent.

But suddenly, her heart sank, and she felt a wave of coldness go down her spine, as she made a dreadful realization.

“Oh NO! Harry's birthday! I — I completely forgot!” She put her hands over her open mouth, astonished that she could have made such a blunder. She had never, in seven years of school, failed to give Harry a birthday or Christmas present. And now, at a time when maybe it should have mattered the most, she had totally forgotten …

The door opened at the same moment. Harry walked in, looking preoccupied and apparently in a very nasty mood.

Hermione didn't wait. She got up in a flash, one-hopped all the way to the door, and threw her arms around Harry's neck. She kissed him passionately, and even though he had looked surprised at first, he gently put her arms around her waist, and lifted her up a bit, as they continued kissing softly. After a while, she looked up at him, guiltily, and whispered with the most beautiful of smiles, “I'm SO sorry, Harry! Happy birthday! I can't believe I forgot!”

Harry's mood brightened instantly. He laughed and swung her up in his arms as easily as if he had just picked up his broom. He swirled around, making both of them dizzy before putting her down on the couch and almost falling besides her.

“I think”, he said with a hint of glee, “that this year, I got the most beautiful birthday present from you so far!”

Hermione was giddy, and laughed as she replied, “Oh, you're so nice, but Harry — I didn't give you anything! I've been such an insensitive, selfish git this year! I was so involved in myself, and my `choices', that I totally forgot your birthday!”

With a mischievous grin, Harry just looked at her.

“But Hermione, you did give me something on the night of my birthday, at the Leaky Cauldron. You gave me your heart! That night, for the first time, I started to comprehend my feelings for you. That is the best present you have EVER given me!”

Hermione couldn't reply, and just leaned her head on Harry's shoulder. She discretely pinched herself, just to make sure all this wasn't just a dream …

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

St-Mungo's remained quite familiar to Harry, since he had spent a whole month there not too long ago. He didn't really like the place, and as he sat on the hospital bed besides Hermione, who was reading an information booklet about the procedure she was about to go through, he wondered when his next visit would be. Hermione's shaky voice brought him back from his thoughts.

“I'm scared, Harry”, she said, looking up at him with imploring eyes. “I mean, they say that it is so painful that patients often faint!”

Harry took her hand, and looked at her, trying to appear as reassuring as he could.

“It's going to be fine, Hermione. I had my arm re-grown once, remember? It's painful, I won't lie to you … But it's bearable!”

Hermione turned away, and looked at the window. “Yeah, well, I'm not like you, I don't know how much pain I can take!”

It was true, Harry thought, that he had suffered physically a lot more than the people close to him. He seemed to have a higher threshold than most for suffering, a “skill” he had acquired against his wishes over the last few years.

“Well”, he continued, “try to focus on something else … Like me, for example!” Harry grinned as Hermione nudged him gently on the shoulder.

“That won't take away the pain, now, will it? Nice try though!”

Harry then remembered something insightful, that he was sure would help Hermione.

He gently put his hand on her cheek, and looking at her eagerly, spoke. “Remember when I was put under the Cruciatus curse at the beginning of the summer?”

Hermione's eyes went wide, and she looked at him in shock, almost insulted. “Of course I remember! That was less than two months ago! How could I EVER forget that moment, I thought … I was sure I had lost you forever!” Tears welled up in her eyes … The memory of the event was still very fresh, and she had been horrified at the thought of losing Harry without ever telling him she loved him.

“I never told you this, but you … saved me that day … It was somehow because of you that I managed to defeat the curse …”

Hermione looked at him, puzzled and curious. “What do you mean? I wasn't even there!”

Harry laughed. “I know, I know! But when the pain became too much to bear, my body started shutting down. Everything went black, and I started seeing images from my life, in slow motion. I thought, at that moment, that I was dying — since, you know, it was exactly like those `testimonies' of people who have near-death experiences and such. But then, one image came … It was your face, the same face you had when we first met on the train. And I saw it change into what you look like now, but in a weird fashion, your eyes always remained the same: you seemed to be looking at me, trying to tell me something … I could see something so deep and so powerful in your eyes, and I just focused all my energy on them ... I focused on you, Hermy!”

Hermione's heart was beating extremely fast now, and tears had started streaming down her cheeks: somehow, a very real connection had been established that day between the both of them. Indeed, when Harry had left the castle to go fight Voldemort, she had been so overwhelmed with fear and grief that she had broken down into sobs … She had found a corner in the Great Hall where nobody would easily spot her, had sat down and closed her eyes, and then she had just thought of him — how she loved him, how she hurt from not telling him, how she couldn't bear to lose him now … And apparently — miraculously — it had helped him, she had gotten throught to him.

But Harry continued, anxious to share the rest of that moment with her. “And as I focused on you, the pain diminished. That's when I realized I could fight it! And I did, and you know the rest of the story … Maybe if you focus on me during the procedure, the pain won't be so bad!”

But right then, Harry remembered something he had brushed aside before, but that now seemed to make sense.

“But — just wait a minute! When you came to me afterwards, when I was unconscious, did you — did you talk to me? Did you say something to me?”

Harry was looking at her intently, anticipating her answer.

Hermione blushed. “Well, yes, Harry, I did talk to you. I thought you were dead, you know … And at that moment, I wanted to die too …” She looked down as she said those words, trying to not think about the mere possibility of Harry's death — it was a fear that remained undeniably real to her.

She looked at him, her eyes beaming and glittery, and she grabbed his face with both her hands. “I told you I loved you, for the first time in my life. And I think you heard me, because you opened your eyes, and smiled.”

Harry's heart jumped, and started racing. A wonderful, warm wave of passion suddenly ignited from the deepest part of his stomach area … He moved towards Hermione, and kissed her as she herself pulled him closer, her hands now behind his neck. In the swiftness of the moment, she lost balance and they both fell backwards on the soft hospital bed, Harry suddenly lying on top of her. But somehow, neither of them seemed eager to get back up. Harry just continued kissing her, as she slid her arms more intently around his neck and held him closer, with more intensity … Time seemed to stop for a while, as they kissed and held each other lovingly, passionately, desperately. Harry then paused for a moment, drew back ever so slightly, and just looked at her. Hermione's eyes were closed, her cheeks were flustered and red, she was panting — and she was just so … beautiful, so … inviting. Harry's chest was about to explode when she opened her eyes, and smiled. He conveniently slid to the side, still partly on top of her but now leaning more comfortably on his right elbow, with his right hand behind the nape of her neck.

“What? What's the matter?” she whispered softly, kissing him gently on the chin, eagerly trying to make her way back towards his lips again.

Harry didn't know what to say exactly. Gazing at her, unbelievably happy, he just buried his face in her hair near her ear, and simply replied, “I love you so much! It's almost too amazing to be true!”

He felt her squeeze her arms around his neck, and was once again overtaken by a wave of fiery passion. He started kissing her neck, and distinctly heard Hermione breath faster as he kissed his way back towards the front of her face, following the line of her jawbone. She had slightly, naturally tilted her head backwards, as if to make it easier for him to continue.

Harry felt boiling warmth everywhere inside, and he felt Hermione shiver as he put his free hand — the left one — gently on her now bare navel (her sweater had been slightly pulled up as Harry had slid to the side.)

“Hem, hem! … We are all set for the procedure, Miss Granger. That is, if you are, er, ready, of course … We could proceed right away!”

Both Hermione and Harry straightened up clumsily in a flash. She tried, innocently, to fix her hair, attempting to look as natural as possible.

“Er, sorry, yes … I am ready! We just … fell on the bed.”

“Of course, Miss Granger, we understand. The orderly will help you get to the room where the procedure will be performed.”

Harry had to bite his lip not to explode in laughter as he looked at her from the corner of his eye. But as she looked back at him with a malicious grin and unbounded love shining in her big, bright, expressive brown eyes, he was unexpectedly and suddenly struck, for the first time, with a chilling, horrifying thought …

The gripping terror that one day, sooner or later, he might be without her.

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HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

CHAPTER 10

RETURN TO HOGWARTS

Harry was looking at the nervous first year student entering the Great Hall for the Sorting ceremony. He remembered vividly how terrified he had been himself on that evening, which now felt like such a distant memory. Granted, he had been anxious, and scared, but he had also been innocent, childlike, discovering day by day, hour by hour, this fascinating new Wizarding world. But now … Here he was again, seven years later, hardened, almost disillusioned, and carrying an enormous weight on his shoulder — still — even after defeating the most powerful Dark Wizard to be seen in the last one hundred years …

It felt incredibly strange for Harry to be sitting at the staff table. He had, for the last seven years, been down there — comfortably seated at the Gryffindor table, enjoying the company of his friends and welcoming on the new students just sorted into the Gryffindor House. Being up here was somewhat different. He felt, more than ever, the sense of responsibility, the weight on his shoulders that he had never managed to shake off.

On his right side was an empty seat, and in the seat right beside that one was Professor Snape, who was looking at him with a cold, emotionless glare. Harry would have a difficult time getting used to this, and Snape — who had become somewhat more civil and less cruel after Harry had saved his life in their sixth year — was nevertheless as unreadable as ever, a stone monument that Harry figured was always thinking of some way of humiliating him. He smirked faintly, however, and nodded to Harry as a welcoming gesture.

To Harry's surprise, he then leaned over the empty seat, and whispered, “Good evening, Potter … I must say that even I could NOT have predicted this outcome when your first came to this school …” He paused, his face now becoming grave and solemn. “Well done, Harry. Well done.” This was the first time Severus Snape had ever addressed him by his first name.

Harry was taken aback. He tried to reply, but found that he had a difficult time expressing himself properly whenever Snape was involved. “Er, thank you, Prof — Oh! Hum, by what … title, or name should I call you now?”

Snape looked somewhat amused, and apparently gave the question a few seconds of thought. He then said curtly, “Well, I'm still a Professor, and you're quite young to be addressing me otherwise… Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?”

Harry was almost relieved with this answer. He couldn't picture himself calling Snape “Severus”, and still wasn't ready to consider Snape anything more than somebody he didn't like very much.

“Ok then! Thank you for the compliment, Professor Snape”, Harry said under his breath, hoping the conversation would end there. To his great relief, it did, as Snape immediately straightened up on his seat, turning his eyes towards the Great Hall.

The seat on his left was occupied by the new flying teacher, none other than his own best friend, Ron Weasley. Harry had been surprised to hear about the nomination from Ron's mouth, but then again, he couldn't help but feel extremely happy: at least, returning to Hogwarts with Hermione and Ron would feel very familiar. He elbowed him in the side, and turned to whisper in his ear.

“Doesn't this feel weird? I mean, we're on the `other' side, now! We're going to have to obey rules!”

Ron laughed silently, and looked at Harry. “Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later … It does feel weird, though. We worked so hard to get through school, and now we're back … at school! Wicked, mate, just wicked!”

Harry couldn't help but agree with Ron on that. It now seemed they would never ever get away from Hogwarts!

Harry's attention turned back to the long line of new students. He smiled with pride as he gazed upon Professor McGonagall, immediately followed by … their very own Hermione! They were both leading the cohort of new students down the center aisle of the Great Hall. Thanks to Dumbledore, Hermione had been given the same Assistant-Teacher position to McGonagall she had been offered before the Krum fiasco. McGonagall had accepted to replace Professor Binns for a year, teaching History of Magic. Somehow, he had disappeared over the summer, and no one — not even the other ghosts — knew where he had gone. Rumours said, however, he had finally realized he was dead, a fact that had never occurred to him before. The ghostly Professor had, well, moved on to the other `realm' —apparently ashamed of having never realized his state of consciousness.

As the line of new recruits made its way across the hall, and as other students started seeing Hermione walking down the hall, carrying the Sorting Hat, a growing roar of approval started following the procession, becoming louder and louder as they approached the foot of the staff table where laid the stool reserved for the old hat. When Hermione, by then sporting an unflattering shade of purple, finally laid down the hat on its stool, the crowd was so loud in cheers that one would have swore they were at a Quidditch game. Of course, only the first years didn't quite know Harry, Ron or Hermione, and hadn't witnessed their heroic exploits of the last two years. She looked up furtively towards Harry, who smiled at her and winked. He mouthed words silently, slowly to make sure she understood him: I love you. She was already purple, and couldn't have blushed more, but her heart accelerated ever so slightly had the sight of Harry. With the events of the last few days, her feelings for him were overwhelming and apparently getting stronger as the weeks went by. She was hopelessely in love with him, and had a hard time conceiving that it was real. The best part was that she knew, by the intense stares he often gave her, that he felt the same.

The ceremony got under way right after McGonagall's opening speech. The Sorting Hat broke into his usual song, with the same mentions of unity, of coming together, and other such admonitions. Harry's old habit was to not really pay attention to what the hat said — that was Hermione's forte —but his curiosity was nevertheless aroused with the last verse of the song:

“So you see, an old hat like me

is only here to tell you where you ought to be;

Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin or Hufflepuff,

It makes no difference in what you will be taught.

However, I will tell you this:

Old flaws die hard,

Ancient threats do rise again,

And once more, there could be war.

United this old school should stand, for from within lie threats unexpected.

The Brave and the Snake, foes of old,

Shall now be forever divided by blood.”

Harry was somewhat shaken by that statement. He looked at Ron, who seemed as intrigued as he was.

“Does that mean what I think it means? The `Brave', that's Gryffindor, right? And there's no doubt that the `Serpent' is Slytherin … So, there will be blood, or something?” Ron whispered to Harry, as the name “Abercrombie, Richard” was called first to go sit and put the Sorting Hat on. Ron vaguely noticed that it was Hermione's voice calling the names this year.

Harry nodded, and replied. “Yeah, I think that's what it means … Blood will be shed between the houses.” Harry tensed up and clenched his fists on the table as he remembered his promise to Malfoy.

“Gryffindor!” yelled the Sorting Hat, and Richard Abercrombie joined the cheering Gryffindor table.

The ceremony proceeded normally, and Harry was quite proud of the way Hermione was calling out the names, and taking her place as the rightful “heir” — she would have said so herself — to Minerva McGonagall. However, something odd happened when she called out one of the last names.

“Winslow, Thomas”.

A tall, skinny boy approached the stool and sat down. He had long, greasy black hair, somewhat reminiscent of Snape's hairstyle. It was longer, however, and fell down below his shoulders. There was something sinister about him, something that could even be labelled frightening. Unlike the rest of the first years, he seemed cooled and collected, and his wand was tucked in his belt in the front of his robes — something that first years didn't usually do, having just purchased their first wand. He briefly looked up at the staff table, and stared straight at Harry. The moment the their eyes met, Harry's scar erupted in white hot, searing pain.

“OUCH!” Harry shrieked, taken by surprise. His hand immediately went up to rub his forehead, and for a moment, he became the center of attention. Under such circumstances, Harry's reflex would normally have been to use Legilimency to try to peer into Winslow's thoughts. He could hardly do it, though, in front of the whole school.

“Nothing to worry about, it happens regularly now, just … go on! Please!” Harry said out loud, mortified that every eye in the room was now on him. Most students who knew him gave a worried look. They had learned, over the years, that pain in Harry's scar usually meant trouble. Harry turned and purposely met Hermione's eyes, and knew at once she was extremely worried. Actually, it was more than worry: Harry could distinctly read fear on her face.

“Slytherin!” the Hat yelled, without any hesitation. The boy named Winslow got up, and walked slowly to the Slytherin table.

The rest of the ceremony proceeded in a blur. The pain in Harry's scar had subsided, but now a million questions were submerging him. Who was that Winslow boy? Why had he felt pain in his scar? Was he, in any way, connected to Voldemort or Maldemort? Harry was in the middle of these thoughts when Albus Dumbledore stood up and made his usual, brief opening statement, inviting everyone to eat well, and keeping his “back to school” speech for the end of the feast.

Hermione sat down quietly besides him, and remained silent for a while. She was slightly out of breath, as if she had ran to the table. She then turned to Harry rather abruptly.

“Who was that boy? How come your scar hurt?” she blurted with a slightly higher tone than usual.

Harry glanced around the room, and whispered. “I don't know, Hermione. He stared at me, and that's when my scar hurt. I'm as dumbfounded as you are …”

He shot a glance towards Winslow, who was sitting at the end of the Slytherin table. He was alone, and interestingly, he was eating with one hand, and keeping the other discretely on his wand. He seemed nervous and suspicious, almost as if he expected some kind of attack.

“Yeah, this boy is definitely something else”, Harry mused out loud, not noticing the growing fear on Hermione's face as she looked at Winslow.

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

Draco Malfoy awoke with a start, completely lost as to where he was, or how he had got there. He was lying on a bed, and a quick glance around told him he was back home in his bedroom at the Malfoy manor. He tried to get up, leaning on his hand for support. A piercing, horrendous stab of pain instantly shot through his arm and he fell back on his bed sideways, dizzy and disoriented by the intense throbbing that now radiated in his whole arm. He opened his eye, and saw the white gauze bound tightly around his wrist, stained here and there with patches of blood that had managed to seep through the cloth. In a flash, the painful memory of his last encounter with his “Master” came back, and he remembered all the gruesome details of how his hand had been torched because of his “mistake”. Unfortunately, he thought, this hadn't been just a horrendous nightmare.

Someone, however, had obviously tended to his wound, because the hideous stump he now knew to be at the end of his right arm didn't seem as swollen and wasn't as painful as it had been when his father had exerted his “discontent” upon it.

Fear, rage and anger instantly mounted within him, and overtook him. How could he have done this to him? Yes, he was his “Master” and such, but Draco had had enough of that stupid game. He was, still, and always would be, his father. He just couldn't believe that there wasn't something left inside that told him he was still Draco's father, that he had a son … How cruel and senseless could a man be to just … maim his own flesh and blood like that? Even Voldemort had not been this unforgiving to the Malfoys over the years, and Draco knew for a fact that his father had made his share of mistakes …

“All this would have never happened if Potter had not killed Voldemort!”, he muttered to himself, trying to sit on his bed without having to move his amputated limb too much. He found, much to his displeasure and discomfort, that it was quite difficult. But as much as he wanted to hate Harry and blame him for his fate, the real object of Draco's rage was his father — and he knew it.

The double glass doors to his suite suddenly opened, and Draco was startled to see his mother entering the room.

“Sorry, Draco, I thought you were still sleeping. I was coming to check on the bandaging. I've been treating your … wound with a magic liniment made especially for this kind of injury. It should heal within a few days, but it was still very much tender the last time I looked.”

Draco looked at his mother with interrogatory eyes, trying to gauge whether she was on his father's side. Her face was quite difficult to read, but for a fleeting instant he thought for sure he saw pity, even compassion.

“Wound? Injury? Is that what he told you? Was I injured in the course of `battle'?” Draco was so upset at his father that he was ready to explode.

Narcissa looked at her son with a hint of fear in her eyes. “Yes, that's what the Death Eater who brought you here said … But I know better …”

She looked away, pondering heavily what she was about to say. It seemed to Draco she was weighing the consequences of the words she was about to utter.

“This was the work of your father, wasn't it?” she said softly, loud only enough for Draco to hear.

Draco's fury erupted. “Yeah, it was! And what a piece of art it is, isn't it! He took my hand, he burned it, and he enjoyed doing it! Is he that cruel and sadistic with you? I'm all for fighting for the `dark side', but this is too much! I mean, his own son! HOW COULD HE?”

Narcissa just looked down at the floor.

Draco's voice calmed down as he saw his mother trembling. She sat down at the end of his bed, and all of the sudden, she started crying.

“Mother? Are you all right?” Draco was not used to tears in his parents' house.

Narcissa Malfoy got back up, composing herself really quickly, as if she had done something awful by letting her son see her tears.

But Draco was intrigued, and thought there might be a possibility to get back at his father for what he had done to him. Slowly, a plan crept its way into his mind, a daring idea that could allow him to really hurt his father, to exact some kind of revenge on what he had done to him.

“Mother? Let's leave this place, and go into hiding. Whatever father has become, he is no longer who he used to be, and this ...” he pointed at his stump with his chin, “this is the proof that he no longer cares about his family!”

Narcissa examined him for a long time, obviously trying to measure whether he was serious or not.

“But Draco, your father has become very powerful. We can't just leave, or fight him — we're going to be killed for sure!”

Draco smiled. “Don't worry, mother … I think I may have a plan.” Indeed, the twisted, sinister plot was taking a more definite shape in Draco's mind, and if he could just make it work, he would even kill two birds with one stone.

But Narcissa had already made up her mind anyway. She had been supportive and faithful to Lucius and his allegiance to Voldemort for almost all their married life. There had been times when she had questioned it, but despite his choices Lucius had always been loving and protective of her and Draco. But now …

He had forsaken them. By becoming Maldemort he had left his family behind. If she was going to die, at least it would be for her own convictions. Not someone else's.

“All right, Draco. Let's go. Let's do it.”

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

“The Old Rule”, said Harry pensively. “So that's what this is all about?”

It was the morning of their first day of teaching. Albus Dumbledore was looking at them rather gravely. He had summoned an urgent meeting of the “new” Order of the Phoenix just before the start of classes, to give an account of some new information that had come to light.

“Yes, I'm afraid herein the Old Rule lies the motivation behind those last attacks … It's funny, actually. But strange at the same time. You see, my inquiries were going in a completely different direction, but then I received an anonymous owl this morning that tipped me off. And it must be from someone who is — or was — very close to Maldemort, because the letter gives details that only someone on the inside could know.”

Harry was intrigued. “Like what?”

Dumbledore turned towards Hermione before he continued. “Like the mention of some details of the attack on Miss Granger in Romania … Certain facts have not been disclosed by any of us, Harry, so only a Death Eater present at the scene could have had this kind of information!”

Harry's mouth fell open. He looked around at the others, and expressed out loud the obvious comment that everyone was dying to blurt out.

“So what you're saying is that someone, on the inside, is leaking information to us? But … Why?”

Dumbledore smiled faintly. “Well, my feeling is that this Maldemort has displeased one of his followers, and the latter would like him defeated. We should be extremely careful, though, since it could also be a trap of some sort.”

Hermione interjected. “But what exactly is the Old Rule? You were about to comment on that …”

The Headmaster paused, and took a deep breath. “Yes, indeed … The Old Rule. Well, it is very difficult to explain in simple terms, because it encompasses a lot more than just the Wizarding World. Also, one must be careful when studying it, since it is so ancient that most of the manuscripts we still have — of the Old Rule itself, and studies of it — have been tampered with over the centuries. Furthermore, numerous wizards have written about it without really understanding it, or at the very least without grasping its essence. Only two reliable manuscripts of the Old Rule remain. One is kept here, at Hogwarts, in one of the underground vaults … A vault quite similar to the one where the Philosopher's stone was once kept, a few years back.”

Smiles went around the room, but Harry didn't notice: he was totally focused on what Dumbledore was saying.

“The other one has been entrusted to the care of the National Library of the Wizarding World, in London. It is heavily protected, and I would have heard about any attempt to secure it. My conclusion, hence, is that the `Old Rule' by which Maldemort and his followers are being guided is a doubtful text at best.”

Hermione frowned at him intensely, still not clear about what the rule was about.

Dumbledore caught her eyes, and smirked. “But, as Miss Granger is about to remind me, I digress … The Old Rule was established a very long time ago, by the first wizards — we call them `Founders' — who ever realized they had special powers separating them from the rest of the human realm. They were, history tells us, drawn together by the very oddities that set them apart. They were often thrown out of the emerging villages and communities of the Stone Age, and labelled as outsiders. Soon enough, some of them realized they had similar powers, and to make this elaborate story short, they started to organize into what we call today the Wizarding World. It —”

Ron's mouth was open wide, fascinated as he was by the narrative. He couldn't help but interrupt. “Excuse me, Sir, but why didn't YOU teach History of Magic? I'm sure we would have found it quite interesting! And we never heard about THIS with Professor Binns!”

Hermione gave Ron a scathing look, and for a moment, it was exactly like they were students again. “Oh, Ron, you are so rude! And if you had paid any intention in History of Magic, you would indeed have found it quite interesting!”

Ron made to reply, but Albus Dumbledore raised his hand.

He winked at Hermione before continuing. “I am sorry you didn't enjoy your classes more, Ronald, but I think there's a bit of truth in what Miss Granger just said! But let's get back to what I was explaining. Ah yes! So these wizards of old laid the foundations upon which our world could be built. It was a formidable challenge that extended over more than one generation. But one thing that our Founders quickly realized was the fragility of their status. They were still outsiders, and if someone ever discovered the basis of their affinity, they would be persecuted into oblivion. The key to survival, they thought, was to create an intimate association between Wizards and non-wizards — Muggles, as they had already started calling them. So they concocted an extremely powerful charm, which was later transcripted and formulated into the “Old Rule” …”

He paused, and took a sip of water from the glass in front of him.

“The Rule had two unique properties: first, it was to self-transmit itself from parents to children. All it took was one Muggle family for the charm to propagate itself to the entire human race over the course of years and centuries. Second, it would allow children endowed with true Magical powers to be born from Muggle parents …”

Hermione gasped as she covered her mouth with both her hands. “So … That's why I'm the way I am, then?”

Albus Dumbledore paused, peering at everyone with a gaze so intense that they were almost afraid of what he was about to say. He turned to Hermione, with a sudden paternal love in his eyes that he had only shown to Harry over the years.

“Yes, dear Hermione, that is how you got to have your powers … It was — and is — the working essence of the Rule. It insured that the Wizarding world would henceforth never exist without the `normal' world — and vice-versa.”

Dumbledore let the words sink in before he continued.

“Hence, they achieved this `balance' by creating `cross-overs' — `Muggle-borns', that is Magical children born from Muggles, and `Squibs', people with no magical abilities born from wizards. In so doing, they knew that both world would eternally remain linked. The ability Muggles have to create bonds and relationships of love, a strength that is so lacking in wizards, constitutes the true foundation of the rule. The ability to love, forgive, and embrace differences above everything else will continue to transmit itself to the Wizarding World, insuring that it is never isolated and vulnerable … from without, but also from within.”

Harry's mind was working furiously, but as he turned towards Hermione for feedback, he saw that her face was in her hands … She was crying. The impact of this new information was apparently overwhelming her. Harry got up, moved his chair closer to hers, and put his arm around her.

She looked around, and then up at Harry. “That's why they're dead, isn't it?” She turned back to Dumbledore, desperately needing an answer. “That's why my parents have been killed! It all makes sense now! That's also why they tried to get me! Isn't it?”

Dumbledore looked at her indulgently, with extreme compassion radiating all over his face.

“Yes, Miss Granger, I believe that IS in fact the reason for the murder of your parents, and the attempt on your own life. Somehow, Maldemort seems to think that killing cross-overs — maybe all of them — is the key to weakening us, and perhaps getting to Harry. Because make no mistake … Maldemort is only pursuing Voldemort's quest: to destroy Harry Potter!”

Dumbledore paused, realizing like everyone present that Hermione was overwhelmed. The events of the preceding weeks had been so intense that she had not really had had the time to process the murder of her parents. But now, the emotions were coming back, and there was nothing to hide them under anymore.

Harry spoke softly. “Professor Dumbledore, maybe we should continue this at some other time, I mean, it's hard stuff to take in, and —”

But the Headmaster seemed to have one more thing on his mind, and lifted his hand to interrupt Harry. “There is, I am afraid, one more information that I must share with you all, because it is extremely important … As I've said before, our new foe is working from a text that contains gross inaccuracies.”

Harry gasped, and with difficulty, composed himself. He was trying to fathom what Dumbledore was saying. Could that mean that Hermione's parents had been killed for nothing? If so, now was really not the time to divulge that information. He replied with a certain anger mounting within him. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

Hermione was leaning on Harry, sobbing and shaking violently, trying to muffle the sound of her sobs into Harry's sweater. He was holding her tightly, but was now ready to get up and leave.

Dumbledore spoke again, with the wisdom of his years as Headmaster and leader of the Wizarding world.

“It simply means, Harry, that they are missing two very crucial pieces of information from the original `Old Rule' …” Dumbledore looked around the room at the puzzled faces.

He continued eagerly. “First, the rule is too powerful to be thwarted: killing cross-overs is not a solution. At best, it may weaken us. But secondly, only those who have read the original text would know that the Founders, in order for the Rule to remain strongly in effect, added one extra twist to the charm: in the midst of the 1,000^th generation born from Muggles as a consequence of the spell, there would be ONE wizard endowed with an enhanced ability to bring love and emotions within the Wizarding community. It is prophetically stated by the Rule itself that this person will insure, somehow, that the Old Rule remain in effect for another lengthy period of time.”

Harry was curious now, and forgot about his anger. “And do you have a clue on who that could be?”

Dumbledore smiled, but then resumed a very grave face. “Well, for the longest time, I thought it to be your mother, Harry … I was sure that the incredible strength of the bond that saved your life could only be the fulfilment of the prophecy. Furthermore, it seemed to fit: your mother's love saved you so that you could save the Wizarding world from Voldemort. The only glitch was, Voldemort's quest had absolutely nothing to do with the Old Rule. So I waited patiently, and at last, the fruits of my research suddently took me in the right direction. I am now fairly convinced to have found the wizard in question …”

Ron frowned, and looked at Ginny, Luna and Neville with a quizzical look on his face.

“But that wizard is probably one in millions, I mean, how did you manage to identify him or her?”

“Well Ron,” Dumbledore continued, “there aren't that many cross-overs. I mean, in your school years, there were only two or three at Hogwarts, so that means their numbers are rather small …”

Dumbledore turned to Harry before he continued with a smile.

“It is also my conviction that this person's `powers', if I may so express myself, have already been at work. That person has already established a connection of love strong enough to save a life, possibly initiating the destruction of those who would bring about the `death' of the Old Rule …”

Harry frowned really hard, attempting to grasp what Dumbledore was saying. He was clueless, but then a ray of light flashed through in his brain.”

He replied frantically, “You mean that it … this person is someone we know, right?”

Dumbledore replied, very softly, his eyes meeting someone else's in the room.

“Indeed, Harry … This person, as a matter of fact, is the very one you're holding so dearly in your arms right now.”

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

Harry was growing increasingly nervous as students — first years from Slytherin —were pouring into his class. At least, for his first lesson, he had the first years. He would have thought it dreadful to teach his first class in front of seventh years, most of whom he still knew from his school days, and some of which he still maintained a very close relationship with — Ginny being a prime example of this.

Harry had prepared for his lessons, but there were a few factors he had not considered that were now making him anxious. For example, he had forgotten that being a Hogwart's teacher meant he would have to teach students from Slytherin, the very essence of which he despised. He would also have to face the seventh years from Slytherin, and that would be very hard: a lot of those student's parents were now in Azkaban, thanks to Harry. He didn't quite know how to go about it: should he establish his authority with them through fear, or try to gain their confidence? But why would he even want to? It almost posed a moral dilemma for him, since if he had had the choice, he wouldn't even have taught them.

It had bothered him enough to talk to Dumbledore about it. His suggestion had been helpful.

“Harry, you must remember that not ALL Slytherin students become Dark Wizards … Also, remember that you possess qualities that could have landed you in Slytherin, enough in fact to trip the Sorting Hat … Slytherin is about ambition, about striving to be the best and achieve great things. I would suggest that you look inside of you, and seek out those very qualities that are very much present in you. And as a teacher, your goal should be to have the Slytherin students tap into their full potential. The reason that most Dark Wizards come from Slytherin is that they are not willing to be sufficiently patient to reach their goals. And sadly, Dark Magic makes the empty promise of power, riches, and satisfied ambition, in a short amount of time.”

It is with this in mind that Harry, seeing the class full and no more students entering, launched into his opening lecture.

“Er, good morning, all of you. This is, in fact, your very first class at Hogwarts. My name, as probably many of you already know (there was no point pretending his fame hadn't preceded him), is Harry Potter … Professor Potter, from now on.”

Harry let the effect of this statement sink in. He was surprised to read fear in a lot of faces. He had expected snickers, disdain and even anger, but not … fear. But then again, even Malfoy was scared of him now, and he was a lot more trained than these guys.

“This class,” Harry continued, “is devoted to defending oneself against the Dark Arts. I have spent the most of the last seven years, more by necessity than by choice, in a battle with one of the most powerful Dark Wizards of all times — he called himself Voldemort.”

There was an audible shudder in the class. Most students, though quite young, had grown up learning to fear the name, and most would still not speak it.

Harry continued. “Now, the first lesson I'd like to teach all of you is not to fear calling things by their proper name. While it is true that Voldemort was a very evil Wizard, a lot of his power came from fear — fear, for example, of his very name.”

Harry paused somewhat before he could continued …

“Now, my first encounter with him happened when I was one year old. Voldemort murdered my parents, and then, tried to kill me … but failed. The curse intended to kill me — and which, incidentally, left me with that scar (he pointed at it with his finger) — bounced, and almost did him in. Some actually thought he died. But he managed to hang on to life, and lived for ten years in the shadows, barely alive, in some kind of spirit form. During my first year at Hogwarts, he manifested himself for the first time by possessing a teacher named Quirrell. I thwarted his efforts to secure the Philosopher's stone that year. He came back the year after in the form of his old self, Tom Riddle, preserved in a diary that was conveniently `given' to a first year student … He managed to possess her, as well, and he almost succeeded in his efforts to come back to a human form. Once again, I had the best of him, and he was defeated once more. It took two years, after that, for him to come back, but he succeeded. With the help of one of his followers, he tricked me and another student, Cedric Diggory, into a graveyard where he had managed to regain his human form. Cedric, unfortunately, was killed. I fought Voldemort face to face, and barely escaped with my life.”

Harry paused and eyed around the classroom. Most of the students were captivated, following his every move. Not a sound could be heard in the very still classroom. It was as if everyone was holding their breath — with the exception, however, of one. In the back of the class, the student with long and greasy black hair didn't seem to be paying attention. He looked bored actually, and was looking away from Harry at the window.

Harry tried to ignore this, and continued.

“The following school year — my fifth — was almost my downfall. I neglected to listen to teachers and friends, and was defeated in a battle of the mind. Voldemort had found a way into my thoughts, and I didn't bother learning the skill that would have allowed me to shut him out. There was, unfortunately, a terrible price to pay …”

Harry took a deep breath, and fought hard not to let a tear shine as he continued.

“Because of my stubbornness, my uncle was killed in battle as we were trying to escape Voldemort's followers. He was the only family I had ever known, and because of my inability to listen, I lost him.”

He paused, and then looked up at the students with fire in his eyes. “When it comes to fighting the Dark Arts, NEVER assume you are above everybody else … Because it will cost you dearly! During the very same battle, I nearly lost my best friend, who was hit by a nasty spell as she was fighting by my side. NEVER assume you don't need to learn to defend yourself, NEVER assume you know enough.”

A student timidly raised his hand.

“Yes, Mister …?”

“Thorpe, Sir, Donald Thorpe. Is it true that Voldemort has designated a heir, and that his power is rising?”

Harry had received clear instructions from Dumbledore about Maldemort. He was to not deny his existence, but to limit the amount of information that was transmitted to the students.

“We will discuss this in our next class, Mr. Thorpe”, Harry replied, now noticing the students shifting in their seats. Some looked interested, but others seemed downright happy and eager to know more about this new `heir'.

“Now, the war against Voldemort erupted fully after my fifth year at Hogwarts. There were numerous battles, often against the Death Eaters, his followers, and a few times against him directly. We were prepared, and in the end, we prevailed. In a final battle last summer, I managed to break the Cruciatus curse and defeat him — he died permanently a few days after that.”

One student, unable to wait his turn to talk blurted out, “You … resisted and … repelled a Cruciatus curse!? is that even possible?”

Harry smiled. “I had help, but yes, it is possible. Which brings me to the topic of today's —”

“Some say that you were only lucky, Professor. That if the Headmaster hadn't rescued you so many times, you would be dead for sure …”

Harry's eyes narrowed as he looked at the student who had spoken. It was the Winslow boy who had made his scar hurt at the Sorting Ceremony, the kid with long, black greasy hair.

“Mr. Winslow, is it? You should be careful … You can't believe everything you hear”, replied Harry scathingly. He resisted the urge to let his anger dictate his next move.

“However … There is some truth in what you are saying, and it is a point I would like to make very clear today … Fighting the Dark Arts involves mainly three things: skill, which I will impart to you; help from others, which will only come as people unite to fight a common enemy; and lastly, as Mr. Winslow has so … aptly … put it, luck. Yes, there is a part of war — any war — that is successfully waged because of luck and opportunity.”

Harry took on a solemn face, wanting to make his next words count. “But I believe that a man creates his own luck, in a sense: by mastering skills, and surrounding himself with allies that will fight with him, his luck will improve greatly …”

He had said this looking directly at Winslow, staring him down with a blazing fury in his eyes, as if trying to peer in the boy's mind. Winslow looked down this time, unable to withstand the powerful glare. He was starting to realize what he had risen up against.

Harry looked back at the class solemnly. “These three things — skills, teamwork, and luck — allowed me, I am convinced, to defeat Voldemort. That is what I will be teaching you, starting right now. I want everyone to stand, and to get their wands ready …”

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

After a long but exhilarating day of teaching, Harry went to seek out Hermione, so that they could make their way back to Godric's Hollow. A special Portkey had been set up by Dumbledore to allow them to go back and forth easily, and especially, unnoticed. The last thing they wanted was to attract attention on their coming and going, which would create opportunities for attacks.

However, he had looked everywhere, and she was nowhere to be found. He had tried her classroom, which was empty by now, and the teachers' lounge, where he had only seen Professor McGonagall. It turned out no one had seen her since her last afternoon class. Increasingly worried, he had then gone quickly by the Great Hall, even stopping in the Gryffindor common room, thinking she may have wanted to see their old hideouts and reminisce about their student days. He also made a futile detour by the Owlery. His only alternative now was to go search for her outside, since she could only be somewhere on the exterior grounds. And even then, he could eliminate Hagrid's cabin, since there was no one there.

Harry was hit by a chilly September wind as soon as he closed the doors of the castle behind him. It was cloudy, and the grayish hue of the sky worsened as the afternoon gave way to the early evening, the clouds becoming increasingly black and menacing. It was going to rain, for sure, the kind of downpour that only happened at Hogwarts during the fall. He looked around, trying to locate Hermione, or anyone who could perhaps tell him if they had seen her.

As he progressed towards the lake, he realized he was instinctively going towards the spot where they had often sat under a tree to study on sunny days. Harry's heart suddenly leapt. Of course! She had to be there! He started jogging lightly, hoping that he would indeed find her — he dared not consider the other alternative.

He came around a last group of trees, and from afar, he saw — leaning against the tree under which they usually sat — a mass of bushy brown hair flying wildly in the wind, on top of a big bundle apparently wrapped in a heavy wool blanket. He sighed with relief, and slowed down his pace to catch his breath. He wondered, for a moment, about the reasons why Hermione would come here on such a cold, nasty day.

Hermione turned her head, and saw him approaching. She waved at him, but as he approached Harry immediately noticed from the redness of her eyes that she had been crying. He sat down beside her, and cuddled for warmth. It was really getting chilly now.

“It's freezing, Hermione … What are you doing here? I've been searching for you for almost an hour now!”

Hermione looked at him coldly. “Well, I needed to be alone for a while. Not everything in my life is about you, you know …”

Harry was taken aback. “Er, I'm sorry Hermione, it's just that I was a little bit worried … With the events of the past few weeks, you know. But hey! Sorry for caring, I guess!”

Hermione's eyes widened, and she immediately felt bad. “Gosh, I'm sorry Harry, I didn't mean to be rude. I should have told someone, it's just … I really didn't feel like talking to anybody, I had a difficult time getting through my classes today.”

Harry started to have an idea of what she was going through. “So … How are you doing, Hermione? You've been through a lot lately ... If you want to talk, I —”

“Talk? No … I just want to stay here, and not move, and feel the cold on my face, and just … make it go away. Maybe, if I do that enough, I'll see them again. Mum. Dad. They're dead Harry. They're DEAD! No more Christmas holidays, no more birthday parties, no more hugs and kisses … I can't believe it! I feel so alone, and my heart hurts … but I don't know how to make it stop! It's like a big chunk was ripped out of me, with nothing to replace it. Oh, Harry, I'm so alone, empty … Why did they have to die? Why? This is all … my fault.”

She broke down completely, and despite the cold and the darkening skies, Harry knew he had to stay with her. He gently put his arms around her, and drew her close to him. She exploded in sobs, no longer able to contain her pain and grief. This was more than just tears, it was despair. Harry knew exactly how she felt … it was not too long ago that he himself had lost the only family member he had ever known, and at times he still felt the emptiness in his heart. He just held her, resting his cheek on her head, trying somehow to give her some sense of comfort, but knowing that not much he could say or do would help. This was not the time for clichés, or distasteful comments. All he could do was keep silent, and let her mourn. But he was relieved to see that she was finally taking the death of her parents in. He had been worried that she had been trying to ignore it.

The rain came down suddenly with the nightfall, in icy torrents, and though they were protected by the tree's foliage, they would soon be soaking wet if they didn't move to make their way inside.

“Hermione?” Harry whispered. “We have to go inside, this rain is freezing, and we'll get pneumonia if we stay here to long!”

But all of the sudden, Harry thought he saw something move in the bushes further down the grounds near the lake. He was sure to have seen two eyes shine for a brief moment, and he jumped on his feet. Hermione, conditionned for swift reactions, instinctively got to her feet and drew her wand, almost automatically.

“Harry, what's wrong?” she said with a very shaky voice, cringing her eyes to try to see something through the downpour.

“Someone's there!” Harry shouted, and forgetting the rain he started running towards the bushes, convinced someone — or something — was spying on them. He was right: as soon as he started moving, the bushes shook frantically and a shadow seemed to escape from the back of them, disappearing into the night and heading for the cover of the Forbidden Forest.

“STUPEFY!” Harry screamed, and the red beam of light of the stunning spell briefly illuminated the stormy night. But Harry was astonished to hear, from afar, another voice that sounded vaguely familiar, although he couldn't really place it.

“Protego!” The red beam bounced on a dark form barely visible amongst the rocks and trees, and then disappeared into the night sky. Harry, still jogging, turned around and saw Hermione just a couple of steps behind him.

“Did you see that? It's a wizard!” Harry and Hermione, now drenched, continued running with more determination, barely able to see anything … They were getting scratches from the lower branches as they ran. They had to be in the Forbidden Forest now, Harry thought, having seen Hagrid's cabin on his right a few seconds before.

“THERE!” Hermione yelled, her finger pointing towards her left. Turning, she immediately shouted, “IMPEDIMENTA!” but nothing seemed to happen. Harry bolted in that direction, where movement was still perceptible ahead. They were running completely blind into trees and branches. All of the sudden, Harry heard a crunching noise behind him, followed by a loud whimper and the sound of a falling body.

“Hermione!” he screamed, “are you ok?” But just then, a blinding bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, creating an eerie and frightening black and white scene reminiscent of some horror film. For a moment, the grounds were visible in a wide radius … The shadow of a man, wearing a black cloak and running crouched to the ground, could be seen in the distance. He was following the edge of the Forest. They weren't, as Harry had thought, in the Forest, but had been zigzagging in and out of it. As the light faded to give way, once again, to darkness, to be soon followed by a deafening crack of thunder, Harry stopped running, stunned.

Bending forward and resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath, he slowly turned his head to look behind him. Miraculously, Hermione was catching up to him, holding her head with one hand, and her wand with the other. She was full of scratches, and as she lowered her hand he saw a ghastly purple bruise near her right temple.

“I'm fine, I'm fine, I just fell and knocked my head on a root. But I'm ok, I think!”

Harry walked towards her, panting, and put his arms around her. They both didn't move for a moment, catching their breath. Harry then looked back towards where they had been running, puzzled, his mind working frantically.

“What's wrong, Harry? Who was that?” Hermione asked, wheezing from her run.

Harry looked at her gravely.

“Didn't you see? The hair … It was long, black, and greasy …”

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HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's note : I'M BACK! APOLOGIES FOR THE LONG DELAY in writing this chapter. I have a good excuse, though! My girlfriend and I welcomed our second baby in the world! Now, I will get back to finishing this story in the coming weeks. I aim to have it completed before HP and the HBP, so only a few chapters to go! Bear with me, and thanks for your patience.

Now I hope you love this chapter, all of you. It can't be half as pleasant to read as it was to write. Good reading!

CHAPTER 11

UNFORESEEN AND UNEXPECTED

The wind was blowing hard on the brisk September morning, making the first falling leaves twirl around, chilling the small gathered crowd to the bone as they listened to the minister talk of loss and grief, and yet of hopes of better days. Harry Potter, dressed in his best Muggle black suit and tie, was standing right behind Hermione Granger, holding both her hands as she gazed blankly at the two caskets ready to be lowered into their eternal resting place. She hadn't been herself for days, and most of the time all she could do was cry. The memorial service had taken a while to get organized, because of the police enquiries into the so-called “terrorist” attacks of the Granger clinic. To the relief of Hermione, her aunt and uncle had taken care of the numerous and tedious details and responsibilities associated with the death of her parents.

There were definitely two crowds present, even though a passerby wouldn't have been able to tell the difference — well, they may have had a doubt if they had focused on Luna Lovegood, whose Muggle clothes were … colourful, to say the least. The first group was Hermione's family, grief-stricken and saddened by the horrible loss they had just suffered a couple of weeks back.

And then, there were Hermione's friends, no less sad but undeniably belonging to another world. Muggles and Wizards, united around a single, tragic event — Harry's thoughts wandered for a moment to what Dumbledore had explained concerning the Old Rule. Cross-overs insured that both worlds would remain inextricably linked. Harry could see, on this sad morning, how profoundly true this statement was.

As the crowd slowly dispersed after the final “Amen”, Hermione approached the caskets and, putting one hand on each, remained silent for a while. Harry, who had kept himself a few steps behind, had a plain view of the side of her face. Tears were flowing freely on her already flustered cheeks, and her eyes betrayed a deep melancholy, a sadness so profound that it would probably never go away. Maybe it was best, he thought, that he had never known his own parents. He had, at least, been spared the unexplicable grief that he was witnessing Hermione go through at this very moment.

“Goodbye”, Hermione whispered … “I never got to tell you both one last time how much I love you. Well, I did — I do. But my heart is breaking, and — …”

She choked, unable to say anything more. She collapsed to her knees, and hiding her face in her hands, started howling in a desperate, inextinguishable wail, apparently unable to fathom the heartbreaking reality before her. Harry thought she could very well have a mental breakdown.

Harry had cause for worry.

Since the beginning of classes, she was distant. At first, Harry had given her space, knowing full well she needed to process her loss. But after a few days, he had tried to reconnect with her. But was willingly keeping away, apparently harbouring some ill feelings towards him. She barely spoke to him, and spent most of her free time either on long walks, or barricaded in her room in Godric's Hollow.

Harry could barely take it anymore. He loved her, and missed her. At least, she had asked him to come to the memorial service with her, and he had been glad — it was the most elaborate conversation they had had in a couple of weeks.

“Harry? The memorial service for Mum and Dad is on Saturday. Did you have other plans?”, she had asked him shyly as they were having dinner the Tuesday before.

Harry had been dumbstruck. “No, Hermione! And of course if I did, I would cancel them. That is … You do want me to come, right?”

Hermione had looked at him with pleading eyes. “Well, only if you want … I would really need you though. But I'll understand if you don't want to, I have been somewhat distant.”

“Yeah, I've noticed!” Harry had answered quickly, regretting the words as soon as he spoke them.

Hermione had shot him a scathing look, and Harry had instantly known she was more than upset. She was hurt. “Well, maybe I need space. Maybe I need to deal with the death of my parents. Maybe I need to deal with the fact that they died because someone wants YOU dead!”

She had gotten up angrily, storming to her room and slamming the door.

Harry, speechless and feeling as if he had just been punched in the stomach, had stormed outside to walk around. She was right, of course. Once again, he was responsible for someone's life, just because is name was Harry Potter …

There were no words to describe the constant, stabbing pain Harry felt around his chest whenever he thought of that burden. It was like having his heart caught in a vise, each event reminding him of the situation like one more turn of the lever, constricting it to the point of shortness of breath. He felt he had gotten away with a lot, over the years, but he hadn't been able to escape this one.

And it was, unfortunately, a big one … Every time Hermione would look at him from now on, she would be reminded of why her parents were gone. He wondered, in fact, if she was ever going to get past it fully.

So here they were, at the Memorial Service. Harry approached Hermione who was still kneeling, her gaze lost somewhere in front of her, obviously unable to move. He kneeled down behind her, and holding his breath, wrapped his arms around her tenderly, trying to let her know that he cared — and hoping she wouldn't keep him away again. To his immense relief, she quickly turned around and buried her face right below his shoulder. He gently caressed her thick, soft brown hair, and kissed her gently on the forehead.

“I love you, Hermione. I love you so much!” Harry whispered, with a hint of desperation in his voice. He was afraid that she could no longer love him, now that she more or less blamed him for the misfortune of her parents.

She looked up at him, and within her deep brown eyes, Harry thought he saw pain like he had never seen before.

“I — I — I love you too, Harry … In fact, I'm madly in love with you. That's why — that's why this is SO hard! I — I would have gladly died for you, but I never thought of THEM … My reasoning tells me it's not your fault, but my heart and gut tell me that if I wasn't involved with you this would have never happened. Your ennemies … they can get to you through me, and the people I care the most about! I have to live with that … I'm afraid I may not be able to bear such a burden!”

So there it was. Harry had been right, and felt totally helpless. A part of him wanted to scream and plead his case, but all he felt capable to do was cry bitterly. He had lived himself with that burden for years, and somehow had accepted that it was his cross to bear. His friends were at risk, just because he was Harry Potter. Yet, his worst fear had never materialized. But his luck, it seemed, had ran out. The person he cared the most about in the world had lost her parents.

Because of him.

Silent tears started streaming down his cheeks.

“I'm sorry, Hermione. I had always hoped that somehow, I would never cause you — or anyone else — pain like this. But who was I kidding?! It was bound to happen. Maybe I should exile myself somewhere, away from everyone. Maybe it's — perhaps it's best that we go our separate ways …”

Harry's heart was ripping as he said the words. He could no longer even imagine himself without Hermione. Death would certainly be more becoming.

Hermione looked at him intensely, terror appearing in her loving gaze. “NO! Harry, that's — it can't be the answer … As much as I hurt now, I know that losing you would hurt so much more! It … It would probably kill me, actually. My Mum and Dad would have wanted me to fight, and not hide or run away from a situation like this. They told me to never back down from what is right. Somehow, the answer lays there and I'll get through this … Just give me time, okay? ”

Through his tears, Harry smiled with relief. He grabbed her, and held her even tighter, if that was possible.

“Your Mum and Dad were great people, Hermione.”

Hermione gave one last look towards the caskets, and nodded. “Yes, they were. They still are ... They will always be, forever.”

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

“So, cousin … How are your first days at Hogwarts treating you?”

Draco Malfoy had spoken the words with extreme mockery in his voice. His face betrayed his state of fatigue, however. He had been living in hiding for days, constantly afraid to look over his shoulder, and hence was somewhat sleep-deprived.

The boy with long, greasy black hair looked up at Malfoy. “I'm doing quite all right, if you must know … But of course, you do know!”

“Oh, come on, Thomas! It's no big deal, really! Is a bit of … surveillance too hard for you?”

“Well I almost got caught the other night … That Potter, he's good. I'm not sure you should mess with this guy, I mean … I was sure nobody could see me, but he caught a glimpse of me in the dark, in the pouring rain. I barely escaped!”

Malfoy's face now showed some signs of worry. “Did he see you? Did he recognize you?” He tried to disguise any indication of panic.

Winslow thought for a moment, then looked at Malfoy confidently. “No, I'm quite sure he never got to see me. It was dark, it was pouring, and we were near the forest, so it's almost impossible he made my face.”

Draco took in the information, and sighed with relief. “All right then. So? What have you been able to find out so far?”

Thomas Winslow combed his hair back with his hand, took a deep breath, and started talking.

“Well, if you had any doubt, Potter and Granger are indeed an item. I mean, they try to stay professional at school, but I see the way they look at each other … And I saw them kissing quite a few times.”

Draco smirked with disdain. “And all these years, Potter kept telling everyone she was just a friend. What a flake! She is a dish, I will admit … If only there wasn't this Mudblood thing … I guess one could overlook it for the sake of … a bit of passion, if you get what I mean!”

Winslow made as if he hadn't really heard Draco's adolescent musings, and continued his report.

“Now there is something strange going on you may be interested to know about. Every evening, Potter and Granger get together and go to Dumbledore's office … But more than once, I've seen Dumbledore exit his office a few minutes later, without them. On a couple of occasions, I've stayed for more than four hours waiting for them to exit, but they don't. I think there's a Portkey in there, from which they travel back and forth to wherever they are staying.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Well … Yeah, I guess you're right. Dumbledore's office is surely not fit to accommodate staying guests. Here's your assignement for this week: you should try, as much as possible, to find out where they go from there.”

Winslow's face lit up. “Well, I was trying to do exactly that when I followed the Granger girl outside on that rainy evening. I thought she was going home alone, for once. But it turns out she went and sat under a tree for hours, until Potter found her. She … She was crying a lot.”

Malfoy smiled with glee. “Ah ah! Trouble in paradise! Tell me … Are you able to listen in on some of their conversations?”

The greasy haired boy thought for a moment, and answered with some hesitation. “Well, it's hard, they often speak to each other on a very hushed tone, as … Well, as lovers do, you know? But I will research further, I know there must be a spell or charm that could allow me to overhear them.”

Draco smiled. “Well, good work, Thomas. This has been enlightening. We'll meet again next week, same place, same time.”

It was pitch dark as Thomas Winslow came out of Hagrid's old cabin. It was the perfect meeting place, since Hagrid was nowhere to be found these days, and everybody asssumed the old house deserted.

He looked at his watch: it was one o'clock in the morning. So far, he had never had any trouble circulating at night in the castle — and outside. He wondered, for a moment, how in the world Draco had managed to get access to the grounds.

“I guess there are things I still have to learn”, he muttered to himself, pulling his hood and crouching to the ground as he started jogging towards the castle.

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

Hermione was starting to get really scared.

It had taken her all her strength to get herself through her last class, after what she had witnessed when she had walked in.

A small group of Slytherin students was already in the class, and they seemed to be surrounding someone sitting at his desk. Unconspicuously, Hermione looked between two of the students to realize it was Thomas Winslow, who seemed to be playing with something on his desk.

It was one of the girls that first noticed Hermione's presence in the class, who was calmly laying her things on her teacher's desk as if not paying attention to them. She came to her, looking both dazzled and excited at the same time.

“Er, Professor Granger? You should take a look at what Winslow his doing!! He is quite good at Tranfiguration!”

Intrigued, Hermione approached the desk, students parting the circle to let her in. Winslow was playing with a black and brown ferret, that kept going back and forth his desk, each time hitting Winslow's hands who were conveniently keeping the animal at bay. He matter-of-factly looked up and brushed his greasy black hair to the side while holding the ferret with his free hand.

“Oh, good morning … Professor. I thought I'd practice my Transfiguration skills before class …”

He immediately did a small twirl of his wand, muttering a few unintelligible words under his breath. With sparkling drops of light, the ferret graciously turned into an antique gold pocket watch with chain, that Winslow pocketed as if nothing had happened.

With extreme sarcasm and a look of defiance, he looked up at Hermione. “Do you think this could get me a passing grade?”

Hermione held back a little, trying to refrain from expressing the silent scream that was welling up inside of her.

“Well, Mr. Winslow, this is indeed advanced Transfiguration. That would, during an examination, get you an `outstanding' mark … Of course —”

She looked around the other students before continuing. Slowly, they started backing away, sensing that a confrontation could erupt that they didn't want any part of. In a second, Hermione was alone facing Winslow, who looked as arrogant as ever.

“I suspect, Mr. Winslow, that some information about previous your previous school record has not been properly disclosed … It would be unfair to the other students, of course, if a previously trained Wizard were to sit in their classes …”

Hermione had spoken with a contained hiss more than a normal voice.

Winslow's smirk disappeared. “My family has made all necessary disclosures to the Headmaster, Professor Granger … Let's just say I'm considered somewhat `gifted', and that my parents made sure my talents were developed to their full potential.”

Hermione was becoming angry now. No matter how good Winslow was, he could not compete with her — even though he didn't belong to a first year class. Lowering her voice in a very controlled fashion, she looked straight at him.

“Nevertheless, Mr. Winslow, I will examine this matter with the Headmaster. You may belong, despite your age, to a later year at Hogwarts.” The class was now filling with students, and hushed conversation were turning into a deafening buzz as students were being filled in on what had just taken place.

Hermione then twirled her own wand, and the chair under Winslow turned into a huge round cactus. A shriek of pain immediately followed.

“Let's see how good you really are, Mr. Winslow …”

Turning briskly to the other students, Hermione said shrilly, “All right! Let's all get to our seats, the class will start in a minute”.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Winslow wincing with pain and trying all sorts of spells with his wand to get his chair back — to no avail.

The class proceeded, and there were no more odd exchanges with Thomas Winslow, who kept shifting uncomfortably on his new “seat”. The class finished and students slowly exited the class. Winslow, however, made sure to stay back, and that he was the last one to get up to leave. Before heading for the door, he stopped at her desk as she was closing her briefcase.

In a low voice, that almost had a sweet tone to it, he audaciously uttered, “You know, Harry Potter will not always be there to help you. You should be careful …”

Hermione's right hand instinctively went to her wand. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, and yet, her whole body was suddenly turning into ice.

“Is that a … threat, Mr. Winslow?!” she hissed furiously, ready to slap him across the face.

He erupted in a forced laughter. “No, no, of course not! I'm just … looking out for you, Professor. I've seen you around a lot with Professor Potter, and I'm afraid that you put too much confidence in his ability to protect you, if the need ever arose … Anyway, have a good afternoon!”

He quickly left the class before Hermione could do anything else. She was fuming. How dare he threaten her? He was a student! This was crossing the line. She left the classroom with a decided step, heading for Dumbledore's office.

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

“Winslow? Are you sure? This is quite strange … He comes with the most impeccable references I've ever seen, and from a quite respectable family … If you count out the fact that they are related to the Malfoys, of course!”

Dumbledore had spoken with the calm voice that was so typical of these meetings. Suddenly, he peered in Hermione's brown eyes, trying to discern where to go next. He seemed struck with a new idea.

“Miss Granger, you've recently been through a lot … More so, in fact, than a lot of powerful Wizards I've known who survived to tell about it. Are you sure —”

Dumbledore paused and joined his hands, the tip of each of his fingers resting on their opposite counterparts. He continued softly.

“As I was saying, are you sure you're not reading too much into Mr. Winslow's behaviour? He might have just picked up a few tricks here and there, and is trying to `show off', as it were … He wouldn't be the first, actually!”

Hermione's jaw fell, and her heart sank. All of the sudden, she was once again the timid, insecure eleven year old girl that had come to Hogwarts to get acquainted with her “new” abilities. It seemed out of character for Dumbledore to question her like that, she thought. He had never done it before, but of course — she had always been in the presence of Dumbledore with Harry.

She quickly composed herself, and answered shrilly, “Of course not, Sir! His gestures and words were deliberate, and there is no doubt that he's mastered at least some advanced magic. Harry could confirm that as well!”

She bit her lip, frustrated. She had promised Harry they wouldn't say anything about them chasing Winslow on the Hogwarts grounds. Harry wanted to investigate further on his own before involving anybody else. So she couldn't give Dumbledore much substantial proof of what she was trying to say.

She was saved by Dumbledore, who smiled and lifted his hand before she could continue. “It's fine, Miss Granger, I believe you. I just had to ask, to gauge your reactions and weigh the health of your judgement — which is fine, as I see. Indeed, we do need to take care of this new … development. I will arrange for someone to monitor Mr. Winslow's whereabouts closely. Maybe we will learn something interesting there …”

Hermione, relieved, got up to leave, but Dumbledore waved her down.

“Just one more thing, I almost forgot! Harry will not be spending the night at Godric's hollow tonight, he has some Order business to attend to — my fault, I'm afraid. Hence, he told me to tell you to not to wait for him. He should be back tomorrow, however …”

Fear started showing on Hermione's face, but Dumbledore quickly added, with a somewhat duplicitous smile, “Oh, don't worry, he will be absolutely safe … No, this task involves nothing of the dangerous kind — well, at least not the dangerous to which we are all accustomed!”

Hermione left, puzzled. Why would Harry go on assignment without telling her? She despised secrecy, especially when it involved Harry.

And what was that weird allusion to “danger” they were not “accustomed to”?

As she walked the deserted corridors on her way to her classroom to prepare for her next group of students, she started musing out loud.

“Isn't our life complicated enough, without `secret' assignments? Harry, there better be a good explanation for this!”

She was starting to feed her own confusion and anger with wild thoughts of betrayal and doom when she was almost knocked over by Ginny — who apparently had been running for quite some time, judging from her gasping for breath and the sweat shining on her forehead.

“Oh, finally! Hermione! I was afraid I wouldn't get to talk to you before you left! Harry gave me this envelope this morning, and told me to give it to you personally, that it was a very urgent matter. I've been running around for the last hour trying to find you!”

Hermione put on a fake laugh for show.

“Well, I was with the Headmaster. What's this about, anyway?” she said, taking the envelope from Ginny.

She opened it, and after a few seconds, blushed furiously, and smiled dreamily at Ginny.

“Oh, Harry … That's so sweet of you!” she murmured. She was now reluctant to continue talking with Ginny, and started folding back the letter slowly.

“What is it? Show me!” Ginny grinned as if she had known all along that she was being an accomplice for some kind of stratagem on Harry's part.

Hermione, keeping the letter folded and close to herself, simply replied. “It's … an invitation, that's about all I can say! For tomorrow, for — my birthday!”

Ginny's eyes widened.

“Oooh! I see ... Well, promise me you will tell me all about it, okay?”

Hermione desperately wanted to be alone now.

“Ok, right. I'll tell you the whole story.”

Hermione left running to get to her empty classroom, where she could be alone to read her letter more carefully …

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

Harry was somewhat nervous. He had been trying since the wee hours of the morning to do something different with his hair: charms, spells, Muggle gels, hairprays and lotions, but nothing worked. It was like trying to get Hagrid to fit into a regular set of clothes — just impossible under normal laws of physics.

The rest of his clothing was impeccable though. He was wearing a brand new pair of jeans, and a dark blue sweater with a high turtleneck that opened down about halfway with a zipper. It was the latest fashion in London, and he had bought it specially for this occasion. He had also splurged. He had purchased new glasses. He figured it was about time, and instead of the round, black-rimmed glasses he had wore all his life, he was now sporting a sleek, designer pair of glasses that coordinated nicely with his green eyes. They gave him a whole new appearance, imparting him with a stylish, modern Londoner look.

“Wow, Potter … You look good!” he said as he surveyed himself in front of the mirror.

With the glasses and the clothes, the hair didn't seem to matter at all. In fact, he had seen “messy” hair in fashion magazines, and his wasn't too far from the pictures.

It was September 18^th. Hermione was turning nineteen years old today, and Harry wanted to make it special. After everything she had been through in the last few weeks, he felt she deserved something dazzling. He had planned the whole day carefully. First, they would apparate to Paris. It was her favorite city, she was talking about it all the time. They would get there around mid-morning, and then eat at a little café she often spoke about. It was, according to Hermione (and Wizard Travel Magazine, for that matter), the most romantic place on Earth.

They were to meet on the porshe of the house in Godric's Hollow, where Hermione had spent the night as usual. Harry knew she was safe, since there was always someone watching the house.

“They've been quite discreet, I must admit”, Harry thought out loud.

Not once had they ever seen a sign that one — or even two — members of the Order had been watching the house in Godric's Hollow.

Having planned his strategy carefully with the help of Albus Dumbledore and Ginny, he had immediately flown to Number Twelve, Grimmaud Place. Harry thought it relatively safe, since they had a very good knowledge of Maldermort's whereabouts, thanks to their new “informant”. Besides, the killing spree had stopped shortly after Hermione's escape from Romania. It seemed that Maldemort was trying to regroup, and plan his next move.

He had been storing his purchases at the old house, sending packages with Hedwig who still had the roof access to the house. He had found all the packages neatly piled on the work table of his study.

After one last look in the mirror, he checked his watch. It was 8h45.

“Time to apparate!” Harry said to himself. He concentrated quite easily on his target, and disappeared with a loud crack.

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

The day was perfect so far.

Hermione was stunning; she was wearing a simple, yet spectacular short-sleeved chiffon white dress that blew up — in a Marilyn Monroe fashion — when the twirling winds coming from the intermingled narrow street of Paris blew hard enough. She had left her hair loose, as opposed to the usual pony tail or bun that she often sported these days. And she was wearing, of course, a beautiful pearl necklace that she had received just recently …

They had had lunch at Chez Henri, that infamous café that was supposedly the most romantic place on earth. Located in St-Germain-des-Prés, overlooking the Saint-Sulpice fountain with its crafted sulpture of lions and breathtaking majesty, the café was crowded with people and overlooking the streets that made their way, as branches of a star — so typically Paris — to the square surrounding the fountain and the Cathedral. Despite being located in a very busy sector of Paris, it still retained the aura and feel of a little neighbourhood restaurant, with violinists and street musicians delighting the customers installed on the outdoor terrace a serenade or folk song. Flower merchants also passed regularly, and even Harry, who wasn't quite enclined to serenades and abundant flowers, was taken aback, and impressed.

Hermione, since their arrival to the café, had become mute. She apparently was torn between wanting to laugh and giggle, and cry all at the same time. Her mouth sometimes opened to speak, but all she could do was look at Harry and smile, and then sigh. Her cheeks were bright pink, and appeared intent to stay that way — she was just blushing too much. It was astonishing to her: she had mentioned the place only once or twice to Harry, and he had seemed so … casual about it. And yet, she had spent many days of her childhood in that neighbourhood with her parents on their summer trips to France, and there was no place on Earth she loved more. Sometimes, when her parents were in Paris for dental conventions, she would come here all by herself, and find a seat on the stone terrasse overlooking the Jardin du Luxembourg, and read for hours at a time. This area of the city was an extension of her very soul, the expression of the peace and calmness that until a few years ago, had been her idea of heaven.

They spent some of the afternoon shopping, and just taking in the beautiful scenes. Harry took her on a Bateau-Mouche ride, and as they held hands and watched the wonderful scenery, riding smoothly on the River Seine, Harry was overtaken by the depth of his love for Hermione. They had been through so much together, and yet he felt he barely knew her. He knew he could never turn back from this, that this was it. There would never be love so pure, so passionate, so overwhelming for him.

He had had romantic feelings before, for Cho and even Parvati Patil, at one point. But nothing — nothing — was even close to this. His heart started accelerating at the thought of being without her …

And yet at the same time, he felt this love so fragile, so inexplicably volatile. He often wondered if Hermione felt the same.

The last stop of the day was back at St-Germain-des-prés, at the Jardin du Luxembourg. Harry had called a small restaurant the day before, and had them prepared a picnic basket. Hermione's face was radiant when she saw Harry come back with a rose in one hand, and an enormous basket in the other one.

“Harry! This is too much! First the romantic lunch, then the boat ride, and then … this! I don't know what to say …”

“Well, just say you love me”, Harry replied, with a huge smile on his face.

He gently put down the basket, gave her the rose, and without warning lifted her up from the ground, as a newlywed groom picks up his bride to pass over the threshold of their new home.

“Harry ! What are —”

He bent down just enough to catch her lips with his, and kissed her, giving way to the firy passion that had been boiling inside him all day. She grabbed him behind the neck, having apparently withheld the same sort of feelings.

They had to stop after a few minutes, Harry's arms starting to show signs of fatigue.

“Oh, Harry … Of course I love you, I love you so much! This is the most memorable birthday anyone has ever given me. I will cherish it always!”

“I was kind of hoping you would!” Harry was relieved that his whole plan was finally coming to fruition. He had been scared of a glitch for the entire preceding week.

The sun was starting to touch the horizon as they enjoyed the last moments of this triumphant day. They were lying down on a thick blanket on the grass, looking at the sky, and for a brief moment, Harry could have sworn they had not once worried about the Order of the Phoenix, Maldemort, the killings, Hermione's parents, the Old Rule, and Thomas Winslow. For a microscopic instant in time, there was only him and her, and the love they had for each other.

With the day coming to an end, however, a knot of terror was increasingly growing in the pit of Harry's stomach. There was one last thing he had planned …

This fear, however was different. It wasn't the fear of a known or visible enemy, or of a threat that could be thwarted. Rather, it was a fear that threatened the core of his very being, of his own identity. If what he was afraid of came to pass, it would shatter him — it would perhaps shake him to the point of never being able to function normally again.

And yet, there was only one way to tackle it. He had to act — now.

Hermione seemed to have noticed his mounting anxiety, and turned slightly towards Harry. Their faces were almost touching as the sky above them was slowly turning to a spectacular pot-pourri of purples and pinks with the onset of the evening.

“What's the matter?” she whispered, kissing him softly on the lips.

Harry fumbled with something in his back pocket.

“Well, I almost forgot to give you your birthday present!” Harry's face was turning quickly to an unprecedent shade of violet, and delicately reaching for Hermione's hand, he closed her fingers around a small, cubic like object.

“Harry! You mean to tell me this day hasn't been my present? There's more?! You're too much, Harry Potter … Now I know why I love you!”

Feeling the object, she brought her hand near her face, looked — and suddenly gasped for air. She was holding a small, black velvety box that reminded her of the one containing a particular neckace Harry had given her not too long ago, and that was now haning around her neck.

She sprung up in a flash, very excited, and started pacing, her whole body having suddenly taken a very business-like demeanor, her eyes not leaving the box one instant. She brought her other hand slowly, and with circumspection, opened the lid.

For an instant, time stopped. She closed her eyes, and in her mind she relived a morning long ago, when aboard a train she had first met Harry Potter, and had fallen in love — unbeknownst to her then, of course.

She opened her eyes again, and saw gold … But more to the point, she saw a huge precious jewel … A diamond, to be precise, that glittered magnificently from the last firy rays of sunlight, desperately trying to stay alive as the sun continued its drop below the horizon.

“Harry … What? Harry!! No, you can't, this is way too …”

Her voice was barely a whisper, and tears started welling up in her eyes.

Harry had straightened up, but as she turned around to look at him in a daze, Hermione saw that he had remained on one knee. Instantly, she realized what this instant had now become, and how this glorious day would conclude.

She lifted both hands to cover her mouth, in a state of shock and utter disbelief. She was literally trying to catch her breath, and tears were streaming down her cheeks as a powerful wave of emotions overtook her.

Harry was beet red, but managed to grab Hermione's hand. He had to talk, Hermione was about to pass out. But the words were so hard to come by, apparently stuck in his throat — which incidentally felt drier than the Sahara desert at noon-time.

“Hermione … Will you m-m-m — Would you m-marry me? Please?”

Hermione's legs buckled, and she fell down on her knees, shaking and crying — but laughing at the same time. She threw herself on Harry, hugging him harder than he could ever remember.

“You are CRAZY, Harry Potter! Positively insane! A nut job, for sure!” Hermione had buried her face in Harry's neck, still trembling.

Having some difficulty breathing because of Hermione's grasp of him, Harry tentatively managed to speak again. “Does that mean, er … `yes'?”

Hermione backed away, her face wet with tears, and kissed him. She kissed him again, and then, one more time. Finally, she uttered the words he'd been dying to hear for the last two minutes or so.

“Yes”, she said shyly. “Harry, you're the love of my life … Of course I will!”

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HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

CHAPTER 12

FIGHTS, SQUIRMISHES, AND ALL OUT WAR

The London Times — Wednesday, October 21^st.

“WELL-KNOWN UNDUSTRIALIST AND BUSINESSMAN VIKTOR KRUM'S BODY WASHES ON THE SHORES OF THE DANUBE RIVER.

The body of Viktor Krum, one of Romania's leading businessmen, founder and President of the Krum Cleaning Supplies International empire, has been positively identified by members of his family a couple of hours after having washed up on the shore of the Danube River late last Monday evening. The preliminary report of Bucharest's Medical examiner's indicates that Mr. Krum suffered cardiac arrest after being exposed to an incredibly powerful force field of yet unknown origin. Attempts to make the body disappear were also obvious, since a large chain was attached to both Mr. Krum's feet when he washed ashore. Bucharest police has officially declared this shocking death a homicide, and are investigating night and day to bring answers to the family and to the business community.

Mr. Krum had officially been missing since August 24^th. A police report had been filed on that day by Krum Cleaning Supplies's Director of finances, Boris Nedelcu, who had declared at the time that Mr. Krum was `religiously' at his desk at 6 AM every Monday morning, and always gave notice of his traveling schedule to his work associates. His absence from work on Monday the 24^th was, according to Nedelcu, highly irregular. Furthermore, there had been recent break-in attempts at the KCSI plant, prompting Nedelcu to call the police as a precaution.

Speculations run wild as to the reason behind the assassination of Viktor Krum. Many foreign policy experts believe that an international terrorist organisation is probably at work here. Insiders at KCSI have revealed that just prior to the murder, a new researcher from the UK had been hired directly by Krum — a very unusual practice of KCSI, whose high-level employees usually come from Bucharest University and are required to go through a thorough screening by the Human Resources Department. The said employee conveniently resigned the Friday prior to Mr. Krum's disappearance, making her two-week stay at KCSI highly suspicious. John Forsythe, England's Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs, has vehemently denied rumours of such organization having roots in UK soil, stating that `strict policies of the last ten years have rooted terrorism out of England.'

A brilliant businessman, Viktor Krum was also seen as the natural successor to Dr. Anton Netuniau, the leader of the Reformist Party who plans to retire next month. Some analysts were already predicting a victory for Krum at the next national election in two years, and a new era of honest and capable leadership for the nation of Romania.

A press conference is scheduled to be held by the Romanian Government, the Bucharest Police Department and the Board of directors of KCSI at 2 pm this afternoon to issue a statement and answer some questions about the incident.”

----------

The room was filled with mounting tension as the President of Romania, Antonin Dromilescu, accompanied by his attaches, entered and proceeded to the podium. He was soon followed by Viktor Antonescu, Chief of Police of the city of Bucharest. Finally, Boris Nedelcu, Director of Finances and acting President of KCSI closed the procession accompanied by what looked like an administrative assistant.

Clearing his throat, Dromilescu approached the microphone.

“I am here representing the great nation of Romania, and its people. We have suffered a great loss. Viktor Krum rose from humble beginnings, built a successful company from scratch, and was now looking to extend his leadership to his countrymen. He will be missed greatly.”

He paused for effect, and to let the statement sink in. In front of him were microphones and television cameras of a host of radio and TV channels, and the conference was being transmitted via satellite all around the world.

“The police has confirmed that this is the work of a terrorist organization, based in England, that has targeted Romania on its way to destroying lives in the rest of the world. It is most unfortunate that I have been met with resistance from Britain's official on the matter, and that I haven't obtained any cooperation from their part; therefore …”

A heavy silence fell on the room.

“Therefore, the Romanian government has unanimously voted to sever all diplomatic ties with the United Kingdom, and considers this lack of cooperation as an admission of guilt — in other words, as a declaration of war.”

A roar of displeasure instantly mounted within the group of foreign journalists and reporters sitting on the right side of the room. All of the sudden, four men sporting military clothing and armed with state-of-the-art semi-automatic weapons appeared from behind the curtain at the front of the press-room, taking a guard position at each corner and releasing the safety of their weapons. Four more came in from the entrance at the back of the room and deployed themselves to occupy the back corners and both emergency exits to the sides of the room.

Silence came back, and Dromilescu continued, on a more aggressive tone.

“I have signed the necessary orders this morning to place our armies on full alert. We will not be intimidated by anyone, even Great Britain — and Viktor Krum's death will not go unpunished. I have given our Chief Security Officer and leader of our army, General Igor Karkarov, a blanket authorization to attack and destroy any location suspected to be harbouring terrorists, in any European location.”

Terror and confusion started showing on faces everywhere in the room. Was Dromilescu really putting the country on a full state of alert for something that hadn't been proved yet? Many journalists had their hands up to ask questions.

“But President Dromilescu? You are breaking so many treaties … How is it possible to warrant —”

“Not yet! We will answer questions in due time! I will now invite Bucharest's Chief of police, who will say a few words about the official results of the investigation.”

Viktor Antonescu, a stocky and heavyset man with a large mustache, approached the microphone.

“Our investigators have been working day and night since the recovery of Mr. Krum's body. We have been able to determine that a terrorist organisation that calls itself the `Order of the Phoenix' is in fact behind this vicious attack. It operates out of the London area, but details are very sketchy as of yet. We have also issued two international arrest warrants. The first one for a woman named Hermione Granger — she was a researcher at KCSI who stayed for two weeks, and resigned the day preceding Krum's disappearance. We believed she gained access to crucial information that she relayed to the Order of the Phoenix, allowing them to stage their coup. The other one is for a man named Albus Dumbledore, an obscure and delusionnal cult-leader whose name has been associated, over the years, with a number of marginal groups promoting witchcraft in some villages of England's countryside. He is believed, this time, to have organized his followers into a more elaborate and militant group, this `Order of the Phoenix'. Both individuals are considered highly dangerous, and pictures have been wired to every police department throughout Europe.”

The Chief of police then took out two posters, respectively with the pictures of Hermione and Dumbledore, handing it to the guard posted to his left. The guard plastered the pictures on the back-wall directly on the red curtain, so that everyone could see.

Dromilescu came back to the microphone, and introduced Nedescu as a representative of Krum's Cleaning Supplies International.

Nedescu was visibly shaken, and took a few minutes before speaking.

“Viktor was not only a great leader, but also a great friend … I want to state, in the name of all KCSI executives and employees, that we are deeply shaken by his death. I personally will work in the coming weeks with the Board of directors and our shareholders to ensure that Viktor's legacy remains, and that somehow his spirit remains the driving force behind future KCSI endeavours.”

President Dromilescu came back to the microphone for the moment everyone was anxiously waiting for.

“We will now take a few questions …” He looked around the room, and pointed to a seasoned reporter in the front row.

“Yes, Bruce Caplan, from the London Times.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. My question is for Chief of Police Antonescu. You mentioned that an arrest warrant was issued for one `Hermione Granger'. Have you made a connection with the bombing of the Granger clinic in London a few weeks back? According to my research, the Grangers had a daughter named `Hermione' and this cannot be a mere coincidence, can it?”

Antonescu suddenly got quite excited.

“Indeed, we have established that she is indeed the daughter of the late Stephen and Eleanor Granger. We have reason to believe, as of now, that she has been brainwashed by her organization, and that she will stop at nothing — even murdering her parents — to further the cause she has embraced. What few people know is that she has lived away from her parent's residence since her eleventh birthday, supposedly attending some boarding school in the remote England countryside. But the truth is probably darker … We assume that's where she was brainwashed into becoming a terrorist. We consider her, I repeat, extremely dangerous — that is why we send out the arrest warrants this morning …”

Another journalist jumped right in.

“Patrick O'Connor, Irish Daily News. Do you have any leads on her so far?”

“Yes, minutes after circulating the pictures on news bulletins across Europe, we received numerous eye-witness reports that placed Hermione Granger in Paris about a month ago. She was travelling with a shady individual described as tall and black-haired — but descriptions of this guy are sketchy and contradictory so far. We also have reports of Granger being in a shady neighboorhood of London the very next day. So these people are very mobile, and have vast resources at their disposal … They are a highly organized force, that must be reckoned with at all costs.”

Eric Bizet, a columnist from Paris Match, asked the next question.

“President Dromilescu, you mentioned that a certain — let me see — Igor Karkarov is now Romania's Chief Security Officer. Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't this office been filled in a rather precipitated fashion? I have made inquiries, and this Igor Karkarov seems ot appear out of nowhere … How do you justify nominating such an unknown figure, with no public record, to this kind of highly sensitive office?”

Dromilescu suddenly appeared upset, and impatient. He blurted a quick answer.

“General Karkarov has been the head of … Romania's secret police for many years, and had worked clandestinely with the KGB prior to that. So of course, this is why there is very little … `records' of his activities. However, with the unexpected passing of General Raditelou last month, we believed we needed someone that could make decisions quickly, and that had a proven track-record — whether it be public or not. We are convinced Igor Karkarov is that man. Next question, please?”

But Bizet wouldn't let go.

“Aren't there quite too many coincidences here? This `nomination', a so-called `terrorist rink' that Great Britain has absolutely no knowledge of, two similar bombings, and now a near-declaration of war … Isn't true, Mr. President, that you have been looking for years for an excuse to start open hostilities with Great-Britain? Ever since, in fact, being formally accused of receiving bribes during the trial of those Romanian drug smugglers that were operating out of London! I would suggest that —”

The guards posted on each side of the room lifted their weapon not so subtly.

“SILENCE!” Dromilescu thundered, seeing that this question was provoking an uproar in other journalists.

He calmed down before speaking. “I apologize for my outburst, but Mr. Bizet … I believe I have already answered your question. Furthermore, what you are implying is out of line, and has been dealt with formally by our government and the leaders of Great-Britain.”

Eric Bizet got up, and left the room indignantly, muttering unflattering words in French under his breath. Just before getting to the door, he turned around and shouted.

“I hope your are soon exposed for what you really are, Dromilescu! Your are nothing but a low-class thug, and you are using this situation to plunge Europe back into the Dark Ages! You will —”

The guards at the entrance pushed him out with the butts of their automatic rifles, and slammed the door behind him.

An uneasy silence fell on the room.

As the questions timidly continued, a journalist woman sitting in the back of the room put her pencil in her purse, and prepared to leave discreetly. She got up, and was stopped by the guard at the back-door, who took a register and looked at her press-badge.

“Mrs. Skeeter, from … The Daily Prophet?”

He smirked before continuing.

“What's that? Another one of these trashy, apocalyptic tabloids?”

Rita smiled forcibly, and laughed. “Exactly! Original name, isn't it? Our readers don't mind, though. It's the news they love!”

The soldier rolled his eyes in a condescending attitude.

“You may go, ma'am.”

Rita sighed with relief.

This was bad, very bad. She had to get to Dumbledore, as quick as possible …

----------

“Arrest warrants are circulating throughout Europe, and news bulletin are showing pictures of Dumbledore and Granger every day. We have also sent international arrest warrants to Canada and the United States. Granger will be ours soon, I promise you that.”

Karkarov had spoken with a sadistic smile, and the man sitting in front of him to his desk laughed with pleasure.

“Well done, Igor! Everything is now in place for the second phase of the plan. We launch war, kill Muggles, and in the confusion we get Granger, our bate to get to Harry Potter. Before long, Igor, not only will we get rid of Potter, but we will be well on our way to putting an end to this ridiculous `Old Rule' — and ruling the world once and for all.”

“I told you, Lord Maldemort, that you could put your trust in me … Now you see how much more quickly we will reach our objective!”

“Indeed, Igor, indeed …” Maldemort adjusted his Muggle tie around his shirt collar, but just then his face dropped from the elated expression he had harboured just a few moments before.

“How is your search for Draco progressing?”, he spat dryly. “It is becoming urgent we find him now!”

Karkarov's face became grave and solemn.

“I have scouts everywhere, but he is nowhere in sight. He was seen a while back in Hogsmeade, which make me suspect he could be hiding at Hogwarts …”

Maldemort's expression of bitterness turned to rage. “Hogwarts? How would that even be possible? Even we cannot get in there!”

Karkarov sighed. “Yes, it is a mystery, even to me … That is if that's where he is, of course. I must hand it to you, Lord Maldemort. You must have trained him well, for him to just vanish into thin air like that!”

Maldemort shot a killing look to Karkarov, and hissed, “Yes, well … You see how he repays me! Foolish, foolish boy!! Nevertheless … We must focus on our plan, and forget about Draco for the time being. He will not derail our endeavours this time!”

As he walked to the huge doors of Karkarov's office at the Romanian Ministry of War, Maldemort spoke one last word.

“Make sure I am notified of any change, and as soon as you have the Granger girl in custody.”

----------

“Harry! HARRY! Did you see this?”

Hermione was waving a newspaper frantically as Harry, who had just gotten out of the shower, walked into the kitchen. She seemed completely hysterical.

“What's the matter?”

“JUST READ!” Harry had never seen Hermione in such complete disarray.

Harry grabbed the newspaper, and perused the headlines. It was hard not to miss what Hermione was referring to: “TERRORISTS AT LARGE - ROMANIA OFFICIALLY IN A STATE OF WAR”. Underneath it was a large picture of Dromilescu shouting in front of journalists, and right below two more pictures — one of Hermione, the other of Dumbledore.

Harry was floored. He read the main article rapidly, smirking as he went along.

“Wow … They say in here that you're to be considered EXTREMELY dangerous, and not to be approached you under any circumstances! You are cute in the picture, though …”

Harry smiled a wide, malicious grin. “Maybe I should reconsider marrying you then?”

Hermione didn't seem amused at all. “Harry! This is no laughing matter!”

“Yeah, I guess you're right … Hermione, that means we have to get to Hogwarts NOW, before the residents of Godric's Hollow see this”, he said waving the newspaper. “We have been discrete, but some people have seen you for sure and are bound to report it.”

“But Harry, we can't just —”

Harry took her face between his hands. “Hermione, there's no time! You're wanted for MURDER! You and I know that Muggles take this very seriously. Let's get out of here — immediately!”

Just as if to confirm Harry's observation, police sirens started echoing in the distance, getting clearer and closer as the minutes went by.

“SEE? That's for you, I'm sure of it! People must have called the police. Let's go to the Portkey, quick!”

They both ran to a small room upstairs, were the only furniture was a very unobtrusive coat rack. They both put their hands on it, and after pronouncing the usual spell, they were gone.

Not too early … A few seconds later, two police officers started ringing the doorbell, as two more were trying to get into the house through the back entrance …

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

“What about this one? What do you think?” Ron asked his sister with a bit of apprehension.

Ginny lovingly pushed Ron from the storefront window, and looked it over for a moment. “No, definitely not … This is way too plain for Luna … You want something that will say that she is really special to you!”

Ginny had graciously offered Ron to help him with a present for Luna … They had been officially dating for a month now, and he wanted to give her something for the occasion. They had spent the whole afternoon looking for something, and had found nothing. It was getting late now, on the now less busy Kensington High Street — it was, after all, a week day.

Ron seemed suddenly ecstatic. “Ginny!! Look at that — now this says `Luna', for sure!”

Turning her head, Ginny saw a unique, yet beautiful, silver necklace with a small medallion shaped into a lion's head. She was about to comment positively when a fast-moving shadow above Ron's shoulder caught her attention. A tall man with a black trench-coat had emerged from a side street, and was quickly coming their way, but … Was that a wand he was taking out of his pocket? Ginny barely had enough time to jump forward and push Ron hard towards the street, a fraction of a second before a burning, blueish ray of light streaked right above him.

“WWHAMMM!!!!!”

The powerful beam hit a car parked just ten feet further, which exploded into a huge mushroom of fire … The storefront windows all shattered in a deafening noise, and debris flew everywhere. Then, in an instant, what seemed like twenty simultaneous detonations turned the street right in front of Palace Green into a blazing inferno. In the minutes that followed, all hell seems to break lose into an apocalyptic, terrifying show of deafening noise, scorching heat and devastating flames.

Ron came to, and opened his eyes, instantly noticing that something was wrong indeed as he laid flat on his face on the hard, uneven and unbearably hot pavement of the street. He managed to bring a numb hand to feel the side of his face, which burned and felt wet and sticky. The sight of a bloody hand confirmed that he was injured, his fall on the pavement having probably caused the injury. Instinctively, he tried to look around, searching for his sister, but could barely move … Something, or someone, was on top of him, greatly limiting his movements.

“GINNY!”, he whimpered, suddenly struck by excruciating, throbbing pain radiating from one of his legs. “Where are you? Can you hear me?”

The stores closest to the first explosion were now engulfed in flames, and the deafening roar of the fire made it impossible to hear anything. Moreover, sirens could be heard in the distance, and at least ten or twelve car alarms gone crazy — though adding a concerto flavour to the whole ordeal— made it absolutely impossible to call out to someone. Ron twisted his neck to try to look behind him to see what was pinning him down, barely able to breathe now that the pain was overtaking him fully with fierceness.

What he saw almost made his heart stop. On top of him laid the corpse of someone he didn't quite know, probably of a passer-by. The man was obese, weighing most probably 3 to 4 times Ron's own body weight, and judging by the ugly disfigurement to his face and the odd angles of his arms as opposed to the rest of his body, he had probably been catapulted from the ground by the sheer force of the explosion and had hit — at full speed — the lamppost right beside the spot where Ron had stood minutes before. He had landed, dead, on Ron as Ginny had pushed him for cover.

“GINNY!”, he tried to scream again, but to no avail. Pulling himself with all his might, he manage to slide from underneath the unfortunate chap, but realized his left leg still refused to cooperate — there was something wrong. A second look told him what the problem was. A huge wooden spike, probably from one of the destroyed stores, had stabbed him in the thigh, about six inches above the knee. It had gone cleanly through, and though the idea of leaving the stick there was sickening, it would at least keep his leg from bleeding — which would probably be heavy if he took it out. Ron decided it was best not to touch it, and manage to hoist himself on his other leg, that seemed good enough.

“Blimey!! What are we going to do now?”, he said, frantically hopping about and looking around for Ginny. The sight was ghastly, as people were running around screaming, getting out of building in flames with their children and a few belongings. There were at least fifty mangled bodies in a fifty feet radius all around. Thick smoke was quickly plunging Kensington High Street into a dark nightmare when a chilling thought hit him. He looked around the street, trying to see if this wasn't the work of a dark wizard. He didn't see anything, though. Whoever had caused this was either dead or gone. He then saw a young girl sitting against a wall about fifty feet from where he had originally fallen. She looked in a daze, was ashen white and splattered with blood, and even though her hair was darkened by soot, ashes and dirt, there could be no doubt it had originally been red underneath.

“GINNY!” Ron hopped furiously towards her, and she seemed to have seen him, because as he got to her she exploded in tears.

“Ron, you're alive! I — I was sure you were gone!” Ginny seemed exhausted, and unable to breathe properly.

“Something … er, er, something hit me in the chest”, she said, rasping and panting, “and I'm having a hard time breathing … I think I broke some ribs. What do you —”

She couldn't finish her sentence. The deep, deafening and chilling sound of a great magnitude explosion shook the whole square where they were standing. The concussion that followed was so intense it accelerated their heartbeat and threw them on the ground. Seconds after, a powerful wind swept the square, throwing everyone still standing to the pavement and displacing debris as easily as straw in a barn. In the distance, when looking to the beginning of the street, a blazing tower of fire could be seen — it seemed to be coming their way.

After a second or two, Ron got up from on top of his sister, where he had instinctively thrown himself, and tried to catch his breath.

“WOW! That was another explosion, but it was way more powerful … I wonder if —”

His question didn't remain in the air for long … Three black MiG-29 fighter jets thundered overhead, looping up to gain altitude after apparently dropping explosives maybe a few blocks from where they were.

Ginny looked up and squinted. “What on Earth was that? Look at these military aircrafts, Ron … They bear the flag of Romania!!”

Ron tried to see, but the jets were already to high in the sky and fading fast.

“What in the world is happening today? Has the world gone mad or something? And … Ginny? Who attacked us, by the way?” He winced in pain and disgust as he once again took a look at the dark wooden spike emerging from his leg.

But no answer came from his sister.

“Ginny, I just asked you —” He didn't finish his sentence, as he noticed Ginny's sudden change of expression.

Ginny was staring right in front of her, wide-eyed, mouth gaping, in a state of utter shock. Slowly, her hand started pointing in front of her. She couldn't say anything.

Ron turned around, and immediately located what she was pointing at. A man with a black trench-coat was lying in the middle of a pile of debris. He seemed dead, or unconscious at best. Slowly, Ron approached the body, and with much effort and pain, turned him around so he could see his face. The man's face was very familiar to Ron, even in death — it was Vincent Crabbe, bleary eyed, but looking as if he couldn't believe the last thing he saw before dying.

“Now here's something really strange”, Ron added, as Ginny joined him besides the body. He directed Ginny's attention to Crabbe's forehead, where an open, disgusting and bloody gash in the shape of lightning bolt was clearly visible and oozing blood with what looked like brain matter.

Ginny shrieked. “Ron! It was Crabbe that attacked us, I recognize the black coat … But he was killed by another … wizard! This is the mark of the Avada Kedavra curse! The cut has the same shape as Harry's scar!

Ron sat down, suddenly overcome by the situation.

“Blimey! I'm totally confused — there is something really wrong happening here, Ginny! We should leave, the police and firemen are already here helping people. Let's not linger around …”

----------

The London Times, Friday October 23^rd.

“GREAT BRITAIN DECLARES WAR TO ROMANIA!

Great Britain's Prime Minister, Ronald Westminster, issued a statement today from his war room from an undisclosed location.

`Romania has gone too far. Unwarranted attacks and bombings have killed hundreds of civilians since late Wednesday night, and we will not stand by to witness such cowardice. Our allies, the United States, have confirmed that a fleet of destroyers and the USS Enterprise aircraft carrier are on their way to the Baltic Sea to establish a base to launch a retaliatory attack if necessary. The British Royal Air Force is also standing on full alert, and is awaiting orders. This is madness. Romania's President has lost all sense of civilized thinking. He's out for blood. Stand assured, however, that we will not let him spill the blood of the English people. I now urge him to surrender, if he wants to spare his countrymen from sad repercussions.'

An official order from the Security Council of the United Nations, unanimously signed by all members, has been forwarded to President Dromilescu, ordering him to immediately stop his attacks on England. So far, there has been no comment from Romania's officials on the matter. ”

----------

“So what do you think, Professor? The Imperius Curse?” Harry looked at Dumbledore expecting a clear answer.

Dumbledore looked successively at Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny, who were still visibly shaken by the ordeal they had lived in the heart of London a few hours before. Ginny had a few cuts and bruises on her face, and was still breathing with difficulty.

“Most probably, Harry, most probably … Although it is not very commendable for a seasoned wizard to control a Muggle, but nevertheless …”

Dumbledore had rarely been so grave in his demeanour, pausing at every sentence, weighing each word carefully. For one rare occasion, he was letting on that the situation was worrying him.

He turned abruptly to Hermione.

“Miss Granger? Are you absolutely sure there could be no incriminating or suspicious document that the police could seriously harm you with?”

Hermione looked sad. The news of Viktor's death had shaken her up, and once again her emotions were getting the best of her.

“No, Professor … As I said before, the only paper I signed was a formal letter of hiring, and I believe it was put in my file. But other than that, there is nothing — if something comes up, it is certainly a fabrication …”

She sighed heavily.

“This is all my fault”, she muttered, fighting to hold back tears. “If I had made the right decision from the start, none of this would have happened, Viktor would be alive …”

Harry interrupted her immediately.

“Hermione! You couldn't have known all this beforehand! Had you stayed here, someone else would probably have been hurt! Krum probably died because …”

Harry swallowed hard, looked down, as if it pained him to say the words.

“Viktor Krum probably died because he tried to protect you, Hermione. He made that choice, instead of cooperating with the enemy. He — he was still in love with you, you know … He has always been.”

Ron, sitting to his right, nodded silently.

Hermione looked up at Harry, and melted into tears.

“How can I live with myself? People are dying around me just because I'm … a target? I feel responsible, and yet, powerless! We've got to stop whoever's doing this! It's going to kill me!”

Hermione had cried out in sheer desperation. The burden was getting to be to heavy for her, everyone could sense it.

Harry spoke softly, but sarcastically. “Welcome to my world …”

Hermione threw herself on Harry, sobbing uncontrollably, and through her tears Harry heard her say in a whisper, “And now, we're supposed to be married, am I going to lose you as well? Oh Harry, I can't bear this!”

After Hermione managed to compose herself, Dumbledore seized the opportunity to resume the meeting.

“We are, however, facing a new, difficult situation. England and Romania are now at war and that is very dangerous. Even for us.”

Ron became more agitated, having been a first-hand witness of what that could mean.

“Er, exactly, how?”

“Well”, Dumbledore continued, “Muggles become unpredictable in times of war. They become harder to read, and are more prone to surprise moves. Furthermore, our Muggle governments know of our existence, and there has been more than one instance over the course of history when Muggles tried to annihilate the Wizarding kind during times of war. It is so much easier to cover up then. And finally, it becomes difficult for us to track down our own enemies, because their tracks are hidden by the spoils of the Muggle war going on …”

Dumbledore paused, and looked at everyone with a hint of worry in his eye.

“In this case, not only will it become very difficult to keep track of our enemies, but I think that's exactly what their plan is. Since Karkarov is in charge of the Romanian army, he will make sure to try and synchronize attacks on wizards with a military operation. I believe that's exactly what happened yesterday in London, Mr. Weasley. You and your sister were, I am personally convinced, the true targets. But by hiding the attack under a military bombing, we can only guess, at best, that this was in fact the plan. And had they been successful in killing you and Ginny, we would have never known it, and blamed it on the military operation …”

Harry got up, and started pacing the room.

“What are we going to do then? This is insane!”

Dumbledore looked at him with brightful eyes, and said, “Well, the first thing we must do is give you proper lodging. Godric's Hollow is no longer safe, nor is any place near Muggles, with the circulation of the arrest warrant on Miss Granger. You two will have to stay at Hogwarts, I'm afraid …”

Hermione spoke, for the first time since her outburst. “What? Where are we going to stay? Not in the dormitories, I hope?”

Dumbledore looked at her benevolently.

“No, of course not! But … I think you two should be somewhat comfortable in Hagrid's cabin, wouldn't you say?”

Harry and Hermione exchanged surprise looks, and turned back to Dumbledore.

“I guess … It will have to do for the time being … But what if Hagrid comes back?”, Harry risked, knowing full well what the answer might be.

Dumbledore sighed.

“Well, it shouldn't be a problem for the near future. In fact, I don't think you should be concerned with that too much.”

He looked at the window, and let out a sigh.

Harry, who had become an astute observer over the years, detected sadness on the old man's face. His burden, he thought, had to be incredibly heavy to bear.

And yet he did bear it, with poise and grace. Harry only wished he could muster the same strength — he knew he would need it soon.

-->

HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

CHAPTER 13

THE VERY ESSENCE OF COURAGE

The night was very dark, clouds hiding the moon and casting a menacing blanket over the eerie Forbidden Forest. From his vantage observation point in the middle a dense thicket of shrubs sitting atop a small hillock, the informant had an unobstructed view of the caretaker's hut and — especially — of the large back window through which much of the inside was visible. It was doubtful that anybody could see him, with his black cloak and hood and the total absence of light. He, however, could observe very well the comings and goings of the two individuals inside the cabin — feeling safe, they hadn't pulled the curtains, and so each of their face was plainly visible as they sat and ate together. It was a good thing that he could read lips. He would most certainly get a glimpse of what they were saying …

“Come on, both of you! I need something … valuable!”, the spy muttered to himself, knowing full well that whatever conversation there would be would probably be of no value to him — or his employer.

But as he concentrated harder to read the lips of the young woman in the cabin, her companion suddenly bent across the table, to start kissing her passionately.

“Oh, great … Not again! Unbelievable, these two!”

Feeling reasonably confident, he took down his hood, and parted his long, greasy black hair to the side. He looked at the time.

“Damn! This is going to be a long night, man …”

Looking back towards the window, he saw that the couple had stopped kissing, but that the young woman was flustered and still laughing, as she was attempting to untie her ponytail to let her hair down. Thomas Winslow had rarely seen his Professor, Hermione Granger, so happy and unguarded. A profound pain crept up from the pit of his stomach, bringing him to his early childhood. There was a time when he and his older sister had been happy as such. And then, their family had been destroyed as Voldemort had raised to power … Victims of circumstances, they had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in the middle of a battle between Voldemort's kronies and a band of young witches and wizards trying to stand up for what they believed in. Only he, Thomas, had survived.

He sighed heavily. His big sister would have been Hermione's age, by now. He missed her.

All of the sudden, he caught himself.

“Come on now, this is not the time for emotional reminiscing … I have work to do. I need a lure …”

Thomas Winslow grinned as he thought of what he was about to do the next day. He would, very deliberately, send an owl to Malfoy and invite him for a meeting for the following week.

“Same time, same place!” he laughed out loud, knowing full well that Malfoy would walk right into his worst enemy: Harry Potter.

Truth was, Winslow detested his cousin. He had been, during all their childhood, a pretentious and conceited little boy, who thought he had a lot when in fact he had really nothing — no friends, no standing, not even an ounce of talent. The only thing he had, in fact, was money — and his “daddy”, to buy his way out of trouble and protect him when he bullied someone he couldn't face alone. And now that he was all grown-up, he had become an unbelievably arrogant, despicable, disgusting individual with no morals, no allegiance, and no well-defined path to follow. He lived the life of a playboy, seeking pleasure and living for himself above all, despite the pain he caused around him.

Thomas could not stand the sight of him. It had taken everything he had to pretend to become his ally. But tonight, he was triumphant. He had been monitoring the comings and goings of Hermione and Harry for a week now, and was pretty sure of the time he needed to set for the appointment.

Malfoy was sure he was leading his own little operation, to try to get even with Potter.

“What an imbecile”, Winslow thought out loud. “An arrogant, narrow-minded, stupid imbecile! And he still has the pretension to think he can mess around with someone like Maldemort!”

Thomas Winslow still couldn't believe it. When Malfoy had approached him to do “spy” work, he had almost laughed in his face. But incredibly, Malfoy had been dead serious. After some thought, Thomas had nevertheless accepted. He hated Malfoy so much, and without a doubt this “alliance” would lead to a golden opportunity to bring about — once and for all — Draco's downfall.

He closed his eyes, and smiled with pleasure. Opportunity time had come at last, after so many years.

“It will soon be time for you to find out, dear Draco”, muttered Thomas, “that I work for someone who is more powerful than you can ever dream of imagining. Time for you to see who my real allegiance is to …”

He couldn't help but start laughing coldly, hysterically almost, until he realized that if he couldn't be seen, he could still be heard …

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

“Do you think it's safe for us to be here, Harry?” HermhHHh

Hermione kept looking left and right, trying to remain unnoticed. It was hard to do, however, sitting in a Quidditch stadium.

Harry turned to her, and winced at the appearance of her face. “Well, Hermione, after the charm you've put on yourself to look so … different, I doubt anyone could recognize you. I mean — and this is quite hard for me to fathom — you look like a black-haired version of my Aunt Petunia!”

Harry started laughing heartily, and added. “I will have to live with this image for the rest of my life, you know!”

Hermione gave him a genuine smile, but unfortunately it brought attention to the undeniably equine features of her borrowed face.

“Well, Harry Potter, you look rather ghastly yourself. I mean, did you have to go for the old and decrepit look?”

They both exploded in laughter, looking at each other's with fake expressions of disgust. Harry's hair was completely white, and a long Dumbledore-looking beard had been added to his features. An aging charm had given him the wrinkles necessary, and his eyes had been changed to grey. No one could ever have recognized them in this attire.

“All right, then!”, replied Hermione enthusiastically … “I'm happy! I really wanted to attend Ron's first professional Quidditch game!”

Harry was also looking forward to the game, but remained uneasy nevertheless. The match had not been cancelled, despite the high security risks involved. That was why he had insisted they take the precaution of changing their appearance — just in case. Even though there were no Muggles at Quidditch games, not all wizards were well-intentioned, and one could recognize Hermione — or him — and report them. And this was exactly the venue where a trap could be set for either one of them.

“HERE THEY COME!” screamed Hermione, as players came out on the field from the team lockers.

The players were walking out of the dressing rooms, taking off on their brooms in perfect succession, and going around the stadium a perfectly rehearsed flying sequence. They all waved at the crowd, and after a few minutes came to a standstill, hovering in the air facing the crowd. The Cannons were on the side facing Harry and Hermione, and they saw Ron, shining in his gold and red uniform — they waved at him, knowing he couldn't recognize them under their disguise.

“This is so exciting!”, Hermione said with enthusiasm. “GOOD LUCK!” she screamed out, but her voice was buried in the cheers and clapping of the crowd.

Harry was happy, but felt a mounting apprehension he couldn't really explain.

“Here's the Quaffle!”, continued Hermione, who was apparently intent on commenting the whole game. Harry just then realized that he had never been at a Quidditch game with Hermione since the last World Cup — in all their years as students, he had always been on the playing field.

The referee was just about to blow the whistle to start the game when something really strange happened. Harry's scar erupted in pain, and he was immediately overwhelmed by an ominous feeling of foreboding — as if something dreadful was about to happen. Turning to Hermione, he saw she was feeling the same: her face showed worry, and she kept looking around her nervously.

“Hermione? Do you feel that?” Harry asked, not sure what the reply would be.

Hermione nodded, and replied shrilly, “Yes! Like a feeling that the end of the world is just around the corner? That something horrible is about to take place, and there's nothing we can do about it? I've had this feeling before, it — it was when I saw you laying down, motionless, on the grass last summer.” She held back a tear at the mere thought of that incident.

Harry registered her answer by grasping her hand, and smiling at her through his missing teeth. He pulled her to him, and gave her a big hug.

“I love you”, he whispered in her ear, and felt her clutch him more tightly.

After a few seconds, he pulled back, and looked at her gravely. “But yes, that feeling of dread I'm having is exactly like you described … Maybe — I think we should leave, Hermione. I don't know, I think we may have been compromised.”

They didn't have time to wait long and ponder the question … All of the sudden, a blinding, apocalyptic flash of light overtook the entire Quidditch Stadium. The players were so taken off guard that many fell off their brooms, some of them plummeting from heights of fifty feet and more. Harry grabbed Hermione, and together they cowered behind the row of seats in front of them, not knowing what was happening.

After three seconds, the light completely subsided, as instantaneously as it had come. But the ominous feeling was still there, and Harry could feel his chest pounding, ready to explode. Cold sweat was running down his face, and his scar was still throbbing.

“HARRY!” Hermione, who had gotten back up first, screamed at the top of her lungs. “LOOK AROUND!”

Harry gazed up and saw immediately what she was talking about.

“Oh my goodness … What is — this?” Harry muttered, the truth of what had just happened slowly creeping in.

The scenery around the Quidditch Stadium had changed completely. Instead of the verdant hills and the picture perfect countryside background, there were, as far as the eyes could see, yellowish fields of wheat all around, with a few houses perched atop the hills and dirt roads leading up to them. In the distance, the country town of Chudley could be seen clearly, with her small buildings, numerous houses, and the gas station with a huge sign at the entrance of the town. Finally — and this was perhaps the worst — the highway was clearly visible along the town lines, and cars were passing by as commuters made their way back from the city to their homes in the surrounding suburbs and countryside. The sounds of cars colliding then became audible, as drivers were now distracted from the road in front of them by a rather impressive structure that hadn't been there seconds before.

Hermione was on the verge of tears. “HARRY! That means someone — a wizard, for sure — has counter-balanced the effects of the protective charms that keep the Quidditch Stadium invisible to Muggles! That means all of this … It means WE are … VISIBLE, to all Muggles, that the Stadium is visible, and I'm telling you Harry — Muggles have never seen anything like this before!”

Harry, having been raised by Muggles, had to concur. Then it hit him … Hermione looked like … Hermione! He looked down at himself and gasped — he too was back to his own appearance, his own self-protecting charm no longer working. Hermione had made the same discovery, and was looking towards him in a state of shock. Whoever was behind all this was one extremely powerful wizard.

Meeting his fiancée's eyes, he yelled over the mounting roars of the throng around them, “Take my hand, and whatever happens, DON'T let go! We have to try to find Ron, and then leave!” Harry was trying real hard to put on a brave face, but he had to admit he was beginning to be terrified.

They tumbled down the stairs from their booth to the ground level, jumping steps four at a time, astonished that people were mostly staying in their seats, unsure or too afraid to do what came next. Reaching the field, they started running towards the goal hoops where Ron had been stationed as the game had been ready to get under way, jumping over bodies of injured players. They found him, dazed and confused, trying to get up from a crouching position.

“RON! OVER HERE!”, yelled Harry, as he and Hermione came running towards him.

Ron seemed to come to his senses as he looked up and saw his two friends. “Blimey, Harry! Hermione! What's happening? I was blinded and fell off my broom, but I managed to pronounce a hovering spell just before I hit the ground.”

“We don't exactly know, Ron, but one thing is certain: the Stadium is now visible to Muggles, someone tampered with its anti-detection charms. Something really awful is going on, and my feeling is that we shouldn't stay here!!”

Hermione looked at Ron with worry. “Can you walk, Ron?” He was still on the ground, and hadn't made any attempt to get up. He did, apparently with no harm done.

“Yeah, I'm okay, I was just dizzy from the fall, I had to wait a few minutes.”

Harry looked at them both, and screamed in alarm. “We have to go, now! Hermione, don't let go of my hand. I'll run first, and Ron, keep behind us to protect our rear. Whatever's coming will be deadly, I'm sure.”

All of the sudden, a deep buzzing sound coming from all directions became perceptible. It was a low rumble at first, but as the seconds went by, the sound grew stronger and stronger, soon becoming a deafening roar. Looking around, Harry could see barely anything, other than clouds of dust apparently lifting from the field all around them in the distance.

It was Ron that saw them first.

“Mate! Helicopters! Tens of them! They're coming for … the Stadium!”

Harry squinted, looked again, and saw them too. They were coming from three directions at once, as if coming to close a circle around them. The manoeuvre was perfect, the combat helicopters flying low to keep the sound of their engine unheard until the last minute. They were now barely a few kilometres away — it was the textbook way to launch an attack without leaving any time to react. They would be on them in a matter of minutes.

Harry immediately took off and started running towards the village of Chudley, screaming, “LET'S GO TO THE VILLAGE, IT'S OUR ONLY CHANCE TO ESCAPE!” He almost pulled Hermione with him until she caught up with his pace. As he ran, Harry took out his wand and started looking around in front of him. Ron had done the same, and was running in the back of them, occasionally turning around to fend off any attacker.

Then Ron stopped cold. “HARRY!! Ginny! She was also here, with Neville! We can't leave them back there!”

Harry gasped and turned around instantly. How could he have forgotten?! They had left the castle together, even though they were to be seated in different sections.

“LET'S GO BACK — NOW!” Harry started running as fast as he could, followed by Hermione and Ron.

The crowd was now in a state of panic — there were screams and shrieks as people had finally decided to get off their seat and run for cover. It was somewhat too late, however. In perfect synchronization, small flashes of light started igniting successively from each helicopter in the formation advancing towards the field. Seconds later, explosions started destroying the stadium and carving huge craters on the field as attack rockets successively hit their targets, sending thick clouds of earth and dust in the air and making it impossible to see five feet ahead. It was a desolating stage, smoke, dust and fire everywhere, people being projected in the air, deafening noise coming from the helicopters, and exploding rockets amongst the screams and cries … In a matter of minutes, the entire plain had become a bloody, chaotic combat zone.

As they reached the field again, Harry started looking around, screaming, “GINNY! NEVILLE!” It was of not much use, given the pandemonium and the level of noise that had overtaken the place.

“OVER THERE, HARRY! That's the section where we were sitting. They were in the one right beside!” Hermione said loudly, proceeding to move in that direction despite the smoke and fire.

Ron was besides himself, looking right and left, and then looking again. “How can I be caught TWICE in a situation like this in just three days?!! GINNY! Where are you?”

After five minutes, Harry screamed to the others. “We can't stay much longer, we're in too much danger!” The first helicopters were landing, and armed soldiers were starting to jump out of them, ready to pounce on any civilian or wizard.

“HERE! THEY'RE HERE!” It was Hermione's voice, and Harry panicked for a second, looking in the direction of the sound but not seeing her. She suddenly emerged from a cloud of thick, black smoke, trying to help a wounded Ginny who was barely conscious and struggling to walk. Neville was right behind them, trying to fend their would-be attackers.

The short staccatos of automatic weapons bursts were now starting to be heard amidst the racket of the whole scenery.

“NEVILLE!” Harry screamed, “At last! Quick, come here! We have to —”

But unexpectedly, out of the thick black cloud of smoke on their left, emerged three armed soldiers — about twenty feet directly in front of Hermione who was almost carrying Ginny. They instantly reached for their weapons, already at their side ready to be fired. Neville lunged forward to shield them, extending his wand at the same time and shouting “Expelliarmus!”, just as a flash of fire spitted out from one of the semi-automatic rifles followed by its dull staccato beat. The soldier's weapon on the far-left was immediately thrown in the air away from its owner, but that wasn't nearly enough.

Completely powerless, Harry screamed at the top of his lungs as Neville's body — as if in slow-motion —jerked five times in mid-air as he was being riddled with bullets. With the surprise of the attack, Hermione had fallen flat on the ground behind her with Ginny, who was now completely knocked out. Ron, about ten feet away, and Hermione, who had gotten back up on one knee, could do nothing than watch the horror in front of them. Neville's limp body fell on the earth with a heavy thud, blood spluttering ghastly all over his torn clothes.

“AVADA KEDAVRA! AVADA KEDAVRA! AVADA KEDAVRA!” Harry had moved forward in a rage and the three curses were thrown within a second. The extremely powerful jets of green light hissed as they crossed the air, and the soldiers were thrown back fifty feet, falling limp on the battlefield, dead.

For a moment, time stood still, and nobody dared move. The whole incident had lasted five seconds at most, but there seemed to be a lifetime contained in it.

Coming back to reality and quickly glancing around for signs of more soldiers, all three friends jumped the gap to Neville, who laid on the dirt covered in blood. His face was ashen white, his eyes squarely open but fixated towards the sky with fear … His body was staring to convulse in a rather repulsive fashion.

“HHHar — rry, I'm — I — soo sorry … I wasn't —” He gasped for air as blood spluttered out of his chest from his shattered aorta, in synch with the pulse of his weakening heartbeat.

“Don't talk Neville, don't talk … You'll be all right, just don't move …” Harry realized, however, as tears flowed in rivers on his face, that death was already knocking at Neville's door.

“Er, er — Harry … You know …” (he coughed some blood) “ I — I never thought I could do great in life — until I met you …”

Hermione was howling as she frantically tried to patch Neville's chest with her wand, pronouncing every healing spell she knew or had read about. She had miraculously managed, somehow, to close two of the most lethal bullet wounds. But the third one was far beyond any of her abilities.

Neville continued, his voice now a hoarse whisper. “You, Harry, made — made — made me who I am today!” Neville's convulsions were now uncontrollable, and blood was coming out from the corner of his mouth and both his nostrils.

“Th … Th … Thank you. It's been a real — honour kno — kno-wing you … Please, tell Gran I love her very much! AAARGH!”

After coughing more blood, Neville's body arched and stiffened in a final spasm, and then, quietly, almost peacefully, his heart stopped — and he let out his last breath.

Harry, in tears but reacting to the scene around him, instinctively grabbed Neville's body and threw it — with apparently little effort — over his shoulder. He was acting on pure adrenaline, his emotions now totally shutting down. His survival instincts were, after all, far more developed than any other wizard.

“COME ON GUYS! WE MUST LEAVE! RON, GRAB YOUR SISTER! HERMIONE, YOU STAY CLOSE TO ME! LET'S RUN LIKE YOU'VE NEVER RAN BEFORE!”

He turned around and started running towards the village of Chudley, their original intended destination, doubting they could make it. But then, as he noticed two or three injured Quidditch players on the ground around them, he was struck with an idea that would prove life-saving.”

“BROOMS! Ron, Hermione! Grab one, it's about our only chance!”

They all managed, in two or three seconds, to grab a broom on the field, and they all took off.

“WWHHAAMMM!”

The concussion of the explosion blew Harry forward and he almost nose-dived, but he miraculously managed to stay airborne, Neville's body still on his shoulder. Not so fortunate, however, was Hermione, who was easily the worst flyer of them three. She violently crashed face first on the dirt. Harry saw Ron ahead, Ginny on his shoulder, hovering about ten feet from the ground.

“HARRY! PLEASE HELP ME!” Hermione moaned, as more explosions started to reach their immediate vicinity. A couple of the helicopters were still up in the air, firing rockets around the field to cut all escape routes to would-be survivors. Harry turned around, and saw in horror that Hermione's shirt was soaked in blood. He ran back towards her, thousands of crazy thoughts flooding his brain. His emotions were back, threatening to cloud his judgement.

“Blimey Harry! Make it quick! I see more helicopters landing!” Ron's face was stricken with fear and panic, and he had a hard time holding Ginny securely.

“Hermione! HERMIONE!”, Harry whimpered, his face black with soot and wet with tears, grabbing both her hands. “Are you okay? My goodness, you … you're — bleeding!” She looked down herself, and saw through a tear in her shirt that she had suffered some kind of laceration on her side. She felt her flesh with her hand and winced in pain, but then sprung back to her feet.

“I — I — I think I'm okay!” she whispered, her face twisting with agony. “It — it doesn't hurt that much … It's — it's just a bad bruise, shrapnel I suppose! Let's go Harry, we're almost out of there!”

Harry wondered if Hermione wasn't just covering a more serious injury, but there was really no time to ponder. He helped her back on her broom, and they both took off quickly to join Ron, who was deploying phenomenal effort to just remain in mid-air on his broom holding the unconscious Ginny over his shoulder like a huge sack of potatoes.

“Blimey, guys! Let's fly out of here, quick! I DON'T FEEL LIKE DYING TODAY!”

They bent over their brooms and took off, staying low, and in seconds they managed to land on the roof of the gas station at the entrance of the village. It was easy enough to remain unseen with all the thick smoke covering the area.

They immediately laid flat on their stomach, completely hidden from view behind the huge neon light sign posted a the front of the gas station. They had escaped not a minute too late: from both sides of the field, military troops were marching in, firing rounds of ammunition on anything that moved and any survivor — but Harry doubted there were many left.

Harry turned to Hermione, relieved to be momentarily out of danger.

He gasped as he saw her. Lying in a growing pool of her own blood, Hermione had lost consciousness.

----------

“I KNOW ABOUT THE PRECARITY OF OUR PREDICAMENT, MOTHER!”

Malfoy had yelled in utmost desperation. He and his mother were holed up in Hogsmeade, in the dark, musty basement of the Shrieking Shack. It had been how Malfoy had been travelling to Hogwarts without being detected by anyone.

After many weeks in hiding, Narcissa Malfoy was starting to doubt whether this was a better alternative than enduring her husband.

“Draco, let's be realistic … From what I've gathered in my few trips in town, there is a global war going on, and your father is masterminding it. Do you really think he's not eventually going to find us?”

Draco looked at his mother with impatience, rolling his eyes.

“I told you from the start, I have a plan … I will bring Harry Potter to him, and then, when he's caught off guard by this `offering', I will kill him. And then, we'll be free to do whatever we want, at last.”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “And how, exactly, do you plan to `capture' Harry Potter? I mean, you haven't exactly had the upper hand against him over the years, have you?”

Draco hissed in fury.

“I will get him! I have spies, Mother! I know each one of his coming and going, I will catch him unaware — him and his Mudblood girlfriend! They are my ticket to get to Maldemort, and then …”

Draco looked at the stump at the end of his arm, seething with rage.

“I'll make him pay for this, and for everything!!!”

Narcissa let out a deep sigh. “Well, Draco, I hope for our sake that your plan works … Seriously! We cannot stay hidden here forever! And I think we're no longer safe in here … I was in town the other day, well hidden under my cloak, but I saw three suspicious-looking wizards that seemed to be speaking Romanian. I think they were probably looking for us.

A hint of worry appeared on Draco's face, but immediately he frowned and looked away from his mother's gaze. “I think we should be fine soon, I received an owl from my informant at Hogwarts this morning. He wants to meet with me next week, so that means he has important information about Potter.”

His mother, once again, looked at him with some doubt. “Are you sure, Draco, that this person can be trusted? You don't exactly command loyalty, Draco …”

Draco smiled faintly. “Don't worry, mother! I have every reason to believe that this guy will cooperate fully with me!”

Narcissa suddenly turned to him with pleading eyes. “Have you considered going to Dumbledore? We could join forces, no? We ARE fighting the same enemy! And later, we could just distance ourselves, sort of …”

Draco looked at his mother in disgust, and spat on the ground.

“NEVER! I will never lower myself to Dumbledore's level — loving Mudbloods, giving them opportunities …”

He turned around, and left the room.

His mother, looking at him with a deep sadness in her eyes, murmured, “You are a lot more like your father than you think, Draco …”

----------

“HERMIONE!!” Harry screamed, not bothering to see if he could be heard.

Ron turned around and shrieked. Mouth gaping, he came to Hermione's side and put his head on her chest.

“She's alive, Harry, but she's losing blood. We must leave!”

Harry looked at him, desperate. “Ron, we now have three bodies to carry … That's physically impossible, and I'm not leaving Neville here!”

Ron looked around, and then pointed a finger towards the gas pumps.

“Look, Harry! That huge banner! We could tie the corners of it to both end of each our brooms, and make some kind of stretcher, and fly together.”

The banner was, as if to taunt them and mock their predicament, advertising “SPECIAL! GAS PRICES TO DIE FOR!”

Harry immediately pointed his wand, and shouted, “Accio banner!” The ropes holding it broke, and it came to them immediately.

They proceeded to lay the bodies side by side on the banner, and Ron, with a quick spell, had the four ends securely tied to both their broom.

“Ok, let's fly together”, Ron concluded, as they both mounted their brooms. “One, two, three, let's go!”

They both kicked hard from the roof, and the strange flying ensemble they now formed slowly lifted from their observation point. It took a few moments for them to synchronize their flying, but then, they slowly lifted away towards the cover of the clouds.

Harry was getting back his cool, and started thinking objectively. They needed to make it to Hogwarts, that was the only place where they would be safe. He screamed to Ron.

“Ron, let's head North, and get to Hogwarts as soon as possible!” Ron showed him a thumb up, and motioned him to lay flatter on his broom. As they both did in unison, they picked up speed, all the while making sure they kept a proper angle so that the bodies didn't slip off the banner.

As the clouds passed by and the afternoon went on, Harry's mind got caught up once more in his emotions — he could already picture himself at Hermione's funeral, and started crying loudly — his sobs could not be heard over the howling of the wind.

After what seemed like an eternity, the turrets of the castle finally came into view in the distance, and Harry glanced at their friends. Hermione's eyes opened briefly, but closed immediately. A wince of pain appeared on her face, and Harry sighed with relief. She was still with them, at least. Ginny seemed totally out of it, and hadn't moved since the battlefield.

They initiated their descent towards the main entrance of the castle, where they saw Dumbledore already pointing at them while talking quite loudly to Madam Pomfrey and her assistant and giving orders to Severus Snape and Remus Lupin at the same time. He had known, it seemed, of their arrival.

They landed, and Ron immediately screamed, “We're safe, Harry! We made it, Blimey I can't believe it! We made it!” And then, as if completely exhausted by the flight and the ordeal, he just collapsed on the grass and didn't move.

Harry, however, managed to keep it together a bit longer.

“Professor”, he tried to look at Dumbledore's light blue eyes, but found he couldn't. “Neville didn't make it, he's … He's gone!”

The Headmaster went to Harry, and put his hand on his shoulder. “I know, Harry, I know …”

Harry then turned towards Madam Pomfrey. “I think Hermione's in more critical condition, but Ginny's been knocked out! I don't — we tried to — please take good care of them!”

Not quite knowing what he was doing, Harry then took off, to the surprise of everyone there. He ran like mad towards the Forest, looking once or twice over his shoulder and relieved nobody had gone after him — he no longer felt like talking to anyone. He entered the thick woods, and slowed down his pace, walking for a while under the cover of the trees until he reached a clearing. He then fell on his knees, and started screaming and yelling, and collapsed as violent sobs overtook him. Exhausted, he finally fell in a semi-sleep on the soft moss-covered ground at the foot of a towering oak tree, still overtaken by intermittent shakes.

He was now in a dark room, with no light. There was total silence there, and all he could hear was the sound of his own breath, and the thumping of his heart. A soft, familiar voice was calling him … “Harry! Harry! I'm here!” Looking left and right, but not seeing anything, he started running forward, in total darkness. The voice kept eluding him, but after a while, it became clearer, and a bright light suddenly shone in front of him, somewhat like the beam of a spot on the stage of a theatre. There was tall metal post in the center, to which a young woman was tied with heavy chains. She had her back turned to him, but he recognized the thick, curly brown hair at once. Slowly, he walked around to face her. Hermione Granger couldn't move, but she was more beautiful than ever, and her eyes were looking straight at him. She smiled when she saw him, and spoke softly.

“Harry, my love! You came to save me! Again!”

Harry tried to move towards her but all of the sudden, he was paralysed — just then, a very ugly character came out from behind the post, with serpentine eyes and a sallow, dead-looking face. It was Lucius Malfoy-Maldemort, a sickening smile plastered to his repulsive face.

“This could all end, you know … How long are you going to gamble with her life? Don't you `love' her, Potter? Let's finish this off like men — face to face, just you and I. Let's finally see, once and for all, who is the most powerful wizard …”

Rage and turmoil welled up inside Harry, but as he tried to speak, he found he couldn't … It was Hermione who spoke next.

“Listen to him, Harry … I love you, and I know you love me, but how many more must die? My parents are dead, Harry. Neville too … Please! I know you'll do the right thing, my love!!”

Harry's insides were screaming, but all of the sudden, he started being sucked backwards, and there was nothing he could do about it, the light vanished, and darkness was upon him again …

Harry opened his eyes with a start. Darkness had fallen upon the Forest, but a strange, eerie moonlight was allowing him to see relatively clearly around him. A calm stillness had come upon him, and a clear vision of the days ahead settled on his heart.

He got up, and resolutely headed back towards the castle. It was time to put an end to all this madness, once and for all.

----------

The London Times — Saturday, October 31^st.

“WAR ESCALATES — 1 MILLION ALREADY ESTIMATED DEAD IN EUROPE!

“Yesterday, an airborne fleet of heavy bombers from the Romanian air force systematically littered the inland corridor from Romania to the English Channel with powerful chemical mega-bombs, transforming vast parts of the countries of Germany, France, Belgium and the Netherlands into nothing more than wastelands. The operation aimed, it seemed, at opening up a corridor for troops and artillery from the Romanian alliance to circulate freely from Eastern Europe to the coast of the English Channel, and from there to launch a massive offensive towards the United Kingdom. So far, it has accomplished its gruesome goal, as a huge military camp is being erected on the shores of the Channel with a clear view of the English coast.

In the chaos surrounding this global armed conflict, the best estimates are putting the number of casualties at about one million, mostly civilians.

Sadly, any form of resolution to this war is nowhere in sight, as leaders from the United Nations have not been welcomed by the military leaders of Romania. To date, no cause has been put forward for this devilish endeavour of Machiavellian proportions — other than the personal vendetta of Romanian leader, Antonin Dromilescu, against Great Britain.

Never in history has there been such a violent, fast-escalating and unjustified global war. Furthermore, there seems to be a complete paralysis among many Government Officials — in all countries — to launch forward to some kind of negotiation process. It's as if a mysterious force is stopping every sensible country from acting or speaking out.

Alongside the United States to officially join Great Britain in defence against Romania's offensive, the countries of Canada, Norway, Finland, Denmark, Sweden, France, Spain, Belgium and the Netherlands have all agreed to supply troops and equipment. The “Romanian alliance”, as it is now referred to, is made up so far of old Eastern Block countries, including Hungary, Austria, Czech Republic, Poland, Ukraine, Belarus, and Lithuania.”

To date, Russia, Turkey and the entire Middle-East have remained neutral in the conflict, but this could change very quickly, as some of them have had quarrels in the past with the countries already involved.”

Albus Dumbledore had never looked so grave as he prepared to address the students. Once again, Harry noted that he looked old … The events had taken a turn that no one could have seen coming — not even his beloved Headmaster. And it seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders.

The atmosphere was tense and the mood sombre as students sat in the Great Hall for the Halloween feast as they did every year. But joy and laughter were conspicuously absent from the gathering this time. There was a heavy silence as students worried about their family, the future, and the deadly war that was intensifying with each passing day. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to put an end to the conflict — but attacks kept coming, battles were still being fought, and the world stage seemed paralysed with fright. Quickly, the times were becoming uncertain, fearful … dark and grim.

The staff table was less crowded than usual. Harry, Hermione and Ron were there, but other teachers were noticeably absent. Harry suspected they had gone either on some missions for the Order of the Phoenix, or to rescue relatives. Harry and Hermione were now pretty much confined to the castle and the grounds, since the warrant for Hermione's arrest was still very much in full circulation.

Harry looked around, and pain struck him as he saw Ginny's seat empty at the Gryffindor table. She was still fighting for her life in the hospital wing, after having barely escaped the attack on the Chudley Quidditch Stadium. She had suffered a severe head injury, and despite the excellent care she was receiving, she persistently remained in a deep coma.

Harry welled up when he looked at the seat beside Ginny. That one, unfortunately, would forever remain empty. Harry's eyes filled with tears as he thought of Neville's ultimate sacrifice — he had saved both Hermione and Ginny's lives that day, and possibly his and Ron's. But he, himself, was gone.

Harry wondered painfully if he could ever forgive himself for not reacting quickly enough. Or, even worse, for forgetting to find Ginny and Neville in the first place.

He glanced sideways at Hermione, who was still heavily bandaged from her navel to the base of her ribs. He owed Neville his future's wife's life … She had almost died twice during that battle. Harry could not take this much longer …

“Soon”, he muttered under his breath, “I will put an end to all this — for good …” Since his afternoon in the Forest, Harry was starting to accept what his fate should be — and he was increasingly determined to seeing it come to pass.

Just then, the Headmaster cleared his throat and began solemnly.

“I want to welcome you all, once again, to our Halloween feast.” He let out a deep sigh, paused for a few seconds, and continued. “I would have hoped, however, for this feast to take place in more festive circumstances …”

He looked around and perused through the crowd. Students were hanging to his every word.

“First of all … I would like us to raise our glasses to courage … We salute the heroic exploit of our fellow Gryffindor graduate, Neville Longbottom. He made the ultimate sacrifice by dying to save his friends — and that, I must say, is the very essence of what Godric Gryffindor and the house that bear his name is all about.”

Dumbledore choked, and held back tears. He continued with a somewhat broken voice.

“So here's to you, dear Neville — may your journey be safe, peaceful, and way we see you again, soon.”

Fawkes the phoenix was perched on Dumbledore's shoulders. He suddenly broke into a song, which sounded very much like a funeral ode — it was breathtaking in its melodious sound, but yet managed to express the unfathomable sadness of this unfortunate event. The song lasted several minutes, and no one dared move or speak before it slowly died down.

Dumbledore raised his glass. “To Neville! To courage! To friendship!”

As students paid tribute, not one eye in the place remained dry, except perhaps for a few Slytherin students who kept a stoic face. By some charm that only Dumbledore could have thought of, images from Neville's life appeared in mid-air over all of them, and they all smiled and cried at the best — and worst — moments of their departed friend's well-lived life.

Harry turned to Hermione's whose hands were covering her face … Her body shook slightly from the sobs that were overtaking her. He put his hand on her back, and she quickly turned to lean on his lap. He himself was crying, tears flowing freely on his cheek as he remembered Neville's last words:

“Harry, I never thought I could do great in life — until I met you. You made me become who I am today … Thank you. It's been a real honour knowing you!”

He whispered to himself, “No, Neville, it's been a treat knowing you … You were always far more courageous than anyone else in this school — including myself.”

But Dumbledore spoke once more, this time on a more official tone.

“As you all know, war is upon us. And any war, whether for a noble cause or not, is extremely painful, and terribly pricey. Human life is the price — people die, people suffer, we wake up missing a father, a mother, a brother, a sister …” Dumbledore looked at Ron, who was stricken with worry and fear that Ginny wouldn't make it through another night.

Dumbledore's face then took an expression of anger and disgust, and he spoke with more determination.

“What's most enraging, as I speak to you today, is that we now know for a fact that this war has no cause at all, except the eradication of all Muggle-born wizards …”

There were expressions of shock and disbelief amongst the students.

“Yes … Some of the world's Governments are being controlled by Dark Wizards, who will stop at nothing to get what they want — until they are stopped, that is …”

He paused, took a drink from the glass of water beside him, and then continued.

“That is why, on this Halloween night, I have to inform you that due to the extraordinary circumstances befalling us, I've had to make a very painful decision, that can no longer be delayed … The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will become, for the time being, a safe-haven for all wizards and their families who wish to be protected from the downfalls of this terrible ordeal. The school year, as of tonight, is officially suspended until further notice.”

Many students stood up at once, aghast with disbelief. But as Dumbledore had spoken, he had motioned someone to the side of the Great Hall. Doors suddenly opened, and parents of students came flooding in, running to their children and hugging them with laughter and tears of joy. After a few minutes, not one student was alone in the Great Hall, and the mood had become somewhat more festive.

Dumbledore raised his hand once more, and continued as a hush fell on the hall.

“You will notice that the grounds outside have started to be adorned with tents of all sorts, as families of students and other wizards install themselves at school. I remind you that the charms protecting Hogwarts are rooted in magic more powerful than any other, and that this institution has withstood many World Wars without any harm. You and your loved ones will be safe here.”

Harry had a sudden thought of Hermione's parents, and bending over, he hugged her with all his might. She seemed to have had the same thought process, and looked up at Harry, her face wet with tears.

“Thank you for being there … I don't know how I'd get through this without you …”

As he softly stroke her hair, Harry remembered vividly the first time he had rescued her life as she was cowering in the girl's bathroom in front of a giant mountain troll. He would have never guessed, at that time, how Hermione Granger's life and his own would forever become intertwined. But one thing had quickly, and always thereafter, been clear: from that point on, he had needed her, and she had needed him. And this would forever remain — despite whatever the future held for both of them.

And she needed him now — more than ever.

A fact which, unfortunately, made his choice so much more difficult.

----------

“Professor, it's the only way! People have to stop dying because of ME!” Harry was pacing Dumbledore's office, furious.

Dumbledore looked at him with his piercing light blue eyes. “Harry! There are things that you do not yet comprehend … Whether you die or not will NOT stop the madness that is now upon us.”

Harry snickered in disagreement.

“YOU'RE WRONG! It's me they're after! It has always been me, for the last eighteen years! I'll give them what they want! Better that one person dies, than all of us! Hermione's parents are gone, Neville is gone, who's going to be next? Ron? Hermione? Ginny? You, sir?”

Harry was starting to bitterly regret sharing his plan with Dumbledore … He had planned to go alone to try to challenge Maldemort and his associates, dying in the process if he had to. That was the resolution he had taken during his afternoon of anguish in the Forbidden Forest. It seemed to him like the most logical choice.

The Headmaster waited for a few minutes, and then spoke with unprecedented authority, to the point that Harry was taken aback.

“Dark Wizards, Harry, seek power! Nothing less, and nothing more. You are but a parenthesis in their quest to the ultimate victory — ruling the world we live in. Voldemort made it his personal quest to defeat you because he could not stand to have been stunted on his way to conquering our world. He had a personal vendetta against you, for personal reasons. But had he succeeded in defeating you — and even if Maldemort ever managed to vanquish you — their quest and thirst for power would have NEVER ended! That is a lesson you must never forget ... Some things, Harry, extend beyond you.”

Harry sat down, and pondered the thought for a moment.

He looked up at Dumbledore. “But what's the point then? There will always be power for the taking, and that means that this — situations like this — will always arise!”

“The point, Harry, is that for thousands of years, wizards of good will have stood for justice and peace, and have succeeded! Voldemort was the first to reach the level of power he did in more than a hundred years, and even then — goodness triumphed over him! YOU triumphed over him … If people like you give up, all hope will die — and whether you want to admit it or not, you will be giving up and fail everyone who looks up to you if you go on with that … plan of yours!”

Dumbledore pulled a chair, and sat besides Harry, putting his hand on his shoulders. He looked at him with a warm smile.

“People have stood by my side for years, thinking that the powers I possess and for which I stand for are, in fact, what insures their well-being and security … But it is the values for which I stand, in fact, that keep people loyal to me and Hogwarts. And it is the same good, unchanging values that will one day make them loyal to you, Harry.”

Harry turned abruptly to Dumbledore.

“What? What exactly are you saying? I cannot even imagine becoming half of what you are, Sir!”

Dumbledore laughed. “I am very old, and I hopefully have many, many years still in front of me, Harry … But I am not eternal … The time will come when I will have to pass on — and when that time comes, you will be ready …”

“But —” Harry tried to protest, but Dumbledore motioned him to silence.

“Rest, I believe, is necessary for all of us. We will revisit the subject, don't you worry … But not tonight … Go Harry, you have a young woman that desperately need your support, and love. If you were to only spent the rest of your life caring and loving her, you would have already accomplished much more than any Dark Wizard could ever dream of …”

Harry left Dumbledore's study in a daze, completely confused and befuddled.

But then again, it was something almost normal whenever he talked with Albus Dumbledore in private.

----------

It took a long time for Harry to make his way to Hagrid's cabin that evening. He was walking by himself, but a tent stood in his way every ten or fifteen feet, with tens of wizards that kept insisting he stay for tea, or have a chat — people wanted to know about the war from people who had seen it first-hand.

“You sure chose the ideal time to stay at the library, Hermione Granger”, he muttered to himself, looking at the throngs of people on the grounds. Hermione was usually more skilled than he was at politely declining unwanted invitations.

She had remained behind at the library, determined to read up on healing charms and study them attentively. She had decided she would not be caught off guard and left powerless like she had been on the battlefield, unable to do anything for dying Neville.

As he walked, Harry's thoughts turned to Hermione, and of the way things had turned out since the summer. He still caught himself, sometimes, gazing at her and finding it hard to believe that she cared for him the way she did. Often, he wondered why in the world it had taken him so long to see his own love for her — seven long years — when she had known right away, though she had refused to give in to it.

And now … He loved her so much that he couldn't even imagine living without her. She had just had another brush with death, and Harry just couldn't allow it anymore. There was, Harry thought, possibly only one way to insure her safety … But now, after talking to Dumbledore, he was uncertain if that was the solution.

He desperately needed to think.

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter! HARRY POTTER!”

Harry came out of his reverie, and turned to his left, where someone with a vaguely familiar voice was apparently calling him.

Swallowing hard, he mustered the strength to make nice as Sybil Trelawney approached, accompanied by another woman who was quite the colourful character, to say the least. She was dressed artistically with numerous — and clashing — colours, somewhat reminiscent of a flee market fortune-teller. But it was the turban that one could not fail to avoid looking at — it was at least four feet high, and adorned on all sides with stuffed birds. The whole apparatus must have weighed at least ten pounds.

“Harry, I would like to introduce you to my mentor, Mrs. Maggie Rochonovitch … She's a renowned seer from Russia, and she taught me everything I know!”

Which is not much, Harry thought to himself. Professor Trelawney was looking at her with an admiration not at all dissimilar to the way Parvati and Lavender had admired her back during their school days. Harry graciously smiled, and shook her hand.

“It's a pleasure meeting you, but I must be going … Very important —”

“Oh, Harry! Come to our tent and have a cup of tea! You must hear Mrs. Rochonovitch's stories, they are just incredible!”

Unable to say no, Harry reluctantly went inside the tent, which was hot and filled with the typical smell of burning incense. Many times, Harry just kept himself from falling into a deep stupor, listening to unending tales of fulfilled prophecies and about the rare and extraordinary gift of “seeing”.

Finally, after nearly an hour, Harry was able to excuse himself and continue his journey — that's what the usual five minutes walk had become — through the tents towards the cabin. He managed to make it after shaking more hands, and making some polite excuses about having to prepare for an important meeting. He couldn't wait to be in the cabin, alone, to try to shut out some of the noise and have a moment to think for himself.

Wearily, he climbed the steps towards the back entrance of Hagrid's cabin, and opened the door.

He gasped, and white hot anger immediately ignited from the pit of his stomach, exploding within him, making his hands shake and his scar hurt. In a split-second, his wand was in his hand, ready to strike.

In the middle of the kitchen area, standing near the fireplace, looking as white as a ghost and wearing a shocked expression on his face exactly as if he had just seen one, stood Draco Malfoy.

-->

HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

(WARNING: THIS IS A PRE-HBP STORY … THE READER MUST NOT TAKE INTO ACCOUNT THE NEW DEVELOPMENTS OF HBP TO APPRECIATE THE STORY.)

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

===============

AUTHOR'S NOTE — SOME POST-HBP THOUGHTS, AND HOW THEY RELATE TO THIS STORY

Before this chapter is reviewed and put up, HBP will have been out and read by probably all of us. It cannot be clearer, after HBP, that in the end Ron and Hermione ship will prevail … And if there was any doubt left after reading HBP, JKR has now come clean herself and declared publicly that it would be so (see her interview with Emerson on Mugglenet).

I think there has been two types of shippers within the Harry/Hermione “tribe”. The first kind relied, up until HBP, on some canon evidence and hoped for H/Hr to happen, since there still lingered a glimmer of hope that it could. The other kind of H/Hr shippers are those who are unshakably convinced it should have been that way, and that anything else is a travesty of justice - they're so emotionally involved in the idea that they are no doubt heartbroken, and will mourn for the rest of the series, if not the rest of their life!

I've been a H/Hr shipper mainly for the first reason, although I have been emotionally invested in the idea since Book 1. I immediately got attached to Hermione as a character, and as she grew in the series it followed that I wanted Harry to be with her. I couldn't deny the hints about Ron and Hermione, though … I was shaken by GOF with the whole Yule ball, Ron and Krum imbroglio, but found new hope in the amazing complicity between Hermione and Harry in OOTP. But now, I'm being brought back to reality - JKR's reality - in HBP … I accept, albeit with some sadness and nostalgia, the fact that the pairings will most likely end up being Harry and Ginny, and Ron and Hermione. Ginny makes sense for Harry, since she's feisty, determined, speaks her own mind, and has flaming red hair — very much like what we know of Lily Evans, Harry's mother. It's just sad that we didn't get a good chance as readers to get thoroughly attached to her from the beginning.

I was upset throughout the book until I reached the last two hundred pages. It is there that as a writer, I started seeing where JKR was going. As she stated before, the books are about friendship — and not romance, though romance has to appear as a realistic part of the characters' lives. And especially, they're about Harry's quest, and his coming of age as an orphan, a Wizard, and a marked man; we see him stand alone a lot more in HBP, a trend that will probably continue in Book 7. His friends, though loyal and unshakable, fade somewhat in the background as he slowly rises to face Voldemort — and so does his love interests. His perspective becomes one of life and death, and protecting those he loves most from harm — whether it be Hermione, Ron, or Ginny.

LET US SET OURSELVES, HENCE, TO THE BUSINESS AT HAND! Harry Potter and the Death of the Old Rule is only a few chapters from completion, and I'd like to dedicate it to all of us who hoped and dreamed of seeing Harry ending up with Hermione - and those who, in their heart of hearts, will always see it as the ONLY way it should have been!

PLEASE NOTE ALSO: I will have to pace the writing of the last 2 chapters, because with the coming of September, I am swamped with deadlines, and must give my attention to other writing assignments. So don't despair if you don't see the last chapters just yet, they will come!

GOOD READING!

===============

CHAPTER 14

FACE TO FACE WITH OLD ENEMIES

“YOU! What could you possibly be doing here!” Harry hissed with fury, his arm and wand extended as one, ready to strike.

Malfoy, still not believing that Harry Potter — and not Winslow — was standing before him, didn't answer. Instead, he dashed from the fireplace across the room, hoping to gain a second or two and hide behind the table and chairs.

“IMPEDIMENTA!” Harry screamed, but Malfoy ducked while taking out his own wand.

Harry didn't give Malfoy a second to even think of retaliating. “EXPELLIARMUS!”

Malfoy's wand went flying from his hand, and he was forced to admit defeat, at least for the moment being.

“Stop, Potter! I surrender, all right?” Hands in the air, Draco was trying to decide very quickly what to do next.

Harry snickered. “And you think it's going to be that simple? I have a score to settle with you, Malfoy … or have you forgotten already?”

A dark and sinister anger overtook Harry, and he found himself delighting in the terror now appearing on Malfoy's face. Revenge — at last! The frustration, anger and rage of the last seven years welled up inside Harry, and he remembered his promise.

A cold resolve came over him. Malfoy would not leave the house alive.

Draco Malfoy was now breathing very fast, very nervously, realizing full well that he only had minutes — if not seconds — to spare. And yet, he just couldn't resist the opportunity, once again, to taunt Harry.

“Oh, you're not talking about the little slap I gave your girlfriend a few weeks back, now are you? Now, now … that was just for fun, there wasn't any harm intended! She kind of deserved —”

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! YOU — I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU! CRUCIO!”

Harry's face was beet red, his eyes bulging, and his upper lip trembling. Malfoy had fallen to the floor, and was twisting in agony, feeling the full effect of Harry's wrath and rage — not to mention his pent-up emotions of the last few weeks.

“NOW HOW'S THAT FOR `FUN', YOU GIT? HOW DOES THAT FEEL?”

Malfoy contorted on the floor, trying to scream but unable to utter a sound.

Harry was laughing hysterically, sardonically, letting his dark side take over. He would let Malfoy die of pain, if he had to.

“Yes,” he thought, “this is so much better than killing him quickly”. Draco had spent his life making others suffer. A little of his own medicine was in order. Still holding his wand, he approached Malfoy, and without warning, kicked him hard in the face — once, then again, and once more. He stopped only when Draco's face had become purple and bloody.

“That's for Hermione, if you must know! How about some more? We can never have enough `fun', you know!”

Harry tilted his wand ever so slightly, and Malfoy's eyes opened wide, as if to plead for mercy. He writhed on the floor, as a spider just sprayed with insecticide.

The door suddenly opened. “Harry? HARRY! What is this? What —”

Harry couldn't catch his reflex in time. He turned around, and instantly realized it was a severe mistake.

“Hermione, get away! Quick!”

But it was too late. The Cruciatus curse had been temporarily lifted, and Draco still had the presence of mind to grab something underneath his cloak.

As Harry turned back to face Malfoy, he saw for an infinitesimal instant a silvery artefact in Draco's hand, already moving in an arc fashion above his head and shoulder. The quick movement was accompanied with a flash of sunlight reflecting on the polished, metallic object. One second later a sharp burning pain exploded just below his left collarbone, almost at the junction of his sternum. It instantly radiated to his entire upper back and chest, and with a sickening gurgling sound, Harry coughed out some dark red blood. His legs buckled, dizziness overtook him, and he stopped seeing clearly … The outline of Draco moving towards him quickly disappeared as a thick fog seemed to be enveloping him.

“HARRY!” Hermione screamed in horror, seeing the long dagger solidly embedded to the hilt right below Harry's chest. Draco was slowly getting up, a triumphant glee on his pointed face.

“Well, at last! The great Harry Potter has been stopped … I always thought it useful to carry a more … conventional weapon, wouldn't you say? A lot of seasoned wizards have fallen to them!”

“YOU MONSTER!” Hermione lunged forward, extending her arm and wand towards Draco while muttering something under her breath. A yellowish orange beam of light streaked the room and hit Draco right between the eyes. He remained still for a second, eyes rolling backwards, and then keeled right over, knocked out.

Hermione jumped to Harry, who was on the floor, holding the hilt of the silver dagger with both hands. His eyes were open, but his face was white, he had a very hard time breathing, and blood was still spurting from the corner of his mouth.

“HARRY! HARRY! Oh, goodness … this is bad, very bad!” She then became very business-like, and tied her hair backwards in a ponytail to clear her view. “Don't move, all right! Whatever happens, don't move!”

Harry attempted to talk. A faint whisper came out of his lips.

“Her — Hermione! I' m so — so sorry ...” He smiled faintly. “I — I don't think — can't move … I can't feel much anymore … I — I love you, so much, and —”

“SHUT UP, HARRY! NOT TODAY, YOU'RE NOT LEAVING!” Hermione, her face shining with tears, was nevertheless working. She had ripped Harry's t-shirt off, and was swirling her wand around Harry's chest. The results were unexpected, to say the least. All of the sudden, his sensory faculties were back — and he felt unfathomable pain.

“OUCH! That — that burns, Her — Her — mione!” Harry moaned, trying to remain conscious but feeling nauseous at the same time. A little band of smoke was starting to come out of his chest wound, accompanied by the much disagreeable smell of burnt flesh.

Hermione was sweating and crying, still trying frantically to rescue Harry.

She looked at him with fear in her eyes, and proceeded to take off Harry's belt from his pants.

“Her — mi — one?” Harry whimpered. “What — what are you —”

Harry managed a smirk, and continued. “Am I — in heaven, already?”

She blushed, catching on his idea. “No, you wouldn't dream of it, Harry Potter! Not quite yet!”

She shoved the leather belt in Harry's mouth.

“I have to take the dagger out, Harry. I've stopped the superficial bleeding, but I need to take it out. It will … probably … hurt a lot, so bite hard on the belt.”

Harry closed his eyes, and took a deep breath — which was difficult, in his state.

Hermione, one knee on each side of Harry' chest, braced herself, and put both hands on the hilt of the knife. “All right,” she said shrilly, “on the count of three. One. Two. THREE!”

Harry's body jerked upwards as she pulled out the dagger, which came out relatively easily. He didn't scream, didn't utter a sound, but Hermione could see by the look on his face that this had been agonizingly painful.

He had passed out.

Hermione set herself back to work, pronouncing slightly spells as before. She had to act fast now, blood gushing out of the wound in a rather heavy fashion. A small, blueish electric-like arc came out of her wand as she approached it from Harry's knife wound, and the smoke started coming out again. The tip of her wand was almost buried in the flesh, but after a minute or two, the bleeding stopped.

She sighed with relief, realizing how incredibly fortunate Harry had been that night. She had spent her evening at the library studying — and practicing — the very flesh-healing spell she had just performed. She looked at her own arm, where she had cut herself many times to practice. She had mastered it to the point there wasn't even a scar on her arm. It was almost like she had a connection with Harry that borrowed from another realm …

“Okay, I must get him to the hospital ward, now!” Hermione got back to her feet, turning around to find a blanket to make Harry comfortable. She came face to face with Draco, who had just awoken.

He threw his fist forwards, and hit her right across the cheekbone, sending her crashing into the wall.

“Gosh, it's fun to slap you around, Mudblood!” Malfoy seemed intent on giving Hermione another taste of their last encounter.

But this time, she had been clutching her wand, and didn't let go. Crouched up on the floor near the wall, Hermione was thinking furiously fast, attempting to shake away the stars dancing in front of her eyes and the ringing tone in her ears.

“Come on, just admit it! You like it, don't you? Maybe if you're nice, we'll have more fun later, the kind of fun that I'm sure you're dying to enjoy!” Draco pointed at his loins, leaving no doubt as to what his sinister intentions were.

Hermione got back up in a flash, the right side of her face swollen and purple, and quickly attempted to stop Draco.

“IMPEDIMENTA!” she yelled, determined not to let Malfoy get the best of her this time.

Malfoy seemed surprised to see her back up so soon, but managed to avoid the jinx by quickly jumping to his right. He then physically jumped towards her, trying to grab Hermione's wand.

She kicked and punched, hanging on to her wand for dear life. Her knee seemed to hit him in the stomach, because he suddenly backed from away her, winded, trying to catch his breath. She took a few steps back, as he slowly got back up.

It suddenly dawned on Hermione that she would had to use a more powerful spell in order to stop him.

“Feisty, aren't we? I love it! Come on Granger, stop your act, and let's get it on! REALLY get it on!” He was walking slowly, closing the gap between them. But Hermione now stood defiantly, eyes blazing, her wand extended in front of her and her body aligned sideways behind her arm in an attack position. She fumbled with her left hand underneath her robe for a moment, but Draco saw nothing of the movement.

Hermione spat in his face. “You're disgusting, Malfoy! I wouldn't let you touch me, even if I was dying and you were my only hope! CRU — CRUCIO!”

Malfoy was thrown back and landed on the floor with a thud, wincing in pain. The effect, however, didn't seem strong enough.

“Oi, oi! Yes, that was painful, I must admit. But you need to work on your rage, Granger! Your boyfriend didn't teach you that part, did he?”

He got up quickly and threw herself on her, but she brought her left arm from behind her back at the same time, throwing it in a slashing movement directly in front of her.

“AAARGHHHH!” Draco hissed, grabbing air with both arms, and landing on his knees. He felt his stomach and realized there was blood there — lots of it.

Hermione was still standing, her wand in the right hand, and the silver dagger wet with blood in the other. She seemed paralysed with shock and disbelief, staring at the bloody knife with an expression of disgust.

Rage and panic appeared on Draco's face … He now knew to be fighting a losing battle, and realized he was critically injured. Looking over his shoulders towards Hermione, he took three quick steps with much effort towards the window and jumped through it, in a deafening noise of shattering glass.

Hermione suddenly snapped out of her stance, and ran after him … when she reached the window, he had already disappeared from sight.

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

Harry felt like he was floating in mid-air, weightless. It was a strange, eerie sensation. Opening his eyes, he saw he was suspended in some kind of cloud of kaleidoscopic colours. He could hear voices, in the background, but they seemed to be blended together, undistinguishable. It was somewhat like the rumbling of a distant crowd …

“Am I dead?” Harry wondered. Peering into the colourful mist, he saw shadows and silhouettes. There were other people around, but then again, they seemed out of reach, and Harry couldn't make their face.

He wondered if he could move around. He tried to make a movement with his arms, as if to swim of sorts, but he seemed to stay into place. Time and space were, however, very difficult to gauge in his predicament. Maybe he had moved — but he had no clue and no point of reference.

“Maybe if I concentrate,” he thought to himself. He looked in front of him, where the cloudy vapour seemed to concentrate into a series of shades of blue. “Go forward!” he thought, concentrating really hard and actually visualizing himself going forward. All of the sudden, the colours around him became horizontal streaks of lights, and he felt himself flying forward at a vertiginous speed, to the point of feeling somewhat nauseous.

“STOP,” he thought, and everything returned to “normal” — that is, the state he had been in just moments before.

“Where the hell am I?” he thought to himself, panicking. He didn't feel dead quite yet, there seemed to be lacking some kind of … finality to his state, for lack of a better word. He still could think, he still had a body, he could still … feel emotions.

“Hermione!” he thought. Looking around, she was nowhere in sight. The memory of what had just happened came flooding back also — Draco, the fight, the stabbing pain in his chest, Hermione trying to help him … He looked down at his chest. Surprisingly, he saw nothing there, except for a razor-thin scar about three centimetres long. “Wow, Hermione!” he thought to himself, speculating she had managed to close the wound.

“But if she managed to do that, why am I here?” A dreadful thought dawned on him. Maybe she hadn't been quick enough, and he had died during the procedure.

He tried frantically to focus his thoughts on Hermione, but nothing happened. Nobody came to him, the silhouettes remained the same, the background noise also.

A huge lump formed in his throat at the thought that perhaps this was it — he had died, and would never see her again. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he did feel them trickle down his cheeks.

Something was off. If he was dead, wouldn't he be in a state of eternal happiness and bliss? Would he still be worrying about his friends, about everything else?

“No,” he thought to himself, “this is something else … an in-between state, perhaps?”

As he slowly drifted, wondering how he would get himself out of this predicament, a dark shadow came into clear view. It wasn't a person, though, and this “object” seemed rectangular in shape. Harry seemed to be floating towards it. It became clearer, and in focus.

It was an arch-like structure, on which a curtain was hung … it was slightly wobbling, as if responding to a soft breeze. Harry's heart accelerated. He had seen that curtain before, in other tragic circumstances. And through it, he had seen his godfather disappear — for what he thought was forever.

His heart raced even faster. “Is that where I am? Behind that veil? But then it must mean that —”

A deep, familiar voice echoed from right behind him.

“Yes, Harry. That is exactly what it means.”

Harry gasped in his ethereal state. He turned around in a flash, still not sure he did so physically or in his mind. “Sirius! SIRIUS! Is — is that really you?”

The man with long black hair smiled at Harry. He looked much better than the last time Harry had seen him. His face was no longer sunken, his hair was glittering, and his smile … it was very much like the one in Harry's photograph albums.

“Yes Harry, it is me. Gosh it feels good to talk to you, if only for a short while …”

Harry registered the statement with a start. “So I'm not dead then?”

“No, Harry. This is a special place, and it is fitting that you paid a visit. It has deep meaning, and —”

“So, what is … this? The ghosts at school told me that you would … move on, after death. But you're here, so you must have … lingered?”

Sirius smiled. “The people behind the veil, Harry, are protecting spirits. They are chosen, after death, because of the way they lived their life. They — we — are assigned a person or many, to look over and help in times of great difficulty. I have been assigned to you, Ron, and Hermione.”

Harry shuddered. “So you've been … looking over us, of sorts?”

“Yes, Harry. Why do you think that in times of great need, you have such a strong connection with Hermione? It is I — from this place — that makes it possible.”

Harry, in this surreal state, couldn't cry. But he sure felt glad and relieved all of the sudden. For the first time in a long while, he knew he would no longer be alone.

But he had a sudden thought. “So, if I'm here, is it like a … prelude to what will — what would — happen to me if I died?”

Sirius nodded. “Yes Harry. Your courage, and your willingness to lay your life on the line for your friends would have brought you here — had you died, that is. But I thought you could use the comfort, so I bent the rules a little, to allow you some time in here … You have to be dead, of course, to stay!”

“Oooh, I see! Well, er —”

It suddenly dawned on Harry what this rather unexpected encounter represented, and thoughts of things he wanted to say to Sirius started flooding his brains, making him dizzy. A jolt surged in his stomach, and suddenly, he was reliving the whole ordeal — the sadness, the regrets, the guilt and the anger he had felt when Sirius had passed. One thought, however, seemed to emerge above all others.

“Er, Sirius? I'm so … so sorry, it's my fault you died! If I had learned Occlumency properly, I would have known what Voldemort was up to and —”

Sirius waived him off with his hand. “Stop, Harry, stop! Don't torture yourself with that … The truth is that using me as bait was Voldemort's plan all along, and he would have used other means if he hadn't resorted to Legilimency. It was only a matter of time, with Kreacher in the house bidding his time, that he found a way to get to me to get to you. And —”

Sirius paused, a look of intense passion igniting his face. His eyes were blazing, and he looked Harry straight in the eyes.

“In the end, Harry, it was MY choice … I knew the risks, just like Ron and Hermione, and Ginny, know the risks. They chose to remain your friends, and fight alongside you …”

A different voice then spoke. “And I chose to bear that risk too, Harry!”

Another figure had just appeared behind Sirius. It was Neville Longbottom, smiling, radiant.

Harry was speechless, and tears were streaming down his cheeks as powerful sobs seem to overtake him. A huge burden was apparently lifting from his shoulders, and he felt lighter than he had in seven years.

Sirius continued. “You have been dealt some cards that are more difficult to play than others, Harry. But we all knew this, and we chose your side. You can't be perfect, Harry, and you'll make mistakes. But if people die around you, it is not because of your mistakes — it is because of their choice. Their choice to value friendship, honour, and love above anything else.

Without warning, Harry suddenly felt himself pull away towards the curtain.

Panicking, he tried to will himself to stay, but to no avail. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he felt sucked away by a giant vortex.

“Goodbye, Sirius! I never got to say it properly! Farewell! I will miss you always …”

A fading figure in the blurring surroundings waved as everything started spinning around Harry.

Before long, Harry was crossing the curtain — again.

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

Hermione had been staring blankly at Ron for a while. Her face was white, she had said very little in the last few hours, and genuine sadness and fear were detectable in her demeanour.

“Hermione? Are you okay?” Ron said softly, well aware of the emotional roller-coaster she was probably riding just now.

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She delicately replaced the wet, cold piece of linen to the side of her face near her eye, wincing at the discomfort.

“Of course I'm NOT okay, Ronald! What do you think? I mean —” she cried, unable to utter anything else.

Ron's eyes went wide. He got up and brought his chair closer to hers, and put his arm around her lovingly.

“I'm sorry Hermione, I didn't mean — I never would … I'm just worried that you might lose it, at some point. You've been through so much lately, I wonder how you've coping, you know?”

Hermione sniffed loudly, and rested her head on Ron's shoulder. “I don't know Ron, I really don't know. But —”

She looked up at him imploringly.

“Tell me he's going to be fine, Ron! He will, won't he? I can't lose him, I — I — I just can't!”

More tears came out, and then a shriek of despair like Ron had never heard from her before. Her face constricted into an expression of agony, and she started bawling loudly, hiding her face in Ron's sweater and abandoning herself. Her whole body soon started shaking violently, as she seemed to be crying all the tears she had left.

Ron remained silent, trying to let Hermione know she wasn't alone by not letting go of her. But he couldn't really answer her question. Harry had been in a deep coma for a week now, his chest wound very serious. Hermione had saved his life by closing the wound, but the trauma of the blade lodging right beside his spine had sent his body into a deep coma. Mrs. Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore were both confident he would come out of it after a few days, but it had now been longer than they had all expected.

Hermione had stopped shaking.

“You really love him, don't you?” Ron asked, knowing the obvious answer but trying to gauge whether she could really recover if his best friend were to pass on.

She looked up at him, a faint smile on her puffy, red face.

“You have no idea, Ron … I — I had tried to imagine what it would be like, but it's so much more than that. I —” She looked towards the bed. Harry was breathing rhythmically, and his face seemed so relaxed that he appeared to be, for once, at peace.

Hermione continued, her voice breaking. “I don't think I could go on without him, Ron … it's like we were meant to be — since the dawn of ages, or something. I didn't believe in `soul mates' before … I think I do now.”

Ron sighed. “You and Harry always had a special bond, even I could see that.” A slight pang of jealousy uncomfortably twisted his stomach. Ron had made tantalizing efforts in the last year to hide his true emotions, including attempting a go at a relationship with Luna Lovegood … but in truth, Hermione had been his first love, and somehow he was realizing there was no getting over it. He had had to admit defeat, of course, since Hermione herself didn't love him. But it hurt nevertheless, especially when he was alone with Hermione and she was vulnerable.

Hermione looked at Ron guiltily, apparently reading his mind. “Oh, Ronald, you've been so … understanding. I'm sorry about hurting you, I really am.” She held his arm tighter, trying to hold on to the only thing left in her life that was still intact.

Ron leaned on her head, and whispered. “I love you, Hermione. You've been an amazing friend for me, and even though we've had our darker — and more confusing — moments, don't be sorry for being who you are.”

Ron wondered about his choice of words. He himself was in a whirlwind of emotions, having come close to losing his sister twice in two weeks, and was just coming to terms with the reality of his pain.

Hermione, staring blankly at the wall in front of her, asked him quietly, “When did you know? About me and Harry, I mean. You said you knew, even while we dated … so when did you?”

Ron thought for a moment. They were suddenly treading dangerous waters for him, and he could already feel his eyes water. He managed to compose himself somewhat, before answering. “Well, I've been thinking a lot about that, lately. So many things have taken place since the summer, it forces you to reflect, you know? But I think I realized you felt different about Harry at the onset of our fifth year. That hug, when Harry arrived at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, was more than just friendship. There was … desperation there, something more.”

Hermione blushed, and smiled. “I had missed him so much that summer, I don't know why exactly, but all I could think of was him.”

Ron laughed. “Don't I know it! We were together at Grimmauld Place and you rarely talked about anyone else! And this was right after our Yule ball year, Viktor, and the confusion … between us.”

There was a moment of silence, as they both looked at each other. Hermione realized how deeply she cared for Ron, but at the same time, was saddened by the hurt she knew she had caused him — he had been sincere while they had dated, and she well … hadn't.

Ron put his hand up, and broke the silence. “Don't say it, Hermione! We've been through this already, I'm … I'm fine with you and Harry — I really am. Stop feeling guilty already!”

But deep down, he knew this wasn't entirely true.

He turned to Harry.

“Poor Harry was clueless, though. It was all about Cho Chang that year. It goes to show you, doesn't it: extreme cuteness is one thing, but it doesn't make a relationship work …”

At the mention of the name, Hermione bit her tongue. The sting of Harry's crush for Cho wasn't sufficiently far away in her memory for it not to sting. To this day, Cho refused to talk to her, convinced she had lured Harry away from her.

“Well, I guess we all make mistakes … Besides, how could Harry even guess that I had feelings for him? I wasn't even sure of it myself!”

“Oi … when you two are finished discussing my life, maybe you could get me something to eat … I'm starving over here!”

“HARRY!” Hermione screamed, tears of joy instantly filling her eyes. She jumped on the bed besides him, grabbing his cheeks between her hands. She started kissing him repeatedly, frantically, and then spoke extremely fast. “Oh, Harry, I was so worried, I thought I had done the healing charms properly, but then … Dumbledore told me it was a serious injury, and that more was needed. Mrs. Pomfrey believes I saved your life, but — oh, Harry … I'm so glad to have you back.”

Harry looked at her, and very softly, put his finger on her lips and shushed her. “It's okay, I'm here, calm down! You're going to make Ron want to leave!”

Ron grinned sheepishly. “Mate, you gave us quite a scare there!”

“You two don't know the half of it. I mean, I was in a strange place. I thought, for a moment, that I was dead. I met … Sirius.”

Hermione sat straight up on the bed in a flash. “What?”

Ron's eyes were as wide as could be. “Wow … Do go on, please!”

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

The first budding flowers of spring were starting to find their way through the remaining patches of snow between the thousands of tents on the grounds at Hogwarts. Six months had passed since Harry, Hermione and Ron had barely escaped with their life on the Chudley Quidditch field.

It had been decided, a few weeks after, that most of them would remain in Hogwarts to see the winter through. Ginny had stayed in the coma for two months, and was still fragile from her injuries of the previous October. It was also Dumbledore's impression that Maldemort's bloody war would relent if he knew that more and more wizards were camped out at Hogwarts — a place where he could not touch them. With the help of Lupin and others, the word had been spread that it would be beneficial to all Muggle-born Wizards to install themselves at Hogwarts. The endeavour had been a complete success, and there weren't a whole lot of them left in the outside world — if any — as spring came around, and Maldemort knew it very well.

Harry was unrecognizable. He was terribly frustrated, had been feeling like a caged lion since the beginning of winter, and was constantly in a bad mood. Even his blooming romance with Hermione had taken a heavy toll. He was often harsh with her, and even if he apologized somewhat after every incident, she now kept a certain distance in order to avoid his lashing out.

She had taken back to her old habits of hiding out at the library, where she could find peace and especially — where she wouldn't be the immediate target of Harry's mood swings. It was there that he found her one evening at the beginning of April, after searching for more than one hour for her. The puffiness of her eyes indicated she had been crying.

“Hermione! What are you doing here? I've been looking all over for you!” Harry spat, angry with her.

She couldn't take it anymore, and started crying — without saying a word.

Harry realized he had been harsh. “Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry. Don't cry, please!” he said, on a condescending tone.

“NO! You just … stop being mean to me! I — I thought you really loved me, but these days I feel all you want is to be upset with me.” She looked at the ring on her finger. “Does this mean anything to you, or should I just — give it back?”

Harry suddenly felt like he had been hit by a freight train.

Hermione, sniffing and wiping her eyes, didn't seem to want to stop talking.

“I — I know it's hard being here, Harry. Especially for you. You remind me of Sirius when he was stuck at Number Twelve. But if you don't stop and get a grip on yourself, you're going to make rash and impulsive decisions, and they're going to cost you … to cost us! See what happened to him!”

“Er, Hermione, I understand, I just —”

But suddenly, Hermione did not seem to care about what he had to say. Her face red and puffy from the tears, she picked up her books abruptly, and got up.

“We'll talk later, Harry, okay?” she said in a high-pitched voice. “I'm — I can't really … I'm just too fragile right now …”

She stormed out of the library, leaving him to wonder what he had just done.

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

Harry instinctively felt that this meeting was important for the future. He had never seen Dumbledore look so tired, and so worried. There was talk around the school of launching some kind of counter-attack on Maldemort's army. Some were suggesting the creation of a Wizard's military force, to attempt to bring the war to an end.

The world was in chaos. Most of Western Europe's countries had suffered immensely, and one could have sworn to be back in the era of the Roman Empire's conquests. Towns and villages were in ruins, often still smouldering from their recent destruction. Entire plains, forests and fields had been transformed into desolated battlefields, littered with pockmarks, craters, and the “other” obvious sign of war — corpses. Even if the war had relented over the winter months, thundering roars of fighter jets patrolling above could still be heard, and most people had gone into “safe” places — Red-Cross designated shelters, larger cities, or neutral countries. Switzerland had a very hard time controlling the influx of refugees seeking shelter along their borders. The bravest of people attempted to get in through the Alps, with very little equipment, food or adequate clothing, and though some managed it, most of them died during the journey.

Dumbledore had called this meeting the night before, and a lot of people were in attendance. There had been a call to people outside of the Order of the Phoenix, it seemed, because Harry counted more than a hundred people.

He looked across at Hermione, who was still not really talking to him since the night before. Ironically, he had been looking for her to tell her about this very meeting. She was sitting on the other side of the room, almost directly across from him. Her choice of seating was, without a doubt, deliberate — she didn't want to sit with him. Every time he tried to look at her and catch her eye, she turned away. Ginny was beside her, a consoling arm around her shoulders in sympathy. But contrary to Hermione, she didn't try to avoid Harry's gaze — every chance she got, eyes blazing, she shot him a positively terrifying look of wrath ...

Harry noticed Hermione's eyes were red and bloodshot. She had probably spent the night crying in the girl's dormitories with Ginny, because she hadn't returned to Hagrid's cabin after their argument. Harry was spent himself — he hadn't slept all night, alternating between rage at his own behaviour and unbearable pain at the thought that he might have lost Hermione forever.

The thought sent chills down his spine, and he looked once more towards Hermione. She immediately looked away, but not before Harry registered that she had been looking straight at him.

“What's the matter with you two?” Ron whispered under his breath, noticing the obvious.

“Did you have a fight, or something? You keep looking at her, she keeps looking at you, but you both avoid each other … not to mention you're sitting a whole room across each other!” A faint light of hope dawned in Ron's mind, but he quickly tried to put it away. I have to get over this, Ron thought. Get a grip!

Harry sighed deeply, and Ron understood immediately from Harry's face that he was suffering intensely. “It's all my fault, Ron, I've been … rash, I guess. Mean, even. I haven't felt myself since we've been locked up in here — and I've taken it out on her all winter.”

“Blimey Harry! Again? Man, when are you going to get it through your thick skull? You can be so self-involved sometimes! Poor you, locked up in Hogwarts! Have you ever paused to fathom what she's been through since last summer?”

Harry looked down at the floor in front of him. “Well, yes … of course — but I … it's just that — ”

Despite his own issues with Hermione, Ron was really upset at his friend. There he was, in a relationship that he himself couldn't have with Hermione, and all that seemed to matter was his own little “problems.” His tone remained even as he answered, however. “Harry … she needs you. She needs your love, your understanding, your … patience! She needs to see that despite whatever troubles you're going through, that you will not treat her like you used to treat us!”

“Hem, hem!”

Dumbledore had stopped behind them, apparently trying to start the meeting. They both realized, all of the sudden, that everyone in the room was silent, and was listening in on their conversation.

His face went beet red, but Harry nevertheless risked a glance in Hermione's direction. His heart stopped. She had left, and so had Ginny.

“Is this chair taken?” said a very business-like voice coming from behind him, that Harry recognized at once. The question was more rhetorical than anything else.

“Oh, Hermione!” Harry cried softly as she sat down. He leaned towards her ear, and whispered, “I'm really sorry. You don't deserve the way I've been. I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

In a very Hermion-ish way, she turned to him and said shrilly, “You'd better Harry! I love you so much, but it hurts me when you're like that! I can't stand it. And yet …”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What?”

She looked at him with the most saddening puppy eyes, and said simply, “I just can't be away from you Harry. I love you, and I miss you, and …”

She didn't finish her sentence. Harry just hugged her with all his might, relieved.

Another voice, in a hushed tone, spoke in his other ear. “You act like this again, I'll slap the living daylight out of you, friend or not!”

In the corner of his eyes, Harry was sure he had seen a wave of red hair. When he finally turned around, he saw Ginny sitting besides Ron, arms crossed, and nodding in his direction with a resolute, victorious look on her face.

At that very moment, Dumbledore raised his voice.

“Spring has come, and we face some tough challenges,” he began, carefully surveying the crowd before him. “I believe we can no longer tolerate the present situation — too many innocent people have died, and more will.”

Dumbledore paused and took a deep breath. “I have collected different pieces of information from which I plotted a probable location for Maldemort's headquarters. Hence, I am here to call for volunteers to go and take down —”

At once, all the hands in the room shot up in the air, and people started shouting enthusiastically.

Grinning, Albus Dumbledore realized there would be no need to go further.

Harry looked at Ron and Ginny, then at Hermione. It was obvious, from the resolute expression on their face, that they would all be going.

Dumbledore smiled, and said softly. “All right then, we have our team. We will reconvene tomorrow evening, to divide the group into task forces, and assign the missions. If everything goes according to plan, the world should be safe again soon!”

-->

HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

(WARNING: THIS IS A PRE-HBP STORY … THE READER MUST NOT TAKE INTO ACCOUNT THE NEW DEVELOPMENTS OF HBP TO APPRECIATE THE STORY.)

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.</i>

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This one's been long in coming, and I apologize! I had to shift some priorities in the last few months, and found myself with very little time to pursue this endeavour. I also must admit that after reading HBP, I found myself somewhat saddened… If it had been me, I would have kept some suspense for the last book in regards to the ships. Oh well! But I'm back now, to finish this story, I'm hoping sooner than later!

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CHAPTER 15

DRACO'S REDEMPTION

It was cold, dark and damp as Hermione looked up to the path ahead of her. Despite the reassuring fact that their team was well honed, and had seen battle before — Harry was leading, and most of their group had been involved either with the DA a few years back, or the most recent events — it was still a highly dangerous mission. The mostly frightening thing was the unfamiliarity of the terrain. They had been walking for days now, and had reached the famed mountains of Serbia, where they would be continuing their mission for at least another week or so. The incessant cloud cover kept the forest in darkness, or semi-light at best; the thick humidity made you sweat quickly, even though it was treacherously cold at these altitudes. For sure, it wasn't a journey for the faint-hearted.

Hermione's team had been sent on the lead mission right after that spring evening at Hogwart's. They were following Draco Malfoy, who had very imprudently emerged from hiding following his last encounter with Hermione. He had been spotted by informants throughout a journey that had led him to these very mountains, and since he had left a pool of his blood in Hagrid's cabin, Dumbledore had been able to concoct a complex charm that allowed for his location to be plotted on a map of the country — a more advanced version, of sorts, of the Marauder's map that had been so useful to Harry and his friends during their school days. Draco, not the most talented of wizards, had failed to protect himself from such charms, and so far the team had had no difficulty following him from a distance.

Hermione smiled as she walked, thinking of the genius that resided in Dumbledore. In an era when science was working to develop sophisticated GPS devices that could still fail or break down, a well-performed charm could prove so much more effective.

She squinted, trying hard to locate Ron, who was walking ahead of her. They were keeping about ten meters between each other in order to have manoeuvering room to react if they were surprised by an attack. She finally spotted the red hair between two trees, about twelve meters above her on the path.

“I'm slowing down, come on!” she muttered to herself, trying to ignore the pain in her calves and thighs. They had been walking for hours, and Harry had insisted on not stopping before they could profit from cover of night fall to take a much-needed rest — but that was still two hours away.

She picked up the pace somewhat, and within a few minutes was back within the prescribed distance.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she caught up with Ron who had turned and started climbing a steep incline, littered with huge rocks and boulder, towards a dark, cave-like enclosure carved directly at the base of a rock wall. That face of the mountain had to be at least five hundred meter high, and was crowned at its top by more forest. It was a place where they could spend the night safely, and situated in such a way that a vigil posted near the entrance of the cave could see anyone coming from at least fifty meters.

Hermione reached the cave, panting and sweating profusely under her thick mountain jacket.

Ron extended his hand to help her up the last boulder of rock. “Tired, are you?” He laughed, himself showing signs of exhaustion.

“Yeah,” she replied, out of breath and leaning both hands on her knees, trying to breathe properly. “The leader of this team is a maniac, I tell you!” As she said it with a smile, Harry emerged from the cave.

She looked up at him, smiling. “You're crazy, Harry Potter! You're going to kill us before we even have a chance to snuff it at the hand of dark wizards …”

He winked at her, and gave her a warm hug and a kiss after Ron had let go of her hand. “I know, I know. I'm tired myself … but I want to put all the odds in our favour. Making stops in these forests is reputedly dangerous, ask the locals!”

“By locals, you mean … trolls? Giants? Werewolves, perhaps?” Hermione laughed heartily, well aware of the mountains' sinister reputation.

Harry buried his face in her hair, and she shivered at the warmth of his breath near her ear.

He whispered, answering her question. “Yeah, something like that! But more seriously, I wouldn't want you to fall in the wrong hands …”

She suddenly drew back, and looked at him with a grave look on her face. “But Harry! You've put me as the rear guard! How safe is that, then?”

Harry smirked. “Well, a study of the path we're following shows that the best way to ambush someone is to attack the lead, or the flanks — anything coming from the rear is too easy to spot or hear. So in fact, I've put you at the safest place!”

Ginny suddenly emerged from the cave's entrance, already impossible to spot with the coming nightfall.

“Come on, guys! We're hungry in here, and we need all of you in before we start a fire!”

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

The glacial wind swept the thick, bushy mane of brown hair of the vigil sitting on top of a huge boulder, slightly to the right of the cave's entrance. It was an ideal watching post: from it, she could see at least fifty meters down, and the rock face seemed to absorb and cast sufficient `natural' light, even in sheer darkness, to permit sighting clearly if someone — or something — was trying to make its way up to their refuge.

Hermione had insisted on taking a turn at the watch post, despite Harry's vehement protests that she stay safely inside with the others. She had been at it for nearly three hours now, and had enjoyed it. But now, she was starting to get cold, and her body was fighting the shivers that kept running up and down her spine.

The truth was she had wanted to be by herself to think. She hadn't really been able to sleep in days, increasingly obsessed by Dumbledore had said a few months back about her being some kind of “chosen one”.

Dumbledore had revealed, as he had explained the Old Rule to them, that a part of the rule prophesied that one Muggle-born wizard, born of the 1000^th generation following the actual writing of it, would manage to bring forth a relationship of love so strong that it would insure the survival of the Rule for a very long time afterwards … And by way of consequence, the Wizarding World would continue to be safe and would remain in existence. Dumbledore had then explained that he had thought, for the longest time, that this person had been Lily Potter — whose love for her son, Harry, had been so strong that it had managed to stomp Voldemort himself.

However, Dumbledore had continued by saying he had now become convinced that she —Hermione Granger — was the one that came closest, so far, to fulfilling the prophecy.

“But how in the world could my love for Harry change the world? It's so … complicated.”

Hermione mused out loud, weighing the exact meaning of the whole thing. When Dumbledore had broached the subject, she had been going through a lot of emotions simultaneously and had been recovering from severe injuries; hence, she hadn't given the subject much thought at the time. But since they had left for this journey, and this dangerous assignment, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

“The chosen one … Yeah, I've been chosen this year, for sure!” she said sarcastically, with rising anger in her heart.

She sighed heavily, and suddenly felt the tremendous weight of the burden on her shoulders. Since the previous summer, she had been at the heart of a war directed towards Muggle-borns. And so far, the people that she cared about had suffered, and died. Her parents had been killed … Viktor Krum had been savagely murdered … Neville Longbottom had given his life to save her … Even Ginny, her best girl-friend, had been severely injured, barely escaping with her life. She herself had been captured and beaten, and then attacked in her own home at Hogwarts. And now, it seemed the only logical target to go after — besides her — was Harry himself.

She felt new tears of despair well up inside her. She felt weary, sad and exhausted, and yet she knew she couldn't afford to fall apart. But a deep fear, a profound source of worry, was constantly with her, and she definitely couldn't shake it off.

A simple thought suddenly dawned on her with shattering force.

As puzzling as what Dumbledore had told them that evening, it didn't even start to come close to what was truly troubling her …

In fact, it was very simple. At the heart of her worries was her passionate, but complicated, relationship with their leader — Harry Potter. She routinely grabbed, gently, the pearl necklace that she always wore — a present from Harry, the year before, to apologize for being very hurtful towards her. Ironically, they had disclosed their love towards each other just a few weeks after the incident. She had then said yes to his incredibly romantic marriage proposal, but there was no denying that he scared her, sometimes, with his antics.

She desperately loved him; she had been lovestruck for Harry for seven long years, in secret — but she was increasingly convinced that his luck would somehow run out someday, and that ominous reality terrified her. She often woke up in the middle of the night in cold sweats and wet with tears, unsure whether Harry had died in her nightmare or in real life. And yet, she couldn't imagine herself without having Harry in her life. It was a dilemma that she didn't quite know how to face. Tears streamed down her cheek as she thought of her alternatives — to love him, and risk having her heart ripped apart on the day that he died at the hand of his enemies; or she could take the loss now, and end their relationship — and lose the friend and confidant that had meant more to her so far than anybody else in the whole world.

And now … there was a new problem. She could sense that Ron, although he had been a good sport about her and Harry's relationship it in the beginning, was becoming more and more frustrated and jealous of it. He had become overly - and dangerously - affectionate with her, more than usual, and didn't hesitate to berate Harry about everything and anything in front of her …

She didn't quite know what to do with Ron … She had thought the matter settled, but apparently, it wasn't. Perhaps the urgency of their situation, the life and death nature of their every choice in the last year had made Ron realized his true feelings.

“Poor Ron, I never meant for this to happen!” She cried silently, sad for her friend, and feeling guilty. She had dated Ron during their sixth year of school, convinced it was a more logical choice for her. Ron had been delighted, but she had quickly realized that although she cared deeply for Ron, she didn't really love him.

It had been her first conscious realization that she was in love with Harry Potter, and that it could never be anything else.

She lost herself looking towards the horizon, trying to embrace the majestic beauty of the icy night spectacle. It was eerie. The mountains themselves seemed to produce some kind of diffuse light, which apparently emanated a phosphorus component within the rock itself; it made the entire forest aglow with a faint, greenish hue.

“What's this?” she whispered, her full attention suddenly turning back towards the forest below and a tiny spot of dancing light deep between the trees, about a kilometre from the cave they were staying in.

She reached for the pair of old-fashioned night-vision binoculars that were laid just beside her. She searched for a moment, adjusted her focus, and sighed with relief.

It was a small campfire. She could see moving shadows around it, but she wasn't close enough to make a face.

“Draco is so incredibly stupid,” she told herself. “He has no idea anyone is following him.”

A voice came from behind her. “Malfoy has always been a git, don't you remember?”

Startled, Hermione turned around and came face to face with Ron.

“Gosh, you scared me a little … I didn't hear you come up the boulder. Please don't do that!”

Ron sat down beside her, very close to her in fact.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm here to relieve you from your sentry duty … So how's my favourite girl doing?”

There was something in Ron's tone that made her blush, but not in a positive way. She was suddenly grateful for the darkness, and for the wind that kept bringing her hair in her face …

She tried to hide her uneasiness by speaking matter-of-factly. “I'm fine, Ron. In fact, you're just in time: I'm starting to get a bit cold, and I think it's time for me to go in. Keep an eye on that spot over there”, she said extending her arm and pointing her finger. “I'm pretty sure Draco is over there camping for the night. But we should get going as soon as he leaves …”

She turned back to face Ron, and almost touched his face with her own. There was blazing intensity in his eyes, and he slowly put his arm around her. Hermione froze — she didn't quite know how to react. Closing her eyes, she tried to think as quickly as she could.

She opened her eyes and made to talk, but it was too late.

In an instant everything changed. Ron covered her lips with his, and started to kiss her softly. The kiss itself wasn't unpleasant to Hermione, but she couldn't ignore the wave of anger and hurt that overtook her all at once. She jerked back, pushing him away hard enough that he had to put one hand down to avoid falling off the rock.

“RON! What are you doing? How dare you?!” It was more a reflex than a calculated gesture, but her hand immediately slapped Ron's left cheek. He remained motionless, and stared at her with a hollow look, apparently realizing what he had just done.

Tears were not running down Hermione's cheeks. “I can't believe you did this!”

She tumbled down the boulder as fast as she could, and made her way towards the entrance of the cave, looking over her shoulder to see if Ron was following. But as she turned her head back in the direction where she was headed, she felt herself hitting a wall and had the distinct impression that her head had just exploded. Everything faded and went black around her, and she lost consciousness.

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

“So… They're coming here for sure?”

“Yes, Lord, the plan I set in motion is working perfectly … I think Draco may have redeemed himself. Dumbledore is such a fool! He thought I would never detect the localisation charm that he put on Draco … And it would have worked, if Draco hadn't contacted me immediately following after his injury. But when I met with him, I `smelled' the charm on him right away”

Maldemort looked at Karkaroff with disdain. “Ah yes … the injury he suffered at the hand of the Granger girl, on top of all! That boy is a continual disappointment, and -”

Karkaroff interjected. “Don't forget! She is quite an accomplished witch! And also, don't forget her special … `powers'. I would consider her very dangerous actually.”

Maldemort smiled faintly. “Do you really believe that fable, Igor? I only have one book in my possession that talks about it, and its author is quite … unreliable, to say the least!” He pointed at a light brown leather-bound book laid open on his work table. Amongst the old, black magic grimoires, it undeniably stood out and seemed out of place.

Karkaroff's tone changed to one of warning. “Dumbledore believes it! I pray, Master, that you don't underestimate him! It was the downfall of your predecessor, you know!”

Ignoring Maldemort's fury at this remark, Karkaroff continued. “Why do you think she has eluded capture to this day? Why is Potter so strong around her? Why is Potter STILL alive, after almost eight years with her at his side? Where do you think his incredible `luck' comes from? She IS the chosen one, I assure you … And so far, she has done everything that had been foretold - by allying herself with Potter, and `loving' him, she made sure that they would both be very hard to bring down! And look at what Potter has done already: he brought down Voldemort! No one had ever been close to touching him, but Potter brought him down. He brought you down, Master, once! We can't let it happen again!”

Maldemort got up swiftly, and started pacing the room. “SHUT UP! That fable is nothing but lies. The only reason that Potter had the upper hand was MY stupid mistake. Believe me it won't happen again!”

Karkaroff's words, however, seemed to have had a profound impact.

Maldemort turned again towards Karkaroff, agitated. “You're sure they're all following Draco?” He had spoken the words with some apprehension.

“Yes, Dark Lord, they're walking right into a trap.”

At that very moment, a low, bell-like sound resonated all over the cave, and Maldemort quickly looked up at Karkaroff, a look of worry increasingly perceptible on his face.

“Someone has just given the secret signal to open the door of this lair! I am not expecting anyone until tomorrow! Have you been followed, Igor? Have you disclosed the location of these headquarters to anyone?”

Karkaroff shrugged his shoulders and shook his head negatively, and turned around towards the entrance hall.

A young boy with long, greasy black hair was standing in front of the door, apparently awestruck at the scenery around him. He was dirty, and seemed to have been travelling for days. But the most interesting part about him was the body he was carrying. As he laid it down on the cold, stone floor, a thick mane of bushy, brown, discheveled hair came out from the hood of the mountain jacket that the apparent victim was wearing.

“Thomas Winslow!” Maldemort shrieked, running to greet him. “I had heard that you were quite the wizard, but this … this is spectacular!”

Winslow quickly bowed to the dark wizard, and spoke. “I apologize, Master. I know I was expected tomorrow, but I came across — let's call it … a golden opportunity — and I knew I had to get here as soon as I could.”

Maldemort looked down with glee at Hermione Granger, who was still unconscious on the floor, with a huge, bloody bump protruding from her right temple. She was breathing, but her face seemed to show she was experiencing some pain.

“You did well, Thomas. Very well, indeed! You will be rewarded for this.”

Maldemort then looked up towards Karkaroff with an air of smug triumph. “I guess even chosen ones meet their match at some time …”

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

Harry was staring in disbelief at the reddish brown spatter of liquid on the ground near the entrance of the cave. It was unmistakable: the fluid was blood … Hermione's blood. A few strands of curly, wavy brown hair were glued to it, and by the looks of it, she had suffered some kind of injury to her head.

“I don't know what happened, mate …” Ron was avoiding Harry's gaze since he had come into the cave screaming that Hermione had disappeared.

He continued, on a hushed tone. “We were both up on the boulder, chatting … and then, she climbed down to get back to the cave … I was settling in my watch position when I heard some shuffling below. That's when I saw a shadow disappear into the woods further down the hill.”

Harry took it in, but something was off. His instincts were telling him that something else had gone on, something that Ron was trying to hide.

“Maybe she fell down, and maybe an animal took her, I -”

“STOP! Just stop, Ron! What did you do? What happened?”

At these words, Ron's face turned a deep shade of puce. “Nothing, Harry! How dare you?” he said defensively, trying to convey a sense of having been offended. His eyes, however, were still shifty, avoiding Harry's at all costs.

“LOOK at me, Ron! I know you still love her!” Harry paused, and added slowly, more deliberately, “I know you're still … IN love with her …”

Ron's jaw dropped, and a look of genuine shame suddenly overtook Ron's face. He looked up at Harry. Tears seemed to be welling in his eyes.

“So what happened, Ron? Her life may depend on it, please! And the truth, please!” Harry was trying to remain calm, while bracing himself for anything.

“I … I … I may have tried to ki - kiss her! I got caught in the moment, I lost my head! But she slapped me Harry, she loves you! And —”

Harry felt his insides ignite with fury. He controlled himself as best as he could, but spoke between his teeth. “Congratulations, Ron. Really! It may very well be that your `behaviour' caught her off guard so much that she will now have to pay for it with her life …”

Harry turned around, and headed for the woods. He wasn't thinking clearly yet, but he had to get moving quickly. Jogging away, he looked at the entrance of the cave, where Ginny was standing, in tears, apparently dumbfounded at the news that had just hit her.

“I need you, Ginny, and two others!” Harry didn't even turn around as he yelled, “and not you, Ron …”

Harry's anger was quickly turning to pain, and heartache. Hermione meant more to him now than anything else in the whole world. She had always been an amazing friend, but now, she had become his strength, his inspiration and he couldn't fathom one more day without her. The last months had been trying, but he knew perfectly well that without her, there was just no reason to go on …

Losing her meant that he would, slowly but surely, lose himself.

He suddenly turned around, and looked at Ron, who hadn't moved. He looked aghast in despair and shame.

“Ron, this is no time to become soft-hearted. We'll sort everything later, but now, I need you to lead the rest of the team in pursuit of Draco, exactly as planned. I'll make sure to get back to you guys later.”

Ron snapped out of his torpor, and nodded. As Harry turned around, he saw from the corner of his eyes that he was running to the cave.

“Come on”, Harry yelled to Ginny, who was running towards him with Angelina Johnson and Dean Thomas. “We must move quickly! Look right over there, the `kidnapper' left his footsteps on the wet soil.”

Harry was beside himself. Right near the fresh footsteps on the wet soil were more drops of blood …

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

Painfully, Hermione opened her eyes. She could hear and feel her heart beating inside her head, resonating like a drum, and a strong throbbing pain near her right temple. She brought her hand up to her head, and winced as she felt the huge, golf-ball sized bruise. She then looked around her, and was gripped with surprise — and fear.

She was lying on a rudimentary bed, in what appeared to be some kind of cave. The cave, however, was inhabited for sure, and somewhat decorated. There were bookshelves, carved directly in the rock itself, on one side of the enclosure. The lighting was low and greenish, and the whole place was ominously terrifying. There were dark green tapestries on yet another wall, reminiscent of the Slytherin colours at school.

She turned around and held back a scream.

“Good morning, Miss Granger! I hope you've had a … restful night?”

Hermione felt a wave of terror invade her body at the sight of the man standing at the side of her bed, who still bore a resemblance to Lucius Malfoy, but with some very nasty snakelike features. She understood immediately that his had to be Maldemort himself.

“You! What … How — how did I get here?” She was trying real hard to maintain her composure, and to conceal the fact that she was ridden with fear.

“Well, Miss Granger, I have allies everywhere, you see. Our young friend, over there, brought you!”

Thomas Winslow came out of the shadows, a triumphant air of glee about him. “Hello, professor Granger! Interesting circumstances for meeting again, wouldn't you say?”

Despite her precarious position, and the pain she was feeling, Hermione stood right up. “YOU! I knew there was something evil in you! I was right to warn Dumbledore about you! No wonder you've managed to lower yourself to serving this filthy, laughable being. You should —”

“Be CAREFUL, Miss Granger! You're certainly in no position to insult me!” Maldemort seemed amused, but the severe expression on his face left no doubt that she wasn't to mess around with him.

Maldemort continued, suddenly interested and motivated. “In fact, Miss Granger, let us show you that we mean business. Thomas? Would you oblige?”

“Crucio!” Winslow's voice was the last thing Hermione heard before the curse struck.

She was thrown to the floor, as by an invisible hand, where all of the sudden she was overtaken by pain beyond anything she had ever felt — or could ever imagine. It seemed that multiple sharp hooks were ripping through her navel, trying to extricate the inside of her belly … her head had apparently been set on fire, and was burning in a torching inferno … but she knew, somehow, that there was no fire. She also felt like each one of her limbs was being pulled by horses, to the point of being ripped away from her body. And all this, at the same time.

No matter how Harry had tried to explain to her how the Cruciatus curse felt, she had never grasped it — until now.

She tried to scream but couldn't. Her body was convulsing, and she started feeling strangely distant, as if she was no longer associated with the pain, or with the unfortunate rag doll of a girl withering on the cold stone floor.

It dawned on her. She was about to die. How in the world had Harry managed to defeat such a horrible curse?

She thought of Harry … she remembered the fact that she had seen him for the last time the night before. Had she been distant with him? No, but the moment had not been really special either.

The hooks where rummaging in her stomach area now. The pain was eating away at her ability to breathe, to think. A cold, black fog suddenly enveloped her, smothering her from all sides. She was slowly being submerged by a wave of icy, cold shivers. There it was: soon, she would be crossing over. Maybe, she thought, it was better this way?

An unbearable sadness came over her. NO! She couldn't leave him. Not now, anyway.

All of the sudden, she felt yanked back violently into her body. In a flash, the pain itself was gone. She was still aching, however, all over her bruised body. She opened her eyes, panting, and coughed uncontrollably for almost a minute. A wave of nausea came over her, and she threw up on the floor, around the same time she started shivering. Finally, she looked up to see Thomas Winslow looking at her, a sardonic smile across his face. He threw her a wool blanket, which she reluctantly wrapped around herself, still trembling like a leaf.

“So? How did you like that?” Maldemort was grinning gleefully from ear to ear, like a child in a candy store.

Hermione was at a loss for words. She felt like screaming at them, but didn't have any energy left. When she finally did speak, it was barely a whisper. It did translate, however, her rage.

“We will get you both for this … for everything!”

Maldemort came inches from her face, breathing hard, and reeking of a foul smell. “Bold words, wouldn't you say? Especially when your beloved isn't anywhere around to come to your rescue … in fact, not only is he far, but he is right about to walk into a trap!”

At these words, Hermione panicked and felt her heart constrict. She had to do something. She tried to bluff to gain time.

She smiled as charmingly as she could. “If you think Harry doesn't know about your scheme, you've got something else coming!”

Maldemort's upper lip twitched very briefly. It was enough for Hermione to know that she had hit something.

Maldemort quickly hid his uneasiness. “Nice try, Miss Granger. You trying to bluff is endearing, but it won't work.

Hermione's mind was working furiously. She knew Dumbledore had put a charm on Draco so that they could follow him, but if they — as Maldemort had so aptly said — had been walking towards a trap all along, it probably meant that someone on Maldemort's side had found out. She decided to explore that angle.

Still feeling the impact of the pain, she nevertheless acted as smug as she could. “Well, if you want to take that chance, that's fine. But do you honestly think that Harry is stupid enough to trust his whole plan on someone as clueless as Draco Malfoy? From the start, we figured out …”

Hermione took a deep breath. If her bluff was going to work, this was it.

“… we figured out that someone else knew about the charm. So following him was one part — designed to fool you — but as for the rest of the plan, you've got —”

Her bluff had hit dead centre.

Maldemort's face had begun twisting in rage. He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her violently from the floor, and brought her face about an inch from his. She was faced, once again, with the smell his breath, and felt its putrid warmth on her lips and cheeks. Her nausea quickly came back to the surface, but with supreme concentration, she managed to refrain herself from throwing up again.

“YOU LITTLE BITCH! DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING TO LIE THERE, AND MAKE A FOOL OF ME? You will TELL me what the plan is, or I will get it out of you - no matter the amount of pain, torture, or degradation I have to put you through … In fact, now that I think about it, Draco seemed quite fond of you, girl … I could certainly arrange for an `intimate' evening between the both of you, if that's what it takes!”

“NO! NO! Anything but that, please!” Hermione was improvising as she went along, but she was frantically trying to remain believable. A wild idea then struck her.

She looked at Maldemort with a pleading face, trying as much as she could to appear bitter and very sad.

“Please don't do that, Sir. I — I — I dislike Draco very much, and even if things are not going so well with Harry, it would be the death of me if I were to engage into —”

Maldemort fell right into the trap she had laid for him, convinced he saw an opportunity in what she had just said.

“Interesting comment, Miss Granger … So Harry Potter is NOT all that he's cracked up to be after all?”

Hermione broke down in sobs, continuing to play her game with Maldemort.

“Oh no, Sir, no! He can be so cruel, and mean, and inconsiderate … I wonder sometimes what I ever saw in him!”

She stood up straight, in a flash, and put on a mortified face, bringing both her hands to her face to cover her mouth.

She spoke on a very hushed tone, trying to look as tormented as she could, and as if she had just been tricked into revealing more than she was supposed to. “Oh, but what am I telling you? This is none of your business! You … you want to kill him, and your son tried to kill me!”

But her gamble had been successful. She had convinced her enemy that she was nothing more than an unstable, emotionally driven girl who could be influenced and deceived into believing anything.

Maldemort became much softer. “Well, Miss Granger, I am a reasonable dark wizard … Potter, after all, is not the real person I'm after, you see. It is Dumbledore I really want. Always did.”

He paused for effect, looking straight into Hermione's eyes. She was concentrating real hard to keep her mind closed, in order not to be read. She had become, over the last couple of years, an accomplished Occlumens.

“Just tell me where Potter is headed, and I promise you I won't kill him.”

Hermione did her best to appear totally distraught over an impossible choice.

With a high-pitched, sob-interrupted voice, she pleaded. “You promise you will keep him alive?”

A victorious Maldemort looked down at her, and with a condescending voice, spat, “I promise you, Miss Granger, that you can have Potter all to yourself after all this is done …”

Hermione sighed, and spoke in a barely audible fashion. “Harry is gathering troops in a clearing about two kilometers from here. From that spot, he plans to launch a guerrilla attack on these headquarters. He has a group of about fifteen highly-skilled wizards — including Dumbledore — to back him up.”

Maldemort lifted an eyebrow. “Only fifteen?”

Hermione looked down on the floor before she answered. “Yes, Harry was convinced it was enough …”

“It figures! Potter always thought himself better than everyone else. Oh well! He'll just be easier to neutralize, I guess.”

Hermione could hardly believe her incredible luck. She couldn't believe the fact that Maldemort had swallowed the whole story.

“THOMAS! COME HERE!”

Winslow appeared from the back of the room, where he had apparently been perusing some books.

Maldemort spoke with glee. “Change of plans! Thanks to Miss Granger here, I now know where Potter is going, so I'll go wait for him there with the Death Eaters. You stay here and keep this foolish girl here under surveillance.”

Winslow replied, offended. “But Sir! I want to fight too! Why do I have to stay here and … baby-sit?”

Maldemort's laughter exploded throughout the cave. “Baby-sit! That's a good one, Thomas! Your hour of glory will come, boy, but I need someone trustworthy to make sure she doesn't attempt anything foolish. I think you're the best-suited candidate for the job.”

Winslow said some unintelligible words under his breath, and forcefully pushed Hermione towards the back area of the cave, where shackles hung on the rock wall. After tying her solidly, he went back to the corner where he had previously been, looking through some dark magic books and scrolls. Hermione could still see him very well, so there was no hope of trying to escape him.

She let out a deep breath. She had to hope, now, that Harry would get to the lair much faster than it would take Maldemort to figure out he'd been duped. She dared not think about what would happen to her if — or rather, when — Maldemort found out about the fable she had just fed him.

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

Harry abruptly signalled the people accompanying him to stop, causing Ginny to almost crash head first into him.

He had to think. Whoever had captured Hermione had not bothered to cover their tracks, a fact that seemed extremely odd to Harry. His instincts were telling him not to pursue his course, that he may just be walking right into a trap. His heart, however, kept urging him to go and find Hermione.

“What's the plan now, Harry?” Ginny was trying to catch her breath. They had been running for the last twenty minutes. Angelina and Dean caught up a few seconds later.

“Something is wrong, Ginny, I can sense it.”

Ginny looked at him with fear in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Harry pointed at the clear, unmistakable footprints on the soft, humid forest soil.

He then looked at Ginny. “Let's say you wanted to capture Hermione and disappear, what would you do?”

Ginny, looking puzzled, opened her mouth to anwer. “Well I —”

Harry cut her off, not really listening. “Exactly! You would have made sure to apparate, or at least to erase your tracks. But this kidnapper didn't bother. It's as if he wants to be found, it's like … we're being led right into a trap.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, it would be the first thing I would think about if I didn't want to be followed or found.”

Harry made to talk, but was unexpectedly interrupted by a majestic-looking snowy owl swooping down between the trees, and heading straight for him. After an elegant turn, the stunning bird landed softly on Harry's shoulder.

“Hedwig?! What are you doing here? I thought I told you … you're not supposed to come, you're too recognizable!”

The owl clicked her beak in disapproval, and lifted her leg to show the small scroll attached to it. Harry took it immediately, worried. Hedwig had been in his office at Hogwarts, and the only person who was allowed to send her — and to whom she would listen to anyways — was Albus Dumbledore himself.

Something was certainly going extremely wrong if the Headmaster himself was sending Hedwig, a very distinctive owl, to Harry.

He immediately recognized Albus Dumbledore's handwriting.

HARRY: HERMIONE IS BEING HELD AT MALDEMORT'S HEADQUARTERS, WHICH ARE ABOUT ONE KILOMETER SOUTH-EAST OF WHERE YOU ARE PRESENTLY. TAP FIVE TIMES ON THE TREE EXACTLY TO THE RIGHT OF THE DOOR OF WHAT WILL LOOK LIKE AN ABANDONED HOUSE BUILT RIGHT AGAINST THE ROCK FACE. MALDEMORT HAS LEFT AND SHE IS ALONE. GET THERE AS SOON AS YOU CAN, AND GET HER OUT. I WILL FIND YOU ONCE YOU HAVE HER IN A SAFE PLACE.

A.D.

For one small moment, Harry wondered how it was possible for Dumbledore to know where they were, and where Hermione was. It had been barely an hour since her disappearance, and yet, Dumbledore seemed to be, as always, ten steps ahead of him. But accepting this fact, Harry immediately looked at his companions, and started walking. “Let's go, we have to get there as soon as we can!”

Angelina grabbed his arm and held him back. “But Harry! How can you be sure this was in fact sent by Dumbledore?”

Harry looked at her with impatience. “Only Dumbledore can tell Hedwig what to do. And there is a code I recognize in the writing that tells me it's from Dumbledore. So come on, we have to move!”

Harry bolted away from them, and looked at his watch, that doubled as a compass. He cut right into the woods to his right, and the four of them trudged through thick branches, having to wrestle with a very treacherous terrain. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Harry and Ginny emerged in front of the old house Dumbledore had talked about — bruised, scratched and bleeding slightly, but both in one piece. The house was so derelict that you could be sure it hadn't been inhabited in centuries.

Angelina arrived just after them, panting and sweating. “Gosh, Harry! What a trek! We're finally here, I see …”

Harry replied slowly. “Yeah, I guess this is it.”

Dean emerged from the woods at that very moment. He stopped cold when he saw the house.

“Wow … I don't think this could ever be suspected as being anything else than rubbish, wouldn't you say, Harry?”

“Well, that is the point, isn't it? Concealment, I mean.” Harry started to proceed towards the door, glancing left and right to make sure they were alone in the area. Despite Dumbledore's message, Harry had the distinct impression he wasn't at all in control of the situation.

Harry, cautiously, took out his wand and tapped five times on the old fir tree that stood besides the door, and that even seemed to be holding the house together. Nothing happened at first.

Then, slowly, with a deep rumbling sound, the earth started to shake and shift, right in front of the door. It was actually disappearing, as if being sucked down from underneath. After a few minutes, a gaping, dark opening bigger than the door itself had appeared right at its foot. Harry approached it with hesitation, and moved his wand forward.

“Lumos,” he murmured. The light from his wand revealed a flight of stone steps descending towards the dark bowels of the mountain that stood in front of them.

He looked back at his comrades. “I'll go with Ginny … Angelina and Dean, you stay here and keep watch. If something happens, send your Patronuses with a message. I'll know to get out as soon as I can.

“All right, Harry. But be careful, we need you!” Angelina smiled at him. Harry smiled back, remembering his tough Quidditch captain of a few years before, and how she had had to win the Cup without him.

“I'll try to remember that!”

Harry then turned to Ginny. “Are you ready?”

Trembling, still shaken by the whole ordeal, Ginny nodded. Harry, leading the way, descended the first steps, and eerily disappeared within the darkness. Ginny followed, not quite sure what they would encounter at the other end.

-->

HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE

(WARNING: THIS IS A PRE-HBP STORY … THE READER MUST NOT TAKE INTO ACCOUNT THE NEW DEVELOPMENTS OF HBP TO APPRECIATE THE STORY.)

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

CHAPTER 16

ODE TO FALLEN WARRIORS

Albus Dumbledore looked grave as Hermione saw him approach. He was taking each step with resolve, and yet his head was slightly bent forward, his gaze definitely focusing on the ground a few feet in front of him —Â his piercing blue eyes purposely remaining lower than hers … Had the Headmaster ever failed to look at her in the eye before? Something was wrong. She tried to get her hands back to the front of her, but sadly remembered that they were shackled to the rock wall to which she had been pinned for hours.

But how? How had Dumbledore managed to find her? And more pressingly, what about …

She brushed the question aside to warn him. `Professor! Thomas Winslow, he's in here, quick!'

Dumbledore stopped his measured pace. For the first time, the old man looked up at her, smiling faintly, but not out of joy. This smile showed he was relieved to find her, but there was sadness in it.

`Don't worry, dear Hermione. No one will stop me. It's all … over.'

Her Headmaster calling her by her first name had been a rare occurrence, and there was undeniable defeat in his voice. Something was definitely wrong. What exactly had he meant by `over'?

A violent, piercing, breathtaking jab of pain suddenly lashed at her, striking her right through the chest. She immediately felt nauseous, and sensed her heart accelerating —Â much too quickly, she thought. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she suddenly found herself gasping for air.

Harry! Something had happened to Harry!

Before this moment, Hermione had no idea she could feel this horrible. Her worst fear had finally come true! Dumbledore was about to admit to her that the man she loved, the one she had agonized over for most of her teenage and young adult life, was gone for good. His penetrating, glittering green eyes would never look into hers again. She would never again try to untidy his messy hair. She would never feel his long, powerful arms around her. The tears came instantly, and before long her face was wet with tears and she had a very hard time containing her increasingly uncontrollable sobs.

`Miss Granger', Dumbledore continued, `I know you're an intelligent woman, so I'll go straight to the point. I'm afraid I have some disturbing news …'

The Headmaster's voice was now barely a whisper. Glancing up over his shoulder, she saw the full tragedy of their situation coming to life right before her eyes. Three men had just entered the cave behind Dumbledore, and were walking towards the both of them, smiling triumphantly: Lord Maldemort, Igor Karkaroff, and Thomas Winslow. The unholy triumvirate representing evil itself. They all held their wands at chest height, keeping them voluntarily pointed at the back of the wise, old leader that stood in front of her.

She tried to talk, but her mouth and throat had become incredibly parched. It was Dumbledore who sympathetically uttered the next word.

`We've been betrayed. Someone in our midst tipped off Winslow, and he and his kronies ambushed Harry and his team in the forest. It was … quick, cruel, and … bloody, from what I saw when I arrived. I don't think anyone saw anything coming before it was too late. It was nothing short of a massacre. All team members were mercilessly slaughtered like dogs. Including —'

Albus Dumbledore paused, tears now streaming down his own wrinkled and tired cheeks. For the first time, the Headmaster looked … very old, and weary of living.

Hermione herself started shaking violently, no longer able to hold her sobs. Her legs gave way from under her, but since she was shackled, she collapsed —Â and found herself ridiculously hanging from her chains, her feet desperately moving to try to regain some kind of solid footing.

Albus Dumbledore straightened up, trying to convey a sense of what this moment represented —Â the abrupt end, the sad conclusion, of what had amounted to a new era.

`Harry fought with all his strength and skill. But in the end, he was greatly outnumbered. They … they killed him too.'

Hermione closed her eyes, and winced real hard, convinced that if she could just hold it long enough, if she just wished it away hard enough, then everything would go away.

But of course, it couldn't.

`NNN-NNNN-NOOOOOOO!' The shriek of desperation that came out of Hermione Granger was the truest expression of the uttermost despair that could possibly be felt by a human being. It was a scream of agony, of someone who had just been placed in the most painful and deadly situation against their will, without any chance of doing anything about it.

The scream echoed against the walls of the deserted cave. In a flash, Hermione opened her eyes. Dumbledore was gone, and so were Karkaroff, Maldemort and Winslow.

She was … alone.

Shivering and gasping for breath, Hermione looked frantically around her … Seeing no one, she tried to shake off the blurriness of her vision after shedding so many tears, but nothing changed.

She instantly melted inside and exactly then, a wave of overwhelming relief washed over her, over and over again, as she slowly took in the fact that she had just awoken from one of the worst nightmare of her life.

`Oh my! A DREAM! It was just a dream … just a dream! Oh, Harry, please get here soon, I can't take this anymore!'

Her lips and mouth were dry, and her aching muscles were starting to cramp. In the predicament she was in, it didn't help making her more comfortable. Trying to cope with the discomfort, she bit her lip and tears came, but not from the bite —Â rather, they came from the burning pain that was now radiating from each muscle and ligament of her body. She realized that she was already suffering from severe dehydration.

She started laughing nervously, trying awkwardly to move her feet and hands to get rid of the numbness of being in the same position for hours.

And yet, despite her precarious situation, she somehow felt a sense of overwhelming joy … Harry was still alive and hopefully, coming soon.

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

The stairs kept going down, without an end in sight. Wherever this flight of steps was taking Harry and Ginny, it appeared to be deep within the bowels of the earth.

`Harry? Are you sure this is going to lead us to Hermione?' Ginny's quivering voice betrayed the terror she was feeling at the very moment.

Harry stopped and looked back at her, an indulgent smile on his face. His friend had been through more than enough life-threatening situations since the previous autumn, and it had somewhat shaken her usual fiery spirit.

`Ginny, as long as we keep close together, we'll be okay. Don't worry, I have your back. Having Hermione in my life doesn't mean I care any less about you as I always did!'

Seeing Ginny about to break down, Harry moved towards her quickly and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. All of the sudden, the tension in her whole body melted away, and she found herself overtaken with sobs and shakes. Harry held on, and whispered in her ear softly, `It's okay, you're fine. You'll get through this, I know you will!'

She regained her composure after a few minutes, and looked up at Harry. `Thank you, I needed that. I'm feeling better now.'

She kissed him softly on the cheek, and grinned. `We should get going, these stairs seem to go down forever!'

Harry smiled faintly, surprised at Ginny's quick rebound. `All right then, let's go then! Lumos!'

Harry lifted his wand forward and above his head. They had been going down steps in total darkness for about fifteen minutes. They resumed their descent, the natural tunnel gradually losing its steep incline. After another ten minutes, they reached a corridor with no more steps, at the end of which a faint, greenish light seemed to be glowing. It was, quite literally, the light at the end of the tunnel. The stuffiness of the air down the stairwell also dissipated, and they both took deep breaths.

`Finally!' uttered Ginny, still out of breath. `Just how deep to you think —'

`SSHHH!' Harry looked at her with reprimanding eyes. They were close to their enemy's lair, and this was not the time to be detected beforehand. Especially since Harry was still feeling like they were walking blind, without any control on the situation at hand or the information that had led them there.

They arrived in front of a towering, dark green double curtain, which seemed to form the entrance into some kind of wider expanse of the underground tunnel they had been following. Indeed, the tunnel's ceiling had suddenly shot up towards a much higher point, while the tunnel floor remained at the same level. Furthermore, the sides of the tunnel had seemed to get dramatically wider as they had approached the source of light from afar.

The curtains were not completely closed, and from between the two thick pieces of tapestry a light was emanating — the source of the glow they had seen from afar.

Harry glanced over to Ginny. He whispered, `Are you ready?'

She nodded with assurance. `As ready as I'll ever be, I guess ...' She took out her wand, and readied herself to follow Harry's lead.

Harry slid himself between the two curtains, trying as much as he could not to touch them. There was no telling what kind of charm had been put on them to prevent intruders from getting past undetected. Harry was almost through when his worst fear came true: a deafening, gong-like sound resonated three times all over what seemed to be a gigantic cave opening, echoing from wall to wall for what seemed like hours. He quickly motioned Ginny to follow, since there was no hiding the fact that someone had entered the lair. Fortunately, she was quick enough to go through at almost the same time as he did and after a few seconds, silence enveloped the ominous space once more. Not losing a second, Harry grabbed HaGinny's hand and, bending in half, jogged all the way to the wall on his far right to finally reach a corner of the room. Cowering to the ground to remain concealed by the semi-darkness, Harry fumbled through the light backpack he had brought with him on this mission. He took out his invisibility cloak and covered himself and Ginny who was crouched on the floor right beside him.

Harry whispered very faintly. `Okay, okay … at least we can wait here a few minutes, and see what happens … I'm sure this noise has awoken whoever — or whatever — calls this place “home” …'

Still holding its breath, Harry surveyed the room around him. He had a surprisingly complete view of the cave from the corner where they were hiding, with the exception of the area ahead of him on his far right. This place reminded Harry of the Slytherin common room back at Hogwarts. Except that … there was something more sinister to this place, more morbid. There were books on the whole left side of the room, on shelves apparently carved directly in the rock itself directly to the right of where they were. Harry realized that they were in some kind of rectangular enclosure within the right side of the cave with a very low ceiling. A few feet in front of them laid two dark marble study tables, on which some books had been left open. The ceiling of the cave itself appeared to be incredibly high, but barely reached ten feet in the small `study hall' where they were hidden. When he had entered the room, he had seen in front of him briefly and had not been able to make the other end — the wall directly across the entrance seemed at least a hundred yards away, and appeared covered in dark green tapestries similar to the curtains forming the entrance of the cave.

Harry reasoned that the first part cave was probably in the shape of a large `L', which went straight from the curtains for more than a hundred yards and then turned towards the right at a 90 degree angle. Wherever Hermione was, it had to be in that part of the cave — or further.

To his increasing surprise, no Dark Wizard or giant — or any beast for that matter —Â came out of the cave in front of him.

He looked at Ginny tentatively. `I think it's safe to move forward … let's go.'

She nodded silently, and they started to make their way to the other part of the cave.

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

Ron was trying to listen to Dumbledore explaining how and where they would go from there, but he found it difficult to concentrate. Dumbledore had informed him that he would be the team leader, but the details were not yet clear.

He felt responsible, and yet didn't know why. Hermione had jumped off the rock, and he had stayed up there at the most five minutes before getting down himself to investigate the noise. Could he have done anything more? Hermione was a seasoned fighter, even in the face of a non-expected event. Ron reasoned that she would have fallen prey to the trap even if their `incident' had not taken place.

Maybe I should have walked her in, Ron thought. But even then, he and Harry knew Hermione was quite capable of taking care of herself and resented being treated like a baby.

He then thought about kissing her, and felt light-headed. He knew the kiss had been out of place, and that Hermione hadn't reacted quite positively, but he didn't regret his gesture. It was now obvious to Ron that he still loved Hermione.

Dumbledore was continuing on about planning a surprise raid on Maldemort's raid since he knew its exact location.

Ron, for the first time of his life, felt a wave of depression hitting him. He had to love the only girl that he could never have. Unless …

Unless Harry is out of the picture … The horrible thought came, and stuck around. Ron felt incredibly bad. They were in a war, and it was possible that Harry wouldn't come out of it on the victorious side.

`I'm so selfish!', he mused out loud, only to realize the whole room was staring at him.

`Do you need some precisions, Mr. Weasley?' Dumbledore's voice was kind, but his eyes betrayed his annoyance at the fact that Ron wasn't listening to instructions.

`No Sir, that's quite all right. I'm ready to go!'

The meeting was apparently over. Everybody stood and started gathering their effects, and after a few minute, gathered around Ron. With a heavy sigh, he picked up his pack and headed towards the entrance of the refuge, not exactly knowing what was in store next …

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

Hermione was looking straight in front of her with mounting apprehension. There was no mistaking the gong that had resonated a few minutes before: someone had just come in the cave. And this time she knew she was wide awake, and not dreaming. Her captors were back, and with them, the rage and fury of having been deceived by a prisoner.

`I'm going to die for sure, they're going to kill me', she whimpered, knowing Maldemort and his kronies would not be forgiving this time around.

But something felt definitely odd and out of scenario. She had indeed heard the gong - which she now knew was a forewarning of someone coming in. She had heard it many times, the last time being the day before when a visitor had come to give what she assumed were news to Karkaroff and Maldemort. Since that day, she had not seen Winslow, who was supposed to keep a tight watch on her.

A thought occurred to her. `Maybe they just plan to leave me here, and they'll never come back!'

Seized by the panic of that thought, she screamed as hard as she could, `WHO'S THERE? Please help me, whoever you are! SHOW YOURSELF! HELP!'

Immediately, she heard some muffled voices, and the sound of running steps.

`HERMIONE! HERMIONE!'

A tall silhouette adorned with a mop of untidy black hair suddenly appeared from a recess of the cave far in front of where she was held, and came running towards her. She couldn't believe it was even possible, and yet, there he was. He had found her.

Warmth overflowed her body, and tears came rushing down, wetting her cheeks in a matter of seconds. She barely whispered as the familiar hands started waving a wand, working quickly and frantically to finally manage to break her chains.

`Harry … you found me …' The chains fell on the floor with a loud clang, and Hermione felt her legs give way from under her. At the same time a pair of strong, muscular arms wrapped themselves around her, and she felt a soft warmth around her hear, just before she heard the soothing, reassuring voice.

`I've got you, you're safe. I'm not letting you go ... I —Â IÂ — I love you so much, I thought I had lost you!' Harry was himself trying to maintain composure, but sobs were hard to contain, even for him. He had half-expected to find her body, or not find her at all, which would probably have been much worse.

`I SEE WE'RE ARRIVING JUST IN TIME!'

There was no mistaking that dark, sinister voice. Before he could even move, Harry felt a wave of ice envelop him, and literally freeze him into place. He tried to reach for his wand, but somehow his hand was categorically refusing to obey his brain. He attempted to turn his head, to see on the other side, but nothing happened. His eyes, however, were still able to move left and right. From his point of view, he saw Hermione, apparently frozen herself, still wrapped in his arms. They had been hit by some kind of immobilizing charm or curse, that allowed them however to see and hear what was going on — without the ability to move.

Before long, the ugly faces of Maldemort and Karkaroff came around to face the both of them.

`Well, isn't that … touching, Igor! Frozen in time in their love for each other!' Maldemort then exploded in a maniacal laugh that reverberated all around the sinister hideout.

But Karkaroff didn't seem to share in the laughter. He kept looking left and right, and the sombre look on his face betrayed a hint of nervousness.

`I urge you, Master, not to underestimate our enemies. We should finish what we came here to do, and then leave as quickly as possible!'

Maldemort's face suddenly lost its twisted glee. `Yes, Igor, yes. I'm aware of your “worries” …' He then turned back to Harry and Hermione, and with pent up rage deforming his face, he started to talk rather quickly.

`Harry Potter! You have stomped our plans for the last time. It is quite fitting that your little … lassie is here with you, because she will be part of it as well. Indeed … I must admit, you are quite the actress, Miss Granger. I actually believed your story, and almost fell into a trap in doing so — so I'm sure you'll understand that it is imperative that you die as well. Yes, sadly, I'm going to kill you both now. I should have done it a long time ago, simply and quickly. Ah, the desire for revenge! It makes you lose opportunities, and it makes you weak, doesn't it? I'm not going to repeat that mistake! So … Let's proceed, shall we?”

He slowly, deliberately drew out his wand from underneath his cloak. Harry was thinking furiously fast, trying to imagine a way to get out of this predicament. But there was nothing coming to him. His luck had ran out, he was going to die miserably, taking Hermione with him —Â the worst scenario he had ever imagined.

But just then, he vaguely heard a vaguely familiar masculine voice from afar, screaming what sounded like a spell of some sort. A deafening explosion of purple light right in front of him made him temporarily blind, and then he heard another voice, a feminine — and familiar one — this time.

`Ginny!' He thought with relief. Less than a second later, a burning sensation came over him, and he collapsed to the floor with Hermione. But right then, flashes and deafening noises overtook the cave, and confusion ensued. Apparently, Maldemort and Karkaroff had also moved on to more urgent matters, since Harry had the distinct feeling that there was nobody left around him.

`I'll be back for you guys, Harry! They need my help down there!'

Ginny's footsteps faded away into the pandemonium of screams and voices. A fight had broken out, and Harry wasn't sure whether this meant good news or not: they were still vastly outnumbered, and an open fight on unfamiliar grounds meant a potentially grim conclusion for his team. The floor started to shake slightly, and a few pieces of rock even fell down from the ceiling of the cave.

Instinctively, Harry crawled from his position to shield Hermione — who was lying on the floor a few feet away with her face turned away from him — with his body. As he had suspected, they both could move again.

`Are you okay?' Harry probed, making sure to be heard over the noise. `Please talk to me!'

Hermione glanced back and nodded without talking. She pointed towards the corner of the `L' where Harry saw Ginny intensely involved in a fight with a hooded Dark wizard. The curses and countercurses were flying, but she seemed to be gaining an advantage. Harry suddenly saw a green flash of light shoot out from Ginny's wand, and when her opponent stopped moving and fell back, Harry knew she had killed someone for the first time.

Harry drew his own wand and jumped to his feet. He grabbed Hermione's hand, looked at her intently, and whispered, `Stay here! You don't have a wand! I'll come back for you!'

Hermione looked at him defiantly. `NO WAY! I'm not leaving your side again! I'll find a way to get a wand, don't worry about me!'

There was no time to argue, and Harry knew full well that she wouldn't listen to reason on the issue.

`Ok, then. But stay close and don't leave my side!' They both took off towards the battle zone, but before they knew it, a Dark wizard had jumped from a corner right in front of him, wand in the air, cutting their route.

“PETRIFICUS TOTALLUS!”

The wizard keeled over, and fell on his face. Harry had been quicker than his opponent would ever dream to become. Hermione jumped to him and manage to take his wand away.

`It won't be the best, but at least I can defend myself!'

`All right Hermione! Let's go! YOU TAKE THE RIGHT SIDE, I'LL TAKE THE LEFT!' It was becoming extremely hard to be heard over the noise. Hermione proceeded forward, crouched, to cross the first part of the `L' and she soon reached the wall on the other side of them. Harry slowly moved forward on an angle, and reached his wall. They started following their respective rock wall, separated by about a hundred feet, and quickly turned the corner to land right on the edge of the main battle scene. Harry was taken aback and gasped. There were at least thirty dark wizards battling with what appeared to be a handful of their own original group, perhaps fifteen wizards. In a quick sweep of the room, Harry saw Ginny and Ron, both taking on opponents, with quite apparent success. But some of the fighters were not even using wands: they were going at it with fists and sticks, and whatever other item they had been carrying. Harry glanced afar straight in front of him towards the other side to his right to try to locate where Hermione was; he couldn't make the other side of the room, however, since a lot of smoke of multiple colours was now overtaking this section of the cave.

Harry saw Maldemort about twenty feet ahead of him, his back against the wall and his face partly hidden by his cloak …Â He had apparently just finished off his opponent. Harry couldn't recognize who, but swallowed hard at the thought that his team would unavoidably suffer some —Â perhaps many —Â casualties. He lunged forward to engage Maldemort, who was trying to remain concealed under his hood.

Before he could reach him however, Karkaroff appeared out of nowhere about ten feet in front of him, with a sadistic smile on his face and blood covering the left side of his cloak.

`At last! You can really show us what you're made of, Potter! Maybe you'll last a little longer than your friend … Dean, was it?' he said, looking back at where Maldemort had stood a few seconds ago.

Harry's insides ignited with rage. `You'll pay for this', he hissed between his teeth. He immediately pointed his wand forward at Karkaroff, assuming a battle position.

Karkaroff had already launched a silent spell, but Harry managed to instinctively protect himself by thinking, `Protego!'

Holding Karkaroff's defiant stare, and refusing to back out, Harry purposely closed his mind, and started breathing really slowly. This was going to be a battle to the death, and he had to focus. A coolness came over him, and emotions left his now fully engaged brain. Everything around him gradually faded away, still to be processed by a deep recess of his mind; but at this very moment, all he saw, breathed or heard were his enemy's thoughts and ideas — and fears. His foe's weaknesses, also, were now very apparent to Harry.

Harry would defeat him, he knew it. In his mind, he could clearly `hear' Karkaroff, already thinking about who to take on next. He was underestimating him … one last time.

`SECTIONARIO!' Harry purposely used a cryptic spell, very little known even by dark wizards. Harry knew that Karkaroff's reflexes wouldn't be as quick as before, his mind not accustomed to the name of that spell.

Harry hadn't uttered a single word, but his arm shot forward. A blueish, fiery beam of light slashed the air with a high-pitched sound, hitting Karkaroff right under his left knee before he could even react.

Karkaroff didn't move right away, and the smile didn't move from his face. It was as if he hadn't realized what had just happened.

`I guess that one didn't work, Potter!' Karkaroff spat.

A thin red line, however, started to soil the perimeter of his upper calf slowly, thickening as seconds went by.

Harry, down on one knee and his wand still extended forward, fire in his eyes, taunted Karkaroff to move.

`Why don't you come closer, you coward! Let's finish this off as men, without wands!'

Karkaroff made to move towards Harry, but his left calf and foot remained firmly on the ground while the upper part of his leg separated from them right below the knee, where Harry's spell had hit him. In a gush of blood and a sudden scream of pain and agony, Karkaroff collapsed forward, face first.

`YOU! AARGH! I will …'

His wand hand sprung forward, and in an agonizing screech, Karkaroff managed to utter an `Expelliarmus!'

Harry was caught off guard; he had expected Karkaroff to stop moving as he fell. Instead, he powerlessly witnessed his own wand fly away from his hand.

Instinctively, he realized he would have to act quickly, and his eyes instantly darted away from his wand to face Karkaroff again. Indeed, the opponent's lips were already pronouncing words, and Harry knew exactly what they were despite not being able to hear them. Furthermore, the greenish glow at the tip of the wand left no doubt. He had perhaps a half-second before death would hit him right between the eyes.

A sharp jab of pain just then exploded in his scar.

It seemed, in the moment that followed, that time itself suspended its course. His last second before dying would last for a while, Harry thought. Eerily, all he could hear was his own thoughts, as every sound around him became muted. His eyes showed him everything and everyone around him dancing in slow motion. But Harry distinctly saw a shadow jump in front of him, during that fleeting second … When Harry looked again, Karkaroff was now unconscious, bleeding profusely from his severed limb, and gasping for breath, his face quickly turning to a shade of ashen grey. His hand was limp on the floor, wand a few inches from it.

Harry sensed that something important had just taken place, an event that had just saved his life … Harry slowly attempted to fathom if and why he was still alive.

He couldn't brood too long, however. At that precise moment, a high-pitched girl's voice echoed across the cave.

`HARRY! HARRY! OVER HERE, QUICK!'

The scream yanked him back to reality, and he was back at full speed in the pandemonium of sounds, screams, lights and smoke … He followed Ginny's voice, staying low and trying to conceal himself. He reached the area where the main battle was going on. Many bodies were lying on the cold stone floor, but at least ten duels were still going on, amidst the blinding light of flashes of spells and counter-sells of all colours and, of course, the constant deafening noises.

He immediately saw why Ginny had called. She had just finished off a Dark Wizard, and pointed at Hermione, who was in a fierce battle against … Draco Malfoy.

Harry's heart constricted immediately. `NO! Not him!' he thought, immediately pouncing forward between them and pushing Malfoy to the floor.

`Why, Potter,' Malfoy said as he quickly got back up and drew back, his wand pointed towards Harry, `you finally decided to show up to “protect” your little girlfriend … It's about time. I was stalling and letting her think she could fight for real!'

Harry controlled his rage. `She's ten times the wizard you'll ever be, Malfoy. I'll give you a chance …. give yourself up NOW, and avoid dying!'

Malfoy snickered. `That's a coward's way out, isn't it? You think I don't read your bluff? If you're really as strong as you “pretend” to be, fight me!'

Harry clenched his teeth, and with just a slight movement from his wand arm, pronounced the word in his head.

`CRUCIO!'

More from sheer terror than from a calculated reflex or duel move, Malfoy jumped sideways and with his free, extended arm grabbed Hermione's leg. He pulled with all his might as Harry's curse hit the wall behind him. Hermione fell to the floor, and for a few seconds, fought with all her might to get away from Draco. Almost at the same instant, Harry was grabbed from behind by two wizards trying to get a hold of him. His wand fell to the floor, and his foes managed to drag him far enough so that he lost sight of the battle between Hermione and Draco.

In a sudden twist of desperation, Harry shook himself from side to side with a shrieking scream, and feeling the grip pulling him back ease, freed himself by suddenly dropping to the floor, immediately rolling sideways to face his attackers. While rolling, he had quickly grabbed a second wand hidden and tucked in his belt on the backside of his pants. Extending his arm, Harry managed to cast two successive spells and neutralized both his assailants —Â Dark wizards whose faces he had never seen before. The two were hit right in the chest with a streak of purple light, and fell backwards without any reaction whatsoever showing on their face except utter amazement.

`ACCIO wand!' Harry screamed, anxious to retrieve his old phoenix-feathered friend. In a second, the wand was back in his hand, and he put away his back-up.

• `HERMIONE!' He screamed, trying to get back to the fight he had been trying to pick a few seconds earlier with Draco Malfoy.

As he made the few steps to get back to the spot he had been just a few moments before, he noticed that the intensity of the battle seemed to be waning. Furthermore, to his surprise, there appeared to be more of his own left standing than of the others. He finally managed to find Hermione, who was standing still on top of a limp body. Draco seemed to be dead …

`Did you …' Harry enquired, wondering about the surprised look on Hermione's face.

`No, it wasn't me! We were fighting, I had just missed him with the Cruciatus curse, and he was about to retaliate, but out of nowhere, there was a streak of light that hit him, and he fell to the floor!'

Harry didn't have time to give that mystery too much thought. `HARRY! Over there! Quick!' Harry squinted, and looked in the direction of that familiar voice. Through the smoke, he caught a glimpse of Ginny Weasley, who was motioning him towards her vehemently. She, however, wasn't engaged in any fight of any sort.

Harry started running, Hermione on his heels, and suddenly became aware of what was happening. A circle had formed, composed of most wizards who were left standing … mostly friends of Harry, with a few Dark wizards. Two tall fighters were in the middle of the circle, facing each other, walking in circle slowly, wand extended in front of them.

`Harry, it's …' Hermione choked.

Harry nodded. He had recognized Maldemort, but also his beloved Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Both seemed involved in a very intense mental battle, judging from the look on their faces. Curses and counter-curses were probably flying, filling the airspace between them. There seemed to be electricity within the circle, particularly right between the two opponents.

Suddenly, a sequence of events took place in the blink of an eye. Dumbledore was forcefully thrown back to the edge of the circle, falling hardly on the stone floor. Before the Headmaster could even move away, a streak of fiery red light cut the silence and instantaneously traversed the few feet between Maldemort and his opponent, hitting him squarely on the right hand — his wand hand. When Harry blinked and looked again, the hand had vanished, reduced into a heap of black ashes that was quickly getting dispersed on the floor besides Dumbledore.

Harry sprung into action. `NO! NOOO! Expelliarmus!'

Maldemort had not expected this, and his wand flew in the air, only to be caught by a Dark wizard, who quickly threw it back to its leader.

The next spell came from Maldemort, although it was a silent spell. Harry saw the green jet of light, and heard the rushing sound. His scar exploded in pain beyond anything he had ever felt. In slow motion, he noticed his surroundings … He saw Dumbledore back on his feet and throwing curses, he saw Ginny screaming, he saw other wizards scrambling …

But just then, he saw her.

Her bushy hair messed up from the fight gave her a charm he had not even known before. Her face, wet with tears, showed her pain and her distress. But the eyes … Those dark brown eyes showed something he knew to be the most powerful force in the universe. A force that had saved him once before, when he was only a baby.

In Hermione's eyes, Harry saw love. The deepest, purest and most powerful expression of what it meant to care for someone.

He looked again, only to be blinded by green light. He felt a blow right on the middle of his forehead, and fire overtaking his brain. It lasted a second or so. Harry felt himself lift off his feet, and fly. But strangely, he then felt himself hit something really hard, and realized he had hit the floor. The dull pain on his left shoulder was a hint that he was nowhere near death.

But then, all traces of pain in his scar disappeared. He opened his eyes, for they had almost automatically closed, blinded by the flash of light.

In front of him, about ten feet away, stood a shaky Maldemort with an utter look of disbelief on his face, and a trembling hand.

It slowly dawned on him. HE HAD LIVED — again. Harry started laughing, in a way that did nothing to take away Maldemort's shock and terror. He was slowly backing up, realizing he would not have the upper hand. Still on the floor, Harry fixated his gaze on him. He didn't want Maldemort to escape.

`Harry! Harry! Get up, quickly!' The voice was Hermione's. Harry's battle instincts came rushing back, and he immediately stood to his feet. She was vulnerable, Maldemort could still hurt them.

`HERMIONE, be careful! Maldemort is still —'

`AVADA KEDAVRA!' The scream was loud and clear, and powerful. Harry's heart sank, and a wave of nausea started gripping his stomach. Hermione had made a tragic mistake, Harry thought, with panic rising towards his chest.

But somehow, Hermione had now reached him, grabbed him and forced them both to the floor. Harry knew the manoeuvre, having executed it himself so many times to shield her or somebody else. They both took out their wand, and turned around at the same time towards their attacker. The next curse was bound to be coming to hit them.

Instead, they both gasped at the sight of Maldemort, eyes wide-open, mouth hanging, slowly falling face first towards the hard rock floor right in front of him. A dull thud followed as he reached the ground, and his wand hit the floor and bounced away from his lifeless corpse.

`What the …?! WHO was that?' Harry turned towards Hermione, who seemed as dumbfounded as he was. He then looked around, and saw a Dark Wizard approaching from a recess in the cave directly behind where Maldemort had stood just minutes ago.

He then turned away from them to go directly where Dumbledore was still lying on the floor, and extended his hand towards the Headmaster.

`Thank you, dear boy. I thought you would never be able to get away with it!'

A familiar voice came from under the hood. `It wasn't easy, Professor, but in the end, they were blinded by their rage and desire for revenge …'

Dumbledore was now up on his feet, apparently assessing every limb of his tall frame to make sure every part of him was intact. His hand was unfortunately lost forever, and he sighed at the sight of the end of his wrist.

`I guess I'll have to do something about this!' he murmured, before turning his back towards their mysterious benefactor.

The Headmaster grinned mischievously, as if this was the natural outcome that everyone should have predicted.

He spoke to the hooded wizard again. `Better help our friends, before they lose the ability to speak.'

He was referring, of course, to Harry and Hermione, who hadn't grasped quite yet what had just happened.

The dark-hooded figure walked the few steps and offered his hand to Harry, who in turn helped Hermione get back up on her feet.

Harry turned around and squinted, trying to make the face under the hood.

`Oh, I guess this is no longer necessary,' the voice under the cloak said. Harry knew that voice. It was raspier than usual, and lower, but it was undoubtedly familiar.

The Dark wizard finally took down his hood, and with both his hands, rearranged his messy black hair. It wasn't as greasy as usual, but the long black hair fell back to frame an emaciated white face that they both knew very well.

Harry and Hermione gasped as they instantly recognized the face they had both learned to mistrust.

Thomas Winslow was looking at them, a sly grin beaming from ear to ear.

----------

`You saved my life, you git! Why did you have to go and play “hero”?' Harry murmured between his teeth, pounding desperately on the chest of a lifeless body on the ground. He, Hermione and Ginny were crouched around it as the rest of their battalion surrounded.

Ronald Weasley lay dead on the cold stone floor, eyes wide open, a slight look of surprise forever etched on his pallid face.

Ginny was weeping silently, hiding her face in Hermione's shoulder, and a very solemn atmosphere was now filling the emptiness of the hideous cave. Hermione Granger, however, was surprisingly emotionless. Her face was of stone, and all of her body was rigid. If anyone could have read her feelings at that very moment, they would have detected intense sadness, but also a deep sense of … relief. Hermione's dilemma was over, in a sense. She would no longer have to try to maintain Ron and Harry's friendship intact as she endeavoured to let herself love Harry as deeply as she knew she could.

She looked at Harry, trying to hide the rising guilt in her soul. But Harry was gazing into space, not really catching her eye.

Suddenly, no longer holding back any tears, Harry cried out from the deepest part of himself, attempting somehow to extricate the pain of having lost a friend more precious than anyone he would ever know. Despite their falling out of the previous weeks and their frequent disagreements, Harry knew … he was who he had become because of Ronald Weasley's friendship, the bond that had kept him from going over the edge over the years.

After a few minutes, Harry robotically looked around him. For the first time, he fully took in the scene and registered the kind of devastating battle that had just taken place. To his relief, most of his teammates were still standing, except for Ron, and a few unfortunate others. Dean Thomas was on the floor, crumpled in a position that left no doubt as to whether or not Karkaroff had lied about his encounter with him. Harry, painfully, grasped the responsibility of Dean's death.

The rising of Maldemort had cost him : Hermione's parents, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and now … Ronald Weasley. Harry didn't bother counting the other victims from their unit, not wanting to put a face on them. But knowing they were also gone was unfathomable. It would torment him for the rest of his life.

`And all this', he mused, `when I thought Voldemort was finally gone …'

He finally caught Hermione's eye, and instinctively, knew what she was feeling. Moving towards her, he gave her a hug, and buried his face in her hair. He started shaking, and the tears flowed again. After a few seconds, they became full-fledged sobs, and Hermione cried with him.

The rest of the group slowly gathered in a circle around them, and everyone fell to their knees. Together, they cried, in silence, over the loss of their departed comrades. Neither of the fighters could tell, afterwards, how long they all remained. But all remembered a soft weeping sound rising after a few minutes, that became a chant and a surprisingly harmonious melody expressing the grief and sadness — but at the same time, the hope of better and happier days. An ode, somehow, to fallen warriors.

`It's over', Harry whispered in her hair, `it's over … But at what price!'

Hermione, through her tears, replied with deep sigh, and murmured. `Yeah … at what price …'

She, of everyone, had suffered the most personal loss.

Harry, gaining back his composure, stood and started examining the room around them more closely as the others undertook the grim task of gathering the bodies of their friends.

Something seemed strange, like something didn't fit right. Harry's instincts were making him feel uneasy. `Can someone tell me where the Headmaster is? And where is Winslow, for that matter?'

Everyone shrugged and started looking around. Apparently, no one had seen them leave, if that's what they had done. One thing for sure, they weren't in the main room — despite the fact that they had been just a few moments before.

They suddenly heard a desolating shriek that ripped through the solemn silence of the cave.

Harry sprung up, wand in hand, only to see a blond-haired wizard approaching along the eastern wall of the cave, holding and dragging a bewildered Luna Lovegood with one arm while pressing a silver dagger on her neck right across her carotid artery with the other free hand. He was applying enough pressure on the blade for a small line of blood to start trickling down Luna's neck. She was terrified, and a soft whimper could be heard from up close.

`POTTER! THIS AIN'T OVER YET!' Draco Malfoy was trying to appear menacing, and yet, he was trembling slightly and his voice wasn't so assured. `BACK OFF, EVERYONE! OR I KILL HER!'

Rage and disgust overtook Harry. `Malfoy … You're not thinking', Harry hissed. `This is going to end with you dying after all! LET HER GO!'

Malfoy grinned sadistically. `Why, Potter … you mean to tell me that you would let another one of your dear friend die tonight? I thought you were more “noble” than that!'

Harry bit down hard on his lower lip. Each member of his team had slowly gotten up and approached. With the rock wall behind him, Malfoy now had nowhere to go … and fifteen wands pointed directly at the center of his chest. Even if he killed Luna, he would be dead before he even thought of making another move. Something else what on Malfoy's mind, and Harry started to have an inkling as to what it was.

Harry breathed hard, still looking around for a sign of Dumbledore. The Headmaster had literally vanished out of thin air.

`What do you want, Malfoy? Whatever you do, you're a dead man, you can already see that … So why don't you let Lovegood go, and we'll talk. I'll even spare your life!'

Malfoy snickered, and hissed, through his teeth, `No, I don't think so. Let's do an exchange, shall we? Give me Granger, and I don't kill this one! Then you let us both walk out of here!'

Harry was now faced with an impossible choice, and Malfoy knew it. Manipulating people had always been his strong suit. Harry now had to choose between sparing either Hermione's life or Luna's.

However, as usual, Malfoy had underestimated his enemy, and overestimated his own power. Always his fatal mistake.

In a flash, the dagger flew from his hand — and landed perfectly, after rotating a few times in mid-air, right in Harry's left hand. Immediately following, Luna shot her elbow upwards behind her with all the force she could muster, crunching bone right under Draco's chin and breaking his jaw. He fell to the floor screaming in pain, and at least ten people were about to cast one final spell on him when a loud, angry voice shouted.

`STOP! STOP NOW!! HE IS MINE, NOBODY ELSE FINISHES HIM OFF!'

Hermione Granger was slowly approaching, clearing her path towards Malfoy. She was breathing hard and shallow, rage and fury freely showing on her face and through her eyes. Her wand was out of her pocket, ready to strike, and her step was assured.

Harry panicked, instinctively guessing what she was about to do. He jumped towards her, and grabbed her wrists, trying to hold her back.

`Don't do this in cold blood, Hermione! It will change you! You will never be the same!'

For a rare occurrence, Hermione looked at Harry with condescendence, and shoved both his arms off with surprising strength.

`You'll never understand, Harry! He hurt me, in a way that no one ever could! Give me one good reason why I should let him live. JUST GIVE ME ONE REASON!'

`BECAUSE WE DIDN'T RAISE YOU TO BE A MURDERER!' shouted a masculine voice behind them, a familiar voice that neither Harry nor Hermione had heard in almost a year. Everyone turned around towards the deep part of the cave, trying to see who had spoken.

Harry turned around also, only to see Albus Dumbledore and Thomas Winslow approaching. They were accompanied by two people, a man and a woman in their late forties. Harry gasped, and quickly looked back towards Hermione, who looked positively aghast.

She had dropped her wand and stood frozen into place, mouth open and tears flowing freely down her flustered cheeks. She was staring at the man who had just spoken, shock and disbelief etched all across her face.

Her voice was raspy and teary when she finally managed a barely audible sound.

`DAD … MOM!'

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