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Harry Potter and the Covenant of the Triangle by bamaslamma29
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Harry Potter and the Covenant of the Triangle

bamaslamma29

Chapter 38: "O Captain, My Captain"

"Peace" - Rupert Brooke

"Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour,

And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,

With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,

To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,

Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,

Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,

And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,

And all the little emptiness of love!

Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,

Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep and mending.

Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;

Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there

But only agony, and that has ending;

And the worst friend and enemy is but Death."

For the most part, all was silent on Hogwarts' closed ward.

Upon returning to Hogwarts, Kingsley Shacklebolt and those Aurors who were not severely wounded or needed to watch over those in the infirmary wounded from Voldemort's side, had run to Dumbledore's office to floo straight to the Ministry of Magic.

Minister Umbridge's capture had been completely satisfying, Shacklebolt had confided to Harry upon arriving back some two hours later. She had been in her office, apparently so sure Voldemort and his army had the upper hand that she had posted no guard around her. They had simply walked in, caught her unaware and carted her away for incarceration until trial. Vetustus Elrod, Senior Undersecretary to Umbridge, had taken Percy Weasley's place when he resigned and was therefore acting Minister until such time as a vote could be put forward to either keep him or elect another.

The infirmary had been magically expanded to allow for much greater numbers, and healers and medi-wizards over from St. Mungo's had worked relentlessly on the wounded for two days solid; transporting those who were well enough to be moved over to the wizarding hospital for further treatment, and grouping those who were not into different sections of the infirmary according to how critical they were. Ministry law enforcement who had not been severely wounded themselves were dotted here and there amongst the curtained off cubicles, watching over those wounded who had been on the wrong side of the war.

Harry, Hermione and Ron, although not severely wounded themselves, had been ushered straight to the hospital wing along with all the other wounded by a fussy, worried Madame Pomfrey upon arriving back to the castle. She had made them promise to stay put for at least a few days while she treated them for exhaustion and severe mental and physical duress, not to mention the many, though non life-threatening wounds they had received. Pomfrey herself was treated not long after, being forced to do so by a healer from St. Mungo's after she suffered a near collapse.

Moment he had been deemed fit for release, Ron had been by his mother's, and Lavender Brown's side; Lavender nursing a broken leg, and his mother's legs crushed severely enough that Pomfrey had decided Skele-Gro was needed to repair the damage. Others belonging to the Weasley clan came and went with regularity.

Ginny sat with Draco Malfoy in his own private cubicle, transferring her time between him and her family. Malfoy had been discovered by a search and rescue party who had combed the woods for survivors after Voldemort's defeat. He had been found sitting with his back against a once dead tree covered with tender new leaves; his expression wooden and his grey eyes dulled with a sort of vacant pain. He had not spoken a word since his arrival to the infirmary but laid silently in his cot, staring blankly ahead, despite Ginny's, and occasionally even Ron's best efforts to make him do so. Oddly enough, upon his discovery in the forest and even upon his arrival to the infirmary, Sirius Black had not left his side.

Harry had resisted most treatments for mental and emotional state Madame Pomfrey had provided him, including the Pepper-Up potion she kept trying to make him drink. Hermione had been insistent to the point of tears that he take everything he was offered, pointing out to him that he had punished himself long enough for things that had always been out of his control. He relented, but later, when she was not looking, poured the rest into a nearby potted plant.

To Harry, refusing the potion had not been about punishing himself. He felt somehow as if he were not yet supposed to feel better, as if it would be a terrible injustice to Dumbledore and the many other wounded and dead who had sacrificed themselves to the fight. He did not want to forget, or use some elixir to change his emotions; nor to make it seem even to himself, that what had happened only a few days ago was trivial or easily set aside.

He could not feel better when Nymphadora Tonks lay a few cots down from them with two cracked ribs and a fractured knee from a particularly hard crack by a Goblin's staff; or while his father James, in the next curtained off area, lay weakly enduring blood regeneration potions from the many free-flowing stab wounds he had received. He could not bear the thought of feeling peaceful while overhearing Parvarti Patil and her visiting parents as she lay near other Gryffindor students crying over her dead sister, Padma, or Colin Creevey as he tried consoling his devastated parents over the announcement that Dennis had died some time ago, inbetween taking every chance he could to pop into Harry's curtained off cubicle to apologise more times for his betrayal. Harry could not imagine feeling serene while the voices and wails of countless other students, parents and teachers rang through his mind, or while the heavy sighs of Hagrid reached his ears as the half-giant sat slumped over Olympia Maxime in her magically up-sized bed, waiting for if or when she might awaken from her coma. While numerous others all around him suffered from awful wounds, or from the side effects of hexes, jinxes and curses... was he to worry about his own emotional state?

To top it all, the glazed, unblinking eyes of the dead, though not really there, continued to swim in and out of his dreams with every sleeping moment. He was not so naive and foolish that he blamed himself for their deaths, but the fact that the battlefield was the first thing he saw upon closing his eyes, made it so that he chose to sleep as little as possible.

It was half past two in the morning, and still Harry lay awake beside Hermione on her cot, watching her sleep in the darkness; feeling somehow that if he were finally to give in to sleep himself he might wake to find the battle and its victory had all been nothing but a desperate dream. He shifted to bring his arms more tightly about her and to pull the covers more securely around her, and in sleep, she rolled on her side, tangling her arms and legs with his and nuzzling her face into his neck; her breathing slow and even.

Harry sighed. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

For only the umpteenth time in a matter of hours, he smoothed her hair down and glanced over her head to the other occupant in their small curtained off cubicle, remembering how he had begged Madame Pomfrey to allow Dumbledore and Hermione within his own enclosure on the ward. Hermione he had simply needed near him. Dumbledore, he knew, was only barely clinging on to life, and if given the opportunity, should he awaken (though Madame Pomfrey had strongly suggested he might not), Harry wanted as many moments as he could with the old wizard before he slipped away for good.

Moonlight glanced over Dumbledore's already pale face, the deep wrinkles lining it throwing dark shadows over his skin. He had lost a lot of blood, Harry knew. Pomfrey especially, having got to him as soon as the shield had dropped and understanding Dumbledore's physical condition well before the battle, was surprised he had held on for this long. The stab wound he had taken should have killed him instantly, but she had begun working on him from the moment she was able to get to him in the Kavan Forest, to the moment they had all made it back to Hogwarts. Many blood regeneration potions and healing spells later the Headmaster was still alive and breathing, though only barely. Pomfrey had tearfully mused to Harry that perhaps Dumbledore still had some unfinished business to attend to. Harry could only hope that was the reason he so stubbornly clung on to life. He himself had so many unanswered questions, and beyond that, so much time to make up for with the old wizard... time he felt he was not going to have.

A very soft moan issued from somewhere near Dumbledore, and Harry's head shot up from where it had been resting near Hermione's, his gaze instantly travelling over to where the old wizard lay. That was a frown line creasing his already-lined brow, Harry was sure of it... the well-veined hand was moving, moonlight showing the long fingers curling into a fist...

Apparently Merlin was providing more than small mercies this night.

His heart pounding, Harry managed, without waking Hermione, to disentangle himself from her in record time. He stood and walked barefoot around their cot toward Dumbledore, very aware of the way his entire body shook with each step.

When he reached Dumbledore and looked down at him, he was startled to see the Headmaster's dull blue eyes already opened to painful slits and staring at the ceiling.

Dumbledore turned his head very slowly and blinking, met the younger man's gaze, his voice a feeble, dry whisper.

"Harry."

His chest throbbing with too many conflicting emotions, Harry managed a nod and grasped Dumbledore's thin hand within his own before the old man had to reach for it.

"We've done it," Harry found himself blurting very quickly. "It's over. We've won. Kingsley Shacklebolt and some of the other Aurors stormed the Ministry; they've taken Umbridge captive, forced her to take Veritaserum... She's told them where all the Muggle-borns were taken... they're on their way now up the mountains to get them out."

Looking immensely relieved and almost overwhelmed with information, Dumbledore nodded and glanced slowly about the curtained cubicle as if to determine where he was. His gaze fell on Hermione in the cot beyond Harry, moonlight bathing the thick head of curly hair falling about her sleeping face in a silvery glow.

His gaze still on her, Dumbledore drew a deep breath and smiled feebly. "Then you are free."

Harry blinked, confused at his statement. "We're all free from him."

"You more than... more than anyone else," Dumbledore replied, his wan face and the way his expression tightened making it obvious it was an effort to speak. "It's what I've always wanted for you."

Harry frowned and shook his head against his words, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to talk. I just wanted you to know its all being sorted out."

"I do... have to talk Harry," Dumbledore replied very quietly, swallowing down a painful moan and giving Harry's hand a tight squeeze as he did so. "I want you to know... why I did it."

Harry shook his head. "Don't. ...I know why you did it. I wish to Merlin I could go back and stop you from taking that sword, too..."

"No," Dumbledore forced out on an exhale. "Not the sword. I want you to know why, like your father, I gave you up... Why I gave you to the Dursleys to raise."

Harry stiffened suddenly, the surge of happiness he had felt upon seeing Dumbledore awaken, suddenly grown cold in an instant. He let go of the Headmaster's hand.

Dumbledore let his hand fall back to the mattress.

"Please, Harry."

Harry did not look at him for a moment, hurt and fear coupled with the desire to understand warring within in his chest. He was not sure he even wanted to know Dumbledore's reasons at this point. To his own surprise, he desired to talk with Dumbledore about things that did not bring up rage and pain, things that mattered now; that would help him know the old wizard better... ones that did not dredge up so many painful memories. He had had enough of those to last a lifetime.

"I really don't want to talk about this," he finally replied. "You had your reasons, I'm sure."

Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "You need to understand, Harry; I must make you understand not only for your sake, but for mine. Whatever closure I can provide I want to give you... before I've gone..."

"Don't say that..."

"I must," the Headmaster interrupted before Harry could finish. He swallowed hard, a look of pleading in his eyes. "It does neither of us good to... to deny the truth. I am dying. So in the time I have left... I want you to listen to me."

Harry worked his jaw for a moment, and finally nodded. Walking back closer to Hermione's small bed, he grabbed a straight-backed chair between the two cots and set it down near Dumbledore's own, sitting himself down and leaning forward, elbows on knees, so that he was face level with him.

Dumbledore stared into Harry's eyes, dull blue on bottle green, and began; his voice quiet and hoarse with pain.

"Both your father and I wanted what was best for you... what would keep you safe for as long as possible..." he sighed heavily. "You're father has never known I was related to Lily, nor did she herself, for the matter... I don't doubt James would hate me did he know."

Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Why..."

"Because the same magical blood protection you needed from Petunia Dursley... could also have been provided to you through me," Dumbledore replied unhappily, his breath wheezing from his lungs. "Coming from the same bloodline... I could have kept you myself, Harry. I could have... could have been selfish enough to hope I, myself, could raise you; keep you under my wing of protection the entire time until it was safe for your father to reveal his true identity. I could have had you raised in the wizarding world, knowing your heritage the entire time, understanding what had befallen you... and what else fate was to hand you..."

"And why didn't you!?" Harry whispered harshly, despite himself. He leaned back in his chair, moonlight now moving down his body to hide his face. "Even beyond the whole love and acceptance thing... I could've understood... I could've been better prepared..."

"Because I was short-sighted, Harry... because I did not yet understand what you were capable of handling," Dumbledore replied apologetically, pausing here and there to draw enough air in his lungs to continue. "However, there are many other, more important reasons for which I do not regret the decision I made. You must understand the position I would have put you in... The very moment you moved out from my sight and consequently, the blood protection I provided, unhidden in our world where your fame would have made you known to everyone, where they would have known where you were and what you were doing at any given time, Voldemort would have wasted no time in taking your life. The search... the hunt for you would have been so easy, Harry. And I could not have kept you locked inside Hogwarts your whole life or kept my eyes on you every minute, much as I hate myself every day for not having tried. Voldemort has hated me more than anything in this world from the moment, so long ago, that our ideals parted ways... He has hated you just as completely for what..."

He paused to take another deep, rasping breath, his energy waning.

"...for what you were and would become... He searched relentlessly for you after your mother and Remus Lupin were killed; after the killing curse he attempted to use on you rebounded to him. With every bit of the half-life he still possessed he wanted you dead... He knew what you were destined to become; how powerful you would be. He knew from having learned only the beginning of Sybil Trelawny's prophecy that you were the boy he searched for. You've been a threat to him from the moment you were born, and... were you to have been with me, even worse than if you were to have lived a life of hiding and exile with your father... you would have been in danger every single moment... as much as you were the day Voldemort raided Godric's Hollow and took your mother's life."

"I wasn't in danger, anyway?" Harry scoffed aloud, his hands balled into fists. "I reckon you don't recall me and my cousin Dudley being attacked by a couple of Dementors in Little Whinging two years ago, then..."

"Two years ago, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore weakly. "And for... for fifteen years before that, you had been safely hidden with the Muggles in Privet Drive, only resurfacing in the wizarding world every year... within the relatively safe confines of Hogwarts. Your fifth year was the first time Voldemort had been able to attack you away from school, having finally figured your location. I'm still not sure how he did it."

Harry leaned forward again, his head in his hands, fingernails scraping his scalp, his good sense fighting off the overwhelming desire to get up and run away from the old wizard. He did not want to hear any more about how neither Dumbledore nor his father could keep him, about how there were so many good reasons why they had left him to be raised by the family from hell... It did not matter that what Dumbledore said was beginning to make sense... He did not want it to make sense. For so long his indignation, his hurt over being abandoned had been all he had to hold on to... a sort of warped security. He was not certain he was ready to let it go.

"And what about after?" he demanded, looking up once again. "After I knew what was happening with Voldemort... after I knew he was after me, when you finally decided I was old enough to take it... Why didn't you tell me then who you were? It's not as if keeping the secret from then up until now has made me any more safe, has it?"

Dumbledore sighed, the breath whooshing out unevenly from his lungs. He took a slow, deep pull of air and continued.

"You remember when I told you two years ago about the mistakes I've made? You remember... remember when I told you I had kept the prophecy concerning you and Voldemort from you because I foolishly held that you were not ready to hear it? In the same way, I fooled myself every year into thinking too much time had already passed; that if the truth about who I am to you were to come out, it might make you feel even less loved or wanted; even more abandoned than you already feel. With each year that passed, it became easier to convince myself that to tell you would be rendering you a great disservice. Each year that passed, I reasoned that my being related to you, after all, had no real bearing on any of the events in your life. It was enough, I decided, that you understood Voldemort hated you for how powerful you had become, and for what the prophecy stated you might do. I could not think to tell you that he hated you even more for being half-Slytherin, and for being related to me. I convinced myself that to reveal my secret to you now would be great selfishness on my part and that I would be doing it for my own benefit. I knew you would not understand the decision I had made to give you up. Had I told you I had the opportunity to keep you, but chose instead to give you to others to raise, to hide you in the Muggle world, it would have been an even heavier thing for you to bear, considering you have always felt unworthy of love and affection."

"I can't imagine why," Harry stated harshly.

A few tears leaked out from Dumbledore's eyes and slid down his cheeks, but Harry simply turned away from him.

"Everything... all of it... became harder and harder for me to tell you," Dumbledore continued. "It was not yet time, in my muddled way of thinking, to let you in on the entire burden of your existence. To have revealed my true identity to you would have been to reveal my Slytherin heritage, and consequently, yours. Two years ago, after I finally told you the prophecy, I could not bring myself to add even more misery to the mix by letting you know, once again, that you had been given up to someone else to raise. You had just been through a difficult ordeal, having fought against Voldemort and his Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, and I could not bring myself to add more hard revelations."

"What made you decide to tell me out there, then..." Harry demanded more than asked, gesturing roughly toward the window where moonlight poured in, silvery and glowing. "What changed..."

Dumbledore's old eyes raked over Harry in that instant, memorising everything about him, from his messy black hair, to his intense green eyes, to the tall sturdy frame that sat slumped in the chair next to his bed.

"Because... I love you, Harry," he answered simply. "Because I finally realised a young man stood before me, and not a boy; and that life had long ago grown you up right under my nose. Before I left this earth, if the fates decided it was to be so, I wanted you to know everything. I hoped knowing you had so many who truly loved and cared for you might somehow... make a large difference... I still hope someday... someday it will."

Harry stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"I wish... You should have told me earlier... You should have. I would've... we would've..."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, and nodded.

"Yes, I should have. Fact was, I was selfish. The longer I waited to tell you, the more difficult it became for me to do so. I knew I would not be able to explain my actions well enough that it would take your pain away. Nothing I said or did would ever be adequate."

He grabbed for Harry's hand but the younger man moved it slightly out of his reach, feeling uncomfortable.

"I don't ask you to forgive me," Dumbledore continued sadly. "I would not dare to ask you for something... something you most certainly do not owe. I only wanted you to know the entire tale, from beginning to end... Not only for my sake, but for yours. As your father once said to you, all that was done was done for your protection... Miserably as you were raised, as difficult as your life has been you did have blood protection through your mother's sacrifice, in your Aunt Petunia's home, and you were well hidden; something you needed under the circumstances. If you were unable to stay with me, you had to be with her. Even now I would change very little of what was done to keep you safe. Had your father or I kept you it would have been much too easy for Voldemort or one of his Death Eaters to find you and take your life prematurely. You have had time to grow up, to grow stronger... you were given seventeen years to prepare for what you faced. You ARE the saviour of the wizarding world, Harry. I had to make certain you were able to live long enough to accomplish that goal, no matter what your father, or I, or even... even you had to sacrifice in the process."

Harry said nothing, letting the old wizard's words sink in, the truth in them providing a sort of balm, however thin, for his soul.

"I've always wanted to live long enough... to see it happen." Dumbledore replied very quietly, wincing, his breath wheezing out more shallow and painful than ever. "Now I have. I have seen the beginning of this tragedy, and I have witnessed its ending... I can leave this earth knowing the circle is complete, and you Harry... you are still here."

Something in the halting way the Headmaster spoke alarmed him, and Harry's gaze shot at once from the mattress where he had been staring, to the lined face before him. Dumbledore had been steadily growing paler and weaker during the short time they had been speaking with one another, the hollows under his eyes darker and more deeply sunken in, and his voice rough and breathless. The tall frame that once, years ago had seemed to radiate power and authority, now seemed oddly small and frail. The blue eyes that had before so easily blazed with righteous indignation and twinkled with merry energy, now moved only dully over Harry's face.

Forgetting all of his discomfort, Harry once again grabbed Dumbledore's hand in his own much stronger one and gave it a squeeze, his own voice coming out deep and overwhelmed with emotion.

"Please don't go."

Dumbledore's breath now rattled in his chest. He gazed very fondly at Harry; the slightest hint of the old, witty twinkle in his eye.

"You'll find, Harry... when the fates call you away, they are not easily dissuaded... They can be... very stubborn."

He smiled at Harry, but Harry did not smile back.

Instead the younger man leaned closer and whispered desperately into the old wizard's ear.

"Stay... There's still so much for you to see. Hermione and I... I want to marry her, you know," his eyes began to sting with tears. "I want you there with me when it happens. I want my family there..."

Dumbledore's chest rose and fell heavily as he struggled to breath.

"You'll have your godfather... and your father. Let him in, Harry. He loves you... more than you will ever know..."

"I have," Harry whispered in return, shaking his head. "I mean, I've been... I'm doing better... I'm trying..."

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly and nodded in understanding. His grip on Harry's hand began to slacken.

Harry felt himself shaking with desperation, despite his own inward attempts to calm himself. It was too soon... he couldn't leave now, not when they had just really found each other...

"No, please don't go..."

"It is... my time..." Dumbledore whispered more quietly than ever.

A look of mild surprise suddenly passed over the old man's drawn mouth, as if he had just realised something of great importance. Obviously using every last bit of his strength he let go of Harry's hand and, with his own free, fumbled weakly within the chest part of his robes. His fingers finally clenched over something and a look of relief washed over his face.

"Thank Merlin Poppy did not... change my... did not take it..."

Harry frowned at him through his tears. "What're you doing..."

Dumbledore pulled out a small, aged piece of parchment folded in fourths, the worn edges looking yellowed and frayed from being opened and refolded too many times.

"My gift... to you and your father..."

Harry took the paper from Dumbledore but did not open it.

"What is it..."

"Sybil will... will help you... she will understand..."

Harry glanced up at the ceiling, his throat constricting painfully and his face screwed up hard in an attempt not to cry.

"Harry," said Dumbledore raspily.

Harry blinked hard and turned his gaze back to Dumbledore. The old wizard reached out with his last bit of strength and placed a hand on Harry's wet cheek.

"Be happy, my boy... do what makes you happy. M..marry, have children... play Quidditch," he whispered with the small twitch of a smile. "My greatest wish has always been... to see you past this horror; to truly live... Do it, Harry. Live."

Harry nodded and leaned closer to look into Dumbledore's eyes.

"I will... I promise." He breathed very deeply before continuing. "And I forgive you. I understand what you did."

Dumbledore smiled and nodded.

"Then I am free... as well."

He took one more shallow breath, breathed out slowly, let his eyelids drop over the image of Harry's face, and died with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Still gripping the old man's slack hand, Harry dropped his forehead to the mattress in front of him.

He felt himself shaking with sobs before he realised he was actually doing it.

A few moments later on bare feet, Hermione slipped out from her cot, having awoke a few minutes earlier, and heard and seen the last bit of their conversation.

She walked quietly over to Harry and laid a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Harry."

Harry raised his head from the mattress and stared up at her.

Not saying another word, she moved in front of him and straddled his lap, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

Harry let go of Dumbledore's hand, grabbed her around the middle, buried his face in her chest and let himself go.

*~~*~~*~~*~~

'O Captain, my Captain!' By Walt Whitman

...My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

But I with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

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

Some three or four days later, having both been successfully discharged from the school's infirmary, Harry and his father made their ways down Hogwarts drafty castle halls toward Sybil Trelawny's old Divination classroom. Harry had told James about the small piece of folded parchment Dumbledore had given him before he died, and both had decided to take the late Headmaster's advice and visit Trelawny about its contents; scribbled out lines written in an almost indecipherable Latin scrawl.

Sometimes along the way, they stopped to meet and greet those Muggle-born students they came across who had been rescued with the rest from the secret location in the Grampian Mountains, and who had returned to school for a few days to gather their things and speak with the Professors about moving forward the next year despite not finishing this one, and about end of the year tests.

Harry found it all too surreal, bumping into and talking with some of those students he and others had tried only last month to persuade not to get on Umbridge's 'Death Train'. He noticed the haunted, timid look in so many of their eyes and expressions, the way their halted movements seemed jerky and suspicious, the way their cheeks sunk in just a bit more than normal; their bodies a bit more frail and worn. Passing by these and still others who did not belong to the school, but bustled past making their ways to the infirmary or somewhere else, he marvelled at the fact that life attempted to move on, a struggle back to the usual, what with the after-effects of so much of the bizarre and remarkable weaving in and out of the whole picture.

However, despite Dumbledore's death and all that had happened, he understood routine and normalcy had to be gone on about, no matter how absurd the continuance of everyday things seemed. Life went on and someday, in what seemed the very distant future, life would put the war and it's effects behind them.

As if to solidify this notion, McGonnagol, acting as Headmistress until she or another could be officially appointed, declared that N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s were to be held in few days. She understood as much as anyone that the effects of the war and all else that had gone on would have extreme impact on how the students were able to perform, but, she had reasoned, it could not be delayed any longer as end of the year had approached, and students needed to be able to leave, unhindered. Those who did not do well or simply could not take the tests were to be given the choice of taking the written part via owl post, and the practical part with discreet visits from a Ministry appointed tester. Most of the teachers and remaining student body had agreed with her decision. Harry himself had thought it a good idea, thinking that for the first time he would like nothing better than to put Hogwarts and its memories out of his mind for a good while.

Harry and James finally rounded the last corner, and soon found themselves standing near the long ladder that lead upwards to the trap door of Trelawny's classroom.

Climbing up one after the other, they finally stood in the still overly-heated room. She had her back to them, packing away crystal balls, tiny burlap bags of incense and their burners, tea cups and leaves and all other manner of ridiculous future-telling objects. She was dressed the normal way in a frumpy dress covered in drapes and shawls; her wrists again covered in too many bracelets and bangles, and her large, thick glasses finally repaired.

She turned about, her arms full of Divination primers, and pinned them with her enormous, slightly mad eyes before they could even announce their presence.

"Ah, and there you are. I knew you were coming, both of you. I've always sensed these things..."

"Right," Harry began under his breath, instantly irritated. "Look Professor, dad and I have something Professor Dumbledore gave me before... before he died. He told me you might know what it means."

To Harry's slight consternation she did not seem surprised by this. He began to watch her closely.

James took the parchment from Harry and moved nearer Trelawny. "Have a look at this Sybil; tell us what you think."

Trelawny nodded, not saying anything. She unfolded the paper and opened it, her largely magnified eyes moving quickly over the words. She seemed to study it for quite some time, her expression making it seem as if she were surprised Dumbledore had given it to them. Finally, she looked up.

"Well..." she smiled rather tightly, lowering the paper. "It seems you have been given a great gift... It's the only way something like this could be done, and he must've known it, great wizard he was. But if it works properly... one never knows with these things..."

"Mind telling us what the 'thing' is?" Harry spoke up dryly.

Trelawny sighed. "Once again I am reminded that you never paid attention in my classes, Mr. Potter. It is an incantation, an ancient one, much like what was used to save your life out there," she gestured vaguely toward her window, her bangles clinking together.

Harry knew she meant in the forest. Hermione and Ron had let him in on what had happened to the shield and why it had fallen.

"This incantation is some sort of gift?" asked James rather sceptically. "Sounds odd... I don't suppose you want to elaborate on..."

"Not at the present time, no." Trelawny spoke up very quickly. "Suffice it to say if it works, you'll know instantly what it was. If it doesn't I'm sure you will be greatly disappointed, and I'd much rather you come to me later to ask what you've missed, rather than knowing instantly..."

"You enjoy being cryptic, don't you?" Harry broke in, now thoroughly annoyed. "Just tell us what we're in for for Merlin's sake..."

"You'll see what I mean," Trelawny replied, never faltering. "Are you..." She paused, looking at Harry a bit uncomfortably. "Are you aware of where you're paren... Your mother and.. Remus Lupin.. are buried?"

"Not... I've never been there..." Harry looked taken aback. His heart began to flutter dangerously in his chest. "Are you trying to tell me this is some daft way of bringing them BACK from..."

"Nothing can bring back the dead Mr. Pot... Harry," Trelawny interrupted with a much softer tone. "Nevertheless, you will need to be near their graves when using this. If it is to work, it will need to be there."

James and Harry stared at her as if she had gone completely round the twist. In reality, they were not quite sure she had not.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but James spoke up before he could.

"Thank you, Sybil. We'll let you know how it turns out."

They left the room, Harry looking decidedly angry with her.

"I daresay I'll know next time we meet," Trelawny whispered quietly after them.

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A/N: I know this chapter is a bit shorter than what I've been putting out, but I thought this a good place to pause and wanted to get another out to all of you. Thank you so much for reading, and the next few chapters will be happier, guaranteed. Please review, it only takes a few seconds to do, and I would so like your comments and criticisms. It means a great deal. Thanks!