Harry Potter and the Covenant of the Triangle by bamaslamma29

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 20/03/2003
Last Updated: 18/04/2006
Status: Paused

*It's not necessary to have read "Harry Potter and the Forest of Kavan" to read
this one, but certain things may make more sense if you do!* Happy reading!...The trio's
seventh year at Hogwarts, a final war with Voldemort is approaching, and all who will be involved
must now begin the most important training of their young lives. But what is this prophecy? And who
are the ones to fulfill it? Contains lots of H/Hr and some D/G and R/L. Beginning to middle
chapters deal mainly with H/Hr relationship and the trio's friendship. Latter chapters pick up
intensity quite a bit. Happy reading, and please do review, I take what is said to heart!




1. Chapter 1: The Forest
------------------------

Harry Potter and the Covenant of the Triangle

Chapter 1:The Forest

The forest was dense with dead trees. The barren, knarled and twisted limbs stretched towards
the dark sky as if right before death, they had reached out to the heavens above with one last plea
for life, a life that was taken prematurely.

Towards the forest floor, covered with decaying leaves and foliage, there was almost no
semblance of life either. Not a sound made its way through the heavy blanket of silence; no chirp
of birds, no soft rustling from hooves or paws, not even the less audible movement of insects. As
far as the eye could see, everything was dying or dead; a brown wasteland. There was no new growth;
there would be none. This forest hadn't died naturally. Its life had been stolen; stolen by an
old evil, ancient and sinister, that left no chance for re-awakening.

Did this evil come from its one sole inhabitant? No, although he would like to think so, but
even he couldn't be fooled into thinking his power had done this. He may have joined with this
evil, to rule and to be ruled, but by no means had he invented it. It had existed far longer than
he had, longer than his old mentor Grindelwald, longer than the thousand year old school of
witchcraft and wizardry Hogwarts, even longer than the still living Forbidden Forest.

If one thought about it, hadn't the desire for possessing all encompassing power been
present since the very beginning? Ever since the time of Adam and Eve, when both had been tempted,
and given in to eating a forbidden fruit, a fruit whose properties included all knowledge and the
supposed power to exist and rule apart from God; hadn't that been the start?

*The human race, Muggles and Magicals alike had gone downhill ever since*, thought the dead
forest's one inhabitant with an ironic chuckle, but then he digressed. *If Adam and Eve
hadn't begun the job* *long ago though, where would he be now?* Then he chuckled again,
but less with amusement than with an over-inflated sense of his own destiny. *He* would've
started it; started the rebellion against something that kept him from being in complete control;
not just over himself, but over everyone else. After all, what did the rest of the world understand
about true power? About controlling and being controlled? Nothing…absolutely nothing, but he would
teach them soon enough. They were all pawns and he would be their king; as soon as he got his body
back, as soon as his faithful returned to him, as soon as Potter was finally eliminated…soon…very
soon…

The lone figure started from his reverie and with red-slitted eyes, blinked angrily against the
dawning of a new day. The sky was dusky gray and purple, locked in the period between night and
morning, where the sun and moon were both still vying for ownership of the horizon.

With a hideous scowl, he turned his gaze back down to the ground, almost cursing the fates for
daring to bring about a new day while he was still so far from his goal.

He needed his body back.

Voldemort gritted his teeth and flared his slitted nostrils in fury at the thought of the boy
who had stolen it from him yet again the previous year. He hated Harry Potter with every fiber of
the half-life he still possessed.

The first time his body had been stolen, he had bidden his time until his servant, Peter
Pettigrew, more aptly named Wormtail, had finally returned to him. Now he, and even his first
servant, Stuart Kavan, who had re-joined him later, was dead. Kavan he had killed for his thoughts
of betrayal, and Pettigrew, even before Kavan had returned to him, had been disposed of as well;
too weak. Was there no one worthy enough to be his right hand?

There was no time to dwell on that now. He felt himself weakening; he needed sustenance. As much
as he hated the Forbidden Forest for the life and the semblance of good that still remained there,
he knew that the one thing he needed wouldn't be found in Kavan.

*Kavan*, he snorted derisively to himself. The forest was not so aptly named. He wondered
when Dumbledore would figure out that Stuart Kavan hadn't been killed by the dark lord all
those years ago, but had actually joined him. Perhaps after what Voldemort had planned for the
place it would be re-named, in honor, or fear as the case would be, of him…perhaps…

Voldemort ground his teeth as he glided off in the general direction of the Forbidden Forest.
His mind bent with anger, his soul burning for revenge, but most of all at that moment, his
transparent body yearning for the only thing that was keeping him alive…

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



2. Chapter 2: The Dream and the Dursleys
----------------------------------------

Chapter 2: The Dream and the Dursleys

Harry Potter lay in his uncomfortably small bed at number 4 Privet Drive, hopelessly twisted in
his bed sheets. In sleep, unbeknownst to him, he clenched the sides of his bed in a death like
grip. His unruly dark hair, normally in a state of disarray, was flattened with sweat against his
head and forehead, and he tossed back and forth, trying even in slumber to rid himself of the scene
that was literally playing out before him.

(The dream)

"Welcome my faithful servants," Voldemort hissed, grinning skeletal-like and gesturing
with a sweep of his arm to the group of around twenty death eaters.

They stood deep in the heart of the dead forest of Kavan, in a circle near the ruins of what had
been Voldemort's cabin, torn down at the end of the previous school year. The dead trees seemed
to have twisted their knarled limbs together in a circular clearing around the group, some of the
limbs reaching to the dark starry sky, and some reaching out and down, as if partaking in the
meeting.

Harry saw himself, Hermione and Ron, bound by the *Immobulus* curse, lying on the ground.
Harry and Ron were laid perpendicular to each other, their heads touching, and Hermione was laid
out at their feet. Her head towards Ron's feet, she could move only it, and she turned her
frightened eyes in Harry's direction, her watery gaze making contact with his own. All three
were breathing hard, chests heaving with fear, but also with another emotion, a deep glaring
regret.

"We failed," Hermione croaked out to the prone forms of Harry and Ron.

The Harry on the ground worked his jaw with a face full of emotion and locked his gaze with
Hermione's once more. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…this is my fault…"

"Shut up Harry," said Ron huskily, turning his head and cutting his wet eyes to the
side to glimpse Harry's face, "You can't take all the blame you selfish git…We all
failed…all of us."

Harry closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in anguish. "But I…"

"Ron's right," said Hermione, her voice shaking with barely controlled fear,
"We're all to blame…we all made the pact, remember? We're all in this together,
we…"

"Never mind," said Harry huskily, squinting his eyes shut and swallowing the thick
lump in his throat, "Never mind. It doesn't matter anymore. It's over, I…but I
won't die without telling you both how much you mean to me."

As Harry observed himself, Hermione and Ron lying on the ground, he fell back a step in fear and
confusion. He tried to yell out to the three prisoners but no sound escaped his lips. He grabbed at
his throat frantically, his eyes desperately searching his surroundings for an answer, but the
forest had none to give. No one could hear him. Even Voldemort didn't seem to sense the
presence of the second Harry, and continued to address his followers in his trademark high-pitched
unearthly voice.

"You few have been faithful to me. Because of your unwavering service, you will be duly
rewarded, as I promised."

The death eaters, all clad in dark hooded robes that hid their identities, nodded agreeably,
shifting intermittently from one foot to the other and glancing towards their captives as if
anxious for something to happen.

"With the death of these," Voldemort gestured grandly down towards the three teens,
"comes the dawning of a new era…A time in which darkness will rule once again. But not
darkness simply for darkness sake, but because darkness is the strongest, the most powerful, and
light has been overcome, as it was always destined to be."

The Harry on the ground tilted his head again towards Ron. "Ron, mate, you’re my best
friend, ever since the first day on the train. You've stuck by me through everything.
You…you're like my brother. Y…you don't know how much you mean to me…"

"I know Harry…I know," said Ron thickly, "Same to you…the very same…and you
'Mione."

"Ron…" sobbed Hermione quietly.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and then turned his burning gaze to Hermione, who was stifling a
sob and gazing at him helplessly. "'Mione," he whispered gently, "I love you so
much…You'll never know…how much…"

"Don't Harry!" she sobbed out, but then squeezed her eyes shut and controlled
herself once again, "Please don't…"

"I wish I could've had more time with you," continued Harry in a low voice,
"I…I don't know why we can't…but I want you to know. You mean everything to
me."

Hermione's face twisted in anguish as she turned her gaze away from him and sobbed in the
back of her throat. "O god Harry, I love you too…"

Voldemort turned toward his minions and drew his wand. "You all know what you're
supposed to do."

The second Harry looked wide-eyed from himself and his two friends to Voldemort and found that
his body wouldn't obey his mind to move forward, to intercept…

"It is time," said Voldemort simply, but with a hint of the underlying excitement. He
gestured two death eaters forward, and they, along with Voldemort approached the three captives.
"You two take whichever you want," his red eyes glittered with long-awaited glee,
"But Potter's mine."

The two death eaters quickly headed towards their prey, and Voldemort stood over Potter, his arm
outstretched, wand inches from Harry's face. He whispered so quietly that only Harry and his
mute counterpart near them could hear.

"The end, Potter…I've waited a long time for this."

Harry simply glared up at Voldemort with a set jaw, his eyes glittering with disrespect and an
unbendable hatred. "Go to hell."

Voldemort shrugged and smirked. "All in due time…There's so much to accomplish
first."

He nodded to the death eater near Ron and the man lowered his hood. It was none other than
Lucius Malfoy who, without a pause, pointed his wand to a shaking, wide-eyed Ron and muttered the
death curse.

Hermione screamed in anguish as Ron's body immediately relaxed, dead before he could mutter
a word.

"*RON!*" Harry screamed and sobbed out a strangled curse despite himself.
"**Dammit**! *Damn* *you*, *you* **son** *of a*…" If he could
have moved, he would have torn Voldemort limb from limb.

Voldemort simply smiled; a cold ruthless gesture. He felt no joy at this, no regret. It was
simply a necessity. Just as necessary as swatting a mosquito bent on drawing blood.

This fact alone made him a monster. Even the vilest murderer felt some emotion when he
killed…hatred, pain, even joy; but Voldemort felt nothing. All that was done was done simply for
the gaining of power. There was nothing more and nothing less; the murders were simply a means to
an end.

As a trembling Harry turned his furious, anguished gaze back to Voldemort he saw above him, to
the sky, a haze of dark gray-black clouds that hadn't been there before. The ominous mist
slowly seeped down between the thick limbed trees to hover and swirl almost evilly above the crowd
below.

The Harry observing all of this turned his haunted gaze towards Voldemort's minions. Even
the Death Eaters seemed frightened, but Voldemort's face registered delight.

"Do you *see*, Harry?" He looked back down at Potter on the ground before him,
"My powers are returning to me…and upon your death, I'll have them back. All of
them."

The prone Harry turned his horror filled face down to look at Hermione, who, upon catching his
eyes, seemed to draw strength from them, even though her gaze held horror as well.

"Don't give up hope Harry. Even though we're gone, someone else will take our
places…He *won't* win."

Voldemort snorted derisively and looked back down at Harry. "Brave girlfriend you have
there Potter…deluded, but brave. How unfortunate I have no use for her, or for you."

He nodded toward the Death Eater that stood over her and he lowered his hood, extending his
wand. Neither of the Harry's recognized him.

"Do you remember when we fought here Harry?" said Voldemort quietly, gesturing toward
the remains of his ruined cabin, "Do you remember when I told you that I'd get her, one
way or the other?" He smiled and nodded again towards the Death Eater near Hermione.

She looked at Harry and whispered his name one more time before she died.

Harry screamed again, an earth-shattering, world-ending, wrenching sound that emanated from his
very soul; one that left him pale and weak. His thoughts were completely muddled with despair, so
much so that he could barely remind himself to breathe…but what did it matter anymore? They were
dead…they were both dead…

"Never let it be said that a dark wizard fails to keep his promises," said Voldemort
simply.

The Harry observing all of this fell to his knees in horror, his fingernails scraping at his
face in total agony. *Ron…O god, Hermione…my 'Mione…*

Harry tasted bile and promptly vomited.

The dark clouds began to form together, swirling and whirling in a tornado-like vortex. The wind
whipped violently, and the Death Eaters looked up to the sky, nervously moving closer together
without even realizing they were doing so.

The dark vortex, now punctured here and there with an eerie flash of red lightening, moved over
to swirl and hover directly above Voldemort, and he looked up to it smiling greedily, a look of mad
victory playing on his features.

With no long farewell speech, no gloating, he simply turned back towards Harry and lowered his
hood, his sickeningly ghostly pale face alive with excitement, his red eyes glowing with madness.
He grasped his wand tighter, thrusting it between Harry's eyes.

"Goodbye, Potter…*PESTIS CONLABOR*!"

After a few moments of agonized twitching, Harry's head dropped to one side.

The Harry watching all of this felt all of his breath leave his body in a powerful whoosh as if
he'd been punched. He fell forward on his hands in shock, breathing raggedly but looking up in
time to see the vortex begin to descend towards Voldemort.

The dark lord threw up his arms, his long-fingered hands claw-like, and opened his mouth
unnaturally wide, actually beginning to swallow the tornado, lightening and all.

"*NO*!" Harry finally was able to scream wildly. His scar began to throb with an
indescribable pain, unlike any he'd experienced yet. "*Please* *NO*!
*NO…NO…NO…*"

(End dream)

"*NO MORE LAZING ABOUT, I SAID*!" bellowed Harry's Uncle Vernon angrily as he
finally succeeded in yanking Harry out of his bed and onto the floor.

Harry, who was now big enough to defend himself, and normally would have yanked Vernon
Dursley's sausage-like fingers away from his shirt, could only fall to the floor and clutch at
his forehead, gritting his teeth against the burning, searing pain that stabbed through his head
like a knife.

"Get *UP* boy!" yelled Dursley, grabbing onto the back of Harry's flannel
shirt and attempting to yank him up from the floor, "You think you're gonna sleep down
there as well!? *UP*!"

Harry brought himself to his knees and hissed through his teeth, as much from the pain in his
scar as the anger he felt towards his uncle.

He pushed Vernon's beefy hand from his shirt weakly, swallowing down the nausea that always
accompanied the pain when his scar burned.

Vernon took a step backward and sneered down at his nephew as if he were a piece of rotting
garbage that had missed the bin. "What's wrong with *you* then? You oversleep,
breakfast is no where *near*

on the table and you're lying there on the floor like you're *ill*…"

"Like you really care?" Harry replied weakly pulling himself up to sit on his bed and
resting his head in his hands. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

"You'll be down *NOW*!" said Vernon reaching a hand out to grasp Harry by the
arm. But Harry grabbed the man's wrist in his own powerful grip and looked up at his uncle with
a warning glance that stopped him in his tracks. He answered his uncle calmly.

"I need to wake up, and shower…then I'll be down to get your breakfast."

Vernon shot a look of glazed fury Harry's way and yanked his wrist back, pointing a shaking
finger in his nephew's face. "You *dare* to speak to me in that insolent tone, boy!?
I'll have you scrubbing this house spotless every Saturday from now until next month when you
finally go back to that ruddy unnatural *school* of yours, do you hear me!?"

"All of *Wales* can hear you!" Harry shot back angrily, standing up and towering
over his uncle, "I'll be down in a few minutes! Now either you can go down and wait for
me, or you can stay up here and yell while I take a shower. It's *your choice*!"

Vernon scowled and narrowed his small eyes, his beefy, red face puffed up with anger. His nephew
might be too big to bully anymore, but he certainly wasn't immune to threats; and his real
power, *magic*, (Vernon **loathed** the "*m*" word), was not allowed outside
of Hog…his *school*. Dursley smiled humorlessly. He always had his trump card.

"Careful Harry. You've still got a year left in this house until you're eighteen.
Until then, you do as *I* say and obey *my* rules or you're **OUT**! Then where
would you go?"

Harry opened his mouth to tell Vernon that A) he could always live at the Burrow with the
Weasleys or with the Grangers, and B) that his uncle could go to hell, in that order, but stopped
himself.

He wasn't stupid. Dumbledore had him here for a reason. There were so many spells and
safeguards on this house to keep him from harm that if the Dursleys ever found out, they would
probably all suffer from simultaneous strokes. He had to stay there at least until he turned
eighteen and could finally inherit all the money his parents had left him, and blessedly strike out
on his own; safeguards be damned.

Harry gritted his teeth in minor defeat and nodded in deference to his uncle. "I'll be
down in a few minutes…I promise."

Vernon's jaw worked as he nastily stared Harry up and down and finally turned to leave.
"See that you *are*!" His large form seemed to shake the frame of the house as he
stomped down the hall and down the stairs.

Harry turned with a sigh to rummage through his bureau for clean clothes and heard his Aunt
Petunia across the hall, gently shaking his whale-sized cousin Dudley awake.

"Dudders…sweet pea…it's almost time for brekkie…Won't you come down now?"

Dudley rolled his massive body onto his back and pulled his pillow over his head, grumbling
angrily. "Wh…what time is it…"

"It's seven o'clock pumpkin…time for brekkie so you can get to school."

"Wh…why do I hafta go to school today!?" whined a muffled Dudley angrily from beneath
his pillow, "Why can't I have the day off!?"

Petunia bit her bottom lip with her large front teeth and gently shook her son again.
"B…because Diddy dear…Smart, talented boys like yourself need to finish their
education…"

"Because you *flunked* senior year and you're in summer school," called out
Harry as he padded past Dudley's room towards the bathroom.

At this, Dudley growled and sprang up from his bed as quickly as his fat form would allow,
nearly knocking his mother down in an attempt to fly at his cousin. But Harry, being quicker by
far, merely shut the bathroom door and locked it behind him.

"Harry!" screamed Dudley furiously, banging on the door, "You great hideous
*PRICK*! I'll get you for that one! Come out, *YOU*!"

"What was that?" yelled Harry turning on the shower full force.

"Turn off the water!" screamed Dudley, "Come out here and *FACE
ME!*"

"Sorry, DUD…can't hear you! I've got the water running!"

Harry grinned easily and undressed, stepping into the shower and letting the water drown out his
irate cousin's reply. Dudley *hated* it when Harry called him Dud… the meaning was so
obviously implied…even to him. The banging on the door finally stopped, probably due to
Petunia's soothing, and Harry was left to enjoy his very short shower in peace.

As he let the water cascade down his tense body, Harry thought about his situation for not the
first time.

Not much had changed at number four, Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon was still a bully, though not as
much as he used to be since Harry was now much taller and stronger and could fend for himself. The
one thing he still had over Harry was the fact that Harry was still his charge and personal slave
until his eighteenth birthday. By Muggle law, and secretly, by Dumbledore's own law, Harry had
to stay with the Dursley's until then, though he was sure as soon as the day of his eighteenth
birthday arrived, Vernon would have him tossed out on his ear by the time the clock struck twelve
a.m.

Little did his uncle know though that Harry would be well taken care of. His parents had seen to
that.

Petunia was still a simpering, gossipy nag who twittered around and doted on her enormous son
and with equal measures, hated Harry because of he and his late parent's
"oddities".

And Dudley…Dudley was still an enormous, bratty, selfish prick of a lad who adored only two
things in life; food and torturing Harry…in that order. Though the latter was proving rather
difficult in recent years. Harry was simply too big to be pushed around anymore, by anyone. But the
Dursley's control had always been more emotional than physical.

Harry closed his eyes and hung his head under the hot water, letting it loosen his knotted
muscles and thought briefly back to his dream. If it had just been Hermione and Ron going through
that horror, he would have owled them immediately to make sure they were all right but since Harry
had been there too, he knew that it hadn't been real.

Still, the burning in his scar made it much more than just a run-of-the-mill nightmare. It
wouldn't do to ignore it…he'd certainly learned his lesson about that. After breakfast he
would owl them. Besides, he needed to thank them both for the presents they had sent him for his
birthday last week, as well as Hagrid and Sirius. He had let Hedwig out to stretch her wings and
hunt a bit a couple of days ago and she hadn't yet returned; though Harry knew it would be any
day now. She never stayed gone for more than a few days at a time.

Reluctantly, Harry turned off the water and stepped out of the shower to dry himself, dress and
start the morning. *Another delightful day with the Dursleys*, he thought out loud to himself
as he scanned his form in the mirror. He was now a good six feet tall though still a few inches
shorter than Ron. He had inherited his father's olive-skinned complexion and was bronzed from
working out in the yard every day. His hair was still a shock of dark, thick untamable tresses that
fell wherever they would, and his eyes, staring back at him through the round glasses were still a
bright green.

But no longer did a skinny boy's reflection stare back at him. He had broadened in all the
right places; shoulders, chest, arms and legs and had become considerably more muscular within the
last two years. He smiled to himself. Not that it mattered a whole lot to him how he'd changed,
but Hermione seemed to have appreciated it. She had told him that she loved him for who he was on
the inside, but had naughtily added that the outside didn't hurt matters much either. (*wink*
from the author ;0)

Hermione…he couldn't wait to see her again. To think it'd been almost two months…

Uncle Vernon's angry voice roared up the stairs, sharply bringing Harry's thoughts back
to the present. "Boy, if I have to yell for you again there **WILL** be
consequences!"

*Try them*, thought Harry dangerously, but thought better than to reply in kind. "Be
right there…"

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



3. Chapter 3: Breakfast at the Burrow
-------------------------------------

Chapter 3: Breakfast at the Burrow

Things at the Burrow weren't much less harried than those at the Dursley's that
particular morning, though with seven people in one house things never were.

Molly Weasley rushed about her kitchen as usual, frantically trying to 'conjure' up
breakfast for her family who were notoriously late for anything important.

"Arthur dear, are you getting up or must I bash you over the head with a frying pan!?"
yelled Molly loud enough for the whole upstairs to hear.

"I'm up Molly," said Mr. Weasley as he stumbled down the stairs sleepily, though
already dressed, "I've an hour until work yet…"

But Molly seemed not to hear him as she yelled up the stairs yet again for her twin
nineteen-year-old sons. "*Fred! George!* If you plan on actually ever *having* your
joke shop you'll be down here in two minutes! Your meeting starts in half an hour and you still
haven't eaten!"

"Have off mum, we're apparating!" yelled Fred down the stairs.

"Molly…" began Arthur again.

"Well breakfast won't eat itself!"

**BANG!** Smoke began to pour down the stairs as a few loud guffaws and the voice of one very
irate Ron Weasley mingled together in a loud argument.

Startled, Molly dropped her wand with a yell and rushed towards the bottom of the stairs.
"Great Merlin's ghost *WHAT HAVE YOU TWO DONE NOW!?*"

"Why does it have to be us?" said George through stifled laughter as he peeked his
head around the corner at the top of the stairs.

"Who *ELSE* would it be!?" yelled Molly, "What *HAVE* you done!? Get
down here now!"

George laughed heartily as Ron shoved roughly past him and began angrily stomping down the
stairs. His red hair was blown back from his forehead as if he'd been caught in a wild wind and
ash covered his face and hands as if a small blast had gone off near him.

"Ronald! What in *Merlin's name*…"

"Exploding Elves Mum," Ron growled as he walked past her, averting his eyes in barely
controlled fury, "Exploding Elves. The newest, latest, and greatest…stupid ugly
prats…"

Fred joined George at the top of the stairs and both fell on each other bellowing with laughter
as Ron stalked huffily away.

Molly scowled fiercely at them. "Was that necessary!?"

"We had to try 'em out on someone Mum!" said Fred grinning and wheezing for
breath," We can't very well show them to Japes and Gambol without testing 'em
first!"

Japes and Gambol Joke Shop in Diagon Alley was closing its doors, and Fred and George were eager
to snap up the business, should the owners deem them worthy to sell to. The money they would make
would finally allow them to move out on their own, and it was a move that was desperately
needed.

Molly closed her eyes, attempting to control her madness, though it felt like a losing battle.
Insanity was not far behind… "Just GET down here and eat! Breakfast is ready…and pinch up
Ginny for me; I don't know *what* the girl's up to."

"Aye aye, Mum!" said George winking and giving his mother a stiff salute.

Molly pinched the bridge of her nose and turned slowly, walking back towards the kitchen table
and dropping heavily in her chair.

"Oy, Ginny!" said Fred pounding on her door, "Stop primping, you! Breakfast is
waiting!"

"Who exactly do I have to primp for!?" shot back Ginny's muffled voice, "Tell
Mum I'll be down in a minute…"

Fred shrugged and made his way down the stairs.

Once again, Ginny made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat and balled up her note,
sending it to the already large pile of wadded paper in the corner.

"*Try to sound excited, but not overly eager; open, yet enticingly aloof; charming, but
not* *smarmy…*"

Ginny sighed and slapped down her copy of **Witch Weekly**. This weeks "*Charms for
the* *Charmed*" section was aptly named "*A Witches Guide to Winning her
Wizard: Love Letters*." Brilliant for her since she was trying to answer her second note
from the boy she desperately had a crush on, and whom she felt must feel the same, no matter how
detached he seemed. She smiled almost deviously. She was a determined witch…you *had* to be to
live in a house with all male siblings.

She poised her quill to write again and smiled.

"*Dear Draco,*

*I was so pleased to get your last letter*…"

Fred and George finally made it to the breakfast table, trailed shortly by Ginny, and the seven
Weasleys tucked in for a quick bite before each were off, save Ron and Ginny, who had no particular
place to be.

"Finally, you!" said Molly to her daughter as she passed around the biscuits,
"What've you been up to this morning then?"

"Nothing mum, just a bit of a late start," lied Ginny, purposefully avoiding her
mother's gaze. She had swiped Pig, Ron's owl, after he had come down stairs for breakfast,
tied her letter to Draco securely on the owl's tiny leg, and let him out to deliver his
post.

She sighed as she took a rather small bite of sausage and moved the rest of her food around on
her plate. She hoped the letter didn't seem too eager…

"Excited about your meeting boys?" asked Arthur Weasley around a mouthful of eggs.

"We're corkers!" said George excitedly, "This's the opportunity we've
been looking for, aye Fred?"

Fred nodded enthusiastically. "Just have to prove to 'em we've got the stuff to run
the business. We've a whole load of jokes and pranks loaded up to take with us. That oughtta
show 'em…"

"Yeah it'll show 'em," muttered Ron into his glass of pumpkin juice,
"*Slimy gits*…"

"Aw, don't be mad *Ronniekins*," said George grinning and pinching his
younger brother's cheek. Ron slapped his hand away with a *pop* and a large scowl. "We
hadn't tested the elves yet. We needed a willing subject…"

"*I WASN'T WILLING*!" yelled Ron, slamming his glass back down hard enough to
splatter pumpkin juice all over Ginny.

"Oy Ron!" yelled Ginny huffily, swiping her face and slapping Ron on the arm.

"Blame them!" said Ron irritably, "My aims a little off today…*Can't
imagine why*!"

"That's enough!" said Molly slapping her fork down with a loud clang, "You
three are WAY too old for this! Especially you two…" she waggled her finger in the twin's
direction.

Arthur cleared his throat; time to intervene… "It'll be a tough day at the Ministry
today I reckon…" he said eager to change the subject to a less sensitive one.

"What was that dear?"

"A tough day…at the Ministry…" repeated Arthur into his teacup, eyeing her from above
the rim.

Molly relaxed a little, relieved to be talking to an adult. Sometimes she thought she might soon
need one very white jacket with particularly long wrap-around sleeves. "Oh…why is
that?"

Fred, George, Ron and Ginny relaxed back into their meals. Their dad always knew how to calm
their mother, or at least shift her attention…

"Elvidell Pritchman's house's been raided…seems he was caught trying to bewitch
some of his appliances again; of course that falls under Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. More paperwork
for me…"

"That wizard is a menace!" exclaimed Molly as she summoned more tea from the kitchen.
The pot floated over and hovered over her cup pouring another for her. "Wasn't it he a few
months back that tried to charm that old Muggle stove of his into working again? Nearly burned his
whole house down…*Hmph*! Electrical short *indeed*!"

"Well Molly, *technically* we've a few charmed appliances around here as
well…"

"But he *SELLS* them!" She spat out in frustrated amazement, "I know you
remember the article in the Daily Prophet last year about the Muggle who found himself with one of
those, Arthur…Honestly! Who has a refrigerator that reminds you you're on a diet!? It took a
whole slew of memory charms to erase *that* one, it did!"

"Yes well," began Arthur, smiling at his wife's exuberance, "Like I said, it
won't be an easy day, but I'd rather shuffle paperwork than have to deal with what Magical
Wildlife Services does."

George swallowed a large mouthful of food and shoveled another in before speaking.
"Wha's tha' then?"

Arthur took another swallow of his tea. "Well, it seems there's been quite a few animal
disappearances in the Forbidden Forest lately…Population's getting a bit thin; could start a
problem with the eco-balance if the problems not found out soon."

"What sort of animals?" piped up Ginny.

Arthur set his teacup down absently. "Unicorns."

Suddenly there was a clatter of forks and a few dropped cups around the table as the Weasley
children sat up straight in shock. The silence that ensued was enough to make both Molly and Arthur
extremely suspicious, and they glanced around the table at their children, frowns prominently
displayed.

Ron looked positively ashen. "D…did you say unicorns, dad?"

Arthur answered slowly, a look of confusion playing on his ruddy features. "Quite a few of
them actually. Seem to have been slaughtered…at least the ones they found; drained of blood.
Can't seem to figure out what could've done such a thing. Ron, you look pale…"

The Weasley children seemed to have suddenly lost their appetites. Even the twins were unusually
silent.

"Uh…may I be excused Mum," said Ron rising quickly, "There's something I need
to do…"

Ginny slid her chair out noisily. "Me too…"

"Yes, of course," said Molly slowly, eyeing them. As soon as the words were out of her
mouth, her youngest children sprang up and bolted for the stairs.

"Ron! Ginny! What's going on!?" yelled Molly after them, but they had both already
disappeared up to the second floor.

"What's with those two, then?" Arthur asked the twins as he rose uncertainly to
leave, but Fred and George rose as well.

"Uh, dunno…daft I guess," said George quickly taking a last swig of his pumpkin juice,
"Well, we best be off too, Mum. Don't want to be late!" Both boys stepped back from
the table and grabbed up the trunk filled with their inventions, each holding one side.

"Wait, I'm not through with you!" exclaimed Molly.

"We'll be late Mum, sorry!" With a pop, both boys disapparated, leaving a
bewildered Molly and Arthur in their wake.

Molly threw up her hands in exasperation. "What in Merlin's name is going
on!?"

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

Ron, Ginny following, threw open the door to his room and made straight for his owl cage perched
atop his school trunk, but found it empty to his dismay.

"What!? Where's Pig!?"

Ginny looked sheepish and stuttered out a reply. "Sorry Ron, I…I borrowed him."

Ron whirled around, fixing his sister with a glare and she took a step back, guilt flooding her
freckled face. "Ginny, this's important!" he said in exasperation.

"I *KNOW* Ron, I'm sorry! We'll have to use Errol…"

Ron sighed angrily. "He's too slow! We don't even know if he'll make
it!"

"Well we haven't got a choice, have we!?" Ginny shot back.

Ron shook his head, growling impatiently, but made his way to George's room where Errol was
living out the rest of his existence. He had his own perch and no cage. Being actually almost too
old anymore to perform his post duties, he simply wiled away his days flying wherever he wanted and
returning when he wanted, though to be honest, he rarely flew very far from home nowadays.

Ron plopped down at Fred's messy desk, impatiently shoving aside the makings of what
appeared to be another prank and took out a parchment and quill, poised to write. He turned to
Errol, gazing at the owl pointedly.

"This's very important Errol…you'll need to fly your very best, ok?

As if the owl could, Ginny could've sworn that Errol gave Ron a look of derision mixed with
disbelief, but a soft hoot was his only reply. Ginny continued to stroke him as Ron began composing
one of the most important notes he had ever written.

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



4. Chapter 4: Letters
---------------------

Chapter 4: Letters

While Dudley and Petunia argued about Dudley's third helping of pancakes, Harry finally took
the opportunity to sneak away from the kitchen and back upstairs to his room to begin writing his
letters to Ron and Hermione.

To his surprise, he found Errol, the Weasley's impossibly old post owl lying exhausted on
his bed. When he saw Harry, the owl feebly stuck out his leg for Harry to relieve him of his
burden. Harry frowned. *Why hadn't Ron used Pig*?

Harry untied the letter from his leg and walking over to give Hedwig a gentle pat, he unsnapped
her plastic water bowl from her cage and placed it beside a grateful Errol.

He unrolled the letter and took in Ron's untidy scrawl.

*Dear Harry,*

*How are you? I hope the Muggles aren't getting you down.*

*Is Dudley still the size of a small freighter? Nevermind…*

*How did you like the book? More like Hermione to get you*

*something like that for your birthday although she probably would've*

*gotten you something more studious than "*Candid Conversations With

the Cannons…Chudley's Finest*." Check out the chapter on "Flying with*

*the Firebolt"...lots of new tricks and tips in that one, not that you need them!*

*But on a more serious note; Dad mentioned something at breakfast today;*

*I hope you're sitting…The Ministry's looking into unicorn disappearances*

*in the Forbidden Forest. Seems the populations gone down and the ones that*

*have been found were drained of all of their blood…not that there were a bloody*

*lot in the Forest to begin with, but are you catching on, mate? Fred, George,*

*Ginny and I could've dropped right there, but I don't think Mum and Dad*

*suspect, otherwise they'd never let us go back to Hogwarts…*

*Voldemort's still there, mate. Sorry for the bad news, look out for yourself… I'll
let you owl* *Hermione. See you soon.*

*Ron.*

Harry sat down on his bed heavily, shocked and more than a little apprehensive. Ron was right;
the unicorn killings could only mean one thing, and now his dream…

Immediately, Harry shot up and strode to his desk, snatching up his quill and parchment to warn
Hermione. It was still a month until he would see her and he wanted her prepared in case something
happened in the meantime. Voldemort had already tried to take her once, who was to say he
wouldn't try again?

He shifted anxiously in his seat, tapping his quill on his chin, trying to think of the best way
to tell her without making her overly anxious.

Finally realizing there wasn't an easy way to break that kind of news, he began to
write.

*Hi Love,*

*I miss you so much. I can't wait to see you next month. Thanks so*

*much for the picture album of you, Ron and I…that was the best present*

*I think I've ever gotten. Who knew Colin had taken so many pictures of us?*

*And thanks so much for the birthday cake even though it was sugar free!*

*Unfortunately, I'm not writing to you just to tell you how much I love you,*

*even though I think you already know (wink to you).*

*Ron owled me a kind of disturbing letter. He said his Dad mentioned*

*that the Ministry's looking into quite a few unicorn disappearances. Seems*

*the ones that have been found were drained of their blood…I know you*

*know what that means, love.*

*I also had a pretty bad nightmare. Without going into to much detail,*

*Voldemort had re-summoned the Death-Eaters and had gotten his powers back.*

*You, Ron and I were captured; that's the basics of it. I didn't write to
scare*

*you, I just want you to be careful, and aware.*

*Please take care of yourself. I'll see both you and Ron at the Three*

*Broomsticks in Diagon Alley the last Friday of August the 28th. Like we*

*planned, ok?*

*Until then, I love you all there is.*

*Harry.*

Harry re-read his letter and satisfied, tied it to Hedwig's leg. Then he sat and composed a
shorter letter to Ron, explaining his dream and cautioning him as well to stay alert, restating
that he would see them at the Three Broomsticks in about a month.

Errol seemed rested enough, so Harry attached the letter to his leg and looked at Hedwig,
admonishing her to watch over Errol as long as she could to see that he didn't drop dead. She
gave him the usual tolerant nip on the finger.

He watched them with a slightly worried expression until they became small dots on the horizon;
the brown dot dipping up and down in an erratic fashion. Harry smiled crookedly. Errol really was
getting too old for this.

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

The next month passed by rather slowly for Harry and strangely enough, he had no more
nightmares, though the dreams he did have were erratic and very strange. They mostly consisted of
shapes; a triangle, half circles. Surrounding the shapes he always saw an aura of intense power
that changed color intermittently. The colors changed from blue to green to purple and sometimes,
the colors would converge to create a band of bright translucent gold so pure, that it was almost
too bright for the human eye.

He felt his dreams had significance, but couldn't for the life of him figure out what it
could be. The shapes looked like something from Advanced Arithmancy, a subject Harry had never
taken before and didn't plan on taking. He tried not to dwell too much on the disturbing
nighttime visions, after all, he reminded himself, sometimes dreams were just that…dreams. They
didn't all have to mean something.

The Dursley's, as usual, were horrible all month long. They always seemed to get worse the
closer to Harry's school year it became. It was almost as if they knew his time of reprieve was
coming, so they did their best to torture him as thoroughly and often as they could until his
summertime prison sentence was over.

By far, the worst torture was having to sit through Dudley's summer school graduation
ceremony. He'd finally made it, though by the skin of his very teeth, and the Dursley's,
particularly Petunia, seemed to think Dudley had done exceptionally well and took every opportunity
that they could to let Harry and the rest of the parents there know how well Harry didn't
measure up. Harry, of course, informed them that he had never flunked a class, but was quickly
rebutted by a very purple faced Vernon as he venomously whispered to his nephew that
"unnatural schools" like Harry's didn't count.

Dudley took it all with smugness, and rubbed it (what "*it*" was Harry wasn't
exactly sure) in Harry's face at every turn.

Dudley's eighteenth birthday was a swell occasion as well. The Dursley's, of course,
threw him a swank bash, and invited Smelting's whole senior class to attend.

Harry, of course, was to stay upstairs and pretend once again that he didn't exist, but he
had accidentally been seen by one of Dudley's female classmates. He had scurried back into his
room quickly, but had obviously made an impression on the girl, because she immediately went to
Dudley and asked him who the cute dark-haired boy was hiding up the stairs. Dudley, in his
trademark hateful, jealous way, informed her that his cousin was mad, and attended St. Brutus's
Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, which sent the whole party into an uproar. The whole
night, various classmates tried to sneak upstairs to get a peek at the crazed teenage criminal.

Harry sighed inwardly and closed his eyes. Just a few more days until Diagon Alley, Ron and
Hermione…his 'Mione… Just the thought of her was like a gentle breeze, calming and soothing,
making him realize that life wasn't so bad after all. Just a few more days and he'd be
leaving for Diagon Alley; Hedwig, broom, trunk and all. He just had to make it until then…

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



5. Chapter 5: Diagon Alley
--------------------------

Chapter 5: Diagon Alley

Ron and Hermione, having met up at the Leaky Cauldron an hour earlier, had already taken their
belongings up to the respective rooms they'd be staying in over the weekend, and giddily made
their way through the secret brick wall entrance into Diagon Alley, heading towards the Three
Broomsticks.

They found a table and ordered two butterbeers, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of
Harry.

"I can't believe we're actually here on our own!" squealed Hermione excitedly
as she sipped on her butterbeer. Her eyes stayed glued to the door, and everytime it opened she
stiffened reflexively; an aura of pure excitement radiating from her until the moment passed and
she relaxed, a little disappointed.

"Yeah well we *are* seventeen," said Ron, eyeing her in amusement, "It's
not like we haven't done this for six years in a row now…"

"I know," said Hermione, her butterbeer almost slipping out of her grasp and clunking
on the table rather clumsily. "Oops, uh…All the same it's strange. I'm still surprised
Mum and Dad allowed me to come on my own…"

"With Harry and I here to protect you? What objections could they possibly have?"
joked Ron as he drained the last of his butterbeer in one loud gulp.

"Right, sure." Hermione answered him absently, keeping her gaze trained at the door.
Once again it clanged open, and once again she stiffened with excitement, only to be disappointed
again. "So have you picked your subjects yet?"

Ron leaned back in his chair with a smirk. She was obviously trying to make small talk to
distract herself, but as he knew, she probably wouldn't really be paying attention to any
answers she got in return.

"Yep…taking Divination again. It was between that and Arithmancy… Don't think I could
handle that."

"Uh huh…of course."

"Guess I'll be trying out for Quidditch this year; Fred and George gone and all…leaves
two spaces you know. You should try out!"

"Mm hmm…uh, what?" Hermione finally caught some of the conversation. "No Ron, of
course not! You know I don't like to fly…" she trailed off again and looked longingly at
the silent door. "Where can he be?"

Ron smiled to himself. He'd really lost her now, so he decided to have some fun. "Think
it'll be fun this year though 'Mione…I think Ginny wants to try out as a bludger…"

"Oh…she'll do well…"

"Yeah, always did want to beat a sibling without getting in trouble for it."

Hermione nodded, chin in hand. "Uh huh, of course…"

Ron rolled his eyes and smirked. She was really gone. "Made a big decision over the summer
too…I'm thinking about getting castrated…Harry should too. Just way too much temptation out
there, you know?"

"A…Absolutely, I agree…good idea."

Ron, barely controlling the fit of laughter welling up in his throat, sat ram-rod still and
stared at Hermione, waiting for the realization of what he had just said to hit her.

Hermione sat still, eyes glued to the door waiting for more conversation to come. When it
didn't she frowned and looked up at Ron, whose face was beet red from stifling himself. His
laughter, coming out in snorts, made Hermione quickly think back to what he'd just said.
Finally a dawning look of disbelief replaced the complacency.

"C…Castrated!? Ronald Weasley, you idiotic little twit!" Hermione couldn't help
but laugh as Ron burst out laughing, banging his fist on the table and eliciting stares from other
customers. Hermione scowled and pinched him playfully.

"*OW*, Hermione! Dammit…"

"Oh did that hurt ickle Ronniekins?" Hermione snickered at the little boy look on his
face. "Sorry. I know I wasn't paying attention…It's…it's just…"

Ron settled back and smirked once again. "No explanations 'Mione…You're transparent
as glass."

Hermione feigned a hurt expression and answered softly. "Am I?"

Ron, while hating when Hermione cried, hated it just as much when she looked hurt. It was the
same with Ginny, which was why he was such a complete pushover at times. His smirk softened.
"No more than he is."

The door clanged again and both looked up. "Speak of the bloody devil…" grinned
Ron.

Harry walked in; his hands shoved deeply into his pockets and began immediately scanning the
bar.

"Oy!" Ron yelled, waving to him. "Stupid git! Yeah you, over here!"

Harry's eyes fell on them and he immediately lit up, a brilliant smile spreading across his
face as he began to approach. Hermione instantly felt lightheaded. He'd gotten even taller over
the summer. His skin was a warm olive, probably from all the work the Dursley's had made him do
on the yard. His hair just brushed the neck of his white button-down shirt and fell in an unruly
fashion across his forehead, the famous scar just barely hidden beneath. Behind the thin, round
glasses, his large eyes, green as a summer meadow, clear as emeralds, held a warm glow in them as
soon as he'd spotted them, in particular her, as if he'd just come home after a long
journey. His body had filled out even more, even evident in the loose faded jeans he wore, and his
easy stride spoke volumes about how much he'd grown up; his manner confident and self-assured.
He shot a warm look Hermione's way that made her insides instantly melt to warm pudding.

Harry met Ron first with a boyish hug and laughed. "Filthy prat…good to see you…Grown more
then, haven't you?"

"You too," grinned Ron, clapping him on the back, "But you'll never catch up
to me…Everything settled at the Cauldron then?"

"All set…" Harry replied, and then sent an intense, almost shy gaze Hermione's
way. Somewhere in-between her heart and her stomach Hermione felt a breath-taking rush of
giddiness…god, how she'd missed him.

Ron rolled his eyes and smirked. "Go on, get it over with. Snog 'er
senseless."

Harry grinned at Ron, and then with two long strides made it to Hermione and swept her up in his
arms, grinning and closing his eyes, letting his forehead rest on hers.

Hermione laughed out loud and placed her arms around his shoulders closing her eyes as well. She
loved the way his long absent arms felt around her. He held her tighter about the waist hugging her
to him, and Hermione breathed in his scent. He smelled like summer…uniquely Harry. Warm breezes
with the faint scent of honeysuckle, the lingering musk of rain, freshly mown grass…

"I missed you."

*That husky baritone voice…* Those three words, breathed out almost in reverence were the
only ones Harry had given her yet in the form of a greeting, but the passion behind them and the
implied other thoughts and words were enough. Hermione felt herself spiraling back down the deep
well of longing she always found herself falling into with Harry. It was a voluntary plunge.

His lips found hers, and the instant they touched the spark that ignited fanned into flame. Very
soon, both were kissing so passionately that they forgot where they were.

With wide eyes, Ron finally cleared his throat rather loudly. People were starting to stare…

"Oy there mate," he said, tapping Harry lightly on the shoulder, "Save that for
later, will you?"

In response, Harry's lips finally left Hermione's and he slid her back down to the
floor. As Hermione felt her body sliding down Harry's, the shudder that ensued nearly took both
of their breaths away. Harry gave her a wickedly lopsided grin that didn't help matters either.
Ron scratched his head in embarrassment and Harry turned towards him with a sheepish look on his
face.

"Sorry mate…Needed that you know…"

With a wizened look, Ron cleared his throat again as the three finally sat at their table and
ordered more butterbeer. He decided then to take the wide-open opportunity to embarrass
Hermione.

"Well 'Mione, maybe that castration might not be such a bad idea after all…"

"*RON*!" Hermione blushed shades of red not yet known to mankind as Harry turned
a confused gaze from she to Ron.

"Castr…*What the hell…*!?"

Ron snickered at Hermione as she buried her face in her hands letting her hair fall around her
like a veil. He slumped back in his seat comfortably and grinned. "Never mind…"

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

The three, with the ever present prodding of Hermione, found their way to Gringotts for Harry,
and then to each necessary shop and made a day of shopping for school items, each elaborating on
how odd it was that this would be their last year at Hogwarts. Along the way, they discussed the
unicorn issue, all three agreeing that Voldemort was the most likely culprit of the killings. But,
as Ron pointed out, at least he didn't have his body back, and since Dumbledore and all the
teachers now knew that he needed Harry for the potion he had used last time to re-gain it, he would
be even more protected than ever. Harry rather thought that he didn't want the extra
protection, he had quite enough and certainly didn't want to be fussed over more than he
already was, which brought about a round of disapproval from Hermione. At that, they decided to
leave the subject alone for the time and focus on just having a great weekend, completely free of
responsibility.

Over large bowls of ice cream at Madam Fortescue's, they discussed their futures and what
they planned to do after school.

"Dad's got an internship planned for me at the Ministry, though not in 'Misuse of
Muggle Artifacts' thank Merlin!" exclaimed Ron as he took another large bite of his
chocolate chunk sundae, "Too boring for me. I think I'd like to work in Muggle Affairs…you
know, concealment spells, memory charms and the like…"

"That'd be interesting. You're certainly sneaky enough to pull it off," began
Hermione with a smirk, but then her face fell. "If Mum and Dad have their way I'll be
headed to a Muggle college…Not what I want to do though."

"What's that then?" asked Harry.

Hermione looked embarrassed and unsure of herself, something that was unusual for her.
"Well I'm…I'm seriously thinking about becoming an Auror, maybe working through the
Ministry…who knows?" She looked down and wrung her hands a bit.

Harry smiled a genuine smile and grabbed her hand, running a thumb over her knuckles
affectionately. "'Mione, don't be embarrassed…I think you'd make an excellent
Auror."

"Really?" Hermione blushed a bit and looked up at him, "I'm…I wasn't sure
what you'd think…Ron?"

"Yeah, straight on," replied Ron around a mouthful of ice cream, "You or
Harry…both do well. Whaddabout you then?" he turned his gaze on Harry.

Harry looked down, a little nervously and clasped his hands together. What could he tell them?
The two things he wanted were hardly compatible, yet he and Dumbledore had discussed at length what
his options could be.

Dumbledore was privy to information about several underground organizations whose main focus was
fighting the dark forces. Harry had almost laughed at the old wizard but something had told him not
to discount it. If he was honest with himself, wasn't that what he'd been doing his whole
life? But now he'd gotten decently good at it, and honestly, it was the most appealing.
Something that he could do in his parents' memory, in honor of their sacrifice. But the other
thing, so close to his heart, was the one thing that over-shadowed all else.

"Harry?" Hermione grabbed his hand and gazed at him quizzically, mirroring Ron's
look.

He started slowly. "Well I…I'm…Dumbledore's convinced I'd do well joining some
organization against the Dark Arts," at this, Hermione immediately blanched, "but I'm
not sure h…well, how my second, I guess, 'desire' would work with that."

Hermione noticed that he ended rather quietly and though shaken by the thought that he may
choose to fight evil day in and day out as a profession, wanted to know more. "Harry? What
about the second thing?"

Harry looked down again, not quite knowing how to form it well into words. It might sound silly
to someone who had grown up differently that he, who had the perks of a loving mother and father
relationship, who felt secure in themselves and in the love of others, but for him it had been
different…he'd always been alone…

"Harry?"

Hermione's soft, encouraging voice prodded him on. "I…I want a family."

When Harry finally looked up, he saw neither the ridicule nor the confusion he might've
expected. Both Hermione and Ron looked at him as if he'd just told them he loved Quidditch. To
them, the most natural thing in the world had just escaped his lips…because they knew him.

"Harry…" Once again Hermione breathed his name. He loved it when she said his name…so
warmly, like the heat from a fireplace after coming in from the bitter cold, like a long embrace at
the end of the day, like a shelter from the storm… "Wanting a family is nothing to be ashamed
of." She held his hand and gazed at him with more love than he thought possible. "I want
the same thing. Eventually, doesn't everyone?"

"She's right mate," said Ron, clapping Harry on the arm, "Though truth be
told, you already have a family; a huge red-headed one at that. An eccentric father, a rather
frightening mother," Harry smiled at this, "five brothers, two of whom are absolute gits,
and one who's devastatingly handsome," Hermione grinned, "and one adoring little
sister…What more could you ask for?"

Harry smiled. "Thanks for that, Ron."

Hermione grinned wickedly. "You know Ron, now that you mention it, George has become quite
handsome over the past two years. No wonder Angelina's still dating him!"

Ron scowled at her. "Sod off, you."

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

After spending the rest of the day generally gadding about and making a planned trip to Japes
and Gambol to check on the twins prospects, ("We've got it for sure!" an excited Fred
had told them, bumping into them just after his and George's meeting) the three friends made
their way slowly back towards the Leaky Cauldron, stopping to talk to fellow seventh years they met
along the way.

Quite a few had actually been allowed to come to Diagon Alley by themselves, though not all were
staying through the weekend. Most were to meet back up at King's Cross Station that Monday.

The trio met up with a particularly downtrodden Neville Longbottom, who was being led around by
the proverbial nose by his overbearing Grandmother. She was an old woman by now, but still a very
formidable one at that.

"Neville!" cried Hermione jovially, waving to the short reddish-brown haired boy as he
and his grandmother were stopped, chatting with one of her illustrious 'social circle'
friends.

Longbottom's face lit up when he saw Harry, Ron and Hermione, and seeing an opportunity for
a bit of escape, told, rather than asked his grandmother that he would be over talking to some
friends and to nip him up when she was through. The grandmother gave the three an appraising
once-over, and finally consented, although Neville was already on his way over.

"Thank Merlin for you three," he breathed out and then smiled easily, a lot easier
than he used to.

Ron looked him over with amusement. "All right then? You're Gran being harsh
again?"

"Not harsh," said Neville with a wry look, "just overbearing, as usual. She's
been afraid to let me much out of her sight after what happened to you last year." Neville
looked pointedly to Hermione who sighed and dropped her gaze. She preferred not to think about the
horror she had endured so recently, with Voldemort and his lackey, Starven, or rather Kavan, as his
true identity was now known.

Harry caught this and took her hand reassuringly. "We sort of prefer not to think about it
Nev…if you don't mind."

"Oh, of course! Sorry…" Neville gave Hermione an apologetic gaze and she instantly
shot him a look of friendly forgiveness.

"No worries," she said kindly, "So! Are you all prepared for classes? Quite a
load…"

"It is," said Ron rather heavily and then added, "Though I'm sure 'Mione
here'll have us studying for the N.E.W.T.s as soon as we step through the doors…" He
pinched her cheek playfully, with a toothy grin and she swatted at him with a scowl, eliciting
laughter from Harry and Neville.

"Yeah well, it's not the N.E.W.T.s that scare me as much as the new Advanced DADA
class! I sure hope McGonnagol doesn't see fit to send me to that! Although I rather doubt
it," Neville mused thoughtfully.

"The new *WHAT*!?"

"How's that!?"

"The *WHO*!?" Harry, Ron and Hermione were instantly beset by anxious
confusion.

"Oh right…" said Neville rather unaffectedly, "Guess you three don't know
'bout that."

Ron immediately looked like he was ready to spontaneously combust, such was the look of complete
shock on his face.

"Neville…kindly explain yourself, you git," said a slack-jawed Harry.

Neville chuckled uneasily. "Sorry mates…Gran has the inside word on almost everything.
She's been so worried about something else happening because of last year (sorry Hermione), she
owled Dumbledore and demanded that he send her a list of all classes and activities on the roster.
Since this class is for a select few, it wasn't in our letters. Oh!…Got the inside info on the
school dances this year too…prefects…head girl and boy…" At this, Neville grinned
cheshire-like.

Hermione looked positively sick. "Wh…why couldn't we know about this?! I'm not in
the least prepared!? What about our books for the class!? I could've had them read by
now!"

"No need for books apparently…" began Neville.

"There's *ALWAYS* a need for books!" replied Hermione hotly. Harry sighed
loudly and took her hand in mock reassurance. She scowled at him.

Ron shook his head quickly. "Nevermind the rest of that, mate…What'd you mean
'select few'?"

"Well the heads of the houses will choose who takes it…"

"Neville!" Longbottom's grandmother had dismissed her friend with a cordial
air-kiss and was now ready to leave. "Let's go pumpkin! Still have to make it to Flourish
and Blotts…They'll be closing in ten minutes!"

Neville sighed like a deflating balloon. "Damn! Have to see if for yourselves, I
guess…Coming Gran!"

Instantly Ron quirked an eyebrow, a wicked grin smothering his face, and spoke up in a silly old
high-pitched voice. "Oh yes my little summer squash…don't let's forget your school
thingies…" He threw an arm around Neville's shoulders and pinched his cheek.

Neville shrugged him off huffily. "Sod off, carrots…I've seen you and *your
mum*…" Neville affected an obnoxiously loud feminine voice. "Now Ronnie, did you pack
fresh undies? You know how forgetful you are! And mind you eat your veggies! No pigging on
desserts!"

Ron's eyes widened big as serving platters and he punched Neville roughly in the shoulder.
Harry and Hermione clung to each other, guffawing helplessly.

"*YES*! That was bang on Neville!" snorted Harry as he grabbed his stomach and
threw up his head, giving a sharp loud howl of laughter. "**HA**! Oh Merlin…"

Ron mustered up the harshest scowl he could and swung at Harry, but he dodged easily. "Shut
up, Harry!"

"Neville! Let's go sweetums!" his grandmother gestured in annoyance.

"Sweetums?" snorted Hermione.

"Not you too!" grinned Neville as he backed towards his grandmother, "They've
had a bad influence on you!"

"Too right Nev," called Harry after him, "We'll see you on the
train!"

Neville nodded and dutifully followed his grandmother at a fast pace down the street.

"He's changed a lot hasn't he?" said Hermione as she, with Harry and Ron on
either side, walked arm in arm with them back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"He has…" mused Harry, "Guess we all have."

"Right grown up, we are…" said Ron, raising an eyebrow and grinning sarcastically.

"Uh…some of us more than others," said Harry with a blank expression. He reached an
arm around Hermione and slapped Ron across the back of his head.

Instantly, Ron sent a punch Harry's way but missed again and scowled accordingly.

"Don't sweat it Harry…you'll catch up some day," grinned Ron as he reached
across Hermione and gave the back of Harry's head a hard return smack.

"Is that right?" grinned Harry swatting Ron's cheek and connecting with a loud
pop.

"Well, maybe not…" Ron grinned back as he stepped back from Hermione and grabbed Harry
in a headlock, grinding his knuckles into his head.

Harry laughed and elbowed him and both began taunting and punching each other, laughing out loud
and drawing a few amused glances from passers by.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and smiled affectionately. Harry had thrown Ron in the
dirt and both were now completely covered with grime, still grappling and neither caring a bit.

"You two sound like hyenas," she grinned and then added airily, "You look like
'em too…down there rolling around like a couple of manky twits."

Instantly, both Harry and Ron stopped and looked at her, chests heaving, grins gone. Both stood
and began to approach her. Harry had his hands out, fingers claw-like, a blank expression on his
face. Ron smiled evilly.

"Oh n…DON'T!" Hermione screamed and began running, Harry and Ron close behind, all
three laughing like young children.

When they finally caught her, Ron held her arms while Harry tickled her until she begged and
cried for mercy.

It had been a good day.

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



6. Rooming At The Cauldron
--------------------------

Chapter 6: Rooming at the Cauldron

Back at the Cauldron, all three gathered in Harry and Ron's room to talk more and ended up
playing exploding snap and at least three games of wizard chess (Ron won against both) before they
were ready for bed.

It was getting late in the evening, and Hermione retreated to her room, leaving Harry and Ron to
shower before bed. Ron grabbed his pajamas and headed toward the bathroom, but stopped at a word
from Harry.

"Uh mate, mind if I have a go first?"

Ron quirked a questioning eyebrow. "Sure, why?… *Oh*… nevermind. Go ahead." He
ended with a smirk.

Harry stood hesitantly and shot Ron a guarded look. "What…"

"Still haven't had a proper snog session, aye?" replied Ron with a sarcastic
grin.

Harry instantly reddened despite himself. "It's not…Well I just…"

"Right mate. Stop trying to explain…Go ahead."

Harry set his jaw and grabbed up some clean clothes, passing Ron without a glance. Ron laughed
out loud.

Harry went to shut the bathroom door rather loudly but then thought better of it and poked his
face out a crack. "Don't know what you're going on about mate…Heard things from
Hermione over the summer about you and Lavender…"

Ron shot up from his seat on the bed. "WHAT? I told her to keep that secret! It's not
like anything's official yet!"

Harry smirked and slammed the door shut. "What…secrets from me!?"

Ron walked over to the door and spoke through it. "Hermione wasn't even supposed to
know! She happened on Lav and I in the common room one night…Wasn't anything serious, we were
just talking. That's why I didn't want to mention it yet."

"Just talking huh?" said Harry lightly, "That's not what I heard." He
then quickly turned on the water to drown out Ron's reply, muffling the irritated response. He
laughed lightly to himself and stepped into the shower.

After a few minutes he was out, and dressed in regular clothes rather than pajamas, much to
Ron's amusement.

"All yours mate," said Harry, ruffling the excess water out of his hair.

"Right," Ron smirked as he walked past him towards the bathroom, "See you in the
morning."

Harry shot him a dirty glance. "Ron, I won't be gone *that* long."

Ron gave him a droll look before shutting the bathroom door behind him. "Mmhmm. Just
don't make too much noise…I'm a light sleeper."

"Ron!" Harry complained loudly, but Ron drowned out Harry's reply in much the same
way Harry had and turned on the shower full force. Harry gave a loud rap on the door and heard Ron
bark out a laugh. Harry scowled. "Anyway, you sleep like the damn *dead*! Light sleeper
my ass!"

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

Hermione sat up against the wall on her bed, reading a schoolbook by the light of the small lamp
by her bed when she heard a light rap on the door.

She smiled without looking up, knowing who it was and called out softly.

"Come in."

Harry poked his tousled head in with a huge grin and Hermione matched the expression, tossing
the book down and jogging across the room to him; both enveloping each other in a warm hug.

As Harry kicked the door closed, Hermione noticed the damp hair lying in messy clumps all over
his head and the half-opened button down shirt he had quickly thrown on, exposing a well sculpted,
damp chest. She felt her pulse quicken as he finally let her go.

She spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Miss me much?"

"You know I did," he smiled down at her.

Hermione gave him her best seductive smile. "Show me."

He took in her slim, tanned form in the lavender pajamas he had given her last year, her long,
curly taffy-colored hair falling slightly more down one side of her face than the other, brushing
her smooth cheeks, which were burning a fetching warm pink. The intense gaze she was giving him,
her brown eyes flecked with gold, staring intently into his, made his heart begin to beat a steady
rhythm of desire.

Quickly he grabbed her, pushing her gently against the wall, and captured her lips with his own,
feeling her gently return the pressure. Their bodies were barely touching, but where they met felt
curiously more alive. Hermione felt like every inch of her skin was on fire. Excitement coursed
through her veins and her pulse seemed to beat an erratic rhythm…one that made her breathing change
and her mind cloud with dizziness.

After both of their arms had encircled each other, he grabbed her up in his arms (which both of
them laughed at), and walked over to her bed, tossing her lightly onto it and crawling up beside
her, straddling her on all fours. They smiled at each other.

"I hope you don't mind if I snog you senseless." Harry smiled at her, but his eyes
burned with an intensity that told Hermione his mood was fare removed from playful.

She smiled back, but returned the hot gaze. "You have to ask?"

That was enough for Harry. He lay on top of her, being careful to transfer most of his weight
onto his elbows, and placed his hands on either side of her face, letting his fingers tangle in her
soft hair.

She pulled him down into a soft kiss that soon turned into a ferociously passionate one. A kiss
that both were using to crush away the summer months without each other, a kiss filled with
children's playfulness, friendship turned much deeper, youngsters filled with rough passion and
a sense of immortality, and beyond all that, a love that transcends experience, that needs no more
time to mature, that had matured with hardship, friendship, and loyalty; even a kiss that tried to
erase all the time spent trying to remain just friends.

Hermione's body was on fire with a desire she didn't even know existed. She loved how
Harry made her feel; (o god, how did he *DO* that?). His hands were so slow and warm, almost
reverent. Each touch, each caress left a trail of fire on her skin.

She could tell, very easily, that he was just as turned on as she, and that both were beginning
to lose their resolve.

Her will power was ebbing, slipping away with every touch. She'd never wanted anything so
much in her whole young life as she wanted Harry to stay, and to keep on kissing her and touching
her the way he was, so gently, so passionately, and to her surprise, so knowledgeably. She knew he
hadn't been with any other girls this way. Was it possible that some things just came
naturally?

Harry's mouth caught an area of Hermione's neck that sent pleasure shooting down her
body in a sudden wave of tingles. *Maybe*, she thought heatedly as she pulled his face up to
make contact with hers once more.

It wasn't long before Harry was rid of his shirt and had almost rid Hermione of hers. Both
knew they were nearing the end of how far they could go, and Harry reluctantly pulled away, lying
on his back, one arm under and around Hermione.

He finally spoke, although in a whisper, and Hermione wasn't sure she was supposed to have
heard.

"Someday…*soon*."

It was a mutual pact between them that each wanted to wait until they were married, not that the
decision came easily.

To Hermione, it went beyond respect. It meant being loved so much that her partner was willing
to commit to her and wait for her. She had known too many girls that had had their hearts torn
apart, and she wasn't about to let that happen to her. Though she knew Harry by heart, and knew
he'd never hurt her like that, they'd both decided together to wait.

Harry had nothing but love and admiration for her that always kept him, and them, from doing
something in the heat of the moment that both would regret. Hermione was too special for that, but
he also had other reasons for waiting. If, God forbid, Voldemort were finally able to kill him, he
wanted Hermione to be able to move on, no regrets. He didn't want her bonded to him in that way
if it wasn't to be…he wanted her to be happy, and free to live the life she deserved, with
someone else. *God it hurt to think that* *way…*

Harry pulled her close, aware that his body was still reacting to her, but reveling in her
closeness all the same. He heard her sigh a little in contentment, and planted a gentle kiss on her
forehead.

"I've sure missed this," he said huskily.

Hermione grinned a little wickedly and threw an arm about his waist, pulling him closer.
"What…snogging?"

Harry smiled crookedly. "No…Snogging *you*. The others just aren't as
exciting."

Hermione's jaw dropped open and she raised enough to give Harry a look of feigned shock,
giving him a swift punch in the shoulder as well. "Harry James Potter! You are an absolute
grotty twit, you know that!?"

"Grotty is a bit harsh…" mused Harry thoughtfully.

Hermione raised up further and slapped Harry on his bare chest, making him laugh out loud in the
high-cracked way he usually did when he was barely controlling an absolute fit of laughter.
Adorable…but she wouldn't give in, even though her façade did crack a little.

"Take it back or I'll never speak to you again."

"Never is a long time, 'Mione," he turned his head to look up at her with
half-lidded eyes.

Hermione smiled cockily, folding her arms across her chest. "I'll never *snog* you
again."

Instantly Harry shot up to his knees and bowed his head to her lap. "Oh please forgive me!
I'm such a fool! I'll never joke like that again!"

Hermione sat still for a few moments, pretending to think about it and finally relented,
relaxing her posture and tapping Harry on the back of his head. "Well…ok. But *only*
because I adore the way you look when you're worshipping me."

Harry grinned and sat up, pulling her down on top of him as he lay on the bed once again.
"Can't help it." He raised a hand to gently stroke her cheek and smiled when she
flushed from that simple touch. "You've ruined it, you know. There'll never be anyone
else for me. No one else could ever measure up."

Hermione leaned down to touch noses with him and smiled lovingly. "You are a
*charming* git, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged and rolled her over and under him, quickly eliciting a surprised squeal from
her.

"I try."

Hermione laughed at that, and both began kissing once again, oblivious to the time, and even to
the rest of the world.

* *

* *

* *

The sun rose too early the next morning for Ron and he awoke with a beam of it rudely turning
the inside of his eyelids from black to bright red.

He rolled over in his bed and groaned, throwing an arm over his face.

"Blast those enchanted drapes," he croaked out groggily.

At precisely the stroke of seven a.m., the drapes had begun to glide open. The brighter the sun,
the more parted they became, until the sunlight beamed directly in the occupant's face. Much
more effective than any Muggle alarm clock. The hotel guest could choose to have them open at a
different time or counter charmed to not open at all, but Ron had forgotten, and was now left with
the consequences.

He groaned again as the curtains drew completely open, the relentless sunlight prying at his
eyelids.

"Ok, I'm up!" Ron yelled in aggravation to the drapes as he sat bolt upright in
his bed. "It's abso*bloody*lutely morning isn't it, there!? Thanks for
that!"

The drapes simply fluttered in response. Ron turned sleep-clouded eyes across the room in the
direction of Harry's bed and ran a hand roughly over his face.

"Harry, get up."

No response.

Ron blinked a few times and tried again. "Get up mate…"

Still there was no answer. He squinted and raised a shading hand to his eyes. Harry's
unrumpled, clearly undisturbed bed stared guiltily back from the far opposite corner of the
room.

Ron dropped his arm in surprise and chuckled, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and
making his way over to the mirror to survey his form.

"Well I'll be buggered…" he grinned to himself.

"I'll say you will," replied the mirror bluntly, "You should do something
about that hair, I think."

Ron frowned and moved away from it, towards his trunk. "Shove off."

At least the mirror was nicer about his hair than Harry's. The "*Give it up,
dear*," Harry always received never failed to lighten Ron's spirits.

He grabbed up some clean, comfortable clothes and thought rather brassly to himself that he
might decide to pay Harry and Hermione an early visit before they could explain Harry's absence
away.

He smiled rather evilly to himself and began throwing on his clothes, chuckling to himself.

As it turned out, he needn't have tried anything. He went to the door and banged loudly on
it with the intention of scaring them to pieces, but got no answer.

After using the Alohamora spell and cracking the door open a bit, he saw that there was no one
there to scare. They must have already headed down to breakfast.

*Ah hell*, thought a disappointed Ron, *Couldn't a lad give a decent scare now and
then?*

He shut the door and headed downstairs where he saw Harry and Hermione, seated at a table in the
corner eating a hearty breakfast, sipping on tea, and sharing the *Daily Prophet*, obviously
lost in each other's company.

Ron joined them with a loud huff and slid out his chair, plopping down rather grumpily.

Harry glanced at him over the rim of his cup.

Hermione looked at him oddly and frowned. "What's with you, then?"

Ron snorted and turned a peeved gaze towards Hermione. "Thanks for the wake-up call.
I'm so glad to know you two didn't want to eat breakfast without your 'best
friend'."

Harry set down his teacup and gave his friend a sardonic glance. "Ron, we couldn't wake
you! Guess you don’t remember 'Mione and I shaking the sodding hell out of you
earlier."

"Yeah right, mate. That's a load of bosh." Ron waved to the waitress and then
turned back to Harry.

Potter shook his head and laid down the copy of the *Daily Prophet* he'd been reading.
"It's true. I wasn't lying when I said you slept like the dead." Then he smirked.
"Seemed to be having some pretty smashing dreams too."

Hermione smiled and looked down at her plate. Ron's gaze shot up to both of them, and while
he tried to look nonchalant, he came across as a bit nervous. "Th…that's not…Bullocks,
mate…"

Harry grinned and then squeezed his eyes shut, affecting a look of sleepy concentration and
smiling stupidly. "That's right Lav…you know what I like…C'mon baby…"

Ron's face flushed as red as his hair. "*I never did*!"

Harry smiled maliciously and resumed drinking his tea. "Hermione was there. If you
don't believe me, ask her."

Ron turned a dark gaze Hermione's way and she glanced up at him quickly, stifling a laugh.
She turned back to her food, concentrating extra hard on the biscuit she was buttering, and
accidentally let a hearty snort slip out.

"Not very lady-like," quipped a displeased Ron.

"Neither is what Lavender was obviously doing to you," she shot back.

Harry, who had opened the Daily Prophet in front of his face, now shook with laughter and
gripped it tightly, the paper trembling with him.

Ron huffed in annoyance and reaching over, crushed the paper down to the table and glared at
Harry.

Harry wiped a tear from his eyes and grinned. "*HA!*…Oh Ron…You are quality
flippin' entertainment, you know that, mate?"

Ron gave them a prickly narrowing of his eyes. "Glad I could *help*…Here I thought
I'd gotten up early to surprise the two of you doing Merlin knows what," (Hermione
scowled), "and I find you both down here waiting to give ME grief! You two take all the fun
out of a bloke's life, you know it?"

Harry smiled and smoothed out his paper. "You love it."

Hermione patted his arm reassuringly. "It's ok to like Lavender, Ron…You just might
want to get your dreams in check before we get to Hogwarts. It wouldn't do to have the whole
seventh year boy's dorm knowing what goes on in your head."

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Harry suddenly cut him off with a decidedly less playful
expression. "Nevermind that mate…have a look at this."

He slapped the paper down in front of Ron and folded his arms. "Page four…read it
aloud."

Ron opened the paper and stared at the column in front of him with wide eyes.

UNICORN KILLINGS ABOUND

by Lorivan Thatchmire

The continued slaughter of unicorns in the Forbidden Forest near our esteemed Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry leave Magical Wildlife rangers and Science Wizards baffled.

According to Harv Hortimire, the head of Magical Wildlife Services in the Ministry of Magic, the
killings are "absolutely senseless, a travesty. Why would anyone want to kill a unicorn?
Beautiful creatures, they are. Sure the blood has life giving qualities, but as we all know, the
blood doesn't necessarily give the desired effect. I mean, who would choose to live such an
empty, soulless life?"

Who indeed? But as this reporter has gathered from Gemma Burgleton, a magi-scientist at the
Institute for Advanced Wizard Sciences, the perpetrator has to be someone who is on the edge of
death itself, someone beyond desperate to survive, even though a half-life is all he might
receive.

Since speaking to witches and wizards in the surrounding area of Hogsmeade, the locals have been
more than wary, some closing their shops early, or even permanently, as Japes and Gambol joke shop
has chosen to do.

Farnswick Japes and Hortence Gambol, owners of the business, have been witnesses along with
others to more than the odd scare in their years of business dealings at Hogsmeade.

"It just isn't safe here anymore," says Japes of Hogsmeade, "Ever since
this's been coming about there's not been much business. No one's in the mood for a
prank when evil's lurking about. We've been steadily losing business over the years because
of the resurgence of You-know-who."

Says Gambol, "We just can't make bloody ends meet anymore."

The mention of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has brought about many concerns for the locals who soon
began to suspect the dark lord. "Who else would need it so much? Who else would be so
vile?" asks a local who wished to remain anonymous, "I'm thinking of closing up shop
as well; maybe moving. Too much going on in recent years."

Who else indeed, muses this reporter. Who is behind the killings? Only time will tell. But the
rumor that is spreading about the evil lurking within the Forbidden Forest carries with it a heavy
blanket of fear that no one can deny.

Ron slapped the paper down with an astonished whistle. "Bloody hell. So that's why
Japes and Gambol are closing shop. Fred and George never asked why…They just jumped at the chance
to grab it up."

Both Harry and Hermione looked solemnly from each other to Ron.

Harry sighed in heavy frustration, running his fingers through his hair. "It won't do
to ignore it any longer. The question is what the bloody hell to do about it? I don't want to
wait until Voldemort is able to get his body back, or wait until he strikes again but what choice
do we have? I just…I can't kill him."

Ron fixed Harry with a serious gaze. "Can't, or won't mate?"

Harry was jolted abruptly from his thoughts by this and turned a disdainful look on his friend.
"*Both Ron*! The only way to get rid of him is with a friggin' dark curse and I
can't use the dark arts unless I want to be bloody taken in by them myself!" Again he
clawed a hand through his hair and let it come to rest on the back of his neck, but Hermione
grabbed it and held it in reassurance.

Ron sighed and glanced sideways at his friend in frustration. "I know mate, I know…It's
just…I have a feeling, you know? Somehow…somehow I feel that we're heading towards something
big. An end for all."

"I do too, Ron," said Hermione, a hand on both his and Harry's arms,
"Something *is* coming; I can feel it…I don't think Voldemort will sit idle for much
longer."

"I'm *sure* he won't," said Harry, lifting his head and slumping back
against his chair heavily, "The unicorn blood is a necessity for now…until he can come up with
some way to get his body back again; and it won't be through me. Dumbledore'll probably
have the teachers on triple alert now where I'm concerned; you two as well."

"Us!?" exclaimed Ron, "Why us!?" He waved to the waitress again, and with a
nod and a smile, she began heading their way.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Hermione, summoning the teapot over from
Harry's side of the table. It hovered over her cup and poured her another, setting back down
rather heavily. Hot tea splattered a little over all three of them. Hermione looked chagrinned.
"Sorry…a little nervous talking about all this…Ron, after last year and what happened to me,
you really have to ask? You're close to Harry too."

"That happened because of Starven, not some portkey like with Diggory!" said Ron,
"And after all of the extra security charms Dumbledore had placed over the school after last
year, it ought to be harder for Voldemort to sneak into than Azkaban! Not that anyone would want
to…"

The waitress had reached their table, and almost dropped her tray in reaction to the last few
snatches of conversation she overheard. She tucked it under her arm and glared at the three young
customers, finally turning her attention to Ron.

"Something I can get for you then?" she asked shortly in a thick, Cockney accent.

Ron noticed the glare and eyed her curiously, answering slowly. "Ah…yes, I'll just have
the breakfast special, and…"

"That all then?" she broke in rudely.

Ron stopped and lowered his eyebrows in puzzlement at the frizzy-haired woman. "Something
wrong?"

The waitress pursed her lips and eyed all three of them again before slapping down her tray and
leaning between Harry and Hermione. She spoke in an angry whisper. "You'll wanna watch
wha' you three youngsters discuss in this establishmen'! It's doin' no one,
'specially me a lot of good what with you three witterin' on about You-Know-'Oo.
Everyone's frightened enough about this unicorn business wivvout daft younguns like you
talkin' outta your arses, scarin' away customers! Business is off enough as it
is!"

All three sat up straight in bewilderment, but Hermione spoke first. "I'm so sorry! We
didn't know we were being loud."

"Not loud so much as speakin' abou' him at all," said the waitress,
straightening and clutching the tray to her ample chest, "We don' speak his name, young
missy!"

Hermione sighed impatiently and repeated the same phrase she had used before. "Fear of a
name only increases fear of the thing itself."

The waitress narrowed her eyes in aggravation. "Well in case you missed it, lassie,
there's already enough fear here to fill all th' vaults in Gringott's! Now no more talk
a' this here! Business is already so bloomin' low the boss's thinkin' abou'
closin' this place, an' I've got two sprogs to keep fed at home. Don' make me ask
you again!" In the same breath she turned to Ron. "Now…what to drink?"

Ron worked his jaw until he was able to form words. "O..orange juice…Please."

She smiled falsely at him. "Spiffin'. It'll be jus' a moment then. An'
'Arry…yours'll be on the house, complimen's of th' owner. He's a big fan a'
yours." She gave him what she considered to be a conspiratorial wink and waddled away towards
the kitchens.

Ron turned back to his two friends with a raise of his eyebrows and a derisive snort. "Gone
'round the twist, that one has."

Harry shook his head. "No…She's bloody scared though, that's for sure."

Hermione sighed. "She said the owner's thinking about closing this place. I hope Diagon
Alley doesn't start losing shops as well!"

Ron nodded, though obviously in thought. "We're a little farther away from the
Forbidden Forest than Hogsmeade is though. Scotland to England would be a rather long way to
travel, even for Vol…(ahem) him…especially in his condition."

Harry nodded, eyeing the restaurant carefully in an attempt to verify the waitresses' words.
It seemed she was right. The Cauldron was unusually quiet for this time of year. Usually it was
filled with students, parents, and teachers alike, each taking a break from start of the school
year shopping to catch a little bite to eat or drink, or to catch up with neighbors and friends on
the latest gossip from the papers or from Rita Skeeter's column.

Even in the streets, the three had noticed an unusual lack of bustle, or at least the wrong
kind. Instead of the usual excited hustle, there was an anxious hurrying and a heavy feeling of
worry among the crowd. Very few stopped to chat pleasantly, all were in too much of a rush to
gather their supplies and retreat back to the safety of their homes. Harry would have been
surprised that the turnout for school supplies was so great except for the fact that Dumbledore had
included in the start of the school term letters that he and the other teachers had taken every
precaution that they could after last year to insure that the school grounds were indeed safe for
students to return. Even after all of this though, Harry noticed that the crowd in Diagon Alley was
noticeably thinner.

Very few of the Cauldron's tables were occupied either, and the ones that were seemed to be
filled with whispers and hushed undertones. The patrons all seemed to be on the edge of their
seats, too quiet, and jumpy at every loud sound.

Harry, however, along with Ron and Hermione, failed to notice, or rather didn't pay special
attention to the tall stranger in the dark hooded cloak, who had chosen the darkest most out of the
way booth in the little eatery area.

He sat quietly, pretending to concentrate on his copy of the Daily Prophet, and sipped his tea,
every now and then taking covert glances at the trio of teenagers, obviously deep in conversation
at a table across the room. So far, he'd been careful enough to conceal the fact that he'd
been following them, and had kept a safe distance behind, taking note of every single thing they
did, right down to where they went, what they did, even what they bought.

He was gauging them, sizing them up, waiting for any small grain of new information…especially
about Potter; not only for the dark lord, but also for himself. He gritted his teeth as he watched
the Potter boy laugh at something one of his idiot friends had just said.

If the dark lord hadn't insisted that he himself be reserved the right to kill Potter, the
death eater would have done it himself. He hated Potter for his own reasons. But this time,
Voldemort had insisted that the man simply follow all three, not that it had been difficult. They
were hardly ever apart; the damn three musketeers.

But it wouldn't do to start raging about them now. His mission was simply to observe; to
gather information for his master; and gather he would.

* *

* *

* *



7. Chapter 7:  Ginny's Plan
---------------------------

Chapter 7: Ginny meets Draco

Ginny sighed, and sighed, and sighed some more. She'd never been a patient witch, but her
mother was now pushing the little that she did have to its limit. They had been in Flourish and
Blotts now for at least an hour, and her mother was still flipping through back issues of *Witch
Wear* for the latest fashions, and selecting cookbooks to restock her small library at home.
Currently, she had selected two, and Ginny idly perused through *Casual Cuisine for the
Cauldron* as she waited.

She was supposed to have met Draco Malfoy almost fifteen minutes ago at Quality Quidditch
supplies, and she was late. She **hated** being late.

"Mum, really. Can't we go now? You have a load of cookbooks at home," she tried
again, determined not to sound whiney. After all she was sixteen now and she wanted her mother to
see her as a blossoming adult; even though Molly hadn't let her come to Diagon Alley by herself
like she had Ron. Ginny secretly seethed about it, but as she knew, she would always be the baby of
the family.

Molly slapped the magazine closed and eyed her daughter suspiciously. "Land sakes girl!
I've never known you to be so eager to get to the Quidditch shop! That's usually Ron's
favorite romping ground! Now what's got you in such a hurry?"

*Platinum blonde hair, cool gray eyes, a tall lean form, and an icy demeanor that I'm
currently working on…* Ginny favored her mother with her most innocent smile. "Mum, you
know I'm trying out for the team this year…I've been saving all summer for the Quicksilver
Two Thousand Four. I want to snatch one up before they're all gone!"

Molly sighed and continued scanning the cookbook section. "Well alright then…I'm almost
done here…Ah! Here it is, and the last copy too!"

She triumphantly grabbed up *Champion Charbroiling Charms* by Tabitha Buttersby and
grinned, holding it up like a trophy to admire, and sighed in contentment. She already had
*Basting and Broiling* *with Buttersby*, and *Tabitha's Tantalizing Treats* at
home, and had had enough successful dinner parties to impress the neighbors for at least a year,
but she wasn't done yet; not by a long shot!

Ginny fought the impulse to roll her eyes. It wouldn't do to have her mother angry at her
when she was so close to her goal, but seeing her mother's face filled with glee gave her a
small chuckle. She knew what her mother was on about. She and her closest neighbor, Betsy Brumbles
had been dueling over who was the best cook for as long as Ginny could remember. They were the best
of friends and the worst of competitors at the same time. Each frequently had the others family
over for dinner, but Ginny wasn't sure if it was for friendship sake, or to prove who was the
better chef.

Well could she recall the many hours over her young life she'd been subjected to questions
about who's cooking was better. *"Now Ginny, isn't my roast beef much* *juicier
than Brumbles? She constantly forgets basting with beef stock"*…or…*"Do you remember
Brumbles sourdough bread? Dry as a cotton sock, it is…"*

Ginny smiled politely at her mother and took her hand, leading her towards the cash register.
Time for a little intervention…"There mum, done then? Time is a-wasting."

Molly gave her youngest a furtive glance, but paid for the items and walked out with Ginny,
being led rather too quickly along for her liking.

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

As was expected, the moment Ginny and her mother entered Quality Quidditch Supplies, they
noticed it was packed. Not the usual amount of witches and wizards, but nonetheless, there was
scarce walking room.

Ginny deviously started a conversation between Molly and Darcy Brown, Lavender's mother, and
when it became clear that they had lost interest in her, she snuck away to find Draco.

She had agreed to meet him at the broom-servicing aisle, but her efforts to get there quickly
were once again thwarted by the throng of people she was pressed against. She was forced to edge
her way along the rows of shelves beginning each aisle, and found herself being bumped and jostled
along, no matter how much she tried to avoid it.

She finally reached the correct aisle, but had the bad fortune to get a section of her long red
hair tangled in the brush end of a broom as she tried to edge past it. The bristles had been
sticking out of the end of a shelf just at the height of her head, and were perfect for
snagging.

"Damn it!" Ginny growled quietly to herself as she twisted to the side in an attempt
to untangle the mass of red snarled in the broom.

An unconcerned drawl whispered very near her ear. "Not very lady-like."

That cool, aloof voice made her tingle all over every time she heard it, and *sod* *it
all* if he didn't know it! She jumped, despite herself, but twisted enough to catch the tall
pale form of Draco Malfoy behind her, casually leaning against the shelves, hands in his pockets,
eyebrows raised ever so slightly, and a twisted smile on his face.

Ginny recovered herself enough to give him a frown. "Well don't just stand there you
prat! Help me get out of this!"

Draco glanced at the red tangled in the broom, and moved disinterestedly forward to help, in no
particular hurry. "You're late," he stated flatly.

He came closer, working nimble fingers through her locks. Ginny turned a little to take in his
form towering over her, and shivered involuntarily when his knuckles grazed lightly against her
cheek. Draco almost looked taken aback, as if he hadn't meant the slight touch to happen, but
recovered quickly as usual, and threw a snide remark Ginny's way.

"Not cold in here, is it…"

Ginny gave him a huge scowl and once free, began finger brushing the snarls out of her hair.
"You're assuming I was reacting to you?"

"No one else here," replied Malfoy with an arrogant shrug.

"How about that gorgeous bloke over there?" Ginny looked past him with a wanton
expression on her face as if she spotted someone highly desirable.

Draco's eyebrows dropped and he quickly glanced behind him to see a little boy of around
eight or nine haranguing his mother to follow him to the toy aisle.

He turned back around to eye Ginny a little angrily for having made him look, but she was
currently finding a stain and lacquering kit for broom handles particularly fascinating. Malfoy
scowled, despite his usual indifferent demeanor and let it slip for once.

"Not funny, Weasley."

"The name's Ginny, and I wasn't under the impression that you cared much." She
glanced his way and casually flipped her hair over her shoulder.

Draco realized she'd caught him in an actual emotion and worked his mouth a little before he
could come up with a suitable reply. "I think you mistook curiosity for caring…"

Ginny smirked. "That was an oddly serious curiosity you were displaying there,
Malfoy…You'd better watch it, someone might see through that disaffected façade you put on one
day and actually see the real you."

Draco studied her through half-lidded eyes and merely shrugged in response. "I care about
things…I just don't let my emotions rule me. Especially like the Weasel does."

Ginny narrowed her eyes angrily. "Are you referring to Ron? Because if we're gonna be
friends, you'll need to learn to respect him."

"Like he respects me?" Draco shot back.

Ginny sighed and tossed down the servicing kit. "I'm working on him."

Draco sneered a little and shook his head, platinum blonde locks falling into his gray eyes. He
swiped easily at them and quickly noticed Ginny noticing.

A slow blush crept up her face and she looked away.

He smirked egotistically. She was too easy. "Save it, Red. Weasley and I will never be
friends. You and I probably never will either."

Ginny glanced back up at him and moved closer, her blue eyes alight with something resembling a
challenge. "Then what are we doing here?"

It was Malfoy's turn to look slightly dumbfounded, and for once he found himself less than
completely articulate. "You…amuse me…Why else would I hang out with a
*Gryffindor*…"

Ginny cocked her head slightly and moved so close to him that he could feel her breath on his
neck. "I don't know. Why would you?"

Draco looked down at the pretty red head and his mind began working double time. *You could
kiss her right now…she wants you too…NO! Are you daft!? She's a Gryffindor, and a Weasley!
Besides, she's too damn…*good*. There's no way. She's an amusement. I don't
want or need her. I don't need anyone; I never have.*

*Afraid of Lucius' disapproval?…I'm not afraid of that bastard!…Hmm…your body sure
disagrees with you… Shut the hell up! She's female, isn't she? Explanation*
*enough…*

Immediately, Malfoy shut off the inner discourse, letting the shroud of distant ease fall over
his features once again. He was in control once more, and that's the way it would stay. He
stepped back from Ginny and let his hands slide easily into the pockets of his robe. His mouth held
an amused twist along the corners.

"It takes more than that to affect me, Red. You'll have to try harder."

Ginny cocked her head and smiled at him, a wicked gleam just barely visible in her eyes and
thought determinedly to herself. *All in good time…* "You're assuming I want too?
You're too predictable. You think every witch within twenty feet of you automatically wants
you…"

"Fifty…and yeah. That about sums it up."

Ginny's smile faltered at the irritating look of confidence on his face. "W…well not
me."

Draco moved closer and cocked his head to the side, meeting her gaze steadily. "Is that so,
Red?"

Ginny felt herself beginning to shiver, but remembered her plan. She wasn't about to let him
know how she felt. Let him think she was just an amusement. But in the meantime, he would be
chasing her without even knowing it. She mentally nodded to herself. She had to play this
carefully… She met his gaze with an unwavering confidence of her own, and willed her body to stop
reacting.

"It is," she replied simply.

Draco looked a little nonplussed, but only around the eyes. Weasley was a damn tough nut to
crack. But he would find her weakness, and then, he'd be done with her. That's how it
always was with the girls he chose to play with. It was only a matter of time… "All right. If
that's how you wanna play it."

"Play it?" said Ginny airily, "I'm confused. Are we in a Quidditch match?
I'm not playing at anything Malfoy…and I'm done with you for today; I've got other
things to do. You can come along if you like, but don't worry. I won't cry if you
don't."

Malfoy stepped closer. She was good. "You sure about that?" He drawled coolly.

*Damn him for being so bloody restrained…* "Absolutely," Ginny replied. "I
guess I'll see you at school."

Malfoy sneered, and turned to leave. "Maybe. But don't get your hopes up."

Ginny smiled in return. "I won't."

She turned to walk away and find her mother. She really was done with him for today, and she
felt she had played him well. She would be leaving him more than a little confused. She doubted any
other girl had ever reacted to him in that manner as he had girls throwing themselves at him almost
as much as Harry did.

She turned one last time to take a surreptitious glance at him, and what she saw made her smile.
He was turning to leave as well, but was leaving her with a little less of the self-assured manner
about him. She smiled even wider as she walked away. It was going to be a good year….

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



8. Chapter 8:  The Dark Mark
----------------------------

Chapter 8: The Dark Mark

The rest of the weekend flew by too fast for Harry, Hermione and Ron. Their last morning and
early afternoon was spent gadding about in the usual fashion, trying their best for at least the
few remaining hours of their holiday to forget about school, N.E.W.T.s and most of all, Voldemort.
The time for worrying about him would come soon enough, though it was becoming hard to ignore his
threat, or the effect even the mention of him was having on all of the wizarding world.

The overall feeling in Diagon Alley was one of taut anxiety. It seemed the whole area was on the
absolute edge of their seats, poised to jump and run the minute more news was reported.

So it was that that afternoon, though somewhat overshadowed with the looming threat of the dark
lord, went by almost as usual. There were few that felt bravely as they did; that to go on about
their lives was the best slap in the face they could give Voldemort. However, those who did were
cheerful enough, and stopped to chat with one another and peruse the shops, just as they always
had, though the missing crowd of people and the early closing of shops all weekend had not gone
unnoticed.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were now entering the Quidditch shop. Harry had given his Firebolt 2004
to Ron for a good luck present on joining Gryffindor's team, and was now in search of a new one
for himself. The new Quicksilver was a great broom, but since Harry could afford it, he wanted to
get the top of the line, and the newest broom had been staring tantalizingly out of the shop window
at him ever since Friday.

The Flame-thrower series was the best of the best, even out-flying and out maneuvering the
Firebolt. It was a whopping one hundred fifty galleons, but Harry wanted it, and decided to give it
to himself as a belated birthday present from the Dursley's since they had lowered themselves
to giving him a dirty sock wrapped in newspaper as his gift.

He and Hermione were headed toward the new racing brooms when they realized that they had lost
sight of Ron.

Hermione twirled in all directions, her eyes searching for him and Harry shook his head,
throwing his arms up in exasperation.

"This's insane!" he said loudly, "What's ever been more important to Ron
than Quidditch!?"

Hermione caught a flash of flaming red out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Ron in the
far corner of the store, currently having his hair ruffled, and a kiss planted on him by a very
fond Lavender Brown.

She gawped at them and quickly turned away with an unreadable expression, gently pulling on
Harry's sleeve.

He turned quickly back to her. "What…do you see him?"

Hermione gave him a sly look. "Oh, I see him all right. Look…"

She pointed towards the far end of the store, and Harry, following her finger, made out the
intertwined forms of Ron and Lavender, snogging in a corner. They seemed oblivious to the angry
glances they were getting from other customers, especially parents, who were currently averting
their children's eyes.

Harry's jaw dropped and he turned back to Hermione with a goofy look on his face.

"Just friends, aye?"

Hermione continued to glance over at Ron and Lavender, but her expression was troubled.

Harry frowned at her as they walked back towards the racing brooms. "What's wrong then?
Y…you're not jealous, are you?"

Hermione turned back to him. "Wh…Huh? Oh, Harry of course not! That would be like being
jealous of my brother!" She smiled, but still looked troubled. "It's
just…Lavender's got…well, a sort of reputation."

"Reputation…" repeated Harry.

Hermione looked saddened. "Well, she's sort of…a heartbreaker. I know Ron acts like he
wants a load of girls, but he doesn't mean it really. He really does want someone to love. I
just hope Lavender's not using him."

Harry smiled then and put a hand to her cheek. "You're sweet for worrying, love. But
Ron's a big lad. He can take care of himself."

Hermione smiled and took his hand in her own. "I know."

Harry then gave her a seductively wicked glance and stepped closer to her, speaking in a husky
tone. "So…am I like a brother to you too?"

Hermione dipped her head and looked up, meeting his steady gaze with her own. She felt a hot
blush creep up her cheeks just from the sultry look he was giving her. That messy coal-black hair,
those greener than green eyes and that damn sexy lopsided grin… She sighed. She was completely and
madly given over, and she knew it. Worse still, she didn't care.

"Not hardly," she replied, "And how about me? Am I like a sister to
you?"

Harry stared into her large brown-gold eyes and gripped his hands into fists, trying to ward off
the overwhelming urge to grab her and snog her down to the floor right then and there.

"I don't think what I feel for you would be legal in that sense."

Hermione came closer, and stood on tiptoes, her body touching his, lips so near to a kiss, and
whispered to him, her breath mingling with his.

"That's good to know."

Then, without warning, she simply pulled away and whirled, beginning to walk back down the
aisle, but Harry growled and grabbed her hand, yanking her gently back to him and giving her a
silly grin.

"I don't think so."

Hermione squealed, her eyes darting from side to side. "Harry, we're in a
shop!"

"I don't mind."

"Harry! Th…the customers might!" said Hermione, trying hard not to give in to him.
Maybe Harry hadn't been raised better, but she most certainly *had*.

His arms tightened around her, and she found herself returning the embrace, despite herself.

"Ron and Lavender seem to be doing all right…" began Harry again.

Hermione pushed against him, though not with all of her strength. "Well, just because they
have no self-control doesn't mean we don't!" she said indignantly.

Harry touched noses with her. "I don't."

"Don't *what*…"

"Have any self-control," finished Harry with an irresistible smile. "Not when it
comes to you…"

Hermione thinned her lips in determination. She wouldn't give in no matter how adorably he
grinned.

"Harry, damn it…"

Immediately she sucked in her breath, her eyes wide, and both she and Harry slapped a hand over
their mouths at the same time; Harry out of shock and she in complete dismay.

Hermione shook her head at herself; disappointed that she had done the very thing she often got
reprimanded Harry and Ron for. "I…I swore!" she muffled through her hand.

"You did," said a muffled Harry with raised eyebrows, "The horror…"

Hermione dropped her hand and frowned at him, but both burst out laughing at the same time. She
shoved away from him, finally free, but the sight of him doubled over laughing changed her
mind.

"Oh, sod it all." She waltzed back over to him and grabbed him in a fierce slow kiss,
which he immediately began returning.

It was then, while they were both wrapped up in each other that the screaming began. The shrill
piercing scream of a young witch, coupled with some loud shouting and more bursts of terrified
activity seemed to carry all the way through Diagon Alley.

Harry and Hermione quickly broke apart in shock, and both whipped around to see that Ron and
Lavender had done the same.

By the time the four had raced across the shop to each other and given each other a once over,
they glanced out of the shop windows to see that almost every shop in the alley had emptied. The
crowds outside in the street were frenzied, and seemed to be looking up to the sky in horror and
shock.

The four friends raced out into the alley to join the others, and found that the sky was no
longer blue and sunny. All of Diagon Alley had been shrouded in a dusky dark. The late afternoon
light was covered in thick dark gray clouds that seemed to be edged in a dull unearthly red. In the
middle of the clouds, directly above the Quidditch shop a sentence had begun to form, colored a
smoky black and written in Latin, with something else above it. A something that made every witch
and wizard that happened to be armed draw their wands, and made Harry do the same, instinctively
pushing Hermione behind him.

There was no mistaking the symbol. The bleached image of a skull, with glowing red eyes, jaw
gaping in a mad grin, was made further abhorrent by the black scaled snake that had slithered under
the jawbone to protrude from the mouth. The serpent's eyes were turned towards the sentence
above it, as if beckoning all to read. At once, as soon as the images had finished appearing,
murmuring in the crowd turned into a roar of questions and a flurry of panicked activity.

The dark mark had been placed over Diagon Alley.

"Wh…what is it!?"

"What does it say!?"

"I don't remember much Latin, but there's no mistaking that mark…" began one
frightened wizard.

"Move aside please…" A deep older voice called over the crowd and moved forward.

Mr. Ollivander had never been a social wizard; in fact he was quite eccentric and more often
than not preferred his own company. But he recognized the need for a voice of reason in the crowd,
and by Merlin, he knew his Latin.

"*Recidivus caligo hetairia ea inculco vos, fio adesse*." After reciting it
aloud, Ollivander frowned, deeply and anxiously. There was no debate needed about what the
message's intent was. It was clear that Voldemort had sent it, and that the danger was very
grave.

He stepped back into the crowd a little, swiping a wrinkled, veined hand over his mouth
nervously.

"What does it say!?" cried an anxious wizard from the crowd who was clutching his wife
to him.

"Mr. Ollivander, please!" Said one wizard shakily.

The rest of the crowd began to murmur in fright once again.

Harry stepped forward and grabbed Ollivander's arm, the other hand wrapped securely around
Hermione's.

"Mr. Ollivander…" he whispered urgently.

Ollivander turned to look at Harry, and the look he gave him made the boy step back and lower
his brows in confusion. What was this mixture of worry and pity he was giving him?

The old man turned his eyes back up to the sky. "It translates: '*the return of the
dark society is upon you. Be ready*.' "

At once, the crowd around them exploded with loud cries, shrieks of fright, and loud murmuring.
Shopkeepers began racing back to their shops, bent on closing early, or maybe for good. Mothers and
fathers clung to children. Husbands clung to wives, and Hermione and Harry clung to one another for
dear life, tears streaming down their cheeks. The carefree weekend had ended, as they knew it
would, and it was time once again to face the harsh realities of life. Their time of reprieve was
over.

Voldemort was free, and in a sad, ironic way, Harry and his friends were not. Harry now
understood the look Ollivander had given him; understood the looks the crowd shot his way in
between panicking and hurrying to leave Diagon Alley; rushing too and fro, back and forth, around
and between he, Hermione, Ron and Lavender. Their haunted eyes told the entire story. Some looked
to him to be a hero, and some looked at him with contempt, as if he had brought this evil upon
them. They full believed that Harry and Voldemort were intertwined; that everything Voldemort did,
every action he took, had direct connections with Harry. And in some ways they were right. But
Voldemort was out for more than the destruction of Harry Potter. He wanted ultimate power. He
wanted to be the ruler over all, and even if the others didn't understand this, at least Harry
had a core few that did.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, content to let Hermione's warm hug shelter him, if
only for a brief moment. When she tried to pull away to look at him, he crushed her to him tighter
and spoke to her almost desperately.

"Don't let go yet…Not yet, please."

Ron, with Lavender's hand in his, walked up to Harry and laid a hand on his shoulder. Harry
opened his eyes to see Ron give him a look of understanding that spoke a thousand words without
utterance. Thank Merlin for Ron.

He nodded to him, and Ron stepped away, trying to answer the quiet questions Lavender had begun
to ask.

The alley was almost deserted now. Everyone had scurried away, or apparated out. Shops were
closed and locked, lights were off, and almost all was quiet, at only just after dusk.

But Ollivander had stayed, now watching as the dark mark and it's red words began to fade,
leaving only the light gray sky, it's clouds edged in dusky purple and pink and the last
thumbnail of the sun setting over a hill towards the west, just past Gringotts.

He slowly turned and walked towards Harry, his footsteps echoing oddly in the deserted alley,
and placed a surprisingly strong hand on the boy's shoulder. Harry let Hermione go and turned
red-rimmed eyes towards the shopkeeper.

"Mr. Ollivander, I’m sorry…"

"*Sorry*!?" Said Ollivander loudly, letting his hand drop. "Sorry for what
lad, you didn't cause this. No matter what others may think. No. I just want to warn you. This
dark society he speaks of…it can only mean one thing."

Harry closed his eyes briefly in response, a weariness that had nothing to do with the long day
washing over him.

Ollivander grimaced for the boy's sake, but continued. "Mr. Potter, this was no vague
warning…it was almost like a promise. *He* has always promised to return; to fulfill his
so-called *destiny*. I believe he now knows that he needs help to do so."

Lavender came closer, confusion evident in her face. "Y…you mean the death eaters? They
were disbanded a long time ago!"

Harry's expression was stony. "Disbanded, yes. Disloyal, no. There are a lot of them
just waiting for a signal from Voldemort."

"Ah yes," said Ollivander, an unsettling look of deep concentration on his face. When
he found something to focus on he usually centered on it with all of his energy. Right now his
focus was Harry. "But can you think of no others he might recruit?"

Harry stepped back from Ollivander with a slight look of alarm, but Ron stepped forward.
"The only others are in Azkaban," he said a little more forcefully than he meant to,
"There's no bloody *way* Voldemort can break in there!"

Ollivander was a little taken aback by Ron's tone, but saw Potter lay a reassuring hand on
the other boy's shoulder. When he was upset, Ron sometimes seemed more on edge than he meant
to.

The old shopkeeper, now understanding the Weasley boy's tone, moved forward again, sharply
eyeing all four of the young people before him. "Do you not think that even now, *he* has
a helper? Harry," his unsettling haze fell on Potter again, "you took his body again last
year, did you not? Do you think, in his condition, that Voldemort himself was able to conjure up
the warning and the dark mark?"

Hermione, her face suddenly draining with the awful thought, grabbed Harry's hand and
gripped it hard. "Of course your right, Mr. Ollivander…Voldemort has to have someone helping
him."

Ollivander nodded, letting his direct gaze roam over the little group, at last resting on Harry.
"Be careful, Mr. Potter. Whoever Voldemort's servant is…he may be closer than you
think."

Harry, his face full of determination, nodded curtly to the wizened shopkeeper, and the four
watched as he walked back down the alley and into his shop, slamming the door and charming his
"Open" sigh to read "Closed until further notice."

As soon as the shopkeeper faded from view, Lavender took a step back from the others. She was
clearly terrified, but was trying to appear brave, even though her frame visibly shook.

"I…I'm sorry, Ron. I need to go." She stepped away from the three fearfully.

"Wait," said Ron, quickly grabbing her hand, "How're you getting home? You
came alone didn't you?"

She stepped back further, taking her hand back and casting her blue eyes left and right as if
waiting for someone to jump out at her. "Came with mum…but I convinced her to apparate home
and let me tromp about on my own. Sh…she'll be worried."

"Lavender," said Hermione, stepping toward the other girl, "*you* certainly
can't apparate! How're you going to get there?"

"Portkey," said Lavender, "Had mum leave me one near Quality Quidditch
Supplies."

She neared an old beat-up hat, lying near the alleyway between the Quidditch shop and the next
and hovered her hand over it. "It'll only be active for the next hour so, no worries. No
one will follow me."

She turned a tremulous smile towards Ron, who was gazing sadly at her.

"I…I'll see you at school, Ron."

She touched the hat, and a strange swirl appeared in front of her, distorting her features into
a spiral shape until with a decisive pop, she disappeared.

Ron closed his eyes briefly and turned back around to face Hermione and Harry with a look of
bewilderment on his face. "She…looked frightened of me…of us."

Hermione shook her head and grabbed Ron's arm as the three make their way back towards the
Leaky Cauldron. "You? Nonsense, Ron. It was the dark mark, obviously. Why would you think such
a thing?"

"You saw the way she looked at me!"

"It wasn't you, Ron," said Hermione. "Stop spouting rubbish."

Harry stopped in front of them and looked pointedly at Ron. "I think Hermione's right,
Ron. But if Lavender was afraid of something other than the dark mark, it would be my
fault."

Hermione was visibly annoyed. "Now you? What is this?"

Harry shook his head at her. " 'Mione, it makes sense. Trouble always seems to follow
me because of Voldemort. We're linked in more ways than one. And because you're my friends,
it follows you too. I saw that same look on everyone's faces here tonight when they looked at
me. They think I brought this on them."

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line. She didn't want to acknowledge it, but Harry was
right. Lavender could have also been frightened at being in the company of those that Voldemort
seemed to hate the most, but there was no sense in thinking about that right now.

She shook her head and linked arms with Harry and Ron again as they headed back towards the
Cauldron.

"We don't know anything right now, ok? Ron, just talk to her at school. We need to get
back to our rooms before they close up the Cauldron as well."

With a heavy heart, Ron nodded quietly, and the three make their way down the deserted darkened
alley.

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

The lone figure hidden in the darkness of adjacent Knockturn Alley smiled to himself as he
watched the three teens pass by. He had done his job and performed it well. Voldemort would be
pleased.

The dark mark had not only been served as a warning; its other design had been successful as
well. Potter was being drawn in, carefully led along. The boy knew that he and Voldemort were
intertwined, and felt the burden of being the one person Voldemort sought to destroy, and by
relation, those who chose to interact with him.

Voldemort had hoped to be able to isolate the boy through fear, but those who chose to be with
Potter were fiercely loyal.

The death eater glowered to himself in the darkness and stepped out of the alley to catch a last
glimpse of the three as they made their way into the Cauldron. Despite his failed attempts at
Potter's complete isolation, Voldemort would be pleased. The dark mark and its message had been
clearly understood, and the old fool Ollivander was clearly not yet too ancient for concise
thinking. He had been right. Voldemort *was* preparing for an action that would put the whole
of the wizarding world under his command. Soon, the master's dark society would be assembled,
and every witch and wizard alive would be left quaking with fear, under the command of the true
leader once again.

Fear had returned to the heart of the wizarding community. Then the death eater, thinking to
himself, chuckled and pulled the hood of his robe over his head in preparation to disapparate.
*Had it ever really left?*

With a smile full of pompousness, the figure promptly vanished; on his way to report his work to
his master.



9. Chapter 9: Home to Hogwarts
------------------------------

Chapter 9: Home to Hogwarts

Author's note: A helpful reviewer informed me in my last story that if Harry was sixteen
then Colin Creevey would be fifteen, not fourteen. My bad! You are absolutely right! So in the
sequel, I'm changing his age to sixteen from fifteen, as it's a year later. Anyway, thanks
to all my reviewers, and happy reading! Special hello to The Fly! =0)

The train station was busy as usual as Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped out of the Muggle cab.
The three had had to hire two cabs for the trip to King's Cross Station, one to carry them, and
the other for their luggage.

The cabby had frowned suspiciously as the trio loaded their trunks, one orange bottlebrush
tailed cat, one snowy owl, and one tiny rambunctious owl carefully into his cab. Ron had finally
left Hermione and Harry to pay for the fare, as he had no idea about Muggle money.

They did their best to avert their eyes from the dubious glares of both cabbies and paid them
quietly, piled their belongings on trolley carts and wheeled them towards the train platform.

Hermione heard the distinct utterance of "Blimey…kids today!" from one of the cabbies
as they drove away.

"Whew!" muttered Ron as he watched the cabs disappear from view, "That was bloody
close…"

"Ron, from now on maybe you should let Harry or I pay for any Muggle activities," said
Hermione a little bossily, "That man's eyes nearly popped right from his head when you
offered him galleons and knuts!"

"How was I supposed to know!?" replied Ron defensively, "Muggle money is such
bilge! How can those flimsy notes be worth anything!?"

"It'd take too long to explain, Ron," said Harry with a smile as they neared the
tall brick pillar between platforms nine and ten. "Do you want to go first then?"

Ron nodded. "Might as well."

He scanned the crowd for signs of anyone watching and when satisfied, took off at a run towards
the deceptively solid pillar. Harry and Hermione soon followed, letting the wall swallow them as
well, trolleys and all.

Immediately after they emerged on Platform nine and three quarters, Harry felt a specific
oddness about the place. The Hogwarts Express was still gleaming, black and red on the tracks,
waiting patiently for its passengers, and parents and students were still milling about as usual,
giving hugs and kisses goodbye with promises of letters and gifts. But he noticed a change in the
air; a certain sense of caution in the faces of the crowd and apprehension in their eyes.

The most significant change however was the very apparent fact that there were noticeably fewer
students than usual.

"Let's hurry, now!" Yelled a familiar older female voice hidden by the crowd.
"We must board the train quickly…Quickly please!"

Hermione immediately stood on tiptoe, a hand shading her eyes from the sun, and squinted for the
owner of the voice. "That sounds like Professor McGonnagol!"

"It does," replied Harry with a puzzled frown on his face.

"Well let's get then," said Ron, pushing his trolley in front of him, "We
won't find out anything by standing here gawping."

Harry nodded in agreement, and the three began making their way towards who they finally
realized was indeed Professor McGonnagol.

The older woman was currently waving students on the train and greeting parents as pleasantly as
possible while urging them that good-byes needed to be quick, and boarding even quicker.

She made her way from one small group to the other, concern evident on her face, and ushered
students towards the open train door with polite leading and a few gentle shoves.

"Professor McGonnagol!" called Hermione with a delighted grin as they approached her.
After all, the elder lady *was* Hermione's favorite teacher.

McGonnagol turned, and a look of relief washed over her features. "Oh, thank Merlin for you
three!" she breathed out. "Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, would you please help me
usher the younger years on the train…we should be moving soon."

"Why the rush?" asked a confused Ron, for it was fifteen minutes before the train was
scheduled to leave. "And you've never met us at King's Cross before for that matter…Is
something wrong? What's going…"

"No, nothing wrong," said a flustered McGonnagol, waving over their heads at a group
of giggling girls, "On the train please, ladies!" She turned back to them. "Just
better if we're on board, safe and sound. Will you help me? I'll explain when we're on
our way. Severus will take your things…"

At that moment, Snape glided up, the ever-present look of haughty disdain still evident on his
face. "Weasley, Granger…*Potter*," he sneered to them. Harry merely lifted his chin
in reply. Snape always said his name as if forming the words gave him a bad aftertaste.

The Potions master began loading their trunks onto the train, leaving the trio's animals to
ride with them.

Ron couldn't help but notice the look of quiet anger Snape wore at having to be bellhop for
all of the students, and snickered as the greasy-haired professor whirled away from them.

"Go please," said McGonnagol, shooing them away to start leading students.

They began to walk away towards the students, but a word from McGonnagol stopped them.
"Potter, Granger!"

Harry and Hermione turned and saw McGonnagol toss them two shiny golden badges. They each caught
one, and turned wide eyes back up to the professor, particularly Harry.

"Head boy and girl," she called out with a small smile, "The students may be more
likely to listen to you with those pinned on. Off with you now!"

Ron turned to look at them with slack-jawed surprise as students bumped and milled past them
toward the train. " 'Mione I was sure of, but you?" he turned to Harry.
"You're smart mate, but I didn't think you had top marks."

"I don't," said Harry with a frown, "Guess that's another thing we'll
have to ask her."

"Let's go then," said Hermione, delight plainly glowing on her face. She'd
been sure she would be named as Head girl, but it was still a huge honor nonetheless, and an honor
she got to share with Harry.

Boarding the train went much more quickly with the added help, and very soon the trip was under
way.

Once on board and with the train moving steadily down the tracks, the air about the small
community bound for Hogwarts changed back to one of familiar excitement.

Harry, Ron and Hermione make their way back towards their usual compartment, stumbling a bit as
the train lurched lazily, and stopping to chat with friends and fellow schoolmates.

Dean, Seamus, and Neville were inseparable as usual, and greeted Ron and Harry with slaps on the
back and a chaste kiss on the cheek for Hermione. The five talked about their final school year for
a while before heading back to their seats, and on the way, Harry and Hermione were congratulated
over and over as the head badges they wore were noticed.

They came nearer their compartment, which was precariously near where the Slytherin usually sat,
and were commenting to each other about how they hoped not to have to run into Malfoy or his oaf
companions on the trip, when they were passed rather briskly by a very morose Colin Creevey.

They noticed that he'd changed a bit over the summer. He was taller, less gangly, but was
just as thin, even a little too thin for good health. He moved quickly past them, his lips white
and pressed into a thin line, his face pale with an unreadable expression, and began to make his
way to a compartment.

He opened it cautiously, and finding it to be empty, walked quickly inside and slammed the
door.

Ron turned a bewildered look on Harry. "Strange, that was. He didn't even stop to
idolize you…That's a first."

"He looked upset," Harry replied with a frown as he, Ron and Hermione entered their
compartment and sat down, "Maybe we should go talk to him. I've never seen him like that.
And I didn't see Dennis. Wonder where he's gotten too?"

"They usually stick together," said Ron, "That is odd…but then again,
*everything* is starting out ruddy odd this year, isn't it?"

"Quite," replied Hermione, "But I don't think we should go to Colin right
now. He didn't seem in the mood to chat. It seemed like he wanted to be alone…We can talk to
him later."

She finished the latter part absently as she dug deeply into the small bag she had lugged onto
the train with her. She finally produced a thick leather bound book, old and smelling of must and
opened it to where she'd apparently stopped earlier. Without a second word to them, she began
reading, and was immediately engrossed in it, as was her usual state every year on the way to
school.

Harry turned his head sideways to glance curiously at the book's title and hooked a finger
over the edge, bringing it down to catch a glimpse of Hermione's face.

"*Magical Maladies*, love? This wasn't on the school list."

Hermione pressed her lips together and lowered the volume slowly, a slight look of guilt on her
face. "I know…Madame Pomfrey gave it to me at the end of last year. She was convinced I'd
do well if I decided to study magical medicine. I…I'm not sure yet but…so far I'm really
interested."

Ron was currently paying the train's trolley witch for a load of junk food and sat back down
with the bundle of snacks, dispersing them between the three.

" 'Mione, you're interested in *anything* you read," he said
sarcastically.

Hermione frowned deeply and opened her mouth to reply but Harry cut in first. "And how is
this a problem you *nit*…"

Ron raised his eyebrows and raised a hand. "No problem mate." He turned to Hermione
with a lop-sided grin. "I mean *mates*. Just observing…"

"Well observe with your mouth shut," said Hermione with a small playful kick to
Ron's shin, " Being interested in multiple subjects is a *good* thing."

"I just meant that it makes it harder for you to decide what you want to do," said
Ron, "or become for that matter. And speaking of that," he turned his gaze Harry's
way, "I've been meaning to ask you what you're becoming."

Harry looked at him quizzically until a look of comprehension crossed his face. "You mean
the extra abilities."

Ron nodded. "Thinking of trying out for the most powerful wizard in the world award
yet?"

Harry punched him in the shoulder. "Shut you're gob you prat. It's not as if
I've been able to practice over the summer. I'm still only able to levitate one thing at a
time…and that's *all* I can do."

"*Wandless*," corrected Ron pointedly, "You levitate *wandless* Harry.
I still can't believe it."

Hermione lowered her book. "So you decided to tell him…"

"Of course he did!" said Ron, offended. "Neither of you can keep anything from me
for long, it's a proven fact."

Hermione scoffed and smiled, glancing out the window at the passing scenery. "Fact,
Ron?"

"Utter fact," said Ron, raising his head slightly. "You're both worthless at
secrets. Hell, I can see right through both of you. Fact."

Harry closed his eyes briefly and leaned back against Hermione, one eyebrow raised in a lazy
gesture. "Fiction, Weasley. There's a great raging secret I've been keeping from you
since the day we met…but now that we're mates for life, I think it's time I told
you."

Ron's gaze flew up to Harry's, and seeing the seriousness in his face, he sat up
straight in shock. "What're you…wh…If you're lying to me mate, I swear
I'll…"

"It's true, Ron. I'm sorry…I…I should've told you sooner."

Hermione looked surprised at this and pushed Harry off of her with a grunt. "Harry! We
don't keep secrets from each other…any of us! What is this!?"

Harry pressed his lips together with a pained expression and leaned forward, his elbows on his
knees and his fingers laced. He gestured Ron forward until Weasley was inches from his face.

"I don't like to keep secrets from you Ron, you're like my brother. So I'll
tell it to you straight on…"

Ron's anxiety factor shot up by at least fifty percent and he steeled himself.

Harry sighed. "This might be a shock mate, but…you're a great blazing idiot."

He sat up and blinked hard as if suffering with having to deal such a blow. "Thought you
should know."

Ron blinked a few times and sat back against his seat as Harry began to snicker and then laugh
even louder, dodging the halfhearted looks of disapproval Hermione was shooting his way. But Ron
noticed the smile fighting to work its way onto her face.

"I walked right into that, didn't I…" he said matter-of-factly.

"Not *half*!" wheezed Harry, guffawing as he slapped back against his seat and
clutched his stomach.

Ron shook his head darkly and gazed out the window, muttering to himself. "*Ruddy
blighter*…"

Hermione buried her nose in her book to hide her grin.

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

The dullness of silence and the steady rocking and clacking of the train had soon almost lulled
all three to sleep.

Harry had switched places with Hermione to allow her to nap back against him and he lay leaned
back against the train window with his mouth relaxed open and his arms around her, oblivious to the
steady vibration of his head against the glass.

Ron, opposite them, had borrowed the Quidditch book he had given Harry for his birthday, and it
now lay forgotten on his lap as his chin bobbed onto his chest. He had been struggling between
asleep and awake for an hour now, but the lack of conversation and the steady rhythm of the train
had done him in.

Too soon into their nap however the compartment door vibrated with a small rap, and slid open a
little loudly.

Ron snapped awake first.

"Sod off, Malfoy!"

Professor McGonnagol favored him with a stern look for a moment and then entered the
compartment.

Ron sleepily rubbed his eyes and sat up. "I'm sorry P…Professor…I didn't know it
was you."

"Obviously," said McGonnagol with a raised eyebrow, but her look softened as she saw
Harry and Hermione asleep, intertwined with each other.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she chased it away. There was business to
attend to.

"Mr. Weasley, if you please…"

Ron nodded dully and nudged Harry roughly on the shoulder. "Oy, Harry…Wake up, you.
'Mione, you too."

Harry snapped awake and blinked the fogginess away. "Wh…what…"

Hermione sat up quickly. "P…Professor!" She looked almost mortified to have been
caught even leaning against Harry lest McGonnagol find it inappropriate, but the older woman merely
settled down next to Ron, folding her hands.

"I'm sorry to disturb you three but I wanted to talk to you before we get to
Hogwarts…The Headmaster sent Professor Snape and I to be with the students on the way to school
this year."

Harry rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Dumbledore? Why?"

Minerva looked almost frightened, but composed herself immediately. "I assume you heard
about the incident in Diagon Alley yesterday; the dark mark."

Hermione stiffened. "We were there."

McGonnagol shut her eyes for a moment and nodded. "I figured as much. Albus thought it best
to send a couple of professors to hurry the students along, and to make sure things
went…*smoothly*."

Harry grimaced. "Because of Voldemort's threat."

"We don't yet know what he's capable of," said McGonnagol, betraying her calm
exterior by wringing her hands, "Or where he might decide to show himself. Hogwarts is safe,
but King's Cross has never been quite as protected. We had to make sure our students made it
safely to the school…at least the ones remaining." She added sadly.

"We noticed Professor," said Ron, leaning forward. "There seems to be a lot less
enrolled this year. Am I right then?"

"You are," said McGonnagol. "There are quite a few parents this term who decided
to keep their children away. It seems the fear at what Voldemort might do is finally affecting our
enrollment. The school is still the safest place, but a student had never been taken actually off
of school grounds before until last year," she finished quietly, "Until you, Ms.
Granger."

Hermione pressed her lips together but faced McGonnagol's soft gaze with a steady one. Harry
took her hand and spoke quietly.

"But that can't be the only reason, Professor."

McGonnagol looked pained and started to explain, but stopped herself, and stood. "It's
not, Mr. Potter…but I'll leave that for the Headmaster to explain." She nodded to them and
began to leave, but stopped at a question from Harry.

"Professor, wait…I…I wanted to ask you about the head boy badge. I *know* I don't
have the highest marks so I have to know…Why me?"

McGonnagol sighed and turned back to gaze steadily back at Harry. "Professor Dumbledore
considered more than just marks in choosing the head boy this year Harry, what with all
the…evil…that's happened so recently. He wanted someone he knew could stand against the dark
lord if needed; someone that had the courage, and the ability to be a true leader if for any reason
it was needed… He chose *you*."

Harry blinked and swallowed thickly, the heavy burden that always followed him slipping its arms
around his shoulders and bearing down once more.

McGonnagol's expression softened before she left. "He's a wise wizard Harry.
You've said it yourself before…He's rarely wrong."

She gave all of them understanding smiles before leaving them in peace once again.

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

The rest of the trip to Hogwarts was uneventful. Ginny came by the compartment for a brief
moment to say hello and make her presence known and then scurried off with an excuse. She'd
been acting oddly all summer, according to Ron, but he hadn't really given it much thought.
He'd always thought Ginny a little odd.

The only other oddity the three noticed was the strange absence of Malfoy. He was most
definitely on the train, as they had seen his tall blonde head in his usual compartment while
passing, but he hadn't tried to barge in or cause any trouble. The obnoxious Slytherin, trailed
by his two large goons had given them grief every year on the train since they'd met, but as of
yet hadn't shown his face to them. Not that they were complaining…

Harry smiled. Ever since he was eleven years old, Hogwarts had been the only real home he'd
ever known. And even though it was his last year there, it was also his last year with the
Dursley's, a thought that never failed to cheer him. He'd already owled Sirius with his
plans to get his own flat as soon as he graduated.

Sirius, though thinking he was a bit young, had relented. Anything to get him away from the
Dursleys, and Sirius himself still wasn't completely cleared enough from the false murder
accusations against him to be able to give Harry a good home. He was constantly on the move, and
didn't want Harry to have to be also. Then there was also the matter of how serious Harry
seemed to be with his girlfriend. If Harry only knew how often his godfather had thought to himself
that it might only be a matter of time before he was given a certain announcement…

Harry pulled Hermione back against him again and she turned sideways this time to lay her cheek
on his chest. He hugged her to him and held her, placing a gentle kiss on her hair, thinking
simultaneously about how happy he was to have another year at the school.

It was then, as he held her and leaned back again against the train window that a profound
thought hit him. Hogwarts wasn't home because of the school; it had never been. Hogwarts was
home because Hermione was there. Harry shook his head and closed his eyes, squeezing her tighter,
and felt her return the embrace. He finally realized that he wanted Hermione with him always,
because there would be nowhere that would ever be home without her. She was everything.



10. Chapter 10: Carriage Rides
------------------------------

Chapter 10: Carriage Rides

The train rumbled and steamed to a stop, and after McGonnagol and Snape checked outside to make
sure that everything was safe, the doors were opened and students began piling out.

Hogsmeade station was just as Harry remembered it, though with far less people milling about.
Here too, as it had been in Diagon Alley, there seemed to be a feeling of apprehension and general
unease. Still, Harry, Hermione and Ron picked out Hagrid's rugged form as he towered above all
others, and began to gather the first years to himself. It was nice to know that some things never
changed.

"Firs' years o'er here wi' me!" bellowed the half-giant over the noisy
crowd, "C'mon now, line up so's I can see you!"

Harry, Hermione and Ron made their ways over to him.

"Hagrid!" Harry called out, smiling fondly at his friend.

The burly man turned to see who called him and his eyes immediately lit up.

"Well 'Arry!" he beamed, "There you are! Certainly have grown tall an'
strappin' haven' yeh? Ron you too! I swear if'n yeh grow any taller they'll need ta
raise th' roof at 'Ogwarts there!"

Ron blushed to the roots of his red hair and grinned, shuffling his feet a bit. Harry gave him
an odd look and punched the air, mouthing "Aw shucks". Ron immediately scowled.

Hermione pushed past them and walked up to Hagrid, giving him a grin and a warm hug. It
wasn't easy, considering she couldn't really do anything more than plant her arms
spread-eagle along his waist as neither arm could successfully encircle him.

Hagrid wore a smile that could melt winter. He had always held a soft spot for Hermione.

"Well 'allo 'Ermione. Yer as pretty as always, ya are."

Hermione let go and beamed up at him.

"All of yeh, growin' up so fast," Hagrid sniffled a bit, "Can' believe
it's yer las' year…It seems only yesterday yeh three were nothin' but little sprogs
dancin' aroun' in fron' of me, scared as they come."

"A lot like these, aye?" said Harry, smiling and gesturing to the handful of children
either staring open-mouthed up at Hagrid, or glancing nervously about.

"Yeah, yeh were," said Hagrid fondly.

McGonnagol and Snape, who were busy hastening the rest of the students toward carriages, passed
them by quickly.

"You lot better get to a carriage," said McGonnagol, "Can't be much visiting
around here this year. Save it for school. Hello Hagrid."

Hagrid smiled sadly. " 'Lo Minerva." He turned towards the three with a decidedly
less lighthearted expression. "Times do change, don' they?"

Harry glanced about him to the quickly emptying station and the nervous, troubled faces and
nodded grimly. "Yeah, they do."

Hermione smiled a little at Hagrid and squeezed his large hand quickly. "I guess we'd
better get to a carriage then Hagrid. We'll see you at school."

Hagrid nodded and waved goodbye to them, then proceeding to lead the small group of first years
out of the station towards the large dock at the lake where rowboats awaited them.

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

The carriages were plentiful and roomy considering the fewer number of students, and since there
was so many of them, the students were able to choose with whom they would ride.

Ginny caught Draco's eye as if by accident, and then turned calmly away to seek out a
carriage that as of yet had no passengers.

She climbed in and sat down, a small, devious smile playing on her lips. So far she had played
her cards right and had dealt them with a sly, steady hand. But on the train, she remembered with a
sudden scowl, Draco had flustered her. *Damn* *him*…

(Memory)



Crabbe and Goyle, as ever, surrounded Draco on both sides, along with the ever-present entourage
of girls that followed him around like pathetic groupies.

Ginny rolled her eyes as she began to walk past them. Some things never changed…

As she began to pass, Goyle planted an arm in front of her. She simply raised an eyebrow and
looked up at the oaf with indifference.

"Headed somewhere Gryffindork?" growled Goyle dumbly.

Crabbe snickered and Draco turned around quickly, leaving the swarm of girls all trying to find
different ways to flirt and touch him sending simultaneous scowls in Ginny's direction.

When his eyes fell on Ginny, a look crossed Malfoy's face that was hard to decipher, but was
just as quickly replaced with the familiar haughtiness; never one to be caught off-guard. He lifted
his chin in the form of a greeting.

"Ginny."

She turned her eyes to him as if she hadn't noticed his presence until just then and gave
him a nonchalant reply. "Oh, hello Draco."

Malfoy noticed. He smiled acerbically at her and gave her a look that was easy to define. *One
point to you*…

She returned the glance. So he'd begun to suspect her game. *Oh well*, she thought*,
the only way to win was to keep playing*…

Goyle loomed over her and sneered. "I thought I asked you a question."

"You thought?" answered Ginny lazily, "How amazing…I guess there's a first
time for everything."

Goyle puzzled over this for a moment, but Crabbe, being only a little quicker, caught the full
meaning, and with a harsh scowl balled up a fist and rared it back.

Ginny opened her mouth in shock for a moment, but the blow never connected. Draco caught the
fist mid-punch, and now forced it back down to Crabbe's side with a stony look on his face.

"We don't hit *girls* Crabbe. For god's sake…"

"You heard her!" growled out Crabbe, "Besides, she's a Gryffindor, *and*
a *Weasley*."

"She's a girl," said Malfoy through gritted teeth. The threatening look he sent
them made them both blink and fall back a step. He might not be quite as large as they were, but he
damn well could fight when he wanted to, and they knew it.

He turned back to Ginny, and the expression was aloof again.

"What'd you want Weasley…Lost your way? Or maybe you've forgotten that this is the
Slytherin part of the train."

"My memory's fine," countered Ginny, taking a step past him.

Draco caught her arm. "Can't stay away from me then?" He put on his best seductive
smirk and leaned against the wall, eyeing her with a gaze that clearly meant to challenge.

"Don't flatter yourself," said Ginny, retrieving her arm, "And unless you
have a 'ladies' sign hanging about your neck, I'm not here for you. Or maybe you've
forgotten that the nearest bathroom is on your end of the train."

If Malfoy had been less restrained, he would've blushed to the roots of his platinum hair.
Fortunately for him, he wasn't.

"Nice excuse…good one. I don't buy it though."

She stepped up to him and leaned right into his face with a sarcastic look. "That's a
shame. I was trying so hard…"

He wasn't faltering this time, and leaned even closer to her until his breath mingled with
her own. "Try harder."

His large gray eyes, cold as ice chips, yet somehow seductive at the same time stared
unflinchingly into hers, and it was Ginny's turn to feel unnerved. He'd gotten to
her…*Damn*.

She stumbled back a little. "S…so full of yourself…damn *Slytherin*…" She whirled
back around and made her way quickly down the corridors toward the bathrooms.

Draco folded his arms and lowered his chin, watching her leave with a cool half-smile on his
face. He'd won that round…and he knew it.

(End Memory)

Ginny thinned her lips and shook her head darkly to rid herself of the images. *Damn
Malfoy*…but she was definitely going to be the "chasee" and not the
"chaser".

She sat back comfortably and crossed legs and arms for the ride to Hogwarts. Well, here she was
in this empty carriage. She was giving him the opportunity; now to see if he considered her a
motive…

Amid the faint background noises of the neighing, restless horses and the sounds of talking and
laughing students, Ginny heard footsteps approaching her carriage. Long easy strides, a confident
arrogant march…She smiled. *Bait and hook*…

"Oy Draco!" called out a deep voice, "Why aren't you riding with
us!?"

She heard his robes rustle a little in the breeze as he turned. "You're too crowded
Goyle; I need space. What…do you need me to hold your hand too?" he finished scornfully. There
was no reply.

The carriage creaked a little as his weight rested on the first step and then he was inside,
giving her a prickly look that dared her to say a word.

Ginny favored him with a dispassionate glance. "Well…this is a first."

"Don't flatter yourself, Red. The other carriages are full."

Ginny smiled inwardly. She had seen, just as well as he had that there were less students this
year, and what with the hundreds of carriages Hogwarts usually borrowed from Hogsmeade, she knew
that there was probably ample space still available. She raised an eyebrow at him and smiled,
turning to gaze out of the small window.

He scowled at her and crossed his arms, speaking sharply. "Something on your
mind…"

"Why'd you ask?" she said quietly, scanning the green fields on the outskirts of
Hogsmeade Station.

"You look like the cat that just ate the sodding canary…" he replied snidely.

She turned back to him and quirked an eyebrow. "You *are* paying close attention,
aren't you?"

"How can I not?" He scoffed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and gave her a
challenging half-sneer.

Ginny leaned forward as well and met his gaze steadily. "Are you saying you find me
interesting?"

"I'm saying I'd rather *not* find you, but since you ask…I find you
friggin' strange. Annoying, really…"

She tilted her head, a sarcastic smirk on her face and drew closer. "So I'm a
*mystery*…"

He leaned a little closer, a false disdain sneering on his lips. "*Some* might call it
that."

They were mere inches from each other now, and Ginny dealt the winning retort.
"Wouldn't you just like to *solve* me…"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, prepared to deliver a cool reply, but at that moment another fiery
redheaded person trotted up the steps and stuck his head through the door of the carriage.

"Ginny, you're welcome to ride with…*us*…" he trailed off sharply as he saw
the other passenger.

Ginny tensed as Malfoy leaned back from her to eye Ron with a harsh sneer.
"*Weasel*…"

Ron instantly looked disgusted and furious at the same time. His eyes flashed dangerously as he
stepped into the carriage and whipped out his wand.

"What the bloody hell are *you* doing in here!?"

Ginny stood and put a hand on her brother's arm. "*Ron*…"

"I can ride wherever and with whomever I *damn well* please Weasel," scowled
Malfoy, whipping out his wand.

"Draco please!" said Ginny, holding out a hand to him.

"Bloody *ferret*…" snarled Ron moving forward.

Ginny moved in-between them and was immediately sandwiched.

"Ginny move!"

"Get out of the way, Red…"

"That's *enough*!" she snapped angrily, shoving both boys away from her.

Malfoy continued to scowl with narrowed eyes at Ron, whose attention was back on his sister.

"Ginny, what the…What's *wrong* with you; are you *daft*!? Taking up for
Malfoy…and *riding* with him no less…"

Ginny's eyes flashed angrily and she stood to her full height, coming about to Ron's
shoulders. "I'm not taking up for anyone and I'm not a child anymore, Ron! I can
decide for myself *what* I do and *who* I do it with, and I don't need you to defend
me! I can take care of *myself*!"

Draco blinked in surprise at her tone and eyed her with a tinge of respect.

Ron glanced at him and clenched his teeth so hard that the ends of his jaw stood out like
walnuts. He'd seen the look.

"I'm riding with you."

"*What*!?" said Ginny angrily, glaring at him.

Ron didn't reply, but merely plopped down on Ginny's side of the carriage and kept his
vicious glare on Malfoy.

Draco, not one to be forced by anyone, sat down opposite them and put away his wand, drolly
gazing at Ron with a raised eyebrow.

"Have it your way, Weasel," he shrugged, crossing arms and legs and settling back
nonchalantly. "I don't give a damn *what* you do."

Ron 'humphed' angrily, and Ginny scowled, crossing her arms and gazing out of the
window. This wasn't exactly what she had planned…

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

Harry and Hermione stood outside of their carriage, Hermione tapping an impatient foot on the
ground.

"What's taking him so long? We're about to leave!"

"I don't know," said Harry, squinting towards Ginny's carriage and shading his
eyes, "He was supposed to be right back with Ginny. Maybe he decided to ride with
her."

"Everyone on the carriages!" shouted McGonnagol as she prepared to board one herself,
"We're leaving!"

Hermione sighed in annoyance. "We'd better find out or he'll be left
behind…"

She began to stalk towards Ginny's carriage but Harry's hand on her arm stopped her.
"No time for that. Look, the driver's got the reins. He probably *is* riding with
her…"

Hermione frowned and turned back to Harry. "But what if he's out talking or snogging
Lavender or something? If we leave without him he'll be in a load of trouble!"

Harry put his arm about her waist and pulled her close to him, staring into her eyes
mischievously. " 'Mione…an hour long carriage ride…just you and I…*alone*."

Hermione's mouth dropped open and she began to smile as she caught Harry's meaning.
Harry winked at her, and she squeezed him and smiled seductively.

"He's a big lad…he can take care of himself."

"That's right," Harry nodded, taking Hermione's hand and pulling her into the
carriage.

When she was inside, she whirled around and shut the door, quickly locking it. Harry reached
behind him and pulled the shade of the window down without looking at it.

Hermione grinned and laughed a little as Harry took her hand and yanked her to him. He lowered
his head to kiss her, and then swept her hair aside to trail kisses along her jaw and down her
neck.

She closed her eyes and shivered, tipping her head up towards the ceiling and let one hand
tangle in his hair while the other slid down his back. *Heaven*…

"What'll we do for a whole hour?" she quipped softly.

Harry mumbled against her neck. "I don't know…We'll think of something…"

Hermione took off his glasses and tossed them onto the seat, and not for the first time marveled
at the startling pool of green that was his eyes. So clear and so guileless; they were like windows
to his soul; a radiant thing too. She turned his face back to hers and pulled him into a heated
kiss, her hands once again tangling in his unruly ebony hair. Harry returned it just as
passionately.

He dropped to his knees on the floor, taking Hermione with him, not willing even for a second to
interrupt the kiss. He marveled at how each time he shared a kiss with her, the excitement never
seemed to diminish. He wanted not only to touch her lips; to feel her soft skin, but also to know
her, to devour her soul and make her part of him. She was the best part of being; the one person in
his whole life who had taught him that living could be beautiful after all. How could he ever let
that go?

The carriages began to move, but neither could bring themselves to care. Being with each other
was intoxicating, and left no room for thought about outside things. Harry lowered her to the floor
of the carriage and took just a moment to stare into her large brown eyes. Did she really reserve
that look of passion just for him?

He smiled at her and leaned down to speak softly into her ear. "What did I do to deserve
you?"

Hermione, marveling at how the simple feel of his breath whispered against her ear made her
stomach knot with excitement, simply smiled back at him and gave him the only words that were
adequate. "I love you. That's enough."

Harry, lying half on top of her, stroked her hair, trailing fingers slowly down her face. His
expression though filled with tenderness, slowly turned to one of thoughtful sadness. "I
don't know what I'd do without you…You're everything to me; do you know that? At
times…at times you've been the only thing that's kept me going. I don't think I'd
know how to live if anything ever happened to you…"

Hermione raised a hand to his face and stroked it, noting with a little bit of alarm how he
seemed to melt into the touch as if afraid he might lose it. "Harry…what's is
it?"

Harry, a look of desperation suddenly on his face, hugged her to him then, his arms tightening
around her in an all-consuming embrace; as if he were trying to crush her to him to ward against
ever being separated. It seemed to him that if he could just press her close enough, he could
somehow become more than he was; stronger somehow; powerful enough to keep her safe from
everything.

Hermione pulled back from him, gazing at him in apprehension. Harry wasn't usually one to
announce his fears. He seemed somehow to be trying to ward against some awful happening he had
divined.

"Harry, tell me…what's wrong?"

Harry swallowed hard and continued touching her face, not sure how to put what he felt into
words. He was the one that loved her, and also the one that put her in the most danger. Just by
being with her, he provided another target for Voldemort to use against him. He'd already tried
it once, just last year, and now that the dark lord knew how much Hermione meant to him, Harry was
certain he wouldn't rest until he'd somehow taken her from him, and he'd had enough
taken from him to last two lifetimes. Harry swallowed down the bitter anger that settled like a
cold lump in his stomach. He couldn't and wouldn't allow that to happen…even if it meant
his own life. She was too precious.

"Harry…you're scaring me…"

Instantly, Harry tuned back in to her, placing a hand on her cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm
so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you…I just…I...When everything else is dark…you…you're my
light 'Mione. I don't want anything to happen to you because of me…because of who I
am."

Hermione regarded him tenderly, and placed her hands on either side of his face, gazing into
clear eyes that seemed deeper than the sea at that moment. "Harry…"

She breathed his name, and like a sudden calm, things were better, peaceful; more lovely. He
marveled at how she could lighten him with the simple sound of her voice.

"There are no guarantees in life, " she continued softly, "except one. No matter
who you are to the rest of the world, you're Harry to me. My Harry…and I'm with you because
I love you."

Harry smiled at her and bent to kiss her again, but she grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

"Mione? Wha…"

"And if you ever think of trying to push me away from you to protect me…I'll hex you to
within an inch of your *life*."

Harry regarded her thoughtfully for a moment with the slightest tinge of sadness, and decided
not to answer that. He couldn't promise her anything of the sort.

"You know I bloody love it when you get all fierce with me…" He gave her a cute
lopsided smirk that served to mollify her a bit, but she wasn't fooled. She knew a change of
subject when it was handed to her…however adorable the package.

"Harry, I mean it…"

He shook his head, put a finger to her lips, and then favored her with the most achingly tender
kiss she had ever received. After some time, he bent low to her ear and whispered softly.

"*I love you* *Hermione*."

That was it. As she looked up into his brilliant green eyes and saw them go dark with desire,
Hermione realized that no more words were going to be exchanged on this particular trip.

Harry shook his head slightly as he gazed down on her beneath him; her long wavy hair fanned
around her, her soft brown eyes flecked with gold, invitingly full lips…Desire slammed into him
with the force of a wrecking ball.

He leaned down and wrapped his arms about her, kissing her with such a fiery intensity; so
thoroughly and completely that it left her faint. *Great Merlin Harry*…

Hermione's breath hitched over and over as they moved over each other,
exploring...touching…craving the other's kiss. What was this feeling…almost like spontaneous
combustion? It was too dizzying to think; for both of them. It was almost
desperate…extreme…intoxicating…startling in its intensity…

*Temporary insanity*, thought Harry as an electric shock moved up his spine from
Hermione's touch, but *sod it all* if they wouldn't surrender to it…

The carriage kept moving, and they kept being oblivious to its jostling. The trip to Hogwarts
was short enough; why not linger in a stolen moment?



11. Chapter 11: A Tragedy Revealed
----------------------------------

Chapter 11: A Tragedy Revealed

In the near distance, Hogwarts loomed above its students like a huge, medieval castle, cold and
intimidating from the outside, but warm and inviting within.

Most of the students, with faces peering expectantly out of the windows or calling out in fun to
one another, were thrilled to be returning, and only a few had the beginning of the school year
humdrums. Fewer still cared not one way or the other, as did Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley, who
was too busy sulking to notice. And only one pair had no thoughts about it one way or the other.
They were too busy noticing each other to be bothered by anything else.

Hermione, in a daze at the moment, barely felt a small jolt as the carriages rolled to a stop,
and once again heard the voices of her fellow students slamming open doors and moving in groups
toward the castle.

"H…Harry…"

Potter, at the moment, was too busy tasting the skin between her neck and shoulder to notice any
change and murmured against her.

"Mmm…?"

Even the vibration of his husky voice against her shoulder was erotic. Hermione shivered.

"Harry…we're here."

"Mmm, what…"

"We're at Hogwarts…" she breathed.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Harry fell back from Hermione in surprise and caught her "deer in the headlights"
look.

"Are there students in here?" called McGonnagol's distinct voice, "In case
you've missed it, we *have* reached our destination."

"*Oh Merlin*…" breathed Harry.

Immediately they shot up from the floor of the carriage and began tidying themselves.
Harry's button up white shirt was open and his hair was even more untidy than usual. As for
Hermione, her hair was in complete disarray, and her clothes were rumpled and turned oddly.

"*Hello*…" called the impatient voice.

Harry unlocked the door and threw it open. "Sorry professor, we…fell asleep…"

McGonnagol frowned sternly at them as they stepped sheepishly down the steps and followed their
retreating forms with narrowed eyes. *Flushed faces and swollen lips were a little harder to
conceal*…

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

The Great Hall was full once again, the ceiling bewitched to resemble the starry sky outside at
dusk, floating candles cheerily flickering, and every students plate set before them, waiting for
the feast to begin.

"*Oh glory*!" beamed Nearly Headless Nick as he floated above the
Gryffindor's table and mentally took head count, "Students and cheer again! The castle is
just to quiet without you!"

"Thanks Sir Nicholas!" grinned Dean Thomas, giving him a cheeky wink.

"Less students though," said Seamus, giving Neville an elbow in the ribs,
"We're *well* low this year…"

As Neville gazed about him, he realized how evident it was that the student population had
shrunken. Each table, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff seemed to have at least a
fourth less students, and as it became evident from the conversations around him, not everyone
understood why.

Harry and Hermione found Ron seated with Lavender on one side, and a quiet sad-faced Colin
Creevey on the other and decided to join them in the seats closer to the front.

"Where've you two been then?" said Ron, "The first years are almost
here…"

"Nevermind that," said Harry quickly.

Ron frowned suspiciously.

The sorting ceremony went quicker than ever before, the hat only having fifteen students to sort
this year.

As soon as it was over, a graver than usual Dumbledore stood to give his beginning of the term
speech. As the Great Hall hushed, he favored them with a wan smile.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts students. Although I'm sure most of you can tell
that attendance is a bit lower than usual, I'm sure we will have a just as exciting, happy, and
academically fulfilling school term. Prefects were notified in your school letters. Head boy and
Girl this year are Harry Potter and Hermione Granger."

Applause, mostly from Gryffindor followed. Hermione beamed accordingly and Harry slumped down in
his seat a bit. He knew he hadn't received the honor based on marks, and worried a little at
how the school might take it.

"We *will* be having a Yule Ball this year, so you may want to plan accordingly for
the holidays as it will fall close to Christmas. And now a few start of the term notices…As always,
and let me make this absolutely *crystal* *clear*, the Forbidden Forest and beyond is
*strictly* prohibited. As I am sure by now you've heard about the animal disappearances, I
trust this will not be a problem…"

A small amount of distressed murmuring began, but Dumbledore held up a hand. "Please, if I
may continue…There is no need for panic. The school grounds, as always, have been safeguarded; even
more so owing to last years…mishap…"

Hermione was eternally grateful for the professor's discretion. He continued.

"A small change in our usual class routine…This year we will be offering an Advanced
Defense Against the Dark Arts class…"

Immediately, there was louder and more excited murmuring.

"Please…please…" Dumbledore patted the air with both hands, "Of course Monsieur
DeVoncrey of Beaubaxtons will continue to teach our regular class, but we have the return of
another professor to thank for our new class that I'm sure many of you will enjoy…Remus,
please."

Out of the doorway to the left side of the teacher's table, Remus Lupin stepped out with a
look of slight unease about him. He looked noticeably more healthy than when they had last seen
him, but was still dressed in shabby robes.

There were three duly noted reactions. Most students began cheering wildly, some gasped in fear,
having never gotten over the fact that he was a werewolf, and some merely scowled or chose not to
react at all. These were mostly Slytherins, and many of the more severe scowls came from Draco
Malfoy and those seated near him.

Lupin nodded humbly and seated himself next to Snape, who immediately shot him a look of
loathing.

"Lupin!" stated Ron slack-jawed, "I can't believe it!"

"Oh I'm so excited!" squealed Hermione.

"He's the best we've had," said Harry with a grin, "Maybe the parents are
finally realizing we *need* someone like him."

Dumbledore continued. "The advanced class will be open only to those for whom it is chosen,
and the heads of your houses will make that decision. It will be a small class, and intensely
difficult, but I'm sure there are those here who will excel."

Harry could've sworn at that moment that Dumbledore had given him a glance over his
half-moon glasses. Ron noticed as well and gave him an odd look, but Hermione, across from Colin,
was too preoccupied to notice. She had never seen eyes so sad.

"Colin?" She reached across the table and laid a hand on the younger boy's
arm.

Creevey jumped, startled, and looked up from the table to see Hermione giving him a caring,
searching look.

"Sorry," she smiled, "I didn't mean to startle you. Are you…are you all
right? You seem so down…"

"I'm fine," said Colin in a small voice. He seemed then to sink down into himself,
shifting his thin shoulders upward as if to hide more of his frame.

"Are you sure?" said Hermione gently, "You know…we've known each other for a
long while now. If you need to talk…"

"I don't," cut off Colin, though not harshly. "Thanks Hermione, but I'll
be fine."

At that moment, Hermione suddenly tuned back in to Dumbledore's speech, because he began
speaking about something she hadn't thought or imagined to hear…

"…and I would like to extend my deepest condolences to the Creevey family. Dennis's
absence will be felt by all, especially his housemates. But the search will continue. Not all hope
is lost."

Hermione's hand jumped from Colin's arm as if it were hot to the touch. Harry and Ron,
along with other Gryffindors seated nearby immediately shifted shocked gazes his way.

Colin lowered his head, eyes closing briefly against the words spoken, and suddenly got up and
approached the professor's table. With a few words to McGonnagol, she was up in an instant, and
with an arm across his shoulders, began steering the boy towards a side exit.

Hermione swallowed a thick lump in her throat and turned towards Harry and Ron. "Oh
Colin…"

The mood in the Great Hall was a bit more somber as Dumbledore closed his speech with the
perfunctory do's and don'ts. At the end, he clapped his hands and hundreds of dishes were
filled with the most delicious, aromatic foods the house elves could conjure.

Hermione and Harry, along with those closer to Colin, selected very few things. Even Ron, known
as the "Hoover" among Gryffindors ate very little.

After dinner, prefects began leading the students to their dorms, and Ron surprised Harry and
Hermione with the news that he had been selected as one.

"Ron that's great!" gushed Hermione, but Harry frowned at him.

"Why didn't you tell us earlier!?"

"Well I was *going* to surprise you and tell you at King's Cross but McGonnagol
tossed you and 'Mione your Head badges. Sort of took the wind from my sails you know…"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh don't be ridiculous! Being made prefect is a great
honor!"

"So you say," said Ron as he began to move away from them towards the younger
students.

"It *is* you *mong*," said Harry.

"Whatever," called out Ron from a small distance down the halls. "First years
follow me! Hurry up now!" The children began jogging to catch up with him.

Harry swung around suddenly with a fake surprised look on his face. " 'Mione, I just
heard Percy! Is he back!?"

Ron stopped in his tracks and turned, causing two first years to bump into one another to stop
from crashing into him.

"Oh you great *sodding prick*. You're *dead* for that one…"

Harry barked out a laugh and Ron whirled back around suddenly, jerking a hand for the kids to
follow him.

Hermione covered her smile expertly and spoke to Harry after Ron had gone around the corner.
"Harry, how *could* you? You *know* how Ron despises anything Percyish…"

"Oh he'll get over it. C'mon, let's go see our rooms. I've always wondered
how the other half lives."

He grabbed Hermione's hand and she smiled at him as he led her down the hallway.

At the portrait door, where a sign hung above clearly said "Head Boy and Girl", they
faced the portrait in confusion.

"Where's the figure?" said Hermione, "I don’t see anyone, do you?"

They both began peering at the scene of rolling green hills and distant castles.

Harry replied quietly. "This looks oddly familiar…"

Suddenly a tiny figure, clad in armor and riding into the picture backwards on a poorly shod
pony, yelled in a tiny besotted voice that startled both of them. He yanked out a small sword and
brandished it wobbily at Harry.

"What ho! *hic* Shtop there you *knave*! What bithness have you on my private lands!?
*hic* Take up thy sword!"

"Oh no…" Hermione groaned.

Harry frowned. "What the…"

"What shayest thou villian!? Shpeak or I shall have the orcs slaughter thee!" The tiny
knight then fell ungracefully from his pony to land with a loud clang on the ground. "Methinks
it hash become quite *dark*…" *hic* He frowned beneath his helmet and gazed darkly around
him. "How hast the darkness sho shuddenly fallen?"

Harry sighed. "Lift your visor, Sir Cadogen…"

Cadogen picked himself up from the ground and stumbled a bit trying to regain his composure. He
lifted his visor slowly at first, and then threw it up in amazement, throwing his tiny arms
wide.

"By Merlin…I *shee*!" He stumbled and fell in a heap of armor, but stood quickly
once again. "Who is the brave knight that hath lighted my path once again!?"

"Harry Potter…"

"*Parry Hotter*! A brave and noble lad *hic* *shtout* of heart and *pure* in
deed…"

Hermione looked incensed. "Sir Cadogen, are you drunk!?"

"Of course he is…he's completely aled up…"

"*Drunk*!?" squealed the tiny knight. He was hopping mad and brandished his sword
once again. "Have at thee!" He waved the tiny sword in front of him and managed to clang
himself on top of his helmet with it. "A lady not withshtanding! *hic* And *you*!
*Cad*! *Cur*! *Shcurvy rogue*! I am a knight of King Arthur! Shecond in command of
the round table, p…pershonal friend to Lancelot…"

"*Ok, ok*," said Harry with a sigh, "These are our rooms good sir…Prithy,
wilt thou open for us?"

Cadogen's red eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "*Pashword*?"

"Oh Merlin," said Harry, slapping his forehead in frustration, "I
forgot…"

"*Dragon's lair*," said Hermione with a knowing look, "Harry, you're
hopeless."

"I know…"

"A dragon to shlay you say! A *noble* quest! I must off to defend the kingdom. I bid
you good day young ones! *hic* We shall meet again shome fine hour…" Cadogen mounted his pony
backwards and galloped lopsidedly out of the picture with his visor clanging up and down. The
portrait swung open.

"Completely *mental*…" said Harry.

They stepped inside and Hermione gasped at the sight. The common room was very small, but
comfortably homey. Two completely full bookshelves hugged the dark wood walls, with large intricate
red and gold cloth banners bearing the Gryffindor crest on either side. A warm roaring fire was
already set in the hearth, and one couch, surrounded on either side by plush easy chairs sat
invitingly near. A large desk was placed near the back of the room nearer Hermione's door and
held an antique looking candelabra, quills, and extra rolls of parchment.

Harry stood near Hermione with a grin and squeezed her shoulders.

"Walls of books, love…Your own personal heaven."

"It's wonderful," said Hermione breathlessly.

She moved towards a bedroom and opened the door, guessing correctly that it was hers. Her trunk
sat at the edge of the canopy bed that was covered in a deep lush red quilt. Crookshanks leapt off
of it and ran out into the common room. Hermione could have sworn he gave her a scowl for having
kept him waiting. Portraits of previous head girls hung on the wall, along with her own at the end.
She smiled, but was relieved to find that the pictures were taken in the ordinary Muggle way.
Having twenty or so pairs of eyes watching you at night would be a bit disconcerting…

Harry opened his door and scanned his room as well. It was a lush deep golden color, with a
large bed to match; fancy, but not unmasculine. The walls held portraits of head boys past, and his
picture, obviously taken by Colin, as he was in his Quidditch uniform, was at the end.
*Colin*, thought Harry. He made a mental note to check on him as soon as possible. How could
Dennis have gone missing? It had obviously happened over the summer, though Harry couldn't
imagine why there hadn't been an article in the Daily Prophet about it. And where and how had
it happened? He didn't want to press Colin when he was so distraught, but what if Voldemort was
involved? Still, Harry couldn't imagine what the dark lord would want with Dennis. *Well*,
he thought to himself, *I'll find out soon enough*.

He clicked the door to his room shut and turned to see Hermione through her bedroom door happily
unpacking her trunk. He smiled then, a genuinely happy grin. It was like a small home; cozy and
warm, and even more so because he got to share it with her. *Heaven indeed*…

(A/N): I just want to thank all of the reviewers who took the time to review! Thanks so much! It
means a lot. :0) I promise the thick plot is coming, with a few unexpected surprises. Also I
totally forgot the disclaimer at the beginning of my story. I own nothing of the HP world but my
storyline. I'm just taking the characters out to play, and I'll put 'em back when
I'm through! *cheesy grin*



12. Chapter 12: The Divining
----------------------------

Chapter 12: The Divining

The next few days were spent trying to adjust to their new class schedules. As usual, Hermione
had signed up for more than she could handle and was almost in tears trying to decide what not to
keep.

Divination of course, had not even been a consideration in the first place, Arithmancy was a
must, and the new medical training course she had been offered by Madame Pomfrey was her most
exciting. The choice had to be between Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes.

"Too bad we can't drop 'History of Magic,' " sighed Ron as the three
walked down the hallway to their next classes, "Binns *bores me rigid* the way he drones
on…Can a bloke die from lack of stimulation?"

Hermione swatted him on the arm. "Shut up Ron. Without our history where would we be?
Professor Binns may be a little boring but 'History of Magic' is a very important
class."

" A *little* boring 'Mione?" quoted Harry incredulously, "The man
doesn't know the meaning of the word 'inflection'."

Hermione shot him a stern look. "Yes well, *anyway*…I'm thinking of asking
Professor McGonnagol if I can use the time turner again."

" 'Mione are you crazy!?" said Ron suddenly, faltering in his steps.

Harry spoke up. "Love, don't you remember how nutty you were in third year having to
use that thing? Are you sure you want that again?"

"Of course not *Potter* but what else can I do!? *All* of my classes are
important!"

Ron winced as he and Harry stopped in front of Hermione's Arithmancy class to drop her off.
She had taken to calling Harry 'Potter' when she was annoyed at him, and Ron, being the
person he was, rather enjoyed it.

"Uh oh, last names…You're in for it," he smiled at Harry, who gave him a return
scowl.

"You too Weasley!" Hermione poked him in the arm and Ron's face fell. "I am
**not** crazy!"

Harry grinned disarmingly and pinched her cheek affectionately. "Of course not, love. Go on
now…We'll see you next class."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips as if trying to decide whether or not to stay
annoyed, but the puppy dog looks she was receiving from both made it hard to do so.

She gave Harry a quick peck and Ron a pinch on the cheek, sighed, and walked into class.

"That's my swotty girl," Harry called after her.

Hermione whirled around. "What!?"

"I love you," Harry grinned.

He and Ron snickered at each other and headed towards Trelawny's Divination class.

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

As always, the classroom was muggy and warm, and filled with a type of incense that was so
heavily perfumed it made Harry want to gag. The fire in the hearth glowed an unusual light pink,
and threw the whole darkened room into an eerie pastel color. The round tables held four chairs
each, with a single candle in the middle lit with the same pastel fire. Any lamps in the room had
been covered with light red veils to add to the overall mystical feel.

Harry and Ron chose a table by the window and cracked it open to let in some fresh air.
*Suffocation had never helped anyone's grades*…

Trelawny, in her trademark worn shawl, dress of scarves, thick-lensed glasses and over abundance
of bangles stood in front of the class. Her eyes were closed tightly and her hands were clasped
before her in an almost prayer-like stance.

The class stared at her in silence for a while until finally, with an over-emphasized shudder,
her eyelids fluttered, and her eyes rolled back down to gaze at them.

"Ah! I sensed that you were all finally here. The fates have never led me wrong…"

"She needed second sight for that?" whispered Ron.

Harry snickered, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. Divination was among his least
favorite classes.

Trelawny sighed in ecstasy. Here was another year filled with students; eager ones hopeful to be
in possession of the "inner eye". Her eyes fell on Lavender Brown, who was currently
gazing at the Weasley boy, and her seatmate, Parvarti Patil, who seemed to be staring longingly at
Potter. Now here were two qualified candidates…staring at a table filled with two who were not so
much. *Hmmm*…

Harry sighed as Trelawny began the class, and continued to sigh as she droned on about the
"inner eye" and those fortunate enough to possess it. He never had, and never would
believe in any of this. Up until now, all Divination had done for Harry was subject him to a series
of embarrassing moments involving Trelawny favoring him with looks of pity and tremulous sighs,
while moaning to the whole class about how short his life was going to be, and how full of misery.
Never once had any of her predictions come true, save for the one time she had seemed to fall into
a true trance and told of the forecoming of certain events involving Voldemort. But even those had
been vague. No, he would put no stakes in any of this as long as he had sense enough to know
falseness when it stared him in the "eye".

The professor had finally done with her beginning of the school term speech, and decided to wow
the class with her new toys. She stood importantly before them, with hands clasped tightly before
her and her eyes even bigger than usual. To Harry, she had never resembled an owl so much in her
entire teaching life.

"Students, today we will be learning a new art; one that has been aiding witches and
wizards in divination for thousands of years." She gestured to the bundle of something on her
desk concealed by a large purple cloth covered in a pattern of moons and paused importantly to let
the full meaning of what she had just said hit the class. Lavender and Parvarti squirmed in their
seats with excitement

"Ah, I see my two *gifted* students have had a premonition of things to come! Be
calmed young ones, and soon all will be revealed."

Ron, with his mouth open in disbelief, rolled his eyes and slumped in his seat. "What a
load of bunk! Gifted!? She can't be serious…" He said it a little too loudly, and
Parvarti, Lavender and Trelawny all gave him murderous looks before the professor continued.

*"*As I was *saying*…Libanomancy is the art of divination through
incense…"

"*More incense*," groaned Harry quietly, "I think I'm gonna *live*
in nausea…"

"…We read the signs in the flares, pops and crackling sounds as the incense burns, and also
in the shapes formed from the rising smoke." At this, she flipped off the purple cloth
dramatically, leaving the students to stare in wonder at an assortment of jars filled with
different herb-like substances. She continued.

"We have coriander, jasmine, hemp, fennel, salt peter, and so forth. These types of incense
help when asking questions of the oracle sensor. We will burn our incense, and ask our questions
aloud, listening for the answer from the ensuing popping of the seeds or the smoke from the powder.
For example, a singular pop indicates a 'yes' answer, and a double pop indicates a
'no'. We will also watch the direction in which the smoke wafts. When drifting towards you
it is a positive omen, and away it is a sign of evil to come…"

Harry listened to her speech with an impending sense of doom and let his head fall back onto the
window. *Professor*, *I've had a premonition that* *somehow the fates are going to
assault me with backward moving smoke and a series* *of death symbols that I'm sure
you'll pick up on*…*Merlin help me please*…

Trelawny, oblivious to most of the students groanings as usual, began to disperse small vials
filled with the herbs and small metal bucket-like devices perched on tall stands, stopping to give
Harry a particularly sad, forced smile when handing him his. Harry chewed hard on his bottom lip to
keep from saying anything to her and took the vials wordlessly, shooting Ron a murderous look when
he began to snicker.

The professor moved back to the front of the class and spoke to the students once more.
"Now, we will each take turns choosing one from our tables to be the seer. We will start with
the hemp seed. You will place a small pinch in your burner, slide it to rest over a candle, and
read accordingly. Ms. Brown and Ms. Patil, you will start. Pay attention please…"

The two girls had both decided that Parvarti should lead, and she moved in her seat with barely
controlled excitement.

Trelawny smiled favoringly at the girl. "Now, what question would you like to
ask?"

Parvarti answered in a breathy, awed voice. "Well, I…I'd like to know if I'll ever
be married."

Most of the boys and even some of the girls groaned as if they had known her question was going
to be that trivial, but both Parvarti and Trelawny shot them harsh looks that silenced them. The
professor smiled at her.

"Go ahead dear."

When Parvarti had readied the seed, she and the rest of the class watched and listened raptly as
the seeds began to crackle.

"I heard it!" shouted Parvarti in glee, "I heard one loud crack first! That's
a *yes*, isn't it!?" Lavender clapped her hands and squealed with delight.

Trelawny nodded and smiled. "It seems you have your answer."

This elicited more squeals of delight from the girls, and even some others that had joined them,
and more groans from some of their other classmates. Harry's harsh sigh was among one of the
loudest. This had to be hands down one of the biggest wastes of time he had yet encountered in
Divination.

"This ranks right up there with the magic eight ball…"

Ron frowned. "Magic eight ball…what's that mate?"

"A Muggle thing," Harry replied flatly, "Never mind."

The rest of the class passed just as worthlessly for them until it was finally their turn. Harry
and Ron had been bickering steadily over who was going to have to bear the idiocy, and Ron had
finally won. Harry gave a final great sigh and steadied himself. *There was no use in whinging
about it now*…

Trelawny approached their table with a wizened look on her face. "Who has been
chosen?"

Ron smiled and pointed at Harry. "He has."

The professor nodded briefly. "Very well Mr. Potter. Have you a question in mind?"

*Sure. Why the bloody hell do I have to be subjected to this load of crap every day*…
"Um…yeah. Will Gryffindor win the house cup this year?"

The rest of the students seemed to think it was a right enough question to ask and paid
attention as Harry pinched up the hemp and slid the small burner over the candle. Immediately the
seeds all began to pop at once, and Harry looked slightly puzzled. How in Merlin's name was he
supposed to decipher *that*?

He stifled the urge to sneer and looked up at Trelawny. "I'm not quite sure how to read
that…"

"It means the outcome is unclear," said Trelawny in a long suffering voice, "Mr.
Potter, didn't you read the assignment on translating Divination techniques that I gave over
the summer? If you had you would have known the answer…"

Harry could have told her that his Uncle Vernon would have ruptured an artery had he caught his
nephew studying anything even remotely "*not normal*" in his house, but decided that
it wasn't worth it. "Sorry professor, I guess I didn't get around to it."

Trelawny frowned hugely. "Mr. Potter," *Uh oh here it comes*…thought Harry,
"I know you and Mr. Weasley don't put too much stock in my class but the least you can do
is finish the assignments I give you…"

But Trelawny never finished her scolding because she had chosen then to place a hand on
Harry's shoulder. It was at that moment, upon reflection, that Harry would later swear his life
literally changed.

The professor suddenly went rigid, her face frozen into a look somewhere between shock and
blankness. Students began to cry out, but all were too frozen with fear to move. The grip on
Harry's shoulder was painful and tight, causing him to look up at her in alarm. Her normally
pale blue eyes were glazed over with a thick white film, leaving the irises almost completely
invisible.

The air in the room suddenly felt alive and crackled with electricity, and a wind began blowing
that had nothing to do with the weather outside. Although each student could feel it, curiously,
not a thing in the room moved. All papers lay still on their desks, robes and hair stayed perfectly
still, even the flames from the fire and the candles continued to burn straight.

When she spoke, the voice that came from the professor was deeper and more resonant than her
own, and Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Even in fourth year when she had made
the real prediction about Voldemort she hadn't looked this supernatural.

"*The dark one is coming…He is building an army that the forces of light will scarce be
able to stand against lest the prophecy be fulfilled. Too many have already died…too many innocents
have already been sacrificed for his own evil means…*

*The prophecy…the triangle must come together…the circle must be made whole…**he** must
understand and take responsibility for that which he was meant to do; that which he was born to
perform. He must learn...He must train…Only the covenant of the triangle will stop the evil ones.
Only the joining of the circle will make him strong enough…He* must *be ready…Sodalis
tria…Evalesco Leo…They must* all *be ready…Sodalis tria…Evalesco Leo*…"

As abruptly as the "attack" had begun, it ended, and in a whoosh of sudden calm, the
wind stopped, the electrical crackle disappeared, and Trelawny released her grip on Harry's
shoulder as if she'd just grabbed it briefly to make a point.

"…and so Mr. Potter, I *hope* you will pay more attention to your studies from now
on."

Harry blinked rapidly at her for a moment, and looked wide-eyed over to Ron to see that his
mouth had dropped open and a look of utter disturb lay plainly on his face. The rest of the class
seemed to follow suit.

"Mr. Potter, did you *hear* me?" Trelawny scanned the class uneasily.
"What's the matter with all of you?"

Harry shook his head and cleared his throat rather loudly. "N…nothing Professor…I think
we're through here…"

Trelawny turned to look at the bewitched clock on her wall. The hour hand was indeed pointing to
"class over".

"Oh very well then," she sighed as the students slowly began rising and moving towards
the exit, "Just please remember what we've learned here today."

Seamus Finnegan gave Harry an odd look as he passed. "How could we forget…"

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

Harry and Ron met up with Hermione on their way to Potions and told her about the bizarre
prediction.

Hermione smoothed her hands along her arms in an attempt to chase away the goosebumps and spoke
breathily. "Wh…what do you suppose it means?"

"We were sort of hoping you would know," said Ron, still feeling a bit spooked. The
hairs on the back of his neck had still not calmed down properly.

"Have you heard of a prophecy like that before?" asked Harry.

"Never…Although to be honest I haven't read many books on prophecy…I never put much
stock in them; too much like divination."

"I agree," said Harry, putting an arm about her waist, "Still…You should've
seen the look on her face. I think she actually made a real prediction there."

"Well whatever it was I'd rather *bloody* not think on it," said Ron with a
shudder, "I knew there was a reason I hated that class, besides the obvious. Professor
Trelawny quite simply creeps me out."

In Potions class, not only did the three have to put up with Snape's usual pompous contempt
for them, but they also had to field the looks of awe the students that had just come from
Trelawny's class were giving Harry.

Snape, who at the moment was busy humiliating Neville for adding too much karapon root to his
Transposition potion, finally turned to address the class.

"All right! Just *what* is going on in here." Snape was the only teacher who
could speak with a soft voice that carried such a sting. "Potter, our ever-present
celebrity," he sneered magnificently at Harry, "Tell me…what is all the whispering about
now? Have you single-handedly brought down the entire population of the dark world or is it
something pathetically overprized as usual?"

The Slytherin, in particular Draco Malfoy began snickering wildly, and Harry gritted his teeth,
his eyes flashing dangerously. Hermione noticed the look and immediately laid a restraining hand on
his arm. Provoking Snape further would do no one any good…

Harry looked around to the students and addressed them. "Look…It had nothing to do with me,
alright? Just because she was touching me when she had her 'vision' doesn't mean it had
anything to do with me."

Most of the students stayed quiet, but Dean Thomas spoke up. "I guess we'll find out
won't we?"

Harry sighed and threw back his head in defeat, speaking sardonically. "Yeah*, I guess we
will*."

"I wasn't giving you permission to give a speech *Potter*," snarled Snape as
he moved to the front of the classroom, "Ten points from Gryffindor. As for the rest of you,
you can continue your *Potter worship* elsewhere. I will not tolerate such *bilge* in my
class."

Ron seethed angrily but Harry laid a hand on his arm and shook his head. He didn't give a
rat's ass what Snape thought of him; he just wanted to get through the class, head to lunch,
and forget about the whole thing. Like Dumbledore always said, 'whatever was going to happen
would happen'. There was no sense in worrying about something they had no answer for…yet.



13. Chapter 13: Dark Plans
--------------------------

Chapter 13: Dark Plans

The dark cloaked figure apparated with a decided *pop* and found himself in a small clearing in
the middle of the dark forest of Kavan. It was just nearing dusk. The sky was a dusty gray-purple,
and the moon and the stars had yet to shine to their full potential owing to the wash of the
sun's last orange rays, but somehow being in these woods made everything much darker. Knarled
dead trees, the forest floor thick with shriveled dried plants…the only sound he heard as he
approached the shack in the clearing was the crunch of long dead leaves underfoot. He had offered
for the dark lord to share his home, after all, didn't the future ruler of the entire wizarding
world deserve more opulent surroundings? But Voldemort had refused, and had reminded him about the
final battle needing to be conducted here. A battle had waged at this very sight last year…a fight
between he and Potter that the dark lord seemed to seethe with distinct bitterness about. It was no
secret that Voldemort hated Potter, and although he had not explained the particulars of the fight
to the death eater, one thing was for certain…his body had been taken from him again.

The death eater shuddered as he approached the grayed, weathered wooden door. It wasn't cold
out tonight; Mother Nature had decided to favor Scotland with a mild autumn evening. And yet, a
ruby, flickering glow from the lone window gave away the presence of another fire lit in the
hearth. Voldemort was always cold these days. The spell Potter had cast had not only robbed the
dark lord of his body, but it had begun to slowly take his strength as well. *But, no
matter*…thought the death eater with a slightly nervous sigh, *it would all be returned, and
much more…soon enough*.

He raised a fist to rap on the door, but had no sooner lifted it when a harsh voice sounded from
inside.

"*Enter*."

How was it that he was one of the most respected members of the board of the Ministry, one of
the richest, most powerful men in his city, dreaded by his servants and even his own family, and
yet, one word from the weakened dark lord could make his knees tremble with fear?

The servant entered the humble shack with his head high and pushed his hood down, revealing long
silvery hair and a rehearsed dignity. He might feel slightly off at having to face his master as
most of Voldemort's servants usually did, but he had always been the most adept at hiding it.
Malfoy's were notorious if not for anything else, for their supremely cool demeanors.

Lucius stepped around the ratty chair to face his master. "My lord."

Voldemort raised his transparent head. The dark cloak wrapped around him almost seemed too heavy
for his frail 'spirit'? Lucius wasn't sure what to call what he had become. Calling it
a half-life seemed oddly fitting. He wasn't alive, and yet, he wasn't dead. But though his
'spirit' seemed weak, his eyes glittered with the blood red they always had, and his grim
mouth was still set in the same ruthless lines. Lucius wasn't fooled. The dark lord had shown
his capability too many times to be taken lightly. That was why he served him…darkness, in
Malfoy's eyes, equaled power.

"*Give it to me*," Voldemort's high-pitched, gravelly voice demanded.

Malfoy extended the pale in front of him and the dark lord grabbed it greedily, tipping its
contents immediately into his mouth. Despite himself, Lucius looked away, sneering on the inside
with the typical Malfoy disdain. When he was done, the dark lord's mouth shone with silver
drippings.

Voldemort placed the pale onto the floor and licked the last remains of unicorn blood from his
lips.

"How I *loathe* having to drink that," he said to no one in particular.

"Soon enough, my lord. Soon enough…" said Lucius as he sat formally in the only other
chair in the cabin.

Voldemort sat up straighter and gave his servant a piercingly direct glance. "Yes. It will
be."

Despite himself, Lucius once again felt himself tremble. But though he felt it, his body
didn't betray it. His cool blue eyes, half-lidded with composure and his straight haughty
posture never faltered as he replied with only a humble nod.

"Did you bring it…" began Voldemort.

"I haven't yet had the chance to visit the school my lord," replied Lucius in his
trademark refined drawl, "I'm waiting for the ministry to have official business there so
as not to attract attention to myself."

"You have a son at the school," replied Voldemort with annoyance, "What other
business do you need…"

Malfoy shifted in his seat. "Parents don't normally frequent the school without express
invitation, my lord. The few times I've visited, Dumbledore has kept a close watch on my
comings and goings. He's never trusted me, which makes this extremely difficult…"

"I'm sure you'll find your way around that, won't you Lucius?" said the
dark lord with distinct warning in his voice. "Besides, as you can see, this is becoming quite
an eyesore."

Voldemort gestured to the large lump lying half-covered by a cloak in a dark corner of the
cabin, and Lucius swallowed thickly, closing his eyes to keep from inadvertently shifting them in
that direction. Nausea turned his stomach with a sharp stab, and his indifference slipped away
briefly. After all, the boy had lain there dead for more than three months. Had it not been for the
charm that he had cast to keep away insects and cover the odor of decay, the stench would have been
unbearable.

Lucius forced himself to draw another breath. He'd never quite understood why the dark lord
had taken the Creevey boy. "H…how long must he lie there, my lord?"

Voldemort turned a piercing glare Malfoy's way. "I've explained this to you,
Lucius. I have plans for the body…or rather I *did* have plans. In a sense, they were
accomplished long ago, were they not? I never needed this specific boy, he just happened to be at
the right place at the proverbial right time. And he fits the description…" At a quick alarmed
glance from Lucius, Voldemort managed a chuckle. "Yes Lucius. Even now I sense what you're
thinking. *You must get it*."

"My lord, it's not so simple…It's such a dangerous and potentially harmful artifact
that it's kept locked in the most private of places. Dumbledore's office has so many hidden
alcoves and drawers that I fear it may be impossible to find it…"

Although the voice was coarse and high pitched as usual, Voldemort spoke with the smoothest and
yet most dangerous of tones. "Now Lucius. You'd be surprised at what plans the mind can
devise when the need arises…And I assure you. That need has most definitely arisen. Am I
understood?"

Small hairs stood erect on the back of his neck, and Lucius nodded, pressing his already thin
lips into a white line. "Yes, my lord."

"Excellent," the dark lord nodded. "Now tell me. Has anyone yet answered my
call…"

"I placed the dark mark over Diagon Alley just as you instructed me, my lord. As of yet,
I've had only a few responses from your faithful. Crabbe and Goyle, as always, are ready and
able to be of service. Bullstrode and Zabini are also among their ranks."

Voldemort nodded briefly. "Many are still imprisoned in Azkaban, and as for the others,
they will soon follow…if they do not, we'll simply eliminate them when the time comes. What of
the dementors?"

"I spoke with one of their *leaders*," said Lucius with an elegant sneer. He
despised the scabbed, grotesque creatures. "They are discussing an allegiance, but have not
yet decided one way or the other. After all, they have always been neutral. It may take some
convincing to sway them."

Voldemort dealt a chilling half-smile that made Malfoy shudder. "They will have all of the
souls of the captives to feed on when the war is over; it will help reduce the annoying problem of
prisoners. After all I imagine feeding off of the same ones day after day can get a bit tedious.
That fact alone should be convincing enough, wouldn't you agree?"

Somehow, Lucius managed a feeble nod. In the back recesses of his mind, he tried to imagine
being the kind of creature that could commiserate with dementors, but couldn't seem to wrap his
thoughts around it. Even with his unencumbered view of the weak and the strong, those with power,
and those meant to serve under it, Malfoy couldn't imagine being allied with such loathsome
'*things*'. And yet, here he was, about to do just that. But, Lucius sniffed
pompously; they were a means to an end, weren't they? Just as everything else in his life had
ever been. His job, and even his family…a means to obtain power.

"Yes my lord," said Lucius upon reflection, "I'll remind them of that fact
should they decide to refuse our offer."

Voldemort had barely reflected on his answer when he continued on. "And now I have another
task to add to your plate. I'll need a few other things from the school..."

When his master had finished with the list, Lucius felt almost overwhelmed. How *in the
hell* did he expect him to be able to get the things he desired, despite how much they were
needed? However, he began immediately steeling himself for the project. After all, he reminded
himself, he had never been under the illusion that Voldemort's return to power would be easy.
But whichever way it came, and in whatever package, he was riding to the top with him where he
belonged…After all, he *was* a Malfoy.

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

Professor DeVoncrey seemed none to eager to return to his position as the Defense Against the
Dark Arts teacher, but he understood that he was the only one qualified for the position. He'd
also been informed of the school's inability thus far to hold on to teachers in his position
and didn't deem it fair to abandon the students simply because he found the job stressful…and
he *did* find it stressful.

In the first place, the Dark Arts were nothing to be trifled with. Sometimes, the only way to
defend one's self against a dark curse was to *use* one and yet, the use of the dark arts
made one susceptible to it's draw. Today in particular he was trying to hammer that fact into
his pupil's young heads, but it seemed all they could think about was the up and coming
Quidditch match concerning Slytherin and Gryffindor. It so happened that this particular class was
made up of just those houses, which made it all the more difficult to make them pay attention. All
they seemed to be able to do was whisper quietly amongst themselves about who was better, and these
conversations kept causing small arguments all across the classroom.

Once again DeVoncrey thought to himself how wrong he had been in assuming that the English were
a genteel and proper bunch. Well, at least by the standards he *used* to consider.

"You've gone completely round the twist," whispered a narrow-eyed Ron to Malfoy
while DeVoncrey's back was turned, "Not only did Gryffindor beat the *hell* out of
Slytherin last year, but we won the *sodding* house cup! I don't know what the *bloody
hell* you're going on about…"

"*Calm down* Ron," said Harry quietly through his teeth, "He's just
trying to egg you on…"

"Watch for those bludgers Friday *scarhead*…" sneered Malfoy, "They seem to
have a thing for you. Remember second year?"

"*Screw you*," hissed Harry back. (Ron smiled…*Calm down, indeed*.)
"That bludger was tampered with and you *bloody well* *know* it…Even so I still
caught the snitch. All you caught was the ground at about fifty."

Hermione elbowed him and caught his eye. "Harry! You two need to be quiet; this is a very
important lesson."

Ron sighed loudly enough for Draco, and unfortunately the professor, to hear. "She's
right mate. We shouldn't let *the ferret* get to us. After all he's full of shit and
he knows it."

Malfoy smirked magnificently. "No one like the *weasel* to recognize
*shit*."

Finally, DeVoncrey had had enough. "Zat is enough, all of you! Monsieur Weasley 'az
just cozt Gryffindor a total of twenty pointz today. Who'll make it zirty?" He looked at
the Slytherin side. "Would any Zlytherin care to join ze point lozz game? Anyone?"

No one spoke. Ron was livid. If the professor had heard his comments then surely he'd heard
Malfoy's. But at that moment his angry gaze fell on the blonde boy and he saw Malfoy hold up a
piece of parchment for him to see with writing on it. '*Amicio vox*'… The voice
concealment spell. DeVoncrey hadn't heard a thing from the Slytherin side, *sod it all to*
*hell*…

Ginny, who was sitting close by with Seamus only sat quietly, stealing small glances every now
and then at the group. Still she had noticed however, that whenever Malfoy caught her eye his gaze
softened, and lasted a little longer than was necessary. He also seemed to be sending Seamus
particularly murderous glances for no reason. *Hmm*….

When she was sure Draco was looking, Ginny suddenly spilled ink on her textbook and looked down
at the mess in mock horror, yelling loud enough for the whole class to hear.

"Oh no! Look what I did! Clumsy me…"

Ron frowned at her. She wasn't usually careless unless something was flustering her, but she
had seemed to be paying a lot of attention to his, Harry's and Malfoy's conversation. She
must've gotten upset at hearing Malfoy cause Gryffindor to lose points, and at her
brother's expense, no doubt. Ron smiled indulgently at his sister and she smiled innocently
back. Ginny…she was nothing if not loyal.

DeVoncrey sighed and closed his eyes. He was sure to need a visit to Madame Pomfrey after this
class… "Mizz Weasley…do you need anuzzer book?"

Ginny smiled sweetly and began scooting closer to Seamus. "Oh no professor. I'm sure
Seamus will share his with me."

When she was close enough that her side was touching Finnegan's, Ginny crossed her legs
towards him and flipped her fiery red hair. She leaned over his book, sending him a smile that
could have brightened midnight, and Seamus blushed crimson right up to his ears, grinning madly.
Ginny made sure to brush his arm just so. She managed to steal a covert glance at Malfoy and saw
that he had glued his steely gray gaze back onto his desk with a fierce determination. His
expression changed not a bit, but his normally relaxed posture was completely rigid, and both hands
were balled into tight fists.

Ginny sighed quietly and turned her attention back to the book she shared with Seamus. *Sorry
Draco, but you've managed to ignore me ever since school started. Time to* *play hard
ball*…

Only one other person near Ginny noticed what she was doing, and it was because she had
considered doing it herself at one time, only to Harry. Being a female didn't hurt matters
either. Hermione gazed at the back of Ginny's head and then glanced over to the very stiff form
of Malfoy. A little smile played on her lips until Harry caught her hand and gave her a questioning
smile. *Merlin, were all boys this clueless*? She quickly quashed the thoughts and squeezed
his hand back, turning back to her lesson. Did it have to be Malfoy, though? *Oh*
*Ginny*, thought Hermione, *I hope you know what you're doing*…



14. Chapter 14: Theft of the Time Turner
----------------------------------------

Chapter 14: Theft of the Time Turner

The fire in the Gryffindor common room blazed warmly, but only a few students were left
downstairs to enjoy it, most having either retired for the night, or simply gone to their rooms to
have private conversations.

As was usual for them, Harry and Ron were finishing their nightly chess game, a ritual that
never failed to bore Hermione, or for that matter, Lavender completely rigid. Both girls had
retreated hours ago; Hermione back to she and Harry's common room, and Lavender up to the
seventh year girl's dorms. Hermione of course had gone to study on the next day's Potions
lesson, even with Ron entreating her the whole way out with, "C'mon 'Mione, have a go!
I'll be gentle!" and Lavender had retreated with Parvarti, giggling and gossiping about
the kind of kisser her boyfriend was. If Ron had known, he would have burned with embarrassment,
but at the moment he was too busy beating Harry to notice.

"Harry, how long've we been playing chess together?" Asked Ron leisurely as he
moved his knight in a brilliant defensive gesture.

Harry frowned and looked up, obviously annoyed at the interruption in his concentration. "A
fair amount of time…this would be the seventh year you prat; as if you didn't know.
Why?"

Ron smiled cheekily as Harry made a bad move with his rook…*A decidedly daft choice*…
"I just wondered," he began, leaning forward to capture Harry's queen, "How in
the world after all this time you can still be so bad at it. Aw…Hard lines.
Checkmate…*mate*."

Harry paused, pursing his lips and scanned the board with a frown. Finally he threw himself
against the back of his chair with a decidedly frustrated "whump" and a glower.

"I don't know Ron, I guess you're just ruddy better than I am. Smarter
too."

Ron nodded, satisfied. "So long as you know…"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione slipped her arms around his neck from behind and
leaned around to plant a kiss on him, having just returned from studying.

"What…none for me?" Asked Ron with a smirk.

"Shut it, Ron." Hermione circled Harry's chair and sat on the couch between he and
Ron, giving the latter a swat on the cheek.

"Quite." Harry favored him with a droll look but Ron chose to ignore it.

"Well a bloke has to get action somewhere."

"Hang on…Ron, I thought I was the only one you wanted 'action' from." Lavender
rounded the couch and sat between he and Hermione, giving him a mock scowl. Ron smiled wickedly and
threw his arm up behind her on the couch.

"You are. 'Mione's like my sister; there's absolutely no way I mean any of it…I
just like to see her blush."

"I don't blush at anything you bang on about, Ron. I've heard it all before.
Perhaps you should concentrate on being *smart* enough to get new material."

Hermione smiled triumphantly and leaned back, satisfied. Harry laughed heartily as his
friend's grin steadily faltered.

"Checkmate…*mate*," he grinned cheshire-like. "You know, it's just as
satisfying coming from Hermione. Imagine that…"

Ron scowled as even Lavender had to laugh at that but bit back a reply as the portrait door
began to open.

"What in Merlin's name," began Lavender, sitting up a bit, "It's half
past ten. Who would be out this late past curfew?"

Professor McGonnagol stepped through the portrait, thanking the Fat Lady for entrance and
looking slightly ruffled and sleep deprived. She and the other heads of the houses had been in
Dumbledore's office for the better part of three hours discussing the candidates for the
Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and had finally come up with their lists. There had
been much discussion about who would excel and who would, (with their limited knowledge of the
future and of their student's leanings), most benefit from class, and with much discussion and
many a revision, the house leaders had finally chosen their candidates. As the class would be
starting within the next few days, the teachers needed their students to be prepared, and also to
know which subject, or activity, they might be willing to drop, if needed, to accommodate the new
class. Since there were few subjects that were optional, McGonnagol knew the choices would be tough
for some. Especially for one student in particular who tended to want to take too many classes at
once anyway, and for another who might find the class had more to offer than he might have
anticipated…

Minerva favored Hermione with a smile as the students sat up a little straighter in
acknowledgement of their professor. She found a portion of the couch to perch on and sat rather
heavily with a tired sigh.

"Miss Granger, would you and Mr. Weasley please round up the sixth and seventh years and
bring them down to the common room? I have an important announcement."

Hermione stiffened and clutched the small hourglass necklace hidden beneath her shirt. She had
only just gotten it from Dumbledore earlier that morning, but had forgotten to take it off as of
yet, and now suddenly remembered. "Oh professor, this isn't about what we talked about…I
know the time turner can be dangerous but I promise I'll be just as careful with it as I was in
second year…"

McGonnagol held up a patient hand. "Hermione, set your mind at ease. This has nothing to do
with that. Now will you get the girls for me?"

With her posture relaxing once again, Hermione nodded and began to move around Harry's chair
until his hand stopped her. Harry's face was set in frustration and disappointment. Why
hadn't she told him?

" 'Mione," Harry half whispered to her, "I thought we talked about it. You
were under a fair amount of stress before. The time turner…"

"Mr. Potter," began McGonnagol in a stern but tired voice. "It's been a
terribly long day. Do you think you could have your discussion at a later date?"

Harry looked sheepish and dropped Hermione's hand. "Of course professor.
Sorry."

Hermione widened her eyes in warning at him, at the same time giving him an apologetic glance
and headed toward the stairs. After a few minutes of scuffle and shuffling down the stairs, the
common room was full again with students, some rumpled and half asleep, others simply in pajamas,
and still others had not yet changed for bed. McGonnagol settled back into her seat and brought out
the list she and the other professors had made, unfolding her glasses and perching them on the end
of her long nose.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you all at such a late time, but the other professors and I
have only just gotten our lists made for the Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts Class, and I
wanted to make sure you all knew as soon as possible who had been chosen to join. Of course as you
know, this class is strictly on a voluntary basis, so if you have been chosen and do not wish to
join, you only need to let it be known, and your name will be stricken from the list, no questions
asked."

McGonnagol looked up over the rim of her small square glasses and caught not a few faces full of
excitement and expectation. Hermione Granger, standing behind Potter, was practically dancing on
the balls of her feet.

"As I call your names, please remain for further instructions to be given on the time and
date of the class…Lavender Brown," Lavender squealed and threw her arms around her best mate,
Parvarti. "Colin Creevey," Colin lowered his head morosely and took a small step back
from the crowd as if wishing he were invisible. "Seamus Finnegan, Hermione Granger,"
Seamus gave Dean and Neville a grin, and Hermione squeezed Harry's shoulder so much it hurt,
beaming down at he and Ron. "Neville Longbottom," despite his newer improved self,
Neville had not expected in a million years to be chosen and turned an almost transparent shade of
white. Dean clapped him soundly on the back. "Parvarti Patil," she squealed much like her
counterpart, "Harry Potter," Ron and Hermione beamed at him. "Dean Thomas, and
Ronald Weasley." The remaining two received claps on the back, and Hermione turned to look all
around her.

"That's *all of us*! At least all of the sixth years…I wonder why…"

McGonnagol gave her a slight look of reproof, and Hermione stopped suddenly, pressing her lips
together sheepishly. The professor continued with the seventh years, most of whom they had met but
didn't know very well, and finally sighed and rolled up the parchment, placing it back inside
her robes.

"Now then. Your first class will start on Monday, and will begin after your last class ends
at three…" Immediately groans of protest began around the group. McGonnagol cleared her throat
with meaning and looked up at them above her glasses.

"As I have stated before, this is a strictly voluntary class. I know there are several of
you who have extra class loads this year and had already had that time slot filled, so you will
have to decide whether or not to drop your current class. Anyone not wishing to join needs simply
to let me know. However, I would like to stress the importance of these classes…especially to
some."

Harry saw McGonnagol give him a plainly undisguised glance and gave her a very slight nod. He
knew the look, and the reason.


"As I was saying," she began again, "You will move immediately to the Astronomy
Tower, room four after your last class where you will meet Professor Lupin. You will need no books
or parchment, you need only to bring your wand…"

"*No books?*" muttered Hermione in disappointment. On the couch in front of her,
Harry squelched a smile.

"The class should last no more than an hour, so those of you who have chosen to play
Quidditch should have no worries making it to the pitch for practice. That's all I have unless
there are any questions."

Of course immediately around her, the professor was deluged with questions ranging from how hard
would the class be to what kinds of things would be taught, so the students who seemed to need
nothing further began to get up and move away. Harry had begun to get up as well, but
McGonnagol's restraining hand stopped him.

"Harry, a moment please. I need to discuss something with you before I leave."

Harry frowned questioningly at her, but dropped back into his seat on the couch.

Many questions and discussions later, the students had finally had their fill of information,
and even Hermione had run out of things to ask. They all began to drift back upstairs, and with a
small peck on his cheek, Hermione left Harry to talk to McGonnagol and made her way out of the
portrait door and down the hallway towards the Head Boy and Girl's dorm.

McGonnagol turned her attention back to Potter, who was sitting slumped a little wearily on the
couch a little to the right of her.

"I'm sorry Mr. Potter, I'm sure you're tired, but this won't take
long."

Harry sat up a little straighter out of respect and blinked tiredly as she continued.

"Harry, Professor Lupin has asked that he be given extra time with you specifically at the
end of each lesson for more intensive training."

Harry sat up even more in surprise and frowned. "Me? Why? Doesn't he think the Advanced
DADA class is enough?"

McGonnagol closed her eyes briefly and nodded in deference to his question. "Apparently he
thinks *you*, more than any of the others might benefit from knowing all you can to defend
yourself. Of course I, along with Professor Dumbledore am inclined to agree. I would think you
would be as well."

"Well of course but what about Ron and Hermione?" asked Harry a bit more forcefully
than he had intended to. He bit his top lip and settled back a bit. "I'm sorry professor,
but what I mean is, a fair amount of the troubles I get into with Vol…I'm sorry, *him*,
involve them as well. Don't you and Lupin think it would be wise for them to have the extra
training as well?"

McGonnagol raised an eyebrow at him. "That's *Professor* Lupin, Harry and yes, I
would be inclined to agree with you. But Remus has had a meeting with the Headmaster and he wishes
to meet with you only after each class. Apparently he intends to teach you about something extra
that only you are to partake in."

McGonnagol leaned forward as if to make certain that only she and Harry were hearing the
conversation. "Harry, if ever you were to take my advice, or the Headmasters for that matter,
take it now. Take the extra instruction. Remus Lupin is one of the most powerful wizards in the
Order of the Phoenix. If he says he wants extra time with you to show you even more ways to defend
yourself, you can be sure that he won't waste your time."

Harry blinked a couple of times at McGonnagol before sighing and nodding his head. He knew it
would be stupid of him not to take the extra training in DADA when it was offered him, but his time
seemed so limited as it was. What with O.W.L.s and Quidditch, and N.E.W.T.s were next year…all he
wished for was a time when he wasn't so busy and stressed. Some time for just a little
relaxation and a reprieve from the threat of Voldemort for that matter…

"All right professor, I'll do it."

McGonnagol nodded once, satisfied. "I think you'll find you've made the right
decision, Potter…"

A high-pitched terrified scream erupted from outside the common room and down the hall, and
brought Harry abruptly back from his thoughts and onto his feet in an instant, his wand drawn and
out to his side. An icy chill clutched at his heart and his gaze immediately shot to the one person
still sitting near him.

McGonnagol had jumped almost a foot in that instant and had drawn her wand with lightning fast
reflexes that almost seemed too agile for a witch her age. "What in Merlin's name…"
she puffed.

A voice was heard faintly screaming somewhere out in the corridors. "*No*,
*DON'T*! *Stay away*! *G..Get back*!"

A couple of curses, thrown at the same time and the sounds of a short wand fight ensued, and
then there was nothing.

Harry froze in that instant, a look of utter horror coming over his face. *Oh my*
*god…*

Ron had stumbled down the stairs, harried and in his nightclothes, along with a dozen other
Gryffindors, all with wild eyes, and with wands out just as the sounds stopped.

"What the *bloody h*…Harry, that sounded like…"

"*Hermione*…" Harry breathed. He reacted with maddening speed, adrenaline
powering his legs. It seemed to take him only a fraction of a second to reach the portrait door and
fling it open, Ron in close pursuit behind him.

McGonnagol turned swiftly to the students behind her moving curiously closer to the portrait
door**. "*No one*** is to leave this common room, understood? Mr. Hampton, I'll
leave you in charge."

Fillius Hampton, a tall seventh year nodded once and watched as Professor McGonnagol hurried out
of the portrait door, letting it slam shut behind her.

Harry's heart pounded like a machine gun as he ran, his eyes searching frantically for
Hermione. Thankfully the Head Boy and Girl's rooms weren't far away, having been situated
between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw houses, and his frenzied thoughts were to head there first to
look for her. The cry hadn't seemed that far away…

Only a few turns of the corner later, and Harry saw far ahead of him, the nightmarish image of
Hermione, lying slumped on the floor of the corridor, just a few feet away from their shared common
room. As their common room was between Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, and there were no other rooms
between them save theirs, no one had yet come to her aid. *No…god no…*

Feverishly, he forced his legs to pump even faster and reached her with a frustrated cry,
throwing himself to his knees beside her even as Ron came pounding up behind him, puffing and
wheezing for air. Harry had already gathered her into his arms and was now swiping tangled hair
from her face, fighting to control his breathing as he was dangerously close to hyperventilating.
He placed his fingers on her neck quickly and felt his body slump in relief as he felt the steady
beat of her pulse. But she still wasn't moving. Her clothes were covered in ash and the back of
her head seemed to have taken a nasty knock as Harry felt the distinct stickiness of blood between
his fingers. He was abruptly reminded of a situation too similar for comfort only last year only
this time it was *inside* the school…

" *'Mione…'Mione please…*" Harry placed a trembling hand on her
cheek.

Ron slumped to his knees beside them. "Mate, is she…*Mate*! *Look at me*! Is she
alive? *Is she*?"

Harry turned to look at Ron as if he had only just noticed that he had been behind him the
entire time and blinked a couple of times before he spoke. "She's alive…but hurt. We need
to get her to Madame Pomfrey right now."

McGonnagol, completely out of breath gasped and came to an abrupt halt as she saw Harry and Ron
on their knees a few meters ahead of her, Harry cradling Hermione in his lap. She bustled over to
them at once and shoved between them, kneeling down and placing her hands on Hermione's
head.

"Mr. Potter, let me see…**Let me see**!"

Harry turned more toward his professor and McGonnagol gasped again as one of her hands came away
sticky and wet with blood. It was then, while the professor cradled Hermione's head for him for
a moment, that Harry noticed that the time turner that had been around Hermione's neck was
gone. He thought for a moment to mention it immediately, but thought better of it in a second. The
most important thing first was to get Hermione to the infirmary.

McGonnagol stood briskly, her wand still out, and scanned the area around her as if Ron and
Harry hadn't already, quickly turning her attention once again back to the three.

"Harry, Ronald, bring Ms. Granger with you and follow me *immediately*."

Harry stood with a small grunt, cradling Hermione carefully in his arms and taking care to let
her injured head fall gently on his shoulder before he and Ron followed McGonnagol at a brisk pace
towards the infirmary.



15. Chapter 15: Time for Truth
------------------------------

Chapter 15: It's Time He Knows the Truth…

A/N: Oh no! I've made a few mistakes… Somehow in my muddled thinking I reverted back to
thinking that my story had them in sixth year (see last chapter)…But I meant to have them in
seventh…I'm so sorry for the confusion if anyone caught that! Anyway, having finished OotP, I
realize that my story (I was already way into it when OotP came out) might not follow JKR's
vision, so Oh well… Anyway enjoy!

Breathless and almost faint with worry, McGonnagol, Ron, and Harry carrying Hermione burst
through the infirmary doors to abruptly awaken Poppy Pomfrey as she dozed on one of the patient
cots. Pomfrey often found herself out like a light, awakening deep into the early hours of the
morning as she frequently fell asleep before making her way to her own quarters situated just off
the left side of the medical wing. It was times such as this that made her damn glad she had
decided to wait around a bit longer, although the trip to her room would have been a short one.

Harry, almost tearful in his misery, immediately rounded the cot to her right and carefully laid
Hermione down, still cradling her head as if afraid that even the pillow might be too hard for it.
Pomfrey jumped up, keenly embarrassed to have been caught sleeping outside of her quarters again,
but came round quickly at the sight of the injured student and even more so owing to who it
was.

"*Merlin's ghost*," she gasped coming round her bed and leaning down to begin
checking Hermione. She fixed Harry and Ron with baleful glares. "What in the blazes of hell
have you two been up to now!? It isn't enough you seem to have a knack at being in the wrong
place at the wrong time…you have to bloody well continue right through your last year…"

"They had nothing to do with it Poppy," McGonnagol spoke up firmly. "Ms. Granger
was apparently headed back to she and Mr. Potter's dorms when we heard the beginnings of a wand
fight. We found her only minutes later."

Poppy had just then placed her hand on the back of Hermione's head and heard the girl emit
her first moan. She jumped at the sound, and then gasped and jumped again as her hand came away
warm and gluey with blood.

"*Merlin's beard…*I thought she seemed a bit peaky!" Pomfrey laid the
girl's head back gently and shooed Harry and Ron away from the bed before drawing curtains
around it to thoroughly check out her patient.

After finding only the large welt to the head, along with a few bruises, her body visibly
relaxed with relief and smiling reassuringly to McGonnagol, she opened the curtains again, allowing
the two boys to return to their friend's bedside.

"Just a little bruising round the back and shoulders where she's fallen, but she'll
be rather sore and peaky for a while. There's only one thing for it. She'll have to stay in
bed for a few days until she's well enough to get about on her own. Potter, I suppose you and
Mr. Weasley'll be good enough to bring Ms. Granger her lessons? She'll be wanting
those…"

Harry and Ron nodded their assent, eyes glued to Hermione the whole time, and Pomfrey whirled
around summoning the medications needed for the treatment of head trauma from the supply closet.
She tossed the wand back onto the bed beside her and turned Granger onto her back.

Weasley, McGonnagol noticed, was jigging nervously on the balls of his feet, making small moves
with his hands as if wanting desperately to help.

His counterpart however squatted down, almost as still and silent as a tomb; motionless except
for a hand stroking Hermione's hair. He stayed at eye level with her; a stricken look mixed
with determined fury twisting his features. He began muttering nonsensical things, but some of his
ramblings seemed aimed at the invisible person who had done this.

Harry's quiet whispering, though obviously filled with emotion, somehow came out almost cold
and dead. *I'll find whoever it is, 'Mione*…*I'll find whoever did this to you.
**God help*** *the bloke when I do*…

McGonnagol chose that moment to let her eyes wander over toward a nearby window and caught the
sudden faint glow of a mysterious red light from somewhere above the point of the horizon that she
could see. Unseen by her, Harry grabbed at his scar at the same time, feeling it begin to burn. She
frowned in curiosity despite the situation at hand and opened her mouth to speak to them, but
Hermione moaned a second time and her eyes fluttered moistly open. Needless to say all attention
was diverted at that moment.

Harry had dropped from his squatting position to his knees and was now staring wide-eyed at the
girl, both hands on either side of her face, and Ron had dropped to his knees as well, gripping
Hermione's hand like a lifeline.

When the girl finally did come round, her eyes were glazed over with fear as if somehow she was
still back in the hallway facing her attacker.

"**No**…**Stay *away* from me**!" Hermione pulled away from Harry and
wrenched her right hand from Ron's grasp, making a grabbing motion as if for her wand. When her
hand found nothing but bed sheets, she screamed inarticulately again and sat up suddenly,
scrambling backward from them all like a terrified animal. She stopped, pressed against the
headboard of her bed.

Harry, shocked and completely distressed, murmured her name and reached his hands out to her but
she shrieked hysterically again and slapped them away. He returned them almost uselessly to his
side before bringing them up to rest claw-like against his forehead, peering anguished between his
fingers at her.

Open-mouthed, McGonnagol stepped up to intervene but waited at a motion from Weasley.

Ron had blanched. "Hermione…*it's us*. Don't be afraid…" He reached a
hand out to her as well before being treated in much the same way. Hermione attempted to make
herself part of the headboard by crouching as closely as possible to it, wrapping her arms around
her knees and keening in a low whimpering tone. Her eyes were round and wide with fear and held no
recognition in them.

Ron felt a shiver run through his whole body at her expression and returned his hands to his
side, his stunned gaze traveling inevitably to Harry.

Harry, for his part, was utterly stricken. His heart gave a painful stab with every panicky cry
from Hermione even as Madame Pomfrey tried to calm and soothe her. His shaggy hair, messy at best,
was completely disheveled by now from the number of times he had clawed a hand through it and
brought it back down to chew distraughtly on his knuckles.

McGonnagol, with a startled face and a gaze full of worry stepped forward again towards Pomfrey.
"Poppy, what's happened…Why is she reacting like that!? She's known these two for
seven years…"

Pomfrey waved a hand at the Professor to silence her for a moment, and raised her wand towards
Hermione, speaking a quiet calming spell over her. It finally succeeded in soothing the girl enough
so that she could disentangle her from the ball of limbs and bed sheets she had become.

Hermione relaxed and closed her eyes momentarily, touching a hand to her head gingerly and
shaking it as if trying to clear away the fogginess. When she opened her eyes, slowly, clear
recognition shone in them once again, along with a wince of pain.

"Ron, Professor McGonnagol…*Harry*."

The last name was spoken in a broken whisper, and Harry let out the breath he hadn't
realized he'd been holding. His hand came up quickly to grip the shirt over his chest as if his
heart had just started beating once again and he dropped onto the bed beside her, gently taking her
into his arms, oblivious to the few tears that had fallen down his face.

After a few moments of crushing him to her, Hermione opened her eyes to see Ron trying to sniff
back obvious signs of tears, and she smiled, lifting one hand from Harry's back to beckon to
him.

Ron dropped his shoulders wearily and sat on the bed beside them, hugging them both gratefully
as well.

She knew the events of last year had brought the three even closer together than they had been;
yet Minerva hadn't expected to see such affection so openly displayed. The surprise and
tenderness of it tugged at her chest almost painfully. Deciding rather quickly to keep up her usual
pretense of sternness, McGonnagol quickly swiped at her cheeks and turned to Pomfrey deliberately
steadying her voice, although it took some work.

"Wh…Why didn't she recognize them straight away?"

"The mind sometimes has a strange way of protecting itself, Minerva," sighed a
relieved Pomfrey, gazing at the three. "I think she also took quite a harder lump to the head
than I realized. But I had hoped once she was calmed she might start to think more clearly."
She sighed again, but more out of tiredness than anything else.

"Just as a precaution though, I'll need her to stay awake for the next twenty-four
hours or so…possible concussion and all. I'm sure you wouldn't mind letting Mr. Potter and
Mr. Weasley sort that job between them."

Ron and Harry, who had finally done hugging Hermione, looked at each other with Ron immediately
recognizing the look on Potter's face. He smiled tiredly at him.

"No worries mate, I love my bed you know. Besides, Ginny and Lavender are probably in a
right state by now and if I don’t get back to tell them everything's all right I reckon
there'll be a huge row. Don't really care as far as Ginny's concerned but Lav…Well, you
know…"

Harry smiled at him. "Git. I know you care about Ginny as well. Go on then, I'll see
you tomorrow night I expect."

"Right." Ron smiled cheekily at them, leaned down to give Hermione a quick peck on the
cheek, and began striding toward the door.

He got no closer to it than Professor McGonnagol did when Dumbledore, clad in a dressing gown
and nightcap, but looking despite his dress every bit the powerful wizard he was, almost plowed
through the door, wand in hand and locked gazes with the Transfiguration teacher.

"Minerva, how is Ms. Granger?" He asked rather hastily.

McGonnagol, slightly taken aback at the headmaster's tone spoke up hesitantly.
"She'll be all right, with proper rest and attention…Only a nasty bump to the head and
some bruises…"

"Fine, fine…" said Dumbledore, and despite his tone he did look relieved. His next
words however cleared everything for them all. "I'll need you to come with me straight
away then."

McGonnagol looked past Dumbledore and saw Professor Snape, along with Binns, Vector, Sprout,
Trelawny (looking decidedly owlish), Hagrid, Flitwick and Lupin, all in various states of dress,
and all with wands out.

McGonnagol swallowed harshly as Pomfrey hurried over to join them and Harry stood slowly from
Hermione's bed, her hand still clasped in his.

"What is it Albus?"

Dumbledore continued. "Have you seen out the window?"

"No, I haven't, not really. I've only just had the chance to breathe what with all
this, although I did notice a reddish glow…"

"It's the dark mark, Minerva."

McGonnagol gasped and faltered for a brief moment, steadied by Ron, before grabbing her wand in
a swift motion and hurriedly moving to follow Dumbledore and the rest.

No one noticed Harry however. He took one brief look at Hermione, dropped her hand and whipped
his wand out from the back of his jeans. A sudden wave of rage surged through his body like an
electrical current, and it only took a fleeting heartbeat or two for him to make up his mind. Only
one thought radiated like an emotion throughout his entire body. **Go**.

Panic zinged through Hermione in an instant as Harry dropped her hand and lashed out his wand.
She'd seen that look too many times… "*Harry, **NO***. Don't go…" She
made a grab for his arm but was too late. "NO, **HARRY**!"

He was gone in an instant, furiously tearing through the room with the force and speed of a
madman. He whipped and shoved past Ron, Dumbledore and through the crowd of professors who tried
futilely to grab at him.

" 'Arry, don' you go runnin' out there!" Yelled Hagrid, swiping at him
with a giant hand. Harry easily ducked under it.

"*Harry, stop right now*!" Screamed Remus Lupin as he ran after him. He managed
to grab onto his arm, but Harry tore it from his grasp and continued running, even as the professor
made grabbing motions at him. The younger man was ultimately too fast and he charged down the hall
and out of sight, his hair blowing back from his forehead and his scar twinging and throbbing an
angry red.

"**Damn it**!" Yelled a frustrated Lupin.

He and the others immediately ran after him, with Pomfrey staying behind to keep a struggling
Ron, and an angry, petrified Hermione, who was trying unsuccessfully to scramble out of bed, at
bay. She finally succeeded, but only by threatening to petrify both of them with her wand.

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

Harry pounded wildly down the hallways, his breathing hitched and uneven and his thoughts
tumbling madly out of control. He finally made it to the huge front double doors of the school and,
not even pausing for a breath, hurled himself against one of them and forced it open. Immediately,
he took an attack stance and lit the tip of his wand.

He found himself surrounded with darkness, complete and unbroken. It was as if the moon and
stars had been blown out, and nothing was left but a dense black hole where the school grounds had
once been. A frigid breeze blew softly and eerily about him, but did nothing towards blowing aside
whatever cloud cover must be obliterating the light from the moon and stars.

Harry felt an unaccountable chill creep over him, and looked up to see the dark mark, painted in
a hazy red, marring the otherwise black sky above him. Another message in Latin was written beneath
it this time, and the snake protruding from the jaw of the skull had now slithered downward a bit,
it's fanged mouth open and smiling as if pleased with the words. '**Tempus id est
propinguo'**…

The chill surrounding Harry was almost antarctic now, but he ignored it and threw his wand arm
out before him, twisting and turning in a mad dance in all directions to find whoever had done
this. When he began screaming the voice that came out was hardly recognizable as his own. It
dripped with corrosive hatred and cracked with rage.

"***Come out!* *Come out***, ***DAMMIT!* *Face me!***" His
voice sounded strangely hollow and without echo, as if he were speaking from inside a box. He
whipped violently around once again, his eyes searching the darkness furiously. He surged forward
again but his gaze met nothing but blackness.

"***It's me you want, isn't it*!?** **Well** **here I am**!
**Let's finish this**! **NO MORE GAMES YOU SON OF A BITCH!**"

"Harry!"

Lupin was the first to crash out of the double doors, followed closely by Dumbledore,
McGonnagol, Hagrid and the rest of the professors, all (except for Hagrid) with wands out, and
looks of complete shock on their faces. They all moved to rush forward as one, but Dumbledore only
needed to raise a hand to stop them. Harry continued screaming into nothingness as if he hadn't
even noticed them, whirling and turning in all directions and looking by all accounts,
murderous.

"Remus." Dumbledore spoke quietly, but with his usual air of complete authority and
motioned Lupin forward, leaving more than one professor completely baffled. But although they
didn't understand his decision, every one abided by it. Only Snape looked decidedly livid. He
for one had hoped to finally get the chance to use his wand on Potter, even if it meant a simple
stunning spell.

Dumbledore lit his wand with a 'Lumos' as did the rest, and led the group down the steps
and into the blackness to search for the perpetrator, even though he was sure whoever it was would
be long gone by now.

Lupin approached Harry cautiously. It seemed the young man was dangerously close to losing
complete control, and he wanted neither himself nor Harry getting hurt.

Harry continued running in different directions, in a state of extreme agitation. He'd never
remembered being this eager for a fight, never remembered wanting something so much as to flay
Voldemort open and hang him by his own entrails. In his mind, his thoughts kept coming back to one
undeniable fact. He'd had enough. No more hiding…no more waiting for the dark lord to strike.
He wanted this over with…and he wanted it NOW.

*"**Come on out you COWARDLY BASTARD!** **Here's your real target!**…**No**
**more hiding, no more banging on about destiny or any of that other SHIT***…**You want
a** **final war!?** **You've got one**…"

"Harry, **stop**…" Lupin moved forward a bit, but still not too close, and Harry
finally whirled around to notice him. The expression on his face changed a little at seeing one of
his professors, but the tenseness, and his attack posture changed not a bit.

"Stop what!?" Harry yelled, "Stop the inevitable!? This is what he wants
professor, why not give it to him!?"

"And accomplish what, exactly?"

Harry narrowed his eyes and his expression turned stony and cold. "*I don’t*
*know*. All I know is that I have to stop this…He's hurting everyone I care about and I
won't stand for it anymore! This…w..with Hermione…I just can't…I won't…**It's
not** **going** **to happen again**…**I won't let it**."

The naked grief in Harry's face, the thought of all he'd had to endure in his young
life, a life that should have been carefree thus far was almost more than Lupin could bear. He
began to reach a hand out to the younger man but stopped abruptly as Harry flinched back, a look of
slight confusion in his eyes. Lupin pulled back, a bit hurt although he knew he had no right to be.
*Maybe*, *soon*…

"Harry, I understand. Perhaps more than you know…"

"*HOW THE HELL COULD YOU*!?" yelled Harry in frustration. "Are you talking
about my parents!?" Lupin blanched. "That quite possibly was a little harder on me than
you, don't you think?"

Lupin opened his mouth to speak but no words would form. *If you only* *knew,
Harry*…*If you only knew*…

As Harry spoke, the sound of echolessness, like being inside an enclosed space, only served to
compound the eerie, stricken look on his professor's face. As he gazed on the man, confusion
set in deep. *What was with him*? *As if he had any idea what Harry was feeling*…No. It
didn't matter. Nothing mattered right now but killing Voldemort.

Harry shook his head as if to rid himself of all distracting thoughts. "It doesn't
matter. Nothing matters…**I** don't matter. Nothing else is important right now, I just need
to find him and you're distracting me, so if you don't mind…" He turned away from
Lupin.

"**Distracting you**!? Lupin almost yelled, grabbing hold of Harry's arm and missing
the look of warning the boy shot him. "Let's not forget who's the professor and
who's the student! And what the hell do you mean, '*you don't matter'*!?
You…of course you…Harry…whoever did this is long gone by now. Besides that fact, you aren't yet
ready to face him…"

"*Not ready to face him*!?" scoffed Harry in disbelief. "Professor I've
been steadily facing him all my life. How much more ready can I be!?"

Lupin tensed his jaw. "You don’t understand. Something else happened tonight. Something
neither you or Professor McGonnagol yet know about as you weren't there."

Harry dropped his wand arm finally. The professor obviously wasn't going to let him be.
"What is it…"

"Not here," said Lupin, grabbing Harry's arm and leading him back towards the
castle doors. "Inside. Believe me when I say, Harry that you aren't yet ready to face
him."



Harry took his arm back from Lupin's grasp, but followed him inside anyway. When the doors
had closed behind them and the professor turned to face him, Harry noticed that he had paled to an
even whiter shade than before. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and he seemed to have aged
ten years in the amount of time it had taken for the two of them to walk inside. And was that a
trace of tears in his eyes? *What the bloody hell*…

"Harry, what I have to tell you…Well, suffice it to say that it won't be easy. Not for
me to say, or for you to understand. I…I don't expect you to forgive me. Not for a long time,
but please believe me when I say that what was done was done for your own good. For your
protection…"

Harry felt the color draining from his face as well and felt a slight tinge of panic. Whatever
the professor was trying to tell him…Well it seemed the man would rather be any place than where he
was at this moment, and Harry had the distinct feeling that his life was about to change.
Nevertheless, he'd never been known for his patience…

"Professor, please. I don't need you to candy-coat anything for me. All I want is the
bloody truth. It's all I've ever wanted."

Lupin nodded and swallowed harshly. However, just as he opened his mouth to speak, Dumbledore,
followed by the rest of the professors, pushed open the double doors and strode inside, looking
angry and defeated. Lupin looked only a little relieved.

"Headmaster…any news?"

Dumbledore nodded once to the other teachers, who all took the movement to mean that he would
meet with them later. As they dispersed, he walked over to Lupin and Harry, stroking his beard
thoughtfully.

"Whoever attacked Ms. Granger and left the Dark Mark has long since disappeared, I'm
afraid Remus; as I suspected he would. However, I have a good idea of who it might have
been."

Both Harry and Lupin decided to let the matter that had been at hand rest for the moment and
looked at Dumbledore expectantly.

"I believe Lucius Malfoy was here earlier today on 'official Ministry business'. I
left him with Argus (Filch) as he prepared to leave. But I'm afraid after having been missing
for several hours, our caretaker was only just discovered unconscious in one of the broom closets
on the fifth floor by Mrs. Norris. As fate would have it, Mrs. Norris was able to quite effectively
'sniff' out her master, much to his fortune."

Harry's hands began to shake uncontrollably with rage, and he quickly balled them into
fists. Once again he was consumed with wrath, but instead of yelling, his voice was low with
loathing. "I knew he was a *bastard*. I don't understand why something wasn't
done with him two years ago…"

"Innocent until proven guilty, Harry," said Dumbledore wisely. "A wizard cannot
be convicted without evidence."

Lupin nodded, and Harry clawed a hand roughly through his hair in frustration, causing it to
stand up in all directions. But suddenly, Harry remembered something he should have remembered to
tell the headmaster much earlier. *My* *god*…

"Professor!" Harry exclaimed, "When we found Hermione earlier…I meant to tell
Professor McGonnagol but what with 'Mione lying there in that state…" he shuddered.
"The time turner…Lucius Malfoy must've taken it. When she left the common room it was
round her neck, but when we found her in the hallway, it was gone."

Dumbledore grimaced, and Lupin shook his head in disbelief. "I don't understand what
Malfoy, or Voldemort would want with the time turner. It can't be used any farther back than
two years…"

Dumbledore held up a weathered hand. "I'm sure his plan will be revealed soon, if the
warning he left for us out there is any indicator…Unfortunately, it will do no good to inform the
Ministry as Fudge refuses to believe Voldemort has returned, and he certainly wouldn't turn on
his wealthiest supporter…"

For the first time in all of his years at Hogwarts, Harry heard a hint of cynicism in the
Headmaster's voice. He'd seen the headmaster upset, even angry, which was an awesome sight
to behold in and of itself, but never as mistrusting as he seemed now. It seemed times were
definitely changing…

Lupin turned to the younger man. "Harry, about what we were discussing," Lupin glanced
fleetingly at Dumbledore, who glanced at the two above his half-moon lenses. "I believe the
Headmaster will agree with me that it's now time that you understand. That you're told
everything."

A few moments of undisturbed silence passed between Dumbledore and Lupin, and Harry grew
increasingly frustrated. It was as if the Headmaster and Lupin were holding some sort of mental
conversation. *Are you sure*? *It's time he knew*… *I* *think you're
right*… *But how much should he know*? *All of it Ja*…

"PLEASE!" yelled Harry finally, "Whatever it is, I deserve to know. I NEED to
know. If you were holding information from me because you thought I was too young to hear it, I’m
bloody well grown up enough now."

Dumbledore smiled thinly, sadly at Harry, and Lupin turned his gaze to him, regarding him with
something resembling…Pride?

Dumbledore gently clapped a hand on Harry's back and led him along as the three walked.
"We'll talk in my office, Harry. It *is* finally time you understood
everything."

A/N: I know by now you all want to hang me for the cliffhanger but believe me when I say that I
*had* to leave it there. I'm going to post the next chapter really soon, and all will be
revealed, so stay tuned!!! :0) And please be kind and review. I really live for the comments!



16. Chapter 16: All Is Revealed
-------------------------------

Chapter 16: All Is Revealed

A/N: Ok campers, here's the chapter where many, MANY secrets are revealed to Harry. Some of
them are from my own imagination, some of them (I must give credit where it's due) are from a
book called, "The Ultimate Unofficial Guide to the Mysteries of Harry Potter". It's
not authorized by JKR or anything like that, it's just a few people's speculations on what
could be going on in the stories. So be warned, there could be spoilers in here, or they could be
completely wrong, it all depends on how right I or the book I just described is! Also, I realize
that the "secrets" I reveal in here may baffle some people, might piss some off, or might
make you say, "yeah right." Don't flame me please! It's just my take on my own
story! Anyhoo, I hope the majority of you enjoy it, and I hope it makes you think and go,
"Hmm, I wonder…" If so, I've done my job right! If you read parts of this chapter
that are all in *italics*, that means that it's a memory. Anyway, happy reading! And do
please review!

As Dumbledore sat down opposite Harry and a decidedly pale Remus Lupin, Harry reminisced about
all the other times he'd visited the Headmaster's office. It seemed at times when Harry or
his friends were in danger, at the times when Harry was in need most of advice, a confidant, or
someone who believed in him, he always ended up in this office, opposite the Headmaster.
Dumbledore's office had always represented a sort of safe haven for Harry, a place where he
could voice his fears, and a place where he would be heard, believed, and taken seriously. As a
result, the huge round room had always held a warm, secure place in his heart. It had even at
times, represented what he imagined his mother and father's home to be.

But somehow, this night, Harry felt no warmness or sense of security. In fact he felt cold and
overwhelmingly alone. This night, already, Dumbledore and Lupin had revealed that they had kept
even more secrets from him than he originally thought. He'd thought that everything had been
revealed in his fifth year, after being told of the prophecy involving himself and Voldemort. Now
apparently, the conspiracy continued. At least that's how it felt to Harry. *And by god if
Lupin especially didn't* *look particularly guilty tonight*…

Lupin shifted a bit in his chair, and seemed unable to meet Harry's steady, almost
accusatory gaze. "Harry…I just have to…I want to stress again that everything that has been
kept from you has been done for your own protection. Please believe me when I say that for
years…for so many years, I've been torn by wanting to tell you…t..to tell you…"

Lupin seemed to be struggling to continue, so Dumbledore spoke up. "Harry, I wish there
were an easier way to begin…"

"I'm not looking for easy, Professor. **Just the truth**."

Harry's words held a sting in them that both Lupin and Dumbledore seemed to feel, and
Harry's face wore the ghost of a tight smile. *They deserved it*…

Dumbledore steepled his fingers together in front of his face and sighed. No better place to
begin than at the beginning… "Harry, have you ever wondered why your parents lived in an area
known as 'Godric's Hollow'?"

Harry sat back for the ride and knit his brows together in confusion. "I…not really,
I…guess I thought more about what went on there than the name."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "Godric Gryffindor owned that land, and passed it on
from generation to generation. So…When your father's father died…He inherited it."

Lupin continued to stare at the floor, and Harry for his part, looked appropriately stunned.
Immediately in his mind, he recalled the day that he'd bought his first and only wand from
Ollivander's. When he'd touched it, hadn't it shot out red and gold sparks? *Those
couldn't be Gryffindor's colors for nothing*…And now, the fact that his parents had
lived at *Godric's Hollow*…

"Professor, are you telling me that my father was Godric Gryffindor's heir?"

Dumbledore nodded and Lupin gave a small grunt of agreement. "And as a result…now, that
honor belongs to you."

Lupin finally looked up from the hole he'd been staring into the carpet. "Harry,
remember in the Chamber of Secrets when you pulled Godric's sword from the Sorting Hat…Only
Godric's true heir could do that…"

Harry sat up and shook his head vehemently. "No…Headmaster," he began uncertainly,
"You told me only someone who had truly remained faithful to you could have pulled the sword
from the hat…"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes I did, Harry. And in a way, that is true, for Fawkes would never
have brought you the sorting hat for you to retrieve the sword from, if not for your loyalty to
me."

Harry set his jaw and nodded. "So, I'm Gryffindor's heir. That might explain
Voldemort's hatred of me…"

Lupin looked down now and spoke with a voice hoarse with regret. "There's more."
He took a moment to compose his voice and continued. "Harry, your powers…well…there's a
reason you're so powerful, and it's not what you think."

Harry looked up and felt his heart begin to flutter with unease. "Professor Dumbledore
explained it to me!" He looked to the headmaster with a tinge of betrayal on his face.
"You said that the night Voldemort tried to kill me he transferred some of his powers to
me!"

"I told you the truth, Harry. I just left out a few things…and only because it was
necessary at the time."

Lupin sat up in his chair, and for the first time since entering the Headmaster's office,
Harry looked directly into his now red-rimmed eyes. It was clear whatever secrets he'd been
holding for so long had taken their toll. Could it be that there'd been more than being a
werewolf that had kept him sickly and pale for all these years?

Remus sighed, a deep, soul-wrenching whoosh. "I suppose it's best to start at the
beginning." Harry steeled himself. "I'm sure you know about Tom Riddle's life
before Hogwarts, Harry. How his mother, a witch, died in childbirth, and how his father, being
Muggle, disowned the boy after finding out her secret." Harry nodded. "Good,"
continued Lupin, "Then you understand that Hogwarts was the only home Tom had ever really
known. When his father disowned him, Tom was sent to live in a wizard's orphanage until his
eleventh birthday, when Professor Dumbledore, then the Transfiguration teacher, took pity on him,
and offered to pay for his education at the school. He also generously gave Tom the opportunity to
live at the school during holidays and summers instead of returning to the orphanage. Tom
gratefully accepted, and was one of the brightest students in the school. But he'd always felt
something was missing…something well beyond the need for a home, a mother, a father…Tom, I guess,
needed to find out who he was, where he belonged.

When he'd joined the school, the sorting hat had immediately put him in Slytherin, so
Dumbledore and I suspect that he felt the history of Salazar Slytherin would be a good place to
start. And considering Salazar's history, and his hatred of muggle-borns, the book Tom needed
was of course in the restricted section of the library. Tom already knew of his mother's
heritage and knew he was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin as nothing was kept from him at
the orphanage. He learned after much secret studying that Salazar's family had consistently
produced only one heir to keep bloodlines pure, and to keep power struggles from happening.
Aberdeen Slytherin had been something of a rebel in her family. She'd married a Muggle, an
unforgivable thing, and as a result, was cursed the day she gave birth to Tom and died from
it."

Harry let his back hit the chair behind him and let out a short breath, but Lupin wasn't
through.

"Tom decided he wanted to carry on Salazar Slytherin's work…to rid the school of all
Muggle-borns. It was all he had to hold on to, and considering the rage and hatred he must've
had built up from all the years of being alone and unwanted, the feelings of rejection; it's
not a surprise that he grabbed onto the one thing he had…his history."

Harry suddenly sat up. "Moaning Myrtle…She was the first…"

"And only," said Dumbledore quickly, "at least where the school is concerned.
When I confronted Tom and told him that the school would be closed if the killings weren't
stopped, he quickly realized that he might lose his only home. It was then that everything stopped.
But the only thing Tom stopped was the killings in the school. He still had his mind set to follow
as closely as possible in Salazar Slytherin's footsteps, and along the way, gained a desire for
power, just as Salazar had. That hunger for power, and his desire to follow in Slytherin's
footsteps, ultimately began his descent into darkness."

Harry nodded. "I understand. But how does Tom Riddle's history have anything to do with
me?"

Dumbledore paused and looked from Harry to Lupin whose eyes remained glued to the floor. He
shifted forward and rested his elbows on his knees, only giving a silent nod of approval for the
Headmaster to continue. Dumbledore nodded back to him.

"Harry, there's something that Tom never found out about his mother…Something that,
until much later, he'd never thought possible. Before his mother died, before she'd ever
even met his father, she'd met, and slept with a fellow Slytherin in her sixth year at
Hogwarts. Aberdeen knew her family would rather order the child destroyed than have the family name
smeared, and not being as heartless as she might have seemed, she had the baby in secret, and left
it on the doorsteps of a neighboring family near her parents. She hoped that she might be allowed
at least, to see the baby grow up if it lived near her. The neighboring family were Muggles by the
last name of Watkins."

Harry stared at Dumbledore and shrugged his shoulders slightly. Still the significance of the
story alluded him. Though the last name Watkins sounded vaguely familiar.

Dumbledore continued, but at a slower pace, so that Harry might fully absorb the next bit of
information he was being bombarded with. "The Watkins somehow found out that the baby belonged
to Aberdeen, and confronted her with it. They told her that if she didn't explain the entire
situation to them, they would head straightaway to her family's house and tell them everything.
So Aberdeen was forced to tell the family all, including the fact that they were wizards, and came
from one of the most powerful and influential wizarding families, the Slytherin.

After hearing the girl's story, and being convinced that Aberdeen's parents might kill
the child if they ever found out, they agreed to keep the baby and raise it as their own.

And now Harry, I'll skip to the parts that involve you, as I'm sure by now you're
thoroughly confused."

Harry gave a wan smile. "A bit."

Dumbledore nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but Lupin raised his head and held up a hand.
"Please Albus," he said quietly in an almost pained voice. "Let me finish."

The Headmaster nodded immediately. "Of course."

Lupin mustered the courage to look Harry straight in the eyes. "Harry, as generations went
on, last names changed as they are wont to do." Harry nodded, a confusion creeping onto his
face. Lupin swallowed harshly. "One of the most recent generations…well, the father was Wesley
Evans, and the mother Leigh Parry. They had two daughters…Petunia and Lily."

At the name Lily, Harry suddenly sat up, board-straight, and his face blanched to an ashen shade
of gray. *Nonono…It couldn't be true...Mum's family were Muggle*…As the implications
began to sink in, he began to feel faint, his heart rate increasing until he felt himself beginning
to hyperventilate. *Oh god*…*god, Merlin*…*anyone*…**NO**…

"My mum was a Gryffindor! Headmaster, you said so **yourself**!"

Dumbledore looked at Harry from above the rim of his small glasses. "Once again Harry… It
is our *choices* that make us who we are."

Lupin swiped shamelessly at the tears now streaming down his face. "Oh god, Harry. I'm
so sorry you never knew. Lily herself didn't know until just before w…u…until just before she
and James were married. The story had been passed down from generation to generation, but her
parents never wanted to acknowledge their Slytherin heritage, and certainly never wanted to carry
it on. But as the Evans' found out their daughter was to marry the heir of Gryffindor, well,
the secret just couldn't stay hidden. At the time she and James had…" Lupin swallowed a
huge lump. "Had you, Voldemort had come to power, and had already done so many horrible,
unspeakable things. Your parents knew that if he ever found out that a child had been born, not
only one so powerful as to have two very powerful blood heritages, but one of those bloodlines
being Slytherin, that he'd be after you in a second. You see Harry, not only are you a threat
to his power and the heir of Gryffindor, but you are an heir to Slytherin."

Lupin looked at Harry then with a gaze that was hard for him to decipher and spoke very quietly.
"Your eyes Harry…so much like your mother's. Those green eyes have been a trademark of the
Slytherin family since their beginning. There's a reason the symbol for Slytherin is a
*green* serpent. The parsel-tongue, yes. But the green color was a symbol for those
eyes."

Pieces of his life were beginning to fall into place, and Harry sat back as if he'd been
punched in the chest and left wheezing for air. *The sorting hat had wanted to put him in
Slytherin…His ability to speak Parseltongue among the other similarities to Voldemort…His green
eyes…(were Voldemort's eyes still green under that hideous red?)…The sword of Gryffindor…his
parent's murders (all to get to him)…oh god*, *I'm* *related to
Voldemort*…

"So Voldemort wanted my parents dead because…"

"Because now there was the threat of there being two rightful heirs to Slytherin, and
because you were destined to be so powerful. Voldemort knew he had to destroy you before you grew
up to be so powerful that you could destroy him, and the work of the family name Slytherin. You
see, Harry…it's all he's ever had to live for."

"I would never kill Muggle-borns…" groaned Harry sickly. "*Oh god,*
*Hermione*…"

Dumbledore nodded quietly. "That's right, Harry."

Harry began to breathe even more shallowly, and Lupin forced his head down between his knees.
"Breathe, Harry. I understand that this comes as quite a shock."

At once Harry shot from his chair, his face a mirror of trauma mixed with nausea. He backed away
from Dumbledore and Lupin and gazed piercingly at them, as if they were both cracked.

"QUITE A SHOCK!?" He threw his arms up in the air and stumbled back a bit.
"I'M SORRY BUT THE PHRASE *'QUITE A SHOCK'* IS JUST A BIT **UNDERSTATED**
FOR WHAT I'M FEELING!"

Lupin stood and held a hand out for him, but Harry once again looked at him like he'd gone
round the bend and made a disgusted sound. "Please Harry. W…we're not finished here. Much
as I…hate hurting you…" he choked on the last words, "There's more you need to
know."

"**More**!" Choked Harry lividly as he made his way back to his chair and threw
himself back down in it. "*Merlin's beard*…**How much more could you have been
keeping from me**!? Did you **not** think I'd be upset!? Did you think it just wasn't
relative to my life up until now!? **DAMMIT**!"

Harry clawed a hand through his hair and brought it to the back of his neck, rubbing harshly, a
motion that made Lupin whiten even more, and stare back at the floor once again. *So much like
James*…*So much like*…

Lupin sighed tremulously. "You're right, Harry. You have every right to be angry. But
please know that all was done for you for your protection…a..and…out of love."

For a moment, Harry's eyes narrowed a bit in confusion as he looked at Lupin. Once again
that unreadable expression crossed Remus' face, and once again, Harry failed to recognize
it.

Lupin sagged at the look on Potter's face, but continued, albeit very quietly, so Harry
almost had to strain to hear. "Harry…I…I've asked to be the one to train…to train you even
further in the Advanced Dark Arts class, as you know. It's because…because I knew all of
this…b..because…Oh god, Harry. I'm so proud of you. Of the young man you've
become…"

Lupin at once drew Harry into a tight hug despite the younger man's look of befuddlement,
but released him quickly. The screwed up look of pain on his professor's face was enough to
make Harry's heart begin to skip beats again.

The older man drew back further and wiped his eyes without shame. "Harry…th..the night your
parents…died, I…I…"

Dumbledore recognized that Lupin's throat had constricted to a point that he wasn't able
to continue and the Headmaster stood, making his way to Remus and laying a hand on his
shoulder.

"It's all right, Remus. I'll tell him."

Harry clenched his jaw. "*Tell me what*…"

"Harry…as you know, your parents secret keeper was changed over to Peter
Pettigrew."

Harry's eyes flashed and narrowed at the name.

Dumbledore continued. "Right before Peter's betrayal, both Remus and James decided that
he'd been acting suspiciously. Both decided in order to be sure of Pettigrew's loyalty,
that some trickery might be in order. You see, James wanted to be the one to confront him about it,
but Remus argued that Pettigrew would never give anything away to James directly. Remus had always
been kinder and more sympathetic to Peter, so having decided that Remus might be the one to elicit
information from him, he and James performed a switching spell.

James left that night in Remus body to confront Peter, but unbeknownst to him, the betrayal had
already taken place. While Remus (actually James) was gone, Voldemort attacked…"

Harry began to shake violently and slowly turned his wide eyes to Lupin, who was now sobbing
freely.

Dumbledore knelt in front of Harry, placing a hand on his knee and speaking softly. "When
James, in Remus body returned after failing to find Peter, he found your mother and Lupin dead, and
you in your cradle, crying…with that scar. He rushed you to Professor McGonnagol and I, and after a
long discussion, we all decided that for your protection, we would leave you with Lily's only
remaining relative…Petunia Dursley. I placed powerful defensive charms around that house Harry, but
your mother had already given you a protection that neither I, nor any wizard could ever duplicate.
The sacrifice of her life for yours."

As Harry sputtered and began choking on his own tears, more pieces began to fall into place.
*Remus middle initial was J…a J…had he changed it on purpose?…The way Remus seemed to react every
time Harry had mentioned his parents…Lupin's paled, shocked face when Harry had told him
he'd heard his mother's screaming voice after his meeting with the dementors in his third
year…his reaction to Harry's patronus being a white stag…Just like his father…**Just like his
father**…*

Harry fought to sustain even breathing and spoke the first thing that came to his mind.
"But h…how…how could you…leave me with them!? D…do you know what my life's been like with
them!? If my f..father's been alive…all this time…*god*…**GOD** …"

James looked up to Harry with a tear stained face and reached a hand to him, but the younger man
jerked violently away. Such a horrible look of betrayal was on his face that James had a hard time
keeping the nausea that turned his stomach from making him vomit. "Harry, please…We knew that
if Voldemort found you he would kill you as quickly as possible…especially if he found you with me.
He'd suspect the switching spell if he saw us together. I'd never be able to act like I
wasn't your father… We wanted to keep you from the wizarding world for as long as possible, to
hide you from him as long as we could. To keep you away from me…to keep you safe…We had to wait
until you were old enough, powerful enough to defend yourself. Oh god, Harry you don't know how
hard it's been not to tell you…"

Harry stood, his face alarmingly white and began to stumble toward Dumbledore's door. *Too
much*…*I c..can't*…*I've got to get back to Hermione*…*I've got*
*to*…*I need to*…*need her*…

Dumbledore stood quickly as well, alarm settling on his wizened face as he recognized the look
of shock on Harry's face. "James, I think he needs help…"

At the name James, Harry heard nothing more. His hand had just reached the doorknob when he
found he couldn't see anymore. His vision had clouded over with black. *That's odd*…
Suddenly he found his hearing was impaired as well, as if he were inside that ruddy box again.
*Can't hear*…*Don'twanttohearanymore*… *heardenough*… He was falling. He
found he didn't mind falling. *Can I fall away from here?* *If only to* *get a
moment's peace*…*to escape*…*Just need Hermione*…*Just need to escape*…

Lupin jumped behind Harry and caught him with a large grunt, just before the younger man hit the
floor.



17. Chapter 17: Realizations and a New Class
--------------------------------------------

Chapter 17: Realizations and a New Class

All was dark, and Harry was numb. Not just the sort of numb felt in the legs when one has been
sitting in the same position too long. He felt literally drained of any emotion from the inside
out. His world, unstable at best, had just been given another great heave and turned completely
upside down once again. On top of all of that, his eyes seemed glued closed, and he was unable to
open them. It was as if he was fighting to travel toward some semblance of day, but could find
nothing to guide him; no sliver of light in the black cave.

Strangely enough the visions in his head, brought on by events just an hour earlier, needed no
light to play out in great detail before him.

*Remus Lupin is my father…My father is inside his friend's body…I can't…don't want
to believe it…Lied to me…everything was a lie…everyone lied to me…m..my god I'm related to
Voldemort…related to **Voldemort!**…have to kill him…have to kill him…have to find
Hermione…need* *her…*

"Harry…"

The name was spoken so softly that Harry whirled around in his obscurity, unsure of whether
he'd truly heard her or whether his mind was playing tricks on him.

"…Please wake up love…Please come back to me."

No mistaking…that was Hermione's voice. Great Merlin, she was better than light. He'd
follow that voice and find day even if there was no day left to find.

As he followed her sound, slowly, Harry began to see his sliver of light, although with it came
whitish flashes of pain residing somewhere behind his eyelids. But though it hurt to finally open
his eyes, Harry saw Hermione's concerned face swimming fuzzily before him. It made it worth the
effort.

" 'Mione," he croaked dryly, "Y'came to Dumbledore's office…Should be
in bed…Y'should be in th' infirmary…"

Hermione smiled with relief and Harry realized then that she was reclining on his bed beside
him. *Hang on…his bed? How did he…*

"No Harry, we're in our dorms," smiled Hermione as she stroked the hair from his
forehead. "Don't you remember? You hit your head."

Harry turned his head briefly to see Ron's concerned face swimming before him, as his friend
was perched on the other side of the bed. He vaguely heard Hermione telling Ron that he'd be
fine now, and to get to his dorms and get some sleep. Ron nodded, and his tall blurry red-haired
form patted Hermione companionably on the shoulder and exited his room.

*H…hit my head…blacked out…Dream? Tell me it was a dream*…"Mione …tell me it was a
dream. Tell me you weren't in the infirmary. Tell me I wasn't in Dumbledore's
office…Tell me that my father…my father didn't lie to me for sixteen years…" *One year
old when my mum and dad were killed…lied to me for sixteen years…I've needed him for sixteen
years…*

"Y…You're father?" Hermione felt her heart quicken and put her hand on Harry's
cheek as he gazed up at her. "Harry I don't know what went on in Professor
Dumbledore's office. All I know is that Ron and I were waiting for you to come back and it
seemed hours later, Professor Lupin and Dumbledore came in levitating you behind them. He kept
apologizing to Madame Pomfrey for letting you bump your head on the floor. He said he caught you
but dropped you a minute later…seems you're a lot heavier than he thought. Ron and I had a
right time convincing Madame Pomfrey to let you and I return to our dorms…" She finished with
a searching look, and Harry dropped his gaze. "Harry, what happened outside? Did you find who
sent the dark mark? And what happened in Dumbledore's office? When they came in with you, Lupin
was sobbing. It scared Ron and I half to death! We thought he was crying over something awful that
had happened to you." Tears began welling in Hermione's eyes and she swallowed harshly.
"I don't ever want you to go running off like that again, Harry. You could have
been…Harry, for a moment I thought you were…*we thought* *you were*
*d*..*de*…*I can't even say it*."

Hermione raised a hand to her mouth and her face twisted in an attempt to keep back the tears
that once again threatened to fall. Harry raised a hand gently to her face. He could see that
she'd been crying for some time.

"It's all right, love. Just a bump on the head." He smiled then to lighten the
mood, although it was clear the gesture didn't reach his eyes. "Ironic isn't it? Guess
you were right when you said what happens to me happens to you, and vice versa. I just wish it
didn't have to be all of the physical stuff as well."

Hermione couldn't bring herself to smile at the joke and leaned closer to Harry's face,
almost whispering. "Harry…Please tell me what happened tonight. And don't leave anything
out. None of that skipping over parts so I won't be hurt in any way." Harry opened his
mouth to protest. "And don't bother denying it. I know you too well."

Harry closed his mouth again and half-grimaced. She *did* know him too well. Although he
would do anything to spare her any grief, even if it was over him, he also couldn't lie to her.
He knew he was a terrible liar and he always had been. That's why when it became necessary he
usually left it up to Ron.

Harry began slowly, leaving nothing out, and by the time he was finished, Hermione was shaking
with shock beside him, her mouth forming a tremulous and distraught "O".

"M…*my god Harry*…My god…Are you…*are you*…" The suppressed look of pain on
Harry's face hurt Hermione more than if he'd been yelling or screaming, and she found
herself breaking down into sobs for him. Harry, who'd been trying to keep an even face
throughout the whole telling, finally broke down as well, crying and choking as if his heart were
shattering into a million pieces.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and the two of them cried together until the wee hours of
the morning, until they had cried themselves into exhaustion and had fallen into a hard sleep.

By the time Ron came round to their dorms and knocked heavily on the door, it was a quarter of
eleven the next morning. As it was a Saturday it didn't matter what the students did, but as
neither Harry nor Hermione had shown up for breakfast, he was more than a little concerned.

The loud knocking woke Harry with a start, and he opened swollen eyes to find Hermione snuggled
closely to him, an arm thrown over his stomach, her head on his bare chest, and her mouth slightly
relaxed open in sleep. The knocking came again, more fervently this time, and Harry growled softly,
agitatedly, and began carefully disentangling himself from Hermione. After fumbling around for his
glasses and shoving them onto his face, he gently covered her with his blanket and padded wearily
to the door, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair before opening it.

"Wonky knight," he heard Ron growling to Sir Cadogen. "Look, I don't know the
password alright? But these are my friends and I need to know that they're safe…"

"Upon my word as a knight of King Arthur's court you shall not pass sir!" Harry
heard the squeaky voice of Sir Cadogen reply. He heard a clang of armor as Cadogen must've
fallen from his horse again. "And as you are determined to force my hand in the matter I shall
have no other choice but to challenge you to a duel!"

Cadogen unsheathed his sword with a mighty heave that almost sent him toppling forward and
rushed towards the end of his picture brandishing the blade and waving it to and fro, hopping up
and down.

Ron scoffed in disbelief. "What the…You're bloody wonkers, you psycho!"

"Draw coward! *Have at thee*! Forward and fight! I shall *skewer* thee and leave
thine entrails for the *birds of prey*!"

Ron sighed angrily. "**Bloody hell**."

Harry opened the door fully and poked his tousled head around it to look at the knight. "No
duels today Sir Cadogen, he's welcome anytime. Ron, what is it? It's Saturday, mate.
Hermione and I are both knackered."

Ron slumped against the frame of the door and sighed in relief. "I know it's Saturday.
It's also almost Saturday afternoon you *wanker*. You and 'Mione didn't show up
for breakfast, and after last night I got worried. Where is she by the way?"

Harry stepped aside and let Ron in. "Still sleeping. Been a long night you know…"

Ron started for a moment and then fixed Harry with wide accusing eyes. "Sleeping! Harry you
let her sleep!? Remember Madame Pomfrey wanted her awake for twenty-four hours! Good lord, where is
she!?"

A look of horror swept over Harry's features as he realized what he'd done. *Of all of
the selfish, shit-faced things to do…*

Quickly he ran to his room and jumped on the bed, gently shaking Hermione by the shoulders.
" 'Mione love, wake up. No sleeping right now…Wake up…"

Hermione pushed the hands on her shoulders away, irritated in sleep, and opened swollen eyes.
"H'rry…Wha'…what're you…"

Ron took her hand and helped her sit up even as Hermione growled menacingly at him.
"H'rry, Ron, please. Tired…need t' sleep, K?"

She began to slump back under the covers but Harry swiftly put an arm behind her back and dug
under the covers to place the other one under her legs. He hoisted her up and set her down
unsteadily on her feet, keeping an arm about her waist.

"Harry, what're you doing!?"

"Madame Pomfrey's orders, remember love? No sleep for twenty-four hours. God Hermione,
*I'm so sorry*. I should've been watching you, not whinging on about my own
problems…"

Hermione shook her head and walked into the common room to sit in front of the fire, Harry and
Ron following.

"As you can see Harry, I'm fine. And what you're upset about most certainly
isn't something you should've kept to yourself. Besides if you had, I would've hexed
you into next winter."

"Hang on," said Ron suddenly, sitting up and peering steadily at Harry. "Does
this have to do with last night? Harry tell me what happened."

It was more of a demand than a request, and Harry had no choice but to tell him. Truth be told,
he needed Ron to know everything as well. He'd never been able to keep anything from him, or
from Hermione, and he'd figured out long ago that it was much better to include them than to go
through things alone.

Ron's reaction mirrored Hermione's almost exactly, although he didn't cry. True to
his nature, his face reddened and he sniffled almost imperceptibly, turning halfway away from them
as if he found something hanging on the wall of particular interest.

"Bloody hell. Professor Lupin? Your **dad**?…**Bloody hell**! Th…that…I don't
know what to say, mate. That must've been hell on you. But your dad's alive. *He's
alive*! You have him back! Truthfully I don't understand why you're not with him right
now trying to learn everything you can about him…"

"Ron, I never lost him. Don't you see?" Harry's throat began to constrict
painfully again and he fought the tears tooth and nail. He was done crying. "He never really
died. But he and Dumbledore, and Professor McGonnagol for that matter let me believe that he did.
*He lied to me, Ron*. For seventeen years he's been here, and he's left me alone. I
just…I can't understand that."

Hermione sighed, a fresh set of tears brimming in her eyes, and spoke softly although her gaze
stayed glued to the orange fire in the hearth. "Harry, they did it for your protection. I know
you understand *that*. As much as it must hurt, they had no other choice. If Voldemort found
out that your father was still alive, which apparently he did, he'd have found you so much
easier if you'd been with him. As it was, he'd have never thought to look for the most
powerful wizard child in the world among Muggles. And Dumbledore placed powerful protective wards
around the house until you turned eleven, and of course, even now…until you were to come to
Hogwarts and be watched over here. They just wanted you protected from the wizarding world for as
long as possible."

When Harry replied, his voice was hoarse with bitterness. "Hermione, I would've *much
rather* had one day with my father, than a lifetime of safety. Don't you understand that?
All of my life, up until I met you and Ron, I've been alone. People surrounded me, and yet I
was alone. I needed him. I needed him so badly, and he could've been here. Instead he waits
until I'm bloody seventeen to tell me he's still around…"

Ron sat forward then and spoke in a hard voice full of wisdom that somehow surprised both
Hermione and Harry. It wasn't that Ron had no intelligence; far from it. But somehow he'd
always been relied on to be the light one. The one that most of the time, pulled Harry and Hermione
from the heaviness of reality and made them smile for a bit; made them realize that laughter was a
part of life too. But today, Ron was all sage.

"Harry, don't you realize that it was just as hard, if not harder for your father to
give you up, than to be with you? In a way, he sacrificed his life to keep you safe, mate. He'd
just lost his wife, and now he was losing his son. But mate, he chose to do it to keep you safe; to
save your life. I know it must be hard to forgive him and even to take all of this in, but Harry
you have to try. I know my father would've done the same thing for me. You should be thankful
you have a dad that loves you so much. What your dad did for you, that's unselfish love, Harry.
It's unconditional love."

Hermione pushed away the astonishment she felt at Ron's eloquent words and nodded.
"It's a father's love, Harry."

Harry sat for a long moment staring into the fire, not answering, his whole body slumped with
emotional exhaustion. No one had ever promised life would be easy. There were no guarantees the
journey would bring happiness, just others to travel with you if you were lucky. He was indeed
fortunate to have such a selfless father…and for that matter two such wonderful people as Hermione
and Ron to trek life's road with. Yes, there'd been too much shocking information given to
him at once, too many heavy revelations to have to process, but once again, he would find a way to
deal with it. And keeping the people who loved him close somehow always made the blows much
softer.

Hermione moved from the end of the couch to sit closely to Harry and laid her head on his
shoulder, taking his hand in hers and kissing it briefly. Finally, wordlessly Harry nodded in quiet
agreement. Ron and Hermione, knowing Harry enough to know that companionable silence was best for
now, kept mute and let him think, getting lost in their own thoughts as well.

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

The rest of the weekend passed too quickly for Harry's comfort as he'd resolved for the
remainder of it to hide out in his and Hermione's dorms until Monday; until he'd figured
out some way of handling the disconcerting revelations and approaching his father.

He found his throat constricting over and over with different emotions; emotions he couldn't
quite make himself understand. Grief, joy, bitterness, betrayal, rejection and even loneliness (?)
seemed to pound away in his veins at every turn. He felt as if his spirit had been torn in two. On
one hand, he was heart-poundingly overjoyed at having his father back after having believed him
dead for all of this time. What normal person wouldn't be thrilled at having such a miracle
dropped as if from God right into his lap?

On the other hand Harry was terrified, and this was yet another feeling he was unable to resolve
with himself. He'd only ever known bits and pieces of his father; pieces that even as of yet
he'd been unable to put together to form a complete picture of the man. Truthfully, he'd
never really *had* a father, and had no clue as to how to have a relationship with one,
especially with the circumstances surrounding this particular father/son connection. Would more
resentments begin to surface? Would they be awkward and distant with each other? How could they
just pick up and act like father's and son's act (which was what, exactly?) when they were
little more than strangers to each other?

Harry was also suffering from little pangs of guilt that seemed to interject themselves into his
thoughts without warning. Without really meaning too, he sometimes felt he had enough to deal with
without the added complications of Lupin turning out to be his father, James. Every time that
thought tried to creep into his head Harry mentally raged at himself for it, feeling as if there
should be no forgiveness for someone like him. After all, how many other sons and daughters that
had lost parents would give all that they had to have even one more day with them?

So all in all, Harry spent the remainder of his weekend confused and filled with such guilt that
even Hermione's usual words of wisdom did nothing to lighten his heart.

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

Ron had returned to his dorms and had met with a fuming Ginny who insisted that he be flayed
alive for not coming back immediately to tell her how Harry and Hermione were. As it was now late
Sunday afternoon, the whole school had heard what had happened Friday night save for the
conversation between Harry, James, and Dumbledore.

After having seen Harry safely to the infirmary with his father, Dumbledore had immediately
withdrawn himself and James from the room and had called an emergency meeting with all of the
teachers to discuss the dark mark. Much to Lupin's relief, Dumbledore had had the foresight not
to mention his true identity. The Headmaster had felt that it was not his place to reveal it to
anyone and that when the elder Mr. Potter felt the time was right, he would divulge the secret.
Besides the glaring fact that if Voldemort were to find out that James was here at Hogwarts it
might make him even more determined to start his final battle. Having the elder Potter near his
son, in Voldemort's eyes, would intensify the threat that Harry might find out his true
identity. That was the last thing that Voldemort wanted. After all, knowledge truly *was*
power.

Once again, new rules were put into place. Students were to be in their common rooms no later
than eight o'clock in the evening, and no one else, not parents, not Ministry officials, **no
one** was to be allowed onto Hogwarts grounds until the perpetrator of the dark mark was found.
Although Dumbledore had a great idea who it had been, nothing could be proven, as Hermione had told
Madame Pomfrey that her attackers face had been covered with a hood.

The theft of the time turner greatly disturbed the faculty of Hogwarts as well. Not one witch or
wizard could for the life of them figure out what Lucius or Voldemort would want with it, as
it's power extended only as far back as a year or two. Also, the consequences of using it even
as far back as that period of time might be even more dire than to have not used it at all. Even
so, there was nothing to be done for it at the present time. There were no witnesses save Hermione
who could identify no one, and no evidence with which to press charges. Dumbledore could try
telling the Ministry to keep a close watch on Lucius Malfoy, but they all knew what a great lot of
good that would do since Malfoy had the entire Ministry and especially Cornelius Fudge, folded
neatly into his wealthy back pocket.

So, Dumbledore had concluded, the school would need to be put on double alert where security was
concerned. The teachers would take turns along with Argus Filch, the caretaker, patrolling the
hallways at night and making sure that all students were properly stowed for the evening.

Quidditch was still to go on as planned, but every game was to be presided over very carefully,
as well as every practice, and students were to come immediately inside afterwards. The Yule Ball,
which was to commence in two months time, was also to go on as planned, but students were to be
prohibited from wandering school grounds during said event. On and on the list went, with this and
that activity either completely prohibited, or to be chaperoned at all times.

With the delivery of bad tidings usually came an unending amount of unhappy students, so each
house head groaned appropriately when the time came to go to each of their houses and read out the
new list of school rules. As always, they were to be posted like a death warrant above the mantle
of the fireplaces in each common room, and McGonnagol was no exception to the line of teachers
dreading the task.

Of course the worst thing by far was the announcement that all Hogsmeade visits were cancelled
this year, especially for the sixth and seventh years, who complained repeatedly about last chances
to visit. But with her usual unbending sternness, McGonnagol explained thoroughly that it was for
their own protection, and left them to grumble amongst themselves.

Ginny particularly was livid, as Malfoy had actually asked her in a roundabout way to go with
him next weekend, although he had made sure to do it when no other Slytherins were watching. She
smiled to herself. At least she had finally made him admit, although with exact words, that
he'd been jealous of she and Seamus.

(A/N: I know this is where I messed up before and put Ginny in a seventh year potions class, but
it fits with my story so now I have to go with it. Please forgive me! =0/)

She smiled as she thought briefly back to the glares of death Draco had been shooting Finnegan
at every moment possible from the moment she'd begun flirting with him in Potions. It was, she
admitted, a dirty, low-down thing to do, but as the old Muggle saying went, 'all's fair in
love and war.' And war it was. It had taken Draco a month of handholding, whispering, giggling,
oh-we-just-happened-to-run-into-Draco-while-snogging-in-the-hallway's with Seamus for the
Slytherin to finally corner her yesterday afternoon as she was headed outside to enjoy a fresh
Saturday afternoon with her friend Michelle Garroty.

Shell was a redhead too, although her hair was decidedly more of a flaming cherry than
Ginny's auburn hue, and very inch of her body was covered in large brown freckles rather than
the light dusting Ginny owned. Early on she had earned the nickname Carroty, which she loathed in
every way possible. This resulted, of course, in most students at Hogwarts calling her exactly
that, especially the Slytherin.

As it was, that afternoon, Ginny had just finished reassuring Shell that she was sure the
slightly younger girl's hair would darken into a lovely auburn hue when Malfoy happened upon
both of them.

He had approached them in his usual abrupt manner and looked directly at Ginny.

*…happens to be very tall and very blonde and very sexy…Nonononono…keep it together
Ginny…*

"Beat it Shell. I need to speak to Ginny."

Shell narrowed her eyes in disgust. "What makes you think **Ginny** wants to speak to
**you**?"

Malfoy eyed her finally with annoyance. "Don't remember needing your permission. Now
wait outside like a good little carrot. I promise to send her back to you shortly."

Shell huffed angrily and prepared to walk away, but Ginny grabbed her arm as an afterthought
before her friend could get away. "Never mind that, Shell. Whatever Malfoy has to say to me he
can say in front of both of us. Can't you, Draco?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly and raised his eyebrows. "All right…What's going on with
you and Finnegan?"

Ginny crossed her arms and turned to her friend. "Shell, would you wait outside for
me?"

Michelle dropped her shoulders in exasperation but shrugged. "Whatever you want. I
don't care." She walked outside without another word and Draco turned to Ginny.

"Changed your mind rather quickly, didn't you?"

"I have the right," Ginny replied saucily. "So, repeat the question? Sorry,
wasn't paying attention."

Draco lowered his brows in annoyance. The brat could be so irritating. "Finnegan…ring a
bell? Seems you and he've been playing rather heavily at tonsil hockey for the past couple of
weeks."

Ginny smiled humorlessly. "Nice." She crossed her arms once again and gave him a
challenging look. "I've never known you to be interested in *anything* I do. What
changed *your* mind?"

Draco smirked. "I have the right."

"So you do," said Ginny smoothly, ignoring the irritation she felt at receiving one
good turn for another. She walked around him quickly and began to saunter outside, flipping her
long red hair and swinging her hips a little more than was necessary.

Draco had to smirk, although rather grudgingly, at her retreating form. She was good.
"Where you heading, Red? We're not through here."

Ginny turned around sharply and leered at him. "Whether or not we are, I also have the
right to leave your rather '*unasked*' questions unanswered. And I'm not in the
habit of abandoning my friends for very long so unless there was anything else…"

Draco slipped his hands into the pockets of his robe and with chin down, grinned again; that
wickedly sultry grin that made him look like he was up to no good. Ginny found some of her
confidence beginning to slip. *Nonono*…*I* *will NOT let him get to me that way, the
miserable prat*…

"Well, I did have one more thing to ask you, Red. That is if Finnegan will let you. I
realize you might have to ask his *permission*."

That did it. Ginny's face burned as brightly as her hair and a look of fury replaced the
twisted smile. Unconsciously she balled her hands into fists, a move that Draco found oddly sexy.
"*ASK HIS PERMISSION*!? You mean as if he *OWNS* me!? We aren't even going
together for Merlin's sake and *even if we were **NO ONE OWNS ME**.* Not Seamus, not
Ron, *no one*…"

Draco barked out a harsh laugh which stopped Ginny right in the middle of her ranting. He'd
hit a nerve and he knew it. "See Red? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Ginny blinked, confused for a moment, and began running through her last words, muttering under
her breath. She finally realized what she'd confessed and flushed again, simultaneously annoyed
and embarrassed. "Well you did it. Got the truth from me, did you? Two points to you.
Congratulations."

She whirled around to walk away but Draco laughed again, this time much softer and took a few
quick steps to stop her. When his hand grabbed hold of her arm and turned her back round, the
resulting unseen current that seemed to pass from one to the other, confused Draco much more than
it did Ginny. Although she flushed from the contact and looked surprised, Draco seemed nonplussed.
The flash traveled through his chest to settle somewhere in his abdomen and continue to flutter. It
confounded him. He spent the next few seconds staring down at the hand that had just served as a
conductor.

Ginny breathed out the next sentence as if she'd just run the hundred-yard dash.
"*Somethingelseyouwanted*?"

Draco stuttered out the next few words and mentally punched himself for it*. C'mon Draco
pull it together, damn it! Malfoy's **don't** get flustered…* "I…wanted to tell
you to meet with me for Hogsmeade next weekend. Just for kicks and shits, of course. You know…need
someone to argue with…amuse me…decent at it for a Weasley…"

Ginny swallowed thickly. In a half-arsed, roundabout, Malfoy-like way, Draco had just asked her
out, and she'd been totally unprepared for it. "Well…Of course I will. After all, Seamus
doesn't own me. No one does!" *There you go…act like it's a challenge…keep your
cool…my god does he have to have such stormy gray eyes…*

Draco stood to his full height then, all flustration gone. "Ok then, I'll meet you at
seven by the carriages…And Red, wear something nice for god's sake. Malfoy's aren't
seen with ragamuffins."

Completely unmoved, Ginny replied tartly. "I will if you will. And if you'll attend to
personal hygiene for the love of Merlin I might be tempted **not** to ditch you the moment we
get there."

Malfoy inclined his head sarcastically at her, gave her a mock salute and began to walk away,
but his last thoughts were less than insulting. *She'd look good dressed as a house elf, damn
her…*

Ginny stumbled outside wringing her hands nervously as she scanned the grounds for Shell. *The
bastard always smelled good enough to eat…*

Ginny shook her head to rid herself of the mental projection. Well it was screwed all to bloody
hell now. No more Hogsmeade weekends.

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

As Ron, Harry and Hermione made their way from Potions to the last class of the day on Monday,
Harry found himself even more disheartened than usual after the hateful encounter with Snape. They
were headed to the Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and this was the first time since
his confrontation the weekend past with Lupin in Dumbledore's office that he would be facing
him. Along with that came the fact that he was to stay after for more training; just he and the
professor, alone. Harry's body was so abuzz with nerves that he literally felt the vibration
traveling throughout his veins, making his body shake and his heart flutter madly.

Hermione and Ron were unconsciously walking on either side of him as if to reassure him that he
was not alone, and they both continued to send him furtive glances until Hermione could no longer
take the look of dread on his face.

"Harry." She spoke softly, like the whisper of a breeze, and Harry closed his eyes
momentarily, letting the sound of it wash soothingly over him. "He loves you. No matter
what…"

Ron said nothing but nodded in agreement and patted his friends shoulder awkwardly. He'd
never been good at the whole 'comfort' thing, but he was nothing if not caring and
trustworthy to the end. Harry gave him a thankful smile and they resumed walking, Harry doing his
best not to seem like he was making his way to the electric chair.

As they entered the class, Harry was eternally grateful that Snape had chosen to let them out a
few minutes late as the other students that had been chosen by their heads of houses had already
all seemed to arrive.

The three chose seats towards the back of the class, and Lupin, who still had his back turned to
the full room, was apparently rearranging some things on his desk. If he had seen them file in the
back he'd made no indication of it.

Inwardly, Harry wondered how he could have expected it to be any other way…after all, what was
his father to do in the middle of a class? He began to relax a bit, and settled back into his
chair, realizing that at least he had a good hour before the disconcerting one on one confrontation
with him was to begin.

He began to notice with a quick glance around him what students had been selected. Gryffindor
had quite a few, really more that any other house. In fact, all of the seventh years had been
selected, and a few of the sixth years. Ginny was one of them, and as Harry glanced at Ron, he saw
that his friend seemed none to keen on the idea of her being selected. He knew that Ron was overly
protective where his baby sister was concerned, but McGonnagol and Dumbledore had obviously had a
reason for choosing her to participate. He suspected it had something to do with the elder
Weasley's being part of the Order of the Phoenix, and the fact that the Weasley children might
be in more danger than some because of it.

Curiously, Malfoy had been the only one chosen from Slytherin, a fact that didn't seem to
escape anyone's attention as many of the other students were gazing at the blonde boy as well.
Apparently, Draco took this as a sign of great importance and looked smug, as always.

There were only four Ravenclaws that Harry recognized, and two Hufflepuffs. He turned to
Hermione to comment on the odd number from each of the houses, but as usual, she seemed to have
already formed a theory on it.

"So what'd you think about the numbers represented here?" Whispered Harry
curiously. "Especially with there being only one Slytherin…"

Ron sneered. "One too many if you ask me."

Hermione sighed with tolerance and eyed them. "Isn't it obvious?"

Ron flushed with impatience. "Apparently not."

"Well as far as Gryffindor are concerned, we were all chosen for our house by the sorting
hat because of our sense of bravery," said Hermione, " and a lot of us, especially where
Harry and Neville are concerned have had quite a few run-ins with dark magic in our lifetimes,
haven't we? As for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, I’m not sure…"

"I'm shocked," cut in Ron sarcastically. Hermione shot him a filthy look.

"*As I was saying*…I'm not sure about those two, but as for Malfoy being the only
Slytherin chosen for this class, I should think it would be obvious."

Harry paused waiting for her to continue, but when she just kept looking at them, he sighed
patiently. "Love, since it's **not** obvious, fill us in, would you?"

Once again, Hermione smiled long-sufferingly at them. "Well it's as Ron said back in
our first year, isn't it? There's not a witch or wizard who's gone bad that didn't
come from that house. And since I'm sure Dumbledore doesn't want a load of overly trained
dark wizards running about, he probably whittled Snape's list down to only one."

Harry gave a half-smile at that. "If that's true I'm sure he's furious about
it."

"I'll just bet he is," said Hermione thoughtfully, "After all, he already
thinks Dumbledore favors Gryffindor house above all others…especially since you're in it,"
she said, looking pointedly at Harry.

Harry gave her a disbelieving look. "I'm not so sure on that…"

Ron hissed with dissatisfaction. "But if he were going to choose one Slytherin, O'
swotty sage," Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, "Why for the love of Merlin would he
choose Malfoy!? Harry's told him that his father is a Death Eater, and it's pretty certain
that he's the one that attacked you this past weekend. I mean really…He'd have to be
completely nutters to do that! Like father, like son, right!?"

Even Hermione had to admit that that one had her stumped. "I don't know. But I’m sure
he has his reasons…"

Harry humphed and slumped back down into his seat. He'd felt on more than one occasion that
Dumbledore's decisions weren't always spot on. As for what Malfoy would choose to do with
his extra training, well, it remained to be seen.

At that moment, Malfoy turned from his slumped position in his seat nearer the front to sneer at
Harry and Ron, with Hermione resolutely ignoring him as usual, but Harry found that he had too much
else on his mind to respond. Ron however had none of the same hang-ups. He'd been even more
disgusted with the Slytherin than usual because of his attempts to talk to Ginny on the initial
carriage ride to the school, so he gave him a filthy snarl and raised his wand ever so slightly in
a threatening manner. Malfoy simply smiled as if he'd just glanced at the mentally challenged
and after sharing more looks of hate with Ron, he turned to glance ever so slightly towards
Ginny.

She caught his eye quickly, and something passed between the two that made Ron distinctly
uncomfortable. It wasn't *like*, he was certain, but it certainly wasn't *hate*
either, and he felt his blood instantly begin to boil. Both Harry and Hermione couldn't help
but notice either, and they managed to grab both of Ron's arms just as he began to rise
menacingly from his seat. It had been just in time too, because Lupin chose that moment to finally
turn his attention to the class.

"Good afternoon," he said simply. There was a distinct lack of any type of tool or
book behind him, and Harry began to wonder exactly what they were to do in his class. He didn't
have long to wonder.

"I assume by now you've noticed that we have very little in this classroom that you
might associate with an advanced class. We have no textbooks, no tools, nothing out of the
ordinary. There's a good reason for it."

With a swift whirl that made him look almost like a blur, he whipped around toward the first
person his wand pointed to in the room, a tall dark Ravenclaw boy named Castor Eustance, and
quickly uttered a spell.

"*Exarmonato*!"

Immediately, Castor's wand flew from his hand and at the same time, he was quickly thrown up
and backward to levitate in a back corner of the room.

The class quickly began muttering amongst themselves, amazed at what had just been done.
Completely unscathed, Castor managed to mutter a 'Cool' under his breath, while at the same
time wiggling his arms and legs in midair slightly, smiling at the feeling of nothingness beneath
him.

Satisfied, Lupin turned his attention back to the class. "Who can tell me what I've
just done?"

Malfoy, who'd always hated Lupin, gave him a snotty look. "What kind of question is
that!? It's pretty clear. You caught him off guard, that's what…levitated him."

"Very astute, Mr. Malfoy but you're missing something…" said Lupin with no trace
of malice in his voice. "Anyone else?"

"You've disarmed him," piped up Neville, staring at Castor in the back of the
classroom.

Lupin sighed and muttered "*Degravo*." Castor began to slowly lower to the floor
until he was replaced gently on his feet. Lupin gestured him with his wand to return to his seat
and handed the boy back his wand. "There's something else. Something you've all
missed."

Hermione looked up at him. "You've performed two spells at once. You've disarmed
and suspended him."

"That's right!" said Lupin enthusiastically. The rest of the class seemed to
ponder on it for a moment and finally realized she was right. "Five points to
Gryffindor."

Harry beamed at her before turning his attention back towards the front.

"Now," continued Lupin, "what was my purpose in showing you that?…To demonstrate
to you one of the objectives for this class. Our first lesson is for you to remember the double
D's…disarm, and disable. In defending yourselves against dark magic, one of the first things
you want to learn is how best to disarm and disable your opponent. If you're able to catch your
opponent off-guard enough to end the battle with a spell such as the one I just showed you,
more's the better for you.

Dark magic can be much more powerful than regular magic. Why? Because along with it comes the
power of emotion. Do you all remember before you came to Hogwarts? How sometimes in particularly
emotional situations, situations in which you were feeling extreme happiness, sadness, or anger,
you were able to perform a bit of wandless magic?"

Harry thought back to the time he and Dudley had been staring into the same python cage at the
zoo. After Dudley had knocked him onto the ground and out of his way, Harry had somehow made the
glass separating the snake from the outside world disappear. After Dudley had fallen into the
snake's homemade habitat, the glass had replaced itself, leaving a terrified Dudley face to
face with the serpent. Harry had fantasized an awful lot growing up that maybe if Dudley'd been
stuck in there for just a few minutes more, he could've at least lost a limb. *Such was
luck*…he smiled.

Lupin continued. "Emotion is very powerful in any human, but its power is doubled in a
wizard. Coupled with great ability, emotion can push one's power well beyond that of the
ordinary wizard. Therefore, it's most helpful if you're able in situations where you might
be faced with dark magic, to first try disarming and disabling your opponent. There are quite a few
advanced defensive spells that you've yet to be taught. It's my intention to start with
these."

"And will we be taught to actually perform and defend ourselves against some of the more
heinous spells, Professor?" Piped up Malfoy a little more sarcastically than was needed.
"Being able to perform two spells at once is impressive, but assuming that doesn't work,
what in hell're we supposed to do then?"

Dean Thomas spoke up as well. "No offence professor, but I wonder that as well. It's
all well and good if we catch them off guard, but…"

"Defensive spells are only one part of our class," said Lupin calmly. "Of course
I’m going to teach you counter-curses as well, but as it's my class…and it's better to
start something at the beginning, how about we try it my way?"

Dean slumped a little sheepishly into his seat, while Malfoy continued to stare supremely
unaffected at Lupin, only giving a slight snort in reply.

Ron reddened with anger and spoke quietly. "Bloody git. He'd do better to keep his
ruddy mouth shut and his ears open. That is of course, unless he decides to follow in daddy's
footsteps…"

Hermione made a harsh shushing gesture at him, but Harry looked at him with concern.
"Let's hope not, mate. I think your sister's rather taken a shine to him. I'd hate
for her to be hurt."

Ron flushed again, this time right to the tips of his ears. His eyes blazed with fury, and Harry
took it as a sign that he might've waited until after class to drop that particular bomb on
him. "Oh don't worry, Harry. He won't hurt her. That's a promise."

Harry saw Ron tighten the grip he had on his wand, and grimaced. Hermione widened her eyes at
him in disbelief, but Harry merely shrugged. He'd thought it would have been obvious to Ron a
while ago what was going on. Even in the Great Hall, the two continually snuck looks at each other
through every meal. Ginny looked smitten, and Malfoy, well…suffice it to say he didn't look
particularly hateful.

The rest of the class continued with little other distractions until toward the very end. Lupin
paired them all off and had them try the spell on each other, making sure to pair each student with
one from an opposite house so that they would be sure to work to their fullest potential without
extra worry for their opponents.

He, in turn, watched every pair perform the spell, giving them a countdown of three to see who
could perform it the quickest. "After all," he conceded to them, "A spell is only as
effective as the speed of the spell giver."

All went smoothly until he came upon Harry, who was unfortunately paired with Malfoy. The rest
of the class watched as Lupin began the countdown.

Harry and Malfoy stood tautly opposite one another, wands down and to their sides as Lupin had
instructed them, and looks of supreme concentration with a touch of loathing on each of their
faces. Harry was reminded of the dueling club that Lockhart had saddled them all with in their
second year…

"Ready then? Three…two…"

True to his nature, Malfoy raised his wand to strike before the countdown had completed, intent
on embarrassing the "golden-boy", and Harry was almost caught off-guard. He felt a
white-hot flash of fury go through him at Malfoy and immediately, he dropped his wand without even
realizing it and waved his arm in front of him, palm outward.

"*Exarmonato*!"

Instantly, Malfoy's wand shot out of his hand like a missile, landing in Harry's other,
and the Slytherin was thrown in the direction of Harry's outstretched arm, and then upward,
slamming against the ceiling much harder than Eustance had done.

It took a moment of complete and utter stunned silence from the classroom for Harry to realize
what he'd done. He lowered the offending hand slowly and turned it over, looking at it as if
he'd never seen his own arm before. The whole class stared at him in utter bewilderment, and
then in fear, and began to back away from him as one.

Even Malfoy himself seemed at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly, and
Harry couldn't figure out whether it was shock, or whether he'd knocked the wind from
him.

Only Ron and Hermione remained near him, both looking startled, but not near as much as the rest
of the class.

Ron's widened eyes rested on Harry, who looked almost as astounded as the rest of them. When
he spoke, the redhead sounded almost reverently quiet. "*Bloody hell,* *mate*. I
*wondered* when you'd be able to do it again, but I never expected…" he trailed off
silently.

Hermione just kept her eyes glued to Harry, a mixture of surprise and reassurance settling in
their caramel depths. For that, Harry was eternally grateful.

He turned his gaze upwards to Malfoy, who still resembled a fish, and then to Lupin, whose gaze
reflected surprise and pride. "I…I'm sorry, I don't know why…or how rather…I mean…I..I
don't know how that happened."

After a few more moments of complete silence, Lupin turned calmly towards the class.
"That's enough for today. You're only homework is to practice the spell. I want it
perfect by the end of this week. Dismissed."

The class began filing out, disconcertingly quiet. A few whispers filtered out of the crowd of
students, but mostly, silence reigned. It unnerved Harry. He'd had his fill over the years of
students thinking he was dangerous and unstable, and he certainly could've done without
this.

Lupin released Malfoy, and then motioned Ron and Hermione out as well, reminding them of
Harry's extended class time. They left reluctantly, promising him that they'd meet him in
the main common room before leaving for the Great Hall for dinner.

When the classroom was finally empty, Lupin finally turned to Harry.

"Well…you've certainly surprised me. Suffice it to say there'll be no easy way to
start this. I know you have a lot of anger towards me right now, Harry, and by no means do I think
I'm undeserving of it. But I have a proposal. For right now, let's just concentrate on our
tasks, and leave the talking for later. What I'm about to practice with you needs to be the
only thing on your mind right now. Do you understand? Do we have a deal?" Lupin hesitated for
a moment, and then shakily stuck out his hand.

Harry surveyed him for a moment, his brain feeling like it was on overload, and then slowly took
his father's hand in his.



18. Chapter 18:Revelations, Voldemort, and Fencing
--------------------------------------------------

Chapter 18: Revelations, Voldemort, and Fencing

Lupin had enlisted Harry's aid in moving all of the desks to one side of the large
classroom, and the task had been done in a reasonably comfortable silence. But now that the job had
been completed and Harry stood facing his father, the awkwardness of the situation seemed to ease
back in between them like a tangible physical presence. Lupin decided quickly to begin right away
to avoid the inevitable tension beginning to sneak up on them once again. He turned from
Harry's penetrating gaze to stride around his desk and picked up an oblong, heavy metal object,
tossing it to Harry and apparently finding one for himself as well. Harry caught it by the handle
easily, and began turning it over and over in his hands.

"Recognize that?" Lupin smiled in a business-like way at him.

Harry frowned in surprise as he studied the engravings on the blade. " 'Course I
do…Godric's sword. I used it back in second year against a basilisk in the chamber of secrets.
Where did you…" Harry let the question trail off as he tested the weight of the sword in his
hand. It seemed lighter than the heaviness he'd encountered in the chamber; but then again,
he'd been a scrawny boy of twelve.

"Dumbledore gave it back to me," said Lupin with a hint of loss and regret in his
voice. "I'd left it with him…to give to you one day. I inherited it from my father.
You're grandfather."

Harry looked up from the sword quickly and hefted it from his left hand to his right, hesitating
momentarily. "Oh…of…of course you did. Well then…I reckon this is yours, isn't it?"
He made as if to hand the sword back to Lupin, but the elder Potter raised his hand with a
declining gesture.

"No Harry…It's yours now. I would have passed it on to you by now anyway if…if we'd
been…"

Harry swallowed. "I know. You don't have to explain…I know."

A few more painful moments of silence passed, and Harry made as if he was carefully studying the
sword to keep from looking into his father's face. A dull ache resided in his chest and pulsed
somewhere below his Adam's apple before he realized that he was trying to hold back tears. The
only time he could remember feeling as much misery as he did now was the time Voldemort's
servant, Kavan, had taken Hermione. Back then, it had been coupled with a boiling rage, helping to
keep the tears at bay most of the time. As for now though, all he felt was a dull, hollow ache with
nothing else to serve as a buffer. In a word, it made him uncomfortable.

He began fidgeting even more with the sword until Lupin's strong voice cut through the
silence.

"Harry, there's something you should know."

Harry looked up with a sudden flash of anger. "Oh gods, **more**
**secrets**!?"

"No!" said Lupin quickly, "Not exactly. Just listen to me…The night Hermione was
attacked, the night of the dark mark, something else happened. Something to me as well."

He had Harry's full attention now, and he decided as an explanation, to simply move nearer
to his son and pull up the sleeve of his robe. Harry gave a small grunt of surprise as he saw a
long jagged scar that had obviously been just recently healed. The wide, slightly wrinkled line was
an angry red, and began from Lupin's elbow, almost down to his wrist.

"What…*what the hell*…" Harry sputtered.

Lupin grimaced as he let his sleeve fall back into place. "Hermione's attacker, Harry,
stunned me…got to me first. Funny thing is if he'd cut just a little farther, I might have bled
to death, slit wrist and all. Pomfrey was able to heal me properly, and after, I went to find
Dumbledore. He sent the rest of the teachers to search the school for the man, and he and I met to
discuss possible reasons behind the attack. The rest you know…" Lupin hesitated as he studied
the younger man before him. "Harry, we think he meant to take some of my blood. That he
*did* take some of it."

"You!?" Harry asked with astonishment. "What would Voldemort want with
*your* blood!?"

Lupin backed from him a bit to take in his son's full form. Harry was standing before him
tall and strong, but he held Godric's long sword limply to his side, the long silver tip
grazing the floor. He understood Harry's disbelief. "Think Harry. When was the last time
you remember Voldemort needing someone's blood?"

Harry thought, and then shuddered. It wasn't often that he allowed his mind to revisit the
events of his fourth year. In fact, he'd done all he could to purge them entirely from his
thoughts…at least in the waking hours. His dreams were another matter entirely…

"At the Tri-Wizard Tournament three years ago," Harry began unsteadily. "After
he…after he killed Cedric Diggory and tied me against his father's grave, he sliced my arm and
took some of my b…" Harry trailed off, and his voice lowered to a quieter tone. "I
don't understand. What're you trying to tell me…"

"Harry," began Lupin, making a conscious effort to keep his voice controlled and
strong, "where were you about fifteen minutes before Hermione left the common room and was
attacked recently? Can you remember?"

"Still there…in the common room," replied Harry quickly, "McGonnagol had come in
about twenty minutes prior to let us know who had been chosen for your advanced class. After, she
let everyone else go but me; said she had more to talk to me about…"

"That explains it then," ruminated Lupin quietly. "He couldn't get to you, so
he took blood from me."

Harry was beginning to get aggravated and made a conscious choice to let Lupin know. "Could
you please elaborate? I'm failing to get the point."

Lupin turned to Harry and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, you'll learn I
often get lost in my own thoughts from time to time. What I'm getting at is… Dumbledore and I
believe that if he could've, Voldemort's servant would have attacked **you** that
evening, Harry. Since you were not only surrounded by others, but also safe inside Gryffindor's
common room, he took the blood from me. It makes sense. Surely he already has the bone of his
father, easy enough to come by, and I’m certain it wouldn't be hard for him to come by the
flesh of a servant…"

Harry felt his head beginning to spin. "If you're implying what I think you are, it
makes **no** sense. If Voldemort needed my blood to get his body back, how would yours be a
substitute for mine?"

Lupin turned to him, an unreadable expression playing on his features. "Harry, I know you
remember the dark incantation he uttered then, don't you? Dumbledore's told me about
it…"

Harry fell back a step as the vision of his encounter with the dark lord and Wormtail came
flashing into his mind. "I try every night to forget…" he uttered with the tone of
someone haunted.

As if it were a movie that had been merely put on pause, Harry's mind quickly replayed the
events of that night, and the chilling words that had been spoken. **Bone** *of the father,
unknowingly given, you will renew your son…**Flesh** of the servant, willingly given, you will
revive your master…**Blood** of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe…*

Lupin felt his heart drop into his stomach, and his soul bled for all of the times he wished he
could've been there for his son. The boy had seen too much, endured way beyond what a lad of
seventeen years ought to…

"Harry," he began with an emotional throb to his voice, "long before you were
Voldemort's enemy, there was Lily and I. Your mother and I were Aurors, part of the Order of
the Phoenix, and we, above all the others went after Voldemort the hardest. Dumbledore's told
me you know all about that. We believe that Voldemort must know by now of the switching spell Remus
and I performed. So, he'd have no other more perfect substitute for your blood…than the blood
of your father."

Lupin watched as Harry struggled to take in the new bit of information and to reconcile what
he'd just said with what Harry himself already knew.

"Hang on," said Harry after a pause, "That just doesn't make sense though.
After all, it's not really *your* blood, is it? It's *Remus
Lupin's*."

"It's not actually the blood, or the body itself that counts in the incantation, Harry.
It's the fact that in this body now resides the spirit and soul, the wholeness if you will, of
James Potter. The heir to Gryffindor…that is, before *you* were born. Now the honor rests with
you. You see, Gryffindor and Slytherin have been great enemies ever since the houses fought against
each other so long ago for what each considered to be the best for the school. Since Voldemort
considers himself the ultimate defender of Slytherin's heritage, he's determined to keep
the grudge to the bitter end. See Harry, I'm still his enemy, and this body and blood now
belong to me. *Blood of the **enemy**,* *forcibly taken, you will resurrect your
foe*…" Lupin paused to let his words sink in and then continued.

"Although I'm still rather stumped about the time turner, I believe Voldemort now has
every ingredient he needs to get his body back. After all, he left a final warning the night of the
dark mark, didn't he?"

Harry blanched. He hadn't thought that night, in his unbridled fury, to try to translate the
Latin phrase placed so ominously below the dark mark. "I…I never found out what the phrase
meant."

" '*Tempus id est propinguo*', Harry. It means, 'The time is drawing
near'."

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

In all of his years of service to the Dark Lord, even in the years between when he'd been
conspicuously absent from his master's dealings, Lucius Malfoy had thought he'd seen it
all. He'd been witness to, and been involved in countless dark dealings; some more nefarious
than others.

He'd seen Ministry members bribed, used and tossed away like garbage. He'd helped deal
with those who had betrayed his master and been given the job of overseeing the burials, as with
one of Voldemort's first servants, a sniveling disgrace to the house of Slytherin named Stuart
Kavan. On more than one occasion, he'd helped Death Eaters who's names were not as high on
the social climbers list and therefore not as apt to cause a huge stir, to carry on the work of
ridding the wizarding world of mudbloods, one piece of filth at a time. He'd also been reduced,
as of late, to waiting hand and foot on his master since the damnable **scrot** Harry Potter had
taken his master's body yet again last year.

But never, in all of his years of service to the Dark Lord, had he witnessed a sight such as he
was witnessing now. It wasn't as if it was particularly gruesome to him. He'd seen and
performed enough dark spells to be used to gruesome by now. No, it was more…*grimly*
*interesting*…of a sort. He expected that to a lesser wizard, the scene playing itself out
before him now would be a particularly frightening thing, especially seeing as how he would soon be
playing a rather grisly role in it…but no matter. Unlike Wormtail, another of Voldemort's
pathetically weak past servants, he was a powerful wizard; able to prepare himself. He'd
already performed a freezing spell on the nerve endings just below his elbow on his right arm.
Although it made it a little harder to use his hand at the moment, as he could now no longer feel
the tasks he was performing, he knew the benefits far outweighed the drawbacks.

Voldemort had drunk a last pail of unicorn blood, and was now replete for the task before him.
Of course, his only job was to sit in the cauldron and let Lucius finish what he'd started, but
as any competent wizard knew, one had to be strong to be able to withstand such a powerful
incantation as this.

Lucius stood in the clearing of the Forest of Kavan, *so ineptly named* he thought with a
brief smile, and gathered his ingredients before him lovingly, almost reverently. The quilt of
darkness surrounding himself and the Dark Lord as they stood outside the ramshackle hut he'd
rebuilt for him was so thick, he almost felt that he could reach out and grip it. He was sure that
when he'd arrived the moon and stars had been out, but somehow, it was as if Nature knew that
evil had come out to play and had hidden herself away.

He'd always loved the power performing the dark arts gave him. Its draw was passionate,
addictive, and yet so subtle. It was too easy to be lost to it once you'd used it. Of course,
for Lucius, he'd made a conscious decision long ago to lose himself to it. He'd wanted it,
no matter what powerful pull that came with it. It was more potent in its addiction than any Muggle
drug, and from the very beginning of his use of it he'd been fixated, then dependent, and
finally obsessed…much like his master.

"Continue Lucius," spoke the throaty, high-pitched voice of Voldemort. "I grow
impatient."

"Forgive me, my lord," said Lucius evenly, turning to grab the first ingredient. He
picked up a goblet that had been set on the forest floor behind him, and slowly began pouring the
powdery substance into the cauldron around Voldemort, speaking the incantation. As he began,
whatever outside noises there may have been, vanished as quickly as the moon and stars had.

"*Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son*…" The powder
swirled around Voldemort's transparent form and sank suddenly, as if it were one whole thing,
into the bottom of the cauldron.

Voldemort lifted his head and hissed with rapture, his dull red eyes closed.
"**Yessss**…I can feel my strength returning to me…"

Lucius nodded curtly to his master and quite calmly picked up a large, very sharp knife from the
ground holding it above his hand at the wrist. He moved toward the cauldron and held the limb over
it.

"*Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master*…" With not
a hint of hesitation, Malfoy raised the blade high and brought it down quickly with a hard chopping
motion. The severed hand fell into the cauldron with a soft splash, and after a moment of floating
on the top of the water, it too disappeared to the bottom of the cauldron as if some unseen source
had yanked its sacrifice down. Quickly he muttered a congealment spell, pointing his wand at the
now useless stump, and the blood flow stopped, now clotted quite effectively.

He wrapped a cloth around it as well as he could and picked up the vial of blood he'd left
on the ground.

"*Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe*…" he uncorked
the vial of Lupin's blood carefully with his teeth and spat the cork onto the ground. The
contents fell thickly as a large clot into the cauldron, and sank to the bottom.

Malfoy stepped back, holding the stump that had once been his hand and despite himself, his body
shook with a bit of excitement. Although he was known for his proud, usually indifferent demeanor,
this night was exciting. With the rebirth of Voldemort's body, and with the help of a much more
competent set of servants, led by himself, of course, the wizarding world would soon not know what
had hit them. And after that, the Muggle world would have hell to pay as well…

The vile mixture in the cauldron began boiling rapidly although the fire under it was barely lit
anymore, and Lucius let his eyes drift up to Voldemort's face. He'd not known until now how
the reforming of his body would come about, but now, the awful scene was playing out before him in
great detail. Bones began to rattle and fly up from inside the cauldron, *****clicking*
themselves together and upward with amazing speed and accuracy. Before long, Voldemort turned to
fully face Malfoy, and Lucius had to admit the sight of a skeleton resting atop, or rather inside
the transparent dark lord's form was a ghastly thing indeed. Voldemort himself seemed
delighted.

Soon, tendons and muscles began to grow and take form as if from nowhere. Then brain and blood
vessels and organs, and finally, a grisly pale colored skin began to crawl its way over the body
like some sort of disease that was rapidly spreading. The final thing to take shape was the dark
lord's eyes. The orbs formed, a bright, curiously familiar shade of green, before the green
disappeared and a hint of his familiar glowing red began to appear. Very soon after, Voldemort
opened his new eyes, now glowing bright red to their fullest extent in the skull-like face; his new
body strong, yet colorless and shaped as if still made of only blanched bone.

Malfoy felt himself smiling, one of the first genuine smiles he'd done in a long time. Here
now was his destiny staring at him like a shiny new thing. He would ride on the back of
Voldemort's power until the dark lord trusted him with everything. He had no intention of
betraying him; no intentions of trying to take his master's seat of power. He only wanted what
was rightfully his…the right to be called second in command. Lucius smiled to himself. This was the
first and only time he'd ever be able to be accused of being satisfied with second place.

Voldemort breathed, smiling once again at the sensation of full lungs and stepped out of the
cauldron. His voice was still high-pitched and throaty, but full of a sort of Herculean power.

"Now, Lucius. You will receive your just reward."

Lucius bowed rather formally and approached his master, remembering not to look him full in the
eyes. After all, the alpha male took full eye contact to mean a challenge, and Malfoy certainly
wasn't stupid.

"Extend your arm," said Voldemort in a lordly manner.

Malfoy held out his arm and seconds later, Voldemort had replaced the nub with a large golden
hand.

Lucius was appropriately stunned. "M..my lord. This appears to be different than the one
you so graciously bestowed upon Wormtail."

"Wormtail was next to useless to me Lucius. I can say with some pleasure that you have
accomplished far more than he ever did. This hand is powerful. With it, you will be able to
literally crush your enemies within your fist."

Lucius gave Voldemort a 'May I?' glance, remembering to keep his eyes lowered, and the
dark lord nodded. Malfoy strode over to the nearest tree, plucking a branch from it and holding it
in his hand. When he closed his fingers over it and opened them again, there was nothing left of
the limb but a fine powder.

He widened his eyes in appreciation; greed and a new sense of power shining in their gray
depths.

"Thank you, master," he said smoothly.

Voldemort nodded imperiously. "Use it wisely…" He strode over to his servant and
looked him over with a sort of appraising glance as the other stroked his own golden hand lovingly.
"And now Lucius…you know what is left to do. Do it quickly."

Lucius nodded once and bowed stiffly to his master before backing from him and disapparating
with a decidedly loud *****pop*.

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

Harry stood opposite his father, Godric Gryffindor's sword for now hanging complacently in
hand, and quietly listened as Lupin began his lesson.

"Harry, I'm going to teach you what my father taught me, and what his father taught
him. I'll bet you didn't know that Professor Dumbledore himself actually taught your
great-grandfather to fence. They were close to the same age back then I expect." Lupin stood
before Harry with a plain sword in hand.

Harry nodded grimly. "No I didn't. But apparently there's a lot I don't
know."

Lupin looked Harry in the eyes and nodded, fully expecting that for a while, there would be a
great deal of resentment from his son. He hoped that someday, Harry would begin to understand why
he'd done what he'd done, but in the meantime, there was no time to dwell on it. Voldemort
was most certainly moving toward a final battle, and the lines were swiftly being drawn. He
expected that even now, the dark lord was busy thinking of ways to recall his death eaters, free
and imprisoned. And he also realized that the Dementors, having thus far remained neutral, would
probably not remain so for long. The time for choosing sides was imminent, and so was the time for
being fully prepared.

He decided to leave Harry's comment aside for the moment and concentrate on the task at
hand.

"Let's get started." Lupin raised his sword for a moment and began a series of
movements, most of which Harry recognized, but only from some of the older Muggle movies Dudley had
discarded and Harry had nicked when he wasn't looking.

"The most important things in fencing Harry are, number one: keep your eyes on your
opponent at all times," Lupin raised his sword upward and brought it back with a powerful
downward arc, the other arm slightly out and to his side.

"Number two: recognizing when the best time is for an attack, or for defense," Lupin
moved nearer Harry with more thrusts and imaginary parries, still traveling in mesmerizing steps,
"And number three…"

Suddenly he whipped around and with a powerful downward slash, made as if to cleave Harry in
two. Quickly Harry brought his sword horizontally above his head to parry the blow, and gave his
father a wide-eyed look of alarm when the blades never met.

Lupin straightened his stance and lowered his sword, breathing a bit heavily. "Number three
Harry: realizing that while your opponent is attacking, he is simultaneously searching for
weaknesses in your defense."

Harry nodded speechlessly, shaking a bit from the rush of adrenaline he'd just received, and
slowly lowered his sword. He knew his father would never hurt him, but he'd just learned his
first hard lesson. Always be aware.

Lupin backed away from Harry and moved back into his position a few yards in front of him.
"Perhaps you might be wondering why I'm teaching you this. You might then need to ask
yourself why Godric Gryffindor himself obviously thought it a worthy thing to know. Harry, a
wizard's most powerful defense is his wand, or in your case, his magic, as you might not need
yours much longer."

Harry flinched just a bit, out of what, he wasn't sure.

"But what happens when, or if, he loses his wand…or his ability to use magic? He is then
left defenseless unless he knows some other means, some physical means of defending himself. Do you
understand?"

Harry nodded. "I do. Professor, you're not telling me anything I haven't wondered
myself for quite a while." He breathed in deeply, at odds with himself. "Thanks for
teaching me."

For a brief moment in the seriousness of the lesson, Lupin let a bit of his affection for Harry
show. "I've a feeling you're going to need this, son. If I could, I would spare you
from any bad thing that might ever come your way…but you're a man now…I had to give up my
chance for that a long time ago." He swallowed harshly and held his head a bit higher to ward
off any more emotion for the time being.

"Harry, I'm not going to lie to you. This isn't going to be easy, and it's
*because* you're my son, I’m not going to go easy on you. I want you to be as ready as
possible to face any situation that might come your way. Before we're through here, you're
going to have to demonstrate great speed, skill, dexterity, and intellect. It's going to take
many hours of training; learning coordination, balance and flexibility in attacking and defending.
But I believe that one day, all of this might save your life and if it does, then it will've
all been worth it."

Harry took in his father's words for a moment and then simply gave him a curt nod. "I
know. I'm ready."

If he could've read minds at the moment, Harry would've seen the pride his father had
for him. The fact was that James, as Lupin, had watched his son as often and as closely as he could
the brief times he'd been able to be a part of Harry's life.

He had taken in as much of his son as possible, so that later, when he was alone again, he could
remember and ponder on him in great detail. Harry had a great love for his friends, especially for
Hermione and Ron, the latter of which reminded him a great deal of Sirius.

He was fiercely loyal, almost to a fault. He was smart, though he didn't seem to pay quite
enough attention to academics. He was extremely brave, if not always a fore-thinker. But that was
what he had Hermione for. For James it had been Lily. He'd noticed the similarities between
Hermione and Lily almost immediately. They were both strong, level headed, brave, and certainly
kept the Potter men on their toes. She was just what Harry needed, and he smiled briefly, eliciting
a questioning look from Harry. It was curious how men tended to flock toward women that were
similar to their mothers, even when they'd not even known them. Such was the case with Harry.
He imagined that the same traits that attracted James to Lily, were the ones that attracted Harry
to Hermione.

Shaking himself from the brief reverie, he lifted his sword in an attack stance and motioned for
Harry to do the same.

"Alright Harry, I'm going to begin a direct attack, stopping at each action that I take
to explain to you what I'm doing and to give you the chance to decide what the best course of
action would be for you to take."

Harry nodded and tensed his arms, his sword almost vertical and to his side, but Lupin neared
him and grasped his arm, bringing the sword in front of Harry's body at a vertical angle.

"Lesson two, Harry. Never leave your body unguarded. Your sword is always in front and at
an angle, ready to parry any blow. Understand?"

Harry nodded, and Lupin stepped back again to begin the attack, his arm extending and the point
of his sword coming swiftly toward Harry in a threatening manner. Harry backed up a step, but was
unsure of what to do since the threatening blade was neither up nor down for him to parry it. Lupin
stopped just short of running him through.

"What would you think to do in this situation?" he asked.

Harry thought for a moment and brought his sword from its already upward position downward to
swing up and under Lupin's blade. "Possibly this? That way, I'd be leaving him open
and close to me for a counter-attack."

Lupin nodded. "Ok, then do it."

Harry brought the sword, which was pointing correctly up, in a downward arc again and brought it
upward under Lupin's but the motion merely knocked the opposing sword from it's course.
Lupin then swiftly drew a small dagger from beneath his coat, pointing the blade directly between
Harry's ribs.

. Harry looked downward and sighed, lowering his sword. "I'm dead."

Lupin straightened. "Right you are. What I've just done is called a compound, which is
two actions done simultaneously. You must always be prepared for the possibility that your opponent
is carrying extra weapons. Now what is your job in this situation?"

Harry raised an eyebrow almost sarcastically. "To prevent it."

Lupin smiled. "Smart man. Now tell me how you might do that."

Harry thought for a moment, and motioned for Lupin to raise his sword back into his original
attack position. When the professor had done so, instead of the previous downward and upward
attack, Harry reversed it, and swung his blade from upward where it already was, to downward,
effectively crushing Lupin's to the floor and wrenching it from his hand. Lupin made to reach
for the dagger again, but the reversed action that Harry had taken had given him more time, and he
dropped to one knee, bringing his sword to Lupin's neck and holding it at his throat.

Lupin beamed at him and gently brought a finger between himself and the blade threatening his
wind pipe, easing it away from him.

Harry smirked. "Sorry."

"No, Harry that was brilliant! You learned from your mistake and performed the correct
action. Your first attempt had you bringing your sword from upward, where it already was, to
downward to upward again. It wasn't enough forcible momentum to make me lose my sword, and it
gave me too much time to go for another weapon. But since your sword was already up, and on your
second attempt you merely brought it downward, it was done much more quickly and forcibly and you
were able to thwart me. The faster defense always has the upper hand."

Lesson number three, and they'd already spent half of their class time. As the minutes wore
on, Lupin began to realize that Harry was a fast learner, and apt to be very skilled. He was agile,
flexible, and strong; three qualities that had probably been helped along by Quidditch. Before they
were through, Lupin had taken Harry through two or three more battles, each one faster and more
furious than the previous, and by five o'clock the two were thoroughly sweaty and tired.

Lupin smiled at Harry and rested both of his hands, one with the sword, against his knees,
leaning over and panting a bit. "W..well Harry, I think that's…enough for
tonight."

Harry nodded open-mouthed and brought his sword-arm up to wipe at his brow. "After all of
that, I can't believe I even killed the basilisk in the chamber of secrets…I really don't
know yet what I'm doing."

Lupin smiled again, still puffing for air and stood up, his back aching and his legs and arms
feeling quite rubbery. "Well I suppose the basilisk didn't have a sword of his own, did
he?"

Harry moved to Lupin's desk and replaced the sword, nodding his agreement and smiling
ruefully.

As the professor made to do the same, and the two faced each other again, they once again became
aware of the awkward silence in the room. James felt his heartbeat quickening as he scanned his
son, and felt an overwhelming urge to rush over and hug him tightly enough so as to try and crush
away the years spent apart. But the uncomfortable look on Harry's face and the way he kept
shifting from one leg to the other kept him rooted to the spot. James struggled to find a way to
ease the tension.

"So…I suppose you're headed to Quidditch practice then?"

Harry was silent for a moment. "No…that..I mean it doesn't start until next Monday.
We'll be looking for new beaters and a keeper then, I expect."

Lupin nodded in understanding and a couple more seconds of strained silence followed. Harry
looked so much like James himself had looked at that age, although slightly more filled out. He
supposed that the Dursley's had kept Harry busy with every backbreaking chore they could think
of over his summers there. He grimaced sourly as he thought about the fact that even *he* had
resentments toward Dumbledore. He'd not known of the treatment Harry had received there over
the years until just recently, but then again, neither had Dumbledore.

"Well…" said Lupin carefully, moving toward his desk as if to straighten it,
"You'd better get going, I suppose. Ron and Hermione must be waiting for you."

Harry nodded slowly, but made no move to leave as of yet, and kept raking his fingers through
his hair as if having a mental battle with himself. After moving papers around on his desk for a
few moments more, James stood again and turned slowly to face his son.

"Harry? Was there something more?"

Harry stopped his hand, mid-rake, and lowered it to his side, clenching and unclenching his
fists as if not sure what to do with them. When his bright green gaze met his fathers, Lupin had to
restrain himself to not run to crush Harry to him. He was so grown up, and yet, at times like this,
he looked completely lost.

"Do you think…er…rather…would it be alright…if sometime we could…just sit…Could you maybe
sometime take some time to…to tell me about my mother?"

Lupin felt his body beginning to shake and swallowed down the painful throb in his throat.

Unconsciously, Harry began to claw his hand through his hair again, and James had to keep
himself from smiling. Well could he remember the times that he'd done that in front of Lily,
and she'd reprimanded him saying, 'stop that…you'll go bald.'

"I don't really know anything about her…or..or you. I'd like to know all I
can." Harry swallowed nervously.

James smiled at him and kept where he was only by sheer force of will. Harry was obviously not
ready yet for the bone-crushing hug he wanted to give him, but he'd just made the first step,
and James had to keep himself from crying for joy. What should he say?…*'I'd love that
Harry?' No, that would seem too eager, and he didn't want Harry to feel
uncomfortable…*

Lupin sniffed almost imperceptibly. "Of course, Harry. Anytime…You just let me
know."

Harry nodded and shifted his weight again. "Well, I'll be off then."

Harry left the room, obviously deep in thought and headed back towards the Gryffindor common
room, leaving his father slumped with exhaustion, both physically and mentally, and wiping his eyes
with the back of his hand.

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



19. Chapter 19: Need
--------------------

Chapter 19: Need

The next week came and dragged on with little to no new excitements for the trio, and each one
found it to be just as well. They'd had quite enough just recently, and Harry knew he
wasn't the only one needing a reprieve.

Classes were harder than usual owing to it being their seventh year, what with N.E.W.T.s
approaching. It was especially hard for Hermione since she had finally decided to take Madame
Pomfrey up on her offer to give her private Healer lessons. They came about the same time as
Harry's extra lessons with Lupin, so Ron was left with more time on his own now than he knew
what to do with. *Almost*. He and Lavender had seemed to come up with good uses for the time,
he'd told them with a smirk and a wink one day. Hermione had given him a disgusted look and
rolled her eyes, but Harry had favored him a thumbs up behind her back.

Each night, Harry came back to he and Hermione's dorms and either found her waiting for him,
or vice versa. They headed to the Great Hall, met Ron and Lavender there, had a brief dinner, and
returned to their common room exhausted and ready for bed, but unwilling to go without a good bit
of snogging first. As Harry had told Hermione one night, it would've been like trying to sleep
knowing you'd left the door unlocked, the stove on, and the refrigerator open. There was no
way. Hermione had replied with a wry smile that even though Harry wasn't the most eloquent of
wizards, she knew what he meant.

The nightly snogging ritual had been one that had only been broken during the summer months
since last year. They'd always been careful not to go too far, but now more than ever before it
had been becoming increasingly more difficult for them to keep from crossing the line…*the*
line that they wanted to save until marriage. Harry was still as determined as ever to respect
Hermione, and to keep her from making a mistake should he not make it through his final battle with
Voldemort, and Hermione was just as determined to keep the promise she'd made to herself ages
ago. But as they looked at each other after each long day, snuggled closely together in front of
the fire in a common room that seemed cozily like their very own flat, they inevitably began moving
a little farther than they had intended. Each time they stopped just short of going too
far…blushed, breathless, and uncontained. And so it was the night before the morning that fear
really returned to Hogwarts.

It was almost midnight now, Sunday night, and an exhausted Harry knew he and Hermione should be
heading to bed, but it had become more and more difficult to let her go every night. His world had
been given one great upheaval after another recently, and she was his constant in the madness, his
buoy in the raging sea that now made up his existence. This only added to the fact that he simply
loved her with all of the life that he owned.

They were in their pajamas, and Harry was inches from her face as he and Hermione sat
cross-legged, facing each other on the soft carpet in front of the common room fire. His eyes raked
every inch of her face and body, and his fingers continued to outline the shadows the flames made
on her cheek.

Hermione shuddered and closed her eyes at his soft touch, so erotic in its restraint. This,
coupled with the wonder he always held in his gaze when he looked at her, was the thing that turned
her on the most. It was a grown up Harry, tall and strong, and yet looking at her with an almost
child-like gaze, staring and touching her as if she were some precious gift he'd never thought
to receive. When his gaze locked with hers, the look in their unusually clear green depths was
enough to send a thrill of longing straight to her core.

Harry let his fingers continue their journey, sliding from her face to her neck and down further
as he breathed her name. They'd finished talking about the day long ago. There were no more
words to say; none that needed to be said…only this. As their eyes locked with each other, anything
else that would have been discussed blew away like the wind anyway.

Harry put his hands on either side of her face and drew her in, giving her a kiss that was so
soft, and yet so slow and seeringly heated that it left her quaking. His tongue touched her lips
and then entered her mouth, leisurely moving in the way he wished other parts of him could, and
Hermione gave in to him, putting her arms round his shoulders and pulling him as closely to her as
she could.

Harry's hands came down to circle her waist, and he pulled her on top of his lap, finally
crushing his lips to hers and letting his hands wander over her back and lower, touching,
caressing, grabbing and grinding her body closer to his. He was on fire with need, and he felt
every part of his body responding to her. He knew she felt it as well by the way she continued to
make small whimpering noises, grinding against him and whispering his name every time their mouths
left each other for a brief moment to breathe, only to crash back into each other again.

Hermione's skin blazed where he touched her and she felt warmth and a fierce hunger
beginning to trickle down her body. She wrapper her legs even tighter around his middle, and her
heart drummed out an erratic rhythm of desire that continued to build with each movement he
made.

Harry's blood boiled like lava in his veins, his pulse pounding out her name in his head. An
inferno was building with every movement she made against him. He laid her back on the carpet, his
hands wandering closer and closer to the few parts of her body he'd yet to explore, and she
found herself driving against him despite herself, her hands wandering lower and lower across his
back, down his arms and chest, stopping just at his lower abdomen. At this, a low growl escaped
from him that sounded so carnal that they both began losing control.

She was addictive, sweet, intensely satisfying, dizzying; leaving everything blurry around the
edges. It left him with an appetite for more…craving a primal release that was burning him like
some blazing hot iron on his skin. Her hair was thick and wild, and smelled of honeyed berries. Her
skin was soft and alive, and he felt the goosebumps that rose on her skin every time his breath
neared her ear, exhaling her name like a prayer. Her lips were warm and kiss-swollen, inviting
more, and Harry was rapidly approaching the feeling that if they didn't stop now, he soon
wouldn't be able to. He'd thought that Hermione was the strong one, that she was the one
that kept their promise to each other in focus when things began to get too heated, but if he'd
seen the scandalous thoughts that were running through her mind at that particular moment…things
that she wanted to do to him, and things that she wanted him to do to her, even the most innocent
one would've made him blush.

Hermione finally ended the madness, reprimanding herself over and over in her mind until her
body finally followed suit. She began to slow the feverish kissing between them and Harry followed,
doing his best to calm himself.

***Gods**, he needed* *her; body, soul and mind*. There was no way he'd wait
any longer than needed when he was finally able to propose, no matter how young they were…when all
of this was finally over.

Hermione smiled at him as she crawled backward to sit a few feet from him and get her bearings
back. She looked him over. His hair was sticking up all over, his nightshirt was open, showing a
nice expanse of chest and a line of baby fine black hair that led below his waist band, and his
glasses had long since been discarded somewhere beside the couch. She wanted to devour him, and
then blushed at her own thoughts.

She brushed her hair away from her face and began to slow her breathing. "Alright Harry…mum
always taught me to flee from even the *appearance* of evil…"

"How's that?" Harry frowned at her, rustling his hair frustratedly. "How am I
evil!?"

She smiled seductively at him. "You make me want to sin."

Harry slowly grinned back at her and crawled over to her again, but this time he picked her up,
threw her on the couch and began to tickle her. She began screaming and laughing but he clamped a
hand over her mouth and continued his torture. "I can deal with that."

Hermione screamed and flailed, slapping and punching at him until he finally stopped, but only
because he was laughing too hard at her to continue.

Hermione scowled at him and sat up, smoothing her hair back down. "Oh, you *are*
evil…you must be destroyed."

Harry stuck his bottom lip out at her. "Just tell me you don't love me. That'll do
it."

"My mum also told me *never* to lie," said Hermione with a raised eyebrow and a
smirk.

Harry smiled at her and offered her his hand. "Your mum is a smart woman." She took it
and stood, and he began leading her to her room.

Once inside, Hermione crawled under the red quilt and sheets on her bed and Harry pulled them up
to her shoulders and tucked her in. He smoothed the hair back from her forehead and kissed it,
sitting back on his haunches.

"Quidditch tryouts tomorrow, love. Going to try out?" He teased.

"Sure," replied Hermione with a smile, "Right after I finish all of my classes
naked."

"You could try that around here, you know."

Hermione laughed. "Git." She drew her arms out from under the covers to slap Harry
playfully on the chest.

Harry grinned at her, until the smile slowly faded. He continued gazing at her for a moment and
then whispered to her. "I love you."

Hermione reached out and pulled Harry's face to hers, giving him a soft kiss. "I love
you all there is."

Harry stood and walked over to her doorway, muttering '*Extinguo*' without his
wand. The lights in her room immediately snuffed out, leaving Hermione wondering as he walked away
if he even knew he'd done it.

Harry knew. Over the past week with Lupin, he'd been given the opportunity to try more
wandless magic as his father often stopped their lesson five to ten minutes before time so that
Harry could practice it specifically. He'd successfully summoned his sword back to himself one
time when Lupin had driven it out of his hands to land a few yards from him. He'd muttered the
'*Immobulus*' charm on Lupin's steps as he'd advanced, effectively stopping
him in his tracks for a few moments as he'd charged at him. He'd even been able, at one
time, to toss his father back a few steps with a simple wave of his hand. But all of those times
had been when he'd been filled with a lot of emotion. He'd been taut from the sword fights,
on edge simply from spending a lot of alone time with his father, and trying to pretend that he was
fighting Voldemort. The charm he'd just muttered to put out the lights in Hermione's room
though had been muttered without a second thought and without any particularly strong emotions
behind it. That, Harry had *not* noticed.

He entered his room, dropped onto the bed without bothering to crawl under the covers, and fell
into an exhausted sleep without a second thought.

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

The morning sun beamed into Harry's eyes way too early as far as he was concerned and he sat
up groggily, swiping a hand over his face and ruffling his hair into an even wilder state of
disarray.

He blearily grabbed his robe and began heading toward the bathroom he and Hermione shared, but a
chink of light from under the door, and the steady pounding of water sounding clearly from the
other side made him stop just short of trying the doorknob. He watched the steam waft out from the
bottom of the door, and the thought of Hermione in there, in the state that people are normally in
when bathing, brought him awake with a snap.

He rushed away from the door to wait his turn on the common room couch and concentrated heavily
on thoughts of Speedoclad!Dudley doing water ballet until he could get himself under control again.
*Merlin, this was going to be one long year*…

He and Hermione made their ways to the Great Hall. The ceiling reflected the beginnings of a
lovely day; the bewitched picture of outside showing a slightly overcast sky with fluffy clouds
filtering the morning sun.

The two sat down opposite Lavender and Ron, the latter of whom seemed to be in much worse shape
than Harry. But though he had never been a morning person, Harry suspected the sick look on
Ron's face stemmed from something completely different.

"October first, Ron," said Harry with a small smile as he filled a bowl with cereal
and reached out a hand, summoning the bottle of milk to him as an afterthought. The bottle slid
over to him and slapped neatly into his open palm. Hermione stared at him. "Ready for
tryouts?"

No one else seemed to notice the wandless bit of magic. Ron glanced at Harry and Hermione with
puffy red-rimmed eyes, groaned pitifully and ignored Harry's question. He leaned his head on
his hand and unknowingly squashed his elbow into a pile of corned beef hash. " 'Lo mates.
I feel like hell."

Lavender turned to him briskly and picked up his elbow, placing it beside his plate instead and
beginning to lump a pile of fruit in front of him. "Ron, I wish you wouldn't eat that
rubbish. It's so disgusting."

Ron looked up at her with a slightly green tinge to his face. "Dobby made it 'specially
for me, Lav…knows I need protein what with the tryouts today and all." He glanced at Harry
with the last comment as if to show him he'd heard his earlier question. "Nice elf, that
one."

"It is rather vile Ron," said Hermione sounding a lot like his mother, "Besides,
a good bit of fruit and some toast would be better if you're wanting to do your best."

Harry squinted clinically at Ron and then sat back on the bench with a slump. "You overdid
the butterbeer again last night, didn’t you? *Merlin's beard* Ron, how're you supposed
to play today!?""

Ron groaned and looked up with blurry eyes. "I have all day to recover, I'll hack it!
Sorry mate, it was Seamus. We were playing 'Hell or Hex' and he dared me to drink a couple
of quarts."

Lavender looked at him reproachfully. "Only that's not all, is it!?" She snapped.
"No, he dared you to *stand on your head* and drink until you could belch out **every
word** to that new Werewolf Wilmur song, 'Howlo my love', *didn't
he*!?"

Hermione nearly dropped her mug of pumpkin juice. "He *what*!? Ron, no wonder
you're sick! You boys and your *idiot* games…"

Ron winked blearily at her and gave her a stupid grin. "Good song, that."

Despite himself Harry began laughing, dodging the reproachful looks he received from both
Lavender and Hermione.

Ron turned back to Lavender. "Well I would've been daft to take the hex, now
wouldn't I?" He looked at Harry for support. "Harry, you know how he's always
banging on about 'Weasley' hair… well he was going to make **real carrots** grow from my
head! I mean which would you have done? He's a real blighter, that one."

"Oh and I suppose refusing **both** of them was out of the question, was it?" asked
Lavender briskly, eyeing him as she flipped her blonde hair.

Ron looked at her as if she had a grindylow attached to her face. "Well **of course** it
was."

Harry snorted, stuffing a rather large piece of toast in his mouth to keep from laughing out
loud. Hermione turned to look closely at him, but at that moment owls began swooping in from the
front of the Great Hall laden down with packages, letters and copies of the Daily Prophet. The
madness of so many of them flying and fluttering too and fro among the students took the focus from
Ron and he accepted it gratefully, giving Harry a relieved look. Harry grinned at him.

Hermione untied her copy of the Daily Prophet from the brown school owl's leg, dropped a
couple of knuts into it's pouch and unrolled the paper to smooth it out in front of her. She
picked up an apple and raised it to her mouth to take a bite but the large black headlines that
stared at her from the front page made her drop it back on the table with a loud thud and a
gasp.

"**NO!**…**Oh no**…"

Harry took in her alarmed face and dropped his spoon back into his cereal bowl to scoot closer
to she and the paper, and Lavender and Ron looked up as well, straining from across the table to
read the upside-down words in front of them. Neville Longbottom, seated next to Lavender, also
craned his neck to get a peek.

A large black and white photo of the outside grounds of Azkaban complete with an infuriated,
gobsmacked Cornelius Fudge, a group of around ten Aurors, some of whom Harry recognized from the
Order and one whose face he couldn't see, and a few wizard reporters snapping pictures of the
carnage around them moved animatedly in front of the group.

**ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN: MISSING DEMENTORS SUSPECTED**

*By Lorivan Thatchmire*

*The dark wizard prison, Azkaban, was overrun yet again last night, though there seems to be
no evidence of a break in. A total of ten prisoners have reportedly escaped from their cells,
bringing to mind the events of two years prior, when the same number escaped. The escapees have all
been positively identified as Death Eaters.*

*Among those sprung from their cells last evening was one Bellatrix Lestrange, along with many
of the others who broke out, and were then recaptured following the previous break out of two years
prior. This brings the number of suspected Death Eaters on the loose up to around fifteen.*

*Upon reaching the scene, Aurors assigned to the case first noticed a scattering of the bodies
of around twenty dementors; the creatures who's job it has been to secure the prison from its
very beginning. The prison normally houses around fifty to seventy dementors at a time, but the
rest have yet to be found. This, along with the fact that there is no evidence indicating an
assault from outside forces, has led wizard investigators to believe that the break out was a
result of defection from the inside.*

*Says one Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror and expert hitwizard from the Ministry of Magic:
"We've no other explanation for why over half of the dementors are missing, and the
remaining twenty are dead. We've reached the conclusion that some of the dementors tried to
stop the breakout and inevitably lost their lives due to being outnumbered.*

*It's a shame really, for two reasons. Number one, the ministry will have to sacrifice
some of its already overworked staff to take over guarding the prison. And worse, number two, we
can only come to one conclusion as to why the dementors would decide on desertion of their posts.
They've finally, truly chosen sides."*

*This revelation, of course, again brings to mind the events of two years prior, when it
appeared that some of the dementors had already renounced the Ministry and helped to spring the
previously freed ten death eaters. Many of the dementors returned to work only days later, claiming
that they had been out on the search for the missing inmates. Of course, now, one must wonder if
those dementors returned to their jobs only to free the remaining Death Eaters when the time became
convenient.*

*This reporter for one, hopes that the Ministry will soon find evidence that proves otherwise,
because for now, it seems certain that the Dementors have not chosen on the side of
good."*

After Hermione had finished reading the article aloud to the three, along with Neville,
surrounding her, a heavy silence fell over them. The lighthearted feeling they had had only moments
before had now been washed away and they were left with a sick feeling of dread.

Neville, in particular had suddenly become pale and drawn. As soon as Hermione had finished the
article, he'd mumbled something inarticulate and fled the Great Hall. Ron said that he'd
become immediately mental at the mention of Lestrange's name.

Ron was also upset by the news but for different reasons. He and Lavender had just been able to
warm up to each other again since the period that she had chosen to stay away from him out of fear
after the dark mark incident in Diagon Alley. Now, he was afraid that the bad news they'd all
just heard might make her fearful once again to be around the three teens that Voldemort seemed to
target the most. Rather, it was Harry the dark lord targeted, but neither Ron nor Hermione would
ever leave his side, so what one went through, they all did. He knew if it came down to choosing
between his friendships with Harry and Hermione or his relationship with Lavender that he would
choose the former, but he hoped it never came to that.

He took a tentative look at Lavender's face, and though she was white and filled with fear,
she scooted closer to him and looped her arm in his as if he might protect her. Ron allowed himself
to relax a bit. That had to be a good sign…

As soon as the article had finished being read, Harry and Hermione seemed to have the same
thoughts about it. Their gaze inevitably wandered up front towards the professors table, and both
saw Dumbledore and McGonnagol, their heads close together with Snape's, in deep discussion over
what appeared to be a copy of the newspaper. The rest of the teachers all seemed to be involved in
discussions of their own as well.

The rest of the Great Hall soon began to reverberate with hushed and murmured discussions that
sounded nervous and altogether fearful. Word traveled fast at Hogwarts.

Neither Harry nor Hermione needed three guesses to figure out what they were talking about.

Across the hall, Draco Malfoy had just finished reading the headlined news as well. Some of the
Slytherin table was cackling to each other about the article. Still others had even gone so far as
to commend the Dementors for finally 'having the *scrotes* to step up and make the
choice.'

"It's about **time** they did something," said Pansy Parkinson in her harsh,
nasally voice as she let porridge fall thickly from her spoon back into her bowl. "Gods, this
is *disgusting*. Those house elves are useless mongs! Anyhow, I knew the dementors would
eventually turn against the Ministry. Bound to happen what with it being run by a bunch of
pig-ignorant lummoxes…Fudge included."

"Exactly," said a strongly built witch sitting next to Pansy. "My father works in
Magical Wildlife Services. He says Fudge's turned into a right old sot since You-Know-Who
decided to show himself again two years ago. The dark lord shouldn't have much trouble taking
over once Dumbledore's out of the way. And *Pothead* of course."

"Right you are," said Millicent Bullstrode, her bulldog like face mashed even further
into a sneer. "The dark lord's only months away from making his move, I'd say. As for
me, I'll be on the side of the most powerful. We all know who that's going to be."

Goyle snickered. " 'Course we do. 'Specially with Mr. Malfoy bein' on his team.
What with **ickle Potter** being the only thing standing in You-Know-Who's way, the
victory's already in his ruddy pocket. *The runt*."

"Goyle, compared with *you* everyone's a runt." At the mention of his father
Draco had stiffened with anger, and he spoke before he thought about how the comment might make him
look.

Goyle's small piggy eyes fixed on Draco who sat up straight, eyeing him steadily. Goyle
scowled, managing to look stupid and confused all at the same time. "What's the matter
with you, then!? You takin' up for *Potty Wee Potter* now!?"

"**No** you lard-arsed *bloater*," bellowed Draco with so much force that
blood rushed to his face. "There'll never be any love lost between Scarhead and me. You
just need to keep your **bloody hole** **shut** about things you don't half
understand…all of you."

The Slytherin sitting near them all looked up from their breakfasts, some with shock, and others
in anger. Crabbe's jaw actually dropped open, and a half-chewed piece of sausage tumbled out
onto the table.

"And who are you to tell us what we do and don't understand, Malfoy…" said
Theodore Nott, a thin, sallow faced boy two seats over from him.

"Only the son of Voldemort's frickin' right hand man." Snarled Draco with a
fierce glint in his eyes. He looked around at the group that had suddenly hissed in fear at the
mention of the dark lord's name with a derisive gaze of anger. He balled his fists until the
knuckles turned white and ground them furiously into the table. "I guess you all think
it's time to celebrate now, right!? I mean half of our parents here are loyal to him,
aren't they!? I'll bet you're all just bloody *pissing your pants* to join
them!"

"Keep your voice down Draco!" yelled Nott furiously as he slammed a fist down on the
table. "You want to get them **all** caught!?"

Malfoy wildly shifted his way. "I suppose you lot think that when **he** takes over
everything's going to be one happy shit-fest, aye? That you'll all be princes and
princesses and your parents kings of the world?"

"Well he **is** the most powerful, isn't he!?" hissed Pansy to Draco. "If
we ally with him, then we're sure to get a piece of the action, as well as the victory. It
makes sense, doesn't it?!"

Draco half rose from his seat and made a move as if to crawl over the table and beat the hell
out of the others until his good sense re-exerted itself.

"I'll tell you what makes sense you great shit-load of *idiots*," seethed
Malfoy shaking with anger as much as with a sense of dread. "The fact is that when Voldemort
gets through with your parents, as well as with you, you'll be killed and pitched aside just as
soundly as the one's who stood against him. You think he's going to leave a bunch of
power-hungry wizards and witches around to try and take him over? You won't be worth a toss to
him! **NO ONE WILL**! Every*bloody*one is a means to an end, don't you see
that!?"

No one answered him. Part of the Hufflepuff table, which was nearest to them had overheard the
conversation and were watching him with their jaws dropped, speechless; mimicking the lack of
response he got from his own house.

He calmed himself down and stepped over the bench to stand behind it. The article in the Daily
Prophet and the ensuing conversation had left him feeling nauseous and completely out of control of
his own life. Lucius fully expected Draco to take the Death Eater's mark the night after his
graduation from Hogwarts. He even had a small ceremony planned for him somewhere in a forest
clearing, although Draco wasn't sure where. The only thing he was sure of, was that if he were
somehow forced to take that mark, he would kill himself.

Oh he had no ambitions to be holy and good like the Gryffindors; to fight the good fight and
bleed for the ruddy side of the moral. Like his father, he abhorred all semblance of
self-righteousness and the falseness of honor, kindness and bravery. None of those were real. After
all, everyone was truly out for themselves; some were just more adept at showing it than
others.

He had all of his father's ambition, all of his drive, his pompousness, even his
ruthlessness to a point, but the one thing Draco had not inherited from his father was his absolute
yearning for power, despite what package it came in. Yes, he would take power from any other
source…but never *ever* from Voldemort. The thought made him want to vomit.

On the outside he remained cool and calculating, and moved away from the Slytherin table as if
he were merely finished eating, glaring at the Slytherins who watched him go so they would not
think him weak as he made his way towards the exit of the Great Hall. On the inside, his heart was
beating a staccato rhythm of dread.

He hadn't banked on the fact that someone had been watching him. That the someone had been
watching him for a while, and knew when he was faking it even better than when he did.

Ginny watched his retreating form covertly as she took another bit of her scone, and swore that
before he exited the great double doors that led into the hall, he sent a glance her way. She
waited a few agonizing moments, and then rose slowly and began to follow him out as nonchalantly as
she could. No one from their table had seemed to hear the conversation. Indeed, Ginny hadn't
even been able to hear it, but she'd been casting glances Draco's way all during breakfast
and could tell he'd been in a heated argument with his housemates. Ron's eyes were on her
almost the entire time, but his girlfriend took his attention back at the last moment. Thank
*Merlin* for Lavender Brown.

Ginny dashed out of the double doors and immediately ran towards the great oak double doors that
led outside of the school building, pushing them open with a great heave and skipping down the huge
cement steps.

As she made out the tall boy far ahead of her, his platinum hair glinting in the sun as he made
his way to the Quidditch pitch, she knew that she'd been right. Malfoy always seemed to head
toward the Quidditch pitch when he was angry or needed to think, much like Harry; though if he ever
heard her say that he might hex her into oblivion.

But unlike Harry, who took his problems to the skies, Malfoy sat on the ground, under the same
tree on the outer edge of the pitch that he could always be found under. Well, only by Ginny. She
mused that she was probably the only one that knew his secret thinking spot. It gave her a small
feeling of satisfaction.

She watched him throw himself down on the other side of the trunk and took a few minutes to
approach carefully so that he wouldn't think she'd come to spy on him.

Finally she made a small throat-clearing sound and edged her way around the tree to face Malfoy
who had swiftly drawn his wand. When he saw Ginny he lowered it slowly, leaning his back against
the tree once more.

"What'd you want, Red…spying on me?" he sighed almost resignedly.

Ginny smiled bracingly and sat down opposite him. "Don't flatter yourself. I just saw
you leaving the Great Hall earlier than usual from breakfast and thought I'd come see what was
going on."

"Aren't you worried about being late for class," said Draco sarcastically,
"being a good little Gryffindor and all. You might want to scamper along now."

Ginny made no expressions as to whether his words had affected her at all. "We have about
fifteen minutes left."

"Well I suppose you overheard everything," said Draco almost angrily with a raised
eyebrow.

Ginny favored him with a small laugh. "You know better than that. Even if I'd
*wanted* to spy on you, which I **don't**…Slytherin table's too far away from ours
to hear anything."

Draco pursed his lips and shifted his position. "Then why…"

"Because you looked angry or upset…or something," said Ginny, a little flustered with
herself. "Because...besides the fact that I wanted to tell you about Hogsmeade weekend.
It's cancelled, you know, so you don't have to get all dressed up for me."

"I had no intention of it," said Draco lazily as he plucked a grass blade and put it
between his lips. "It was only going to be a distraction. I get bored so easily."

Ginny eyed him for a moment before she saw the very small beginnings of a smile crease one
corner of his lips. She grinned at him despite herself. "Nice try."

"Thanks," he said with another raised eyebrow.

They sat silently for a few moments before he spoke again.

"You can go, Red. I don't need babysitting."

Ginny smirked at him. "I never thought you did…I thought you might rather need a
friend."

Draco looked up sharply at her as if she'd just attempted to play some joke on him. His
expression turned sour and he stood up rather briskly. "I don't need any more bloody
friends. I've got quite enough to be sick of."

Ginny stood too, though she looked slightly bewildered. "You mean Crabbe and Goyle…Oh yes,
they seem the loyal type. I know whenever I need a friend, I *usually* look for those who can
only grunt a response and don't have enough brainpower to understand me, much less give me
feedback. Let me commend you. Good choices."

The speech left Draco a little lost for words and instead he ground his teeth together and
turned his eyes away from her to stare angrily at some point behind her.

"*I don't need you*."

Ginny sighed and sat back on the ground Indian-style, staring resolutely at his knees. "I
never said you did. But if you *want* me…my friendship, my ear…I'm here."

She knew how proud he was, knew that he'd never accepted help from *anyone* before to
her knowledge. She just given him the perfect opportunity to laugh in her face and walk away, but
as of this moment, she had suddenly become tired of playing games. Without warning she'd just
laid it all out in front of him, and it was up to him now to literally take her, or leave her.

For a few moments, she thought he'd decided to walk away. He kept making little movements as
if to do so, and then kept coming back around the tree to face her again. His gray eyes were so
full to the brimming with his own soul at the moment that they appeared stormy. The emotions
crossing his face seemed literally tormented, as if he were waging a great battle in his mind…to
reach out, or not to reach out…that was the question.

Finally he sat smoothly down in front of her, his back against the tree once more. He lifted
eyes to her that were almost void of the usual cold detachment, and Ginny was so startled that she
had to look down to the ground. Here was a side of Draco Malfoy that she'd never
seen…vulnerability.

"What do you…" he began almost hoarsely. "I don't…I don't know if I have
it in me to give you what you want."

Ginny swallowed harshly and almost giggled to herself. When had their surface, sarcastic
conversations suddenly turned into real ones? In some way she'd been able to get to him better
than anyone else, and not through anger…through truth. She felt elated. "I don't want
anything from you," she smiled genuinely, a move that almost seemed to hurt him, "I just
want to help…if I can."

Draco nodded and looked up at her, a little of his old defenses rising in his tone and eyes once
again. "I don't know if you can help Red, but if you're that keen on knowing, I'll
let you in on some of it."

Ginny wasn't disappointed at all. She'd known it wasn't going to be easy. After all,
Rome hadn't been built in a day, and neither had Draco Malfoy. But as he began relaying to her
what had been said at the Slytherin table, she realized that they'd gotten off to a miraculous
start.



20. Chapter 20: Hermione the Healer
-----------------------------------


Chapter 20: **Hermione the Healer**

The day went by way too slowly as far as Harry was concerned. Quidditch tryouts were to be at
five o'clock, and as he, Hermione and Ron headed towards Lupin's Advanced DADA class at
three, he noted that the other students headed that way were just as anxious to get it over with
and head toward the pitch as he was.

Ron hadn't played Quidditch since his disastrous run as Gryffindor's keeper in fifth
year, but he'd finally decided, with Harry's prodding to try out once again. He'd been
practicing with Fred and George in their spare time over the summers and had improved quite a bit,
but had decided that this time around he would try out as a beater. Ginny was to try out as keeper,
and as usual with anything she put her hand to, she was bound to be good. Harry thought that the
two were shoo-ins for the positions.

The advanced class went by as slowly as the rest of their lessons had, although to Harry, Ron
and Hermione it was by far their most interesting. Lupin had now shown them over ten new defensive
spells, a few of which were pairspells, as he called them, in which two actions are done in
one.

*Exarmonato*, for example, was the disarm and levitation spell, *desinoflamen* was
quite literally a simultaneous block and blast, and *adleveludo* was a lift and parry, in
which you could parry an opponents blow while elevating him magically at the same time, giving you
the opportunity to blast him backward. In addition, there was *adsultopello,* which attacked
and propelled your foe at the same time, and *effundomolior,* which discharged and displaced
him.

This afternoon Lupin was teaching them all about mind spells, in which an opponent's ability
to think rationally was compromised.

There was the simple confusion spell, *conturbatio*, which confounded a person's
thoughts so that he was hardly able to think rationally, and then of course there was
*obliviate*, which quite simply erased your opponent's memory. Harry and Ron quite
gleefully remembered Gilderoy Lockhart in their second year trying to get them with this particular
spell, only to have it backfire on himself owing to the use of Ron's broken wand.

Lupin however, urged them to use this spell sparingly as there was no telling until the deed was
done just how much of the memory would be erased.

The final spell they learned that lesson was a pairspell as well, though another one for the
mind. *Retrocantium* caused the person casting a spell to become confused, and then to turn it
upon himself. This one became a favorite of Ron's as he had fortunately been paired with
Malfoy. He'd become quite adept at defensive spells and every time he was able, when the
Slytherin tried to hex him, Ron forced him to hex himself.

Harry found it hilarious, although Hermione pointed out to him that it was almost disturbing how
quickly Ron had become so skilled at defensive spells. Harry agreed with her. He had to admit that
Ron actually almost surpassed him in this area, although Harry far surpassed Ron with attack
spells. The three pondered on this for a few moments after class until Harry told them that in
order for him to get to the Quidditch pitch on time that evening, he needed to begin his extra
lesson with Lupin. Hermione had her healer lessons with Madame Pomfrey to attend as well so the
three split up, with Ron promising to meet Harry at the Quidditch pitch at five.

The extra hour with his father flew by quickly, and although fencing was hard work and often
left him feeling sweaty, exhausted and rubbery by the end, Harry found that he was enjoying the
time with his father more and more. He was beginning to predict Lupin's movements before he
even made them and was becoming very good at parrying blows and delivering some powerful ones
himself.

He'd now learned a *balestra*, which was a sort of jump/lunge movement; a *circular
parry*, which was a parry that ended in the position or line from which it started; a
*diagonal parry*, in which the point of the sword was lifted or lowered into a vertically
opposite line while making a lateral parry simultaneously; and a *feint*, which was an action
to draw a desired response from the opponent.

This action was his favorite, as it fooled the other into opening themselves for attack, and put
them on the defensive where he'd been himself only a few moments before.

By the end of the lesson, both he and Lupin found themselves on opposite ends of the room,
thoroughly exhausted, and holding their swords limply in hand as if they'd become too heavy to
handle anymore. Neither had been able to overcome the other for the entire hour, and the professor
had to admit that his son would soon be better at the sword than he had ever been. Of course while
having youth on his side, Harry also had to his advantage the use of magic at the same time, as it
was becoming increasingly obvious that he almost no longer needed his wand. Often if Lupin was
beginning to get the upper hand and Harry was able to focus enough to use magic while
simultaneously defending himself with his blade; he was able to come up the winner. James marveled
at his son and felt himself bursting with pride any time he lost to him. His first reaction was to
clap his son on the back or even to hug him, but he'd held himself back for fear of an
uncomfortable reaction from Harry.

They were at least now getting used to each other, this much was true; but Harry was still not
yet ready for the closeness his father was bursting to have with him. Though James knew it would be
a long time coming, his son was worth the wait.

Harry gave Lupin a tired smile as his father, panting, made a mock bow toward him. "You
bested me this time, but I might not be as easy on you next round."

"That was your version of easy!?" asked Harry with a snort as he replaced Godric's
sword behind Lupin's desk and rounded it again, "I'm really in for it then…wandless
magic or no, I'm done for."

Lupin grinned then. "I'm joking, son…*Harry*." Lupin replaced the word
quickly but Harry didn't seem to notice his slip. "Honestly you gave me quite the run for
my money this afternoon. You're getting better and better. I'm really highly
impressed."

Harry looked down with an embarrassed half-smile and then shook his dark head. "It's
only because you're a good teacher, I expect."

A small silence followed and Harry finally looked up, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Well, I'd better go. Got Quidditch tryouts before dinner and I need to change. Besides I
imagine Ron's about to wet himself with worry right about now."

As Harry turned to leave Lupin made a sound. "Oy! Harry wait a second there…There's
something I've been meaning to give you."

Harry hesitated uncertainly and watched as his father made his way to a narrow closet on the far
end of the room and emerged a second later with a beautifully polished, streamlined, and sleek
looking broom.

Harry squinted a little questionably at it until Lupin neared him and held it out to him. As
soon as he saw it, there was no doubt in his mind. It was a Flametorch, one of the top models. The
logo was emblazoned on its dark rich handle in the familiar ruby, each letter slanted and glowing,
dancing magically with red, sparkling flames as if the word was interminably on fire.

Harry backed away from it a little uncertainly. Without really meaning to, the first thought
that came to his mind was about his father's intentions. Was Lupin trying to get closer to him
with an extravagant gift? He quickly quashed the thought. If he knew *anything* about his
father's character by now, and he sincerely *hoped* he did, it didn't seem his style.
He was hardly a Lucius Malfoy…yet, how could he accept something like this?

Harry opened his mouth to speak but was almost unable to choose what he wanted to say. "I…I
don't know if I can…why are you giving this to me?"

Lupin thinned his mouth sadly as if he'd been expecting such a reaction and lowered the
broom slightly. "It's not a bribery gift Harry, though I'd understand if you thought
so. I'd never try to buy a relationship with you…You can be sure of that much."

"No!" began Harry sharply, "No, I…It's just…well that's one of the best,
most *expensive* racing brooms around. Besides the fact that I…well…how did you know I wanted
this model? This is one of the topmost ones…"

Lupin smiled and handed Harry the broom, smiling even wider as he watched his son finger it.
"I *know* it's a top model. Played quite a bit of Quidditch myself in my day if you
remember…I heard that you'd been just about to buy yourself one in Diagon Alley before school
until the whole dark mark incident. Also I thought it might be a little hard for Gryffindor's
captain and seeker to continue playing without a broom, since you gave your Firebolt to Ron
Weasley."

Harry's eyes quickly darted up to his father. "Who told you about all of
that?"

Lupin smiled again, with a look on his face that suggested he knew a secret. "Hermione
Granger."

Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Oh she did, did she?"

"She did," said Lupin simply. He paused for a moment and gave his son an affectionate
gaze. "She loves you, you know…a lot."

Harry looked sharply at his father with an embarrassed red tinge to his cheeks. "Did she
tell you that?"

"She didn't need to," said Lupin almost wistfully. "It's written all over
her face. Yours as well, I might add."

Harry looked down and drew his eyebrows together. He didn't want to discuss his relationship
with Hermione, and it wasn't just because it was his father standing there with him. He and
Hermione's relationship was to him a sort of safe haven, a hideaway shared only between the two
of them, and he was unwilling to share it. It wasn't as if it was a secret to anyone, but
keeping it wholly to themselves made it all the more special to them both, and Harry was reluctant
to change that. Besides that fact, Harry wasn't ready to share that sort of intimacy with his
father. He sometimes wondered quite truthfully if he ever would.

He looked up at his father with a gaze meant to end the subject as smoothly as possible.
"She means a lot to me." He paused. "Thanks for the broom. You really…didn’t have
to, but thank you…very much."

"It's nothing Harry," said Lupin quietly. "I'm sure you'd better head
on, then. Five o'clock, and all."

Harry nodded then and headed toward the door but paused and turned back to his father.
"It's not nothing." He gazed at his father for a brief second and then turned the
corner out of sight.

Lupin stood in the same spot, staring at the door after Harry had gone, and spoke quietly into
the emptiness of the room. "It's nothing compared to what I wish I could give
you."

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

Harry left his fencing lesson that afternoon with a lighter heart than he'd had in a while.
He was becoming quite good at the sword, not to mention wandless magic, and even though he and his
father had still not sat down to have a real deeper than surface conversation, he felt that a lot
of the tension was slowly beginning to release. If he'd understood it all, he would have
realized that what he and his father were doing was the best thing for beginning their
relationship. The fencing class provided them the opportunity to work together toward a common
goal, expend a lot of frustrated energy, and spend a time together that was not filled with awkward
silence and the thick tension that inevitably would follow a set meeting where some sort of
relationship breakthrough might be expected. This way, they were getting used to each other
slowly…and James was beginning to realize that when the time for real conversation finally did
come, after all of the shared time together, it might not be as strained as it could have been
without it.

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

October had brought with it a quicker darkening of the day, and Harry walked toward the pitch
swinging his new broom over his shoulder and squinting his eyes through the dusk of early evening
to make out fellow students, teammates and hopefuls waiting at the bottom of the Gryffindor playing
tower. A chilly breeze swept under his Quidditch robes billowing them around his legs, and while he
walked he allowed himself a few peaceful moments to survey the change that autumn had made to the
Hogwarts grounds.

The trees lining the pitch were clad in orange, red and gold, and the leaves that had fallen to
the ground as if already making way for winter crunched lightly under his boots. He smiled a little
in the fast approaching darkness. Often to get away from the bustle and tension that characterized
his life, he would escape to the Quidditch lockers, grab his broom and head for the horizon. He
loved to scan the grounds from high above and mark the changes every season made. Humid Spring with
its scented rain and flowers at the end of the school year, skip summers (which could have been
wonderful but were made horrid by having to spend them with the family from hell), the chilly
breeze and colorful hues of fall that painted the world ruby, orange and gold, and the biting
freeze and blinding white of winter that left tree limbs bowing heavily and the ground sparkling
like a thick blanket of diamonds.

Sometimes, although they were few and far between, Harry was able to escape the drama that
defined his life and head vertical, leaving his worries behind and watching them grow smaller and
less detailed the higher he flew. These, he realized, along with the time he spent with Hermione,
were the times that kept him sane.

Ron, he suddenly realized, had just jogged up to him and was walking beside him toward the pitch
with a white, drawn face, carrying Harry's old Firebolt over his shoulder. Abruptly, Harry was
yanked back to the present.

He squinted sideways at his friend in the dusk. "Ron, mate…you look like hell."

"I'm nervous," said Ron shakily, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Harry,
I really suck rocks at this, you know. I don't know what I was thinking letting you talk me
into this again."

Harry smiled and clapped Ron on the back as they rounded toward Gryffindor's tower. Ron
hadn't yet noticed his new broom, and he decided it would be fun to see how long it would
take.

"It's our last year, Ron. What have you got to lose? Besides you're trying out for
beater…that's a sight different than keeper."

Ron grimaced. "Yeah, and if Ginny gets keeper and she ends up better than me I might as
well string myself from the Astronomy Tower. I'll never be able to show my face at home
again."

Harry frowned. "How's that?"

"Fred and George'll never let me live it down," said Ron miserably as he let the
Firebolt down to the ground to drag a dismal trail behind him. "I know the moment they find
out they'll take the **bloody mickey** out of me. 'You let Ginny best you at
Quidditch'?" Ron mocked in his best 'Fred voice', 'Well that's the
end…We've *had it* with you. We're going to start telling everyone you were adopted
again.' Then he mocked George. 'Or maybe we'll let them on you spent time at St.
Mungo's when you were younger. Large sucking head wound…*god-awful* accident. Never been
the same since. Left him a bit **funny**, you know.' " Ron touched his head and made a
terrible face with crossed eyes and a waggling tongue.

"You actually look smarter that way."

"Bite me, Harry."

Harry snorted with laughter as the two reached Gryffindor's game tower amid the mass of
other students. "Come off it Ron. They're not that bad."

Ron looked over at him scornfully. "You're not *serious*. **You know**
them."

Harry had to concede that he did indeed know them. "Alright, maybe they are, but at least
they don't live at the Burrow anymore. Just put them out of your mind and play your best. I
know you have it in you…You only muck up when you start getting too nervous. Just calm
down."

"Easy for you to say," Ron muttered under his breath.

As it turned out, Ron needn't have worried near as much as he'd thought. He'd played
excellently at beater, and had gotten the position after being watched by the team for only around
ten minutes. To both Harry and Ron's surprise both Dean and Seamus tried out for the second
beater position. While Seamus did fairly well, Dean surprised them all and seemed the best
candidate along with Ron for the two positions.

The only damper on Ron's mood was the fact that Ginny had far surpassed him at keeping,
though he admitted candidly to Harry, when he'd been keeper he'd not had the motivation
that he had as a beater. Of course, Harry realized the speech he'd just given Ron before
they'd flown out onto the field might have had something to do with that. He'd reminded Ron
of how close Ginny and Malfoy had seemed to be getting, and then let it slip about how he envied
beaters sometimes as they were the ones who usually got the chance to **spank** Malfoy from his
broom.

"That's true," Ron had muttered to himself, smirking evilly. "Accidents
happen all the time on the field…I could *waste* him."

It also helped that Harry told him he'd always imagined the bludgers carrying the faces of
his enemies on them. Every time one was given a hard thrash, he sighed to Ron; he could imagine
Voldemort's face being pounded into hamburger.

"Target practice for future beatings. I like it." Ron rubbed his hands together, now
beaming so thoroughly with depravity that Harry pinched himself hard so he wouldn't laugh.

Ron had taken everything Harry had said and ruminated on it for a moment before shooting him a
sinister, "I know what you're trying to do but I'm liking it," grin. He'd
then jumped on his Firebolt and torn off across the field. He'd scared the shit out of the
Gryffindor chasers who were chosen to play the "opposing team".

Harry smiled brashly. After seven years, he knew how to get to Ron.

The next week came and went with no new surprises. Classes were much the same, and Hermione,
although she'd given up the extra classes she'd wanted to take when the time turner had
been stolen, was still strung out with nerves owing to the fact that graduation N.E.W.T.s were only
around seven months away. She kept Harry and Ron up studying until around ten o'clock at night
every time she was able, and even Harry had to admit that it was getting a little annoying. He
loved her with all of his soul, but Hermione was more than a little obsessed as far as he was
concerned. Seven months was plenty of time. Nevertheless, Hermione never relented.

The Healer classes had been keeping her busier than usual as well. Madame Pomfrey had told her
only last week that she was farther advanced than she'd ever seen a student at the level she
was on now, and her skills were such that it seemed as if she'd been working the infirmary
since the beginning of her schooling. Hermione seemed to have the 'magic touch', and was
able to recall every healing charm and potion elixir needed when asked with an almost photographic
memory. Also the healing process, a bewildered Madame Pomfrey had explained to Professor McGonnagol
over a cup of hot tea one cool evening, seemed to take much less time than normal when Hermione was
in on it. Pomfrey was already allowing the girl to oversee some of the injured and sick students
herself, and it seemed almost as if her touch alone began the recuperation, as well as instantly
calming fears and soothing frayed nerves. The nurse had never seen anything like it, and told
Hermione that if she wanted to pursue the career field, she would recommend her to St. Mungo's
the moment she graduated.

Of course as soon as Hermione had been given the news she'd flown down the halls and into
the Gryffindor common room and almost knocked Harry over with a full body hug and a beaming smile.
She told he and Ron all about it, right as Ron was about to crush Harry's queen with his rook.
Ron smiled feebly at her and made his move, dully watching the rook trounce up and down on the
queen until nothing was left but dust. Hermione's news had shifted the focus from the game
right as he was ready to savor his winning moment, and the wind had been cruelly ripped from his
sails.

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

The Saturday morning of the first Quidditch game of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin,
dawned clear and crisply cold. Harry opened his eyes early as he'd set his drapes to wake him
by eight, and watched sleepily from under his quilt as the sun magicked the heavy golden velvet
open centimeter by centimeter. Very soon fresh, new beams of bright light would be making their way
across his face, but, he smiled drowsily, at least he had around half an hour of gray darkness left
in his room.

He shifted for a moment and found something warm and soft spooned against his body before he
remembered Hermione stumbling into the room and crawling under the covers with him around two a.m.
He eased his head up to rest on a hand and elbow and gently removed a strand of hair stuck to her
lips, smiling tenderly down at the slim form relaxed against him. She was dressed in a pair of his
boxer shorts and a tank top, and laid with her mouth relaxed slightly open, long, dark lashes
sweeping the top of her smooth cheekbones, and her hair cascading in a wavy caramel mess around her
face, neck and down her back. He thought she never looked prettier than when she was sleeping. It
gave him a chance to study her beautiful features at length, memorizing each one for future
thought.

The sleeping together, in it's sinless form, had started some weeks earlier. It seemed that
one inevitably found themselves in need of the other after some insecurity from the day or a
nightmare, and kept finding themselves ultimately together, snuggling away the darkness in one bed
or the other. After that it had become habit. It was much too hard to go back to the coldness of an
empty bed when you'd had the warmth of a shared one. It had gotten to the point that neither
could get to sleep without the other there. A few times they'd been unable to share the
closeness without the almost overpowering, burning desire to share more and had separated, but it
didn't last for long. By now it felt too natural, too close, too much like a part of one was
missing if the other wasn't there, to sleep apart. So Harry had somehow reigned in his hormones
to allow Hermione to be there with him. He didn't know she had to do the same thing every night
as well. Images of Snape teaching naked Potions usually did the trick.

Too soon for Harry's liking the sun's brightness reached his bed, and he threw an arm
over his face letting his head fall back down onto the pillow in defeat. Hermione groaned when the
first shaft hit her eyes and turned over to face Harry, keeping her eyes closed and burying her
face in his chest.

"Why, why, **why**…" she muffled against his chest.

Harry smoothed her hair down and scooted lower in the bed to gaze at her.

"Why what, love?"

The sun beamed brighter and she groaned unhappily again, finally pushing herself away from him
and letting the light hit her full in the face. She squinted until she could take the
brightness.

"Why did you have to set the drapes so early? Harry, it's Saturday for *Merlin's
sake*…"

She humphed angrily and burrowed back under the covers. Harry chuckled at her and sat up
Indian-style, yanking them up and away and causing her wild hair to fly up and cover her face. She
blew huffily at it as she lay board straight on the bed.

"Give the covers *back*."

"It's *Quidditch* Saturday, 'Mione. I told Ron I'd meet him on the pitch
at eight thirty to practice…Don't make me wake you the hard way."

"Why do **I** have to wake up!?" she whined in a most unHermione-like way.

"Because we share everything, remember?" said Harry smiling evilly and brandishing
claw-like fingers at her. "Get up or suffer the consequences."

Hermione blew the hair from her face and turned widened eyes toward him. "Harry
**don't**…*I'll hex you into next fall*…"

"Get up, then…I mean it Hermione, I'm coming for you…"

Harry moved closer, and Hermione finally raked her eyes over him. His unruly black hair stuck up
all over his head. Large meadow-green eyes, clear as crystal, unfettered with glasses, glinted with
mischief in a smooth, handsome face smirking with a roguish grin. Sculpted, firm biceps led to
strong forearms and long lean fingers… snitch-catching fingers. A chiseled, bare, olive-skinned
torso with a line of fine, soft black hair trailed southward, down the carved planes of his stomach
to disappear beneath elastic, leading toward…*well*. Only a pair of heavy boxer shorts covered
muscular thighs strong enough to tightly grip a broom handle on their own while the rider used his
hands to reach toward his goal. Slim masculine hips...not to mention a butt that was as hard and
tight as...*ohmygod*…

(*YUM,* says the author ;0)

*By all that was holy and good*…*Heavens above*…**Great Merlin's**
**ghost**…She felt her pulse quickening and her heart thrumming hard against her ribcage.
*What she* *wouldn't give to let her fingers travel down that soft black trail of hair,
moving downward, downward*… *To feel his Quidditch* *roughened hands on her
body*…*nimble snitch-catching fingers; skilled fingers gliding lazily down her skin*… *To
gaze into the verdant pools of his eyes, burning lustfully into hers as she had seen them do, his
hands roaming ever so slowly down... closer* *and closer to*…

Hermione quickly jumped up and was out of the bed in an instant, leaving Harry looking slightly,
adorably disappointed and lowering his hands. She gazed at him and brought a small fist to her
mouth, chewing on the knuckles nervously. *Get a grip Hermione*…*get a bloody*
**grip**…*greatgodhe'ssexy*…

"I was only going to tickle you a little, 'Mione. No need to be so jumpy! Merlin, you
look like I was going to attack you," he grinned.

*Attack me. Ohgodjusthangon...* "I just…I..you're right. I *should* get
up…lot of studying to do…besides I told Madame Pomfrey I'd help her in the infirmary if there
are any injuries at the game today. You know, there usually are…"

With that she ran from the room and grabbed her robe from her own room, shutting herself in the
bathroom and immediately turning on a cooler shower than normal. Harry sat on the bed looking
slightly puzzled.

The stands at the Quidditch field were filled to the brimming that afternoon, and the excited
crowd of hundreds, all colored in either red and gold, or green and silver, made so much noise that
most were unable to hear the person right next to them. The afternoon was much like the morning had
been; cool, crisp and brightly clear with a hint of a very cool autumn in the air. A chilly breeze
swept through the bleachers and Hermione tugged her robes tightly around her, fitting her red and
gold scarf tighter around her neck.

She sat squashed rigidly against Hagrid in her seat and clamped her hands tightly together to
avoid trembling. She peered around and above the crowd of fans waving red "Gryffindor"
banners; her eyes randomly wandering toward the Gryffindor game tower where she knew Harry, Ron and
Ginny were, along with the rest of their team. She could imagine Harry lecturing them at this very
minute, rehashing Quidditch moves, and trying his best not to sound like Oliver Wood but failing
miserably at it.

(Oliver had stayed around Hogwarts to oversee the games. He'd taken the position on after
Madame Hootch left, deciding with Dumbledore's approval to continue coaching his favorite team
even though he was no longer in school to play on it. But he'd finally decided to leave the
position of Gryffindor team captain to Harry this year and concentrate solely on being overseer of
the game.)

Hermione watched Oliver's lank form move toward the middle of the field, dragging the
Quidditch game chest behind him, and she nervously shifted in her seat. Agreeing to help Madame
Pomfrey with any injuries after the game had reminded her of how dangerous the sport really could
be. And now, not only did she have Harry to worry about, but Ron and Ginny as well.

Hagrid, dressed warmly in a gigantic muggle-looking plaid shirt and his usual brown trousers,
glanced sideways at her and gently patted her clenched hands with his gigantic one. "Now, now
'Ermione. Ain' no need in gettin' yoursel' worked up like ya are. Everythin'll
work out jes' fine. You'll see."

Hermione turned stiffly to him. "It's just such a dangerous game, Hagrid. You've
seen how Harry dives breakneck for the snitch! And Ron…*Merlin's beard* I don't know
how he's going to be with…beating those hard balls. And Ginny's so small…"

"Ain' no smaller'n you, there," commented Hagrid. "Well, a bit
shorter…"

"…might get hurt what with the quaffle hurtling toward her and those…those *flying*
*balls* and…" Hermione continued worriedly as if Hagrid hadn't spoken.

"Well tha's the beaters job then, isn' it?" said Hagrid. "Ron an'
Seamus are there to keep th' bludgers from gettin' to 'er…"

"…and the boys are so rough out there! Don't seem to care a bit that they're
rushing toward the ground at a thousand miles an hour…"

"Well I don' think it's that fas'…" put in Hagrid.

"…too many times disaster has been averted by only *that* much…" Hermione held up
a centimeters worth of measurement.

"Well now any sport worth playin' is gonna be rough…"

"…swatting those *balls* at each other and punching and ramming…"

"They're called *bludgers* 'Ermione…an' well, tha' other rubbish is
considered foul then, isn' it?…"

"…always *just* dodging disaster, what with…"

"…well Quidditch *can* be a dodgy game, but…"

"…just seems way too dangerous to me. Along with all of the other things I mentioned…
*They*. *Could*. *Fall*. **Fall** Hagrid! And how high up are they, I ask you!?
It's just…it seems like an unnecessary risk to me…just to play a silly game."

After finishing her rant she finally turned to look anxiously at Hagrid. "Well? Don't
you agree? Aren't you going to say anything!?"

Hagrid opened and closed his mouth for a few seconds before regarding Hermione affectionately
and patting her fatherly like on the head. He'd become used to her rants after seven years.
"Well 'Ermione…I reckon boys will be boys…er, rather…an' Ginny a'
course."

Hermione gave off a rattled sigh and turned to see Harry, Ron and Ginny waving at she and Hagrid
from atop the Quidditch tower with beaming smiles. She waved feebly back. "That's what
I'm afraid of."

Seamus Finnegan sat up in the announcer's box nervously chewing a nail as he turned his head
to look at all of the professors behind him. After he'd failed to get a position on
Gryffindor's team, he'd decided to ask McGonnagol if he could take over being announcer for
the games. She had given him a hard once-over and agreed, but had added in no uncertain terms that
if he tried to commentate in any way like Lee Jordan had, she would lock him in the most stocked
supply closet she could find with Peeves the Poltergeist for a whole evening. Seamus shuddered as
he of thought what horrors might await him. Peeves, an endless supply of inkbottles, sharp quills,
heavy books, brooms and mops and pails, and a lifetimes worth of confiscated pranks, mostly nicked
from George and Fred before they'd graduated…a bead of sweat trickled down his back. He'd
be dead before morning.

He swallowed hard and saw the signal from Oliver in the middle of the pitch that both teams were
ready.

Clearing his throat nervously and glancing back at a hard-nosed McGonnagol one last time, he
spoke into the magical microphone in front of him. "Here we are witches and wizards of
Hogwarts…the very first game of the season…Slytherin versus Gryffindor!"

The students in the stands jumped up and erupted in wild cheers, and Hermione stood with them,
trying her best to peer around heads and shoulders toward the Gryffindor tower.

"On the right side of the field, led by team captain Harry Potter, and by far the best team
I've seen yet…"

"*Seamus*," warned McGonnagol loudly.

He flushed and continued. "Gryffindor!"

Seven red and gold blurry figures shot out of the tower in a "V" formation, whizzing
around the field and coming to rest at the opposite end from where they'd started, hovering far
above the ground next to three staggered rings atop long metal poles. The rings had been decorated
with red and gold streamers to mark Gryffindor's goal posts.

Hermione finally spied Harry through her binoculars; a small, slightly obscured figure with
wildly blowing black hair straddling his broom confidently and turning to look at each of his
teammates, pointing at players and obviously giving them instructions. The knot in her stomach
tightened painfully. For some odd reason she felt as if something were off; as if some premonition
of bad things to come was clenching and unclenching in her chest. But everywhere around her,
students were laughing and joking with each other; waving banners and gazing happily through
binoculars…nothing seemed amiss.

"And on the left side of the field, led by new team captain Draco Malfoy, this year,
Slytherin!"

Once again, seven blurred figures, dressed this time in green and silver, came zooming out of
their tower to fly in a successive formation, and the Slytherin stands erupted in wild
cheering.

However, when the players rounded the bend and came toward the Gryffindor stands, all seven came
out of formation to perform dangerously low fly-byes, buzzing so closely over students heads that a
few of them had to duck. A roar of objection erupted from the Gryffindors, and their team. The
Slytherin players finished their taunting and finally flew on, coming to hang motionless on the
side of the field where three goal posts with green and silver streamers pointed proudly into the
air.

Hermione turned her binoculars to the seven Slytherin hovering on the left side, and saw them
laughing uncontrollably, with Malfoy, of course, up front and foremost. She wouldn't have been
surprised if it was his idea.

"**FOUL**!" cried Seamus, jumping to his feet and screaming into the microphone,
"Intentional fly-by! Points should be deducted, professor! **Ruddy mongs**!"

"That's enough Mr. Finnegan!" shouted McGonnagol furiously as she wrenched the mic
from his hands and lifted it to her own mouth. Her voice suddenly became amplified. "Behavior
of that sort will **not be tolerated**! Anything like that happens again and the game will be
forfeited to Gryffindor!" She slammed the microphone back down in front of Seamus, causing a
loud reverb to ring throughout the stadium, and threw herself back down on the bench. Even Snape
looked unamused.

Malfoy smirked from somewhere near the goal posts. He knew exactly how far he could go before
heading into serious trouble. He snickered in an almost bored way until he let his eyes meet
Harry's at the far end of the field.

Potter gave him a scathing look and then pointed at him, finishing with a slit-throat gesture.
The meaning was obvious. 'Stand clear…we're coming for you…' *Right.* *Come on
then, Potter*. *Let's do it*…

From the middle of the field, Oliver Wood kicked the old wooden trunk open, and the bludgers and
snitch darted upward to fly wildly around the pitch. Harry let the snitch leave his sight as he
focused on Oliver. He knew he couldn't keep his eyes on it yet; not until the game started.

"Let's do this right!" yelled Oliver upward, raising a hand over squinted eyes.
"Players to your positions!"

Ginny stayed in front of the goal posts, as well as the Slytherin keeper, and Ron and Dean moved
into the middle a bit more, mimicking the movements of the opposing beaters. Harry flew high above
them all toward the outside of the proceedings and shot a look of disgust Malfoy's way. Malfoy
had also taken position and generously sent the look back Harry's way.

Marcus Wallaby, a Gryffindor chaser, and Jarius Hemdarin, a perpetually angry chaser from
Slytherin's team flew into the middle of the pitch, high above Oliver's head. They shook
hands quickly and gazed at each other with loathing, waiting tensely for the moment at hand.

Oliver hesitated a moment and then with a grunt, pitched the quaffle high into the air.

"And the game begins!" screamed a high-strung Seamus Finnegan.

Hemdarin immediately rammed into Wallaby and knocked him off course, grabbing the quaffle and
heading at break-neck speed towards Ginny. She steadied and placed herself in front of the middle
ring, ready in an instant to move left or right if necessary. But Dean, from the left spotted a
bludger and batted it hard towards Jarius. The ball punched him hard in the side and he grunted,
losing the quaffle. Peter Gallor quickly dove downward and grabbed it up, tucking it under his arm
and speeding toward the Slytherin goal.

"…and Hemdarin loses the quaffle! Hard lines there mate…"

McGonnagol scowled but Seamus paid no attention.

"Gallor scoops it up…**WATCH IT THERE, PETER**!" McGonnagol swatted him hard on the
back of the head and he was startled.

"*PEEVES,*" she mouthed with narrowed eyes.

"Augh!… Umm, I meant, a bludger narrowly misses Gallor and he's speeding toward the
goal…" continued Seamus, shakily.

The Slytherin keeper, the newly appointed Theodore Nott stiffened and watched Gallor carefully,
finally deciding to move towards the outer left loop.

"…Gallor lobs the quaffle and…OH! He's done a Porskoff play! Goal Gryffindor!"

Gallor had faked throwing the quaffle and when Nott had flinched and headed that way, Peter
chucked it through the right lower loop. Nott scowled evilly at him, and Hermione watched Harry
through her binoculars, screaming his congratulations at Gallor, who was beaming proudly. She could
also see Malfoy, hovering on the upper almost outside of the field, yelling angrily at Nott. It
gave her a grim bit of satisfaction.

"…and Gryffindor now in possession of the quaffle coming up on the left hand side…*OH*
*NICE ONE,* *RON*!… Weasley crashes a bludger into Malfoy as he sees him heading
downward, knocking him off course…perhaps he spotted the snitch?"

Potter gave Weasley a thumbs up but hadn't intended to follow Malfoy anyway. It had been
obvious he was trying a Wronski Feint. He hadn't yet spotted even a glint from the snitch.

"**OH**, and Millhouse loses the quaffle to Hemdarin who's closing in now on Ginny
Weasley and Ooh…narrowly misses a bludger sent by Ron Weasley…quite protective of his sister,
there…**WOW**! Nice Double Eight Loop there, Ginny! But it wasn't enough…Goal
Slytherin!"

Ten points were added to Slytherin's scoreboard as well and the game was tied.

"…**FLACKING**! That's five foul points to Slytherin!…watch it there Gryffindors, no
crowding the other players!"

Once again McGonnagol swatted Seamus on the back of the head and mouthed '**PEEVES**'
even more furiously.

"And no helping out your team, *Finnegan*," snarled Snape as he leaned forward
and looked Seamus straight in the eyes.

"…Ah, umm yes…" continued Seamus, swiping the sweat from his forehead. It was so hard
to remember that he wasn't just a spectator anymore. "…and Wallaby heads toward Nott yet
again…*will he make it*!?"

Wallaby was hit on the arm by a bludger and howled but managed to toss the quaffle anyway, but
instead of swatting it back outward toward the field, Nott caught it and tucked it under his arm
for a very brief moment, choosing quickly which way to toss it and hoping no one noticed.

"**QUAFFLE POCKING**!" screamed Seamus wildly, "FIVE FOUL POINTS TO
GRYFFINDOR!"

'*Damn it*…' Hermione was a hundred yards away and she could still make out the
curses Malfoy was mouthing. She smiled again in satisfaction, but still couldn't shake the
sickening feeling that something bad was approaching…

"…and Thomas performs a nice Starfish and Stick move, whacking a bludger Hemdarin's
way. Misses by an inch! OH! And Morter of Slytherin knocks it back toward him…OH! Watch it there,
Dean! Punched the end of his Shooting Star…he's spinning…there. He's gained control
again…Weasley gains ground toward…WOW! Nice Bludger Backbeat there, Weasley! He seems to have it in
for Draco Malfoy today…"

Ron smiled nastily at Draco but Harry caught his eye and shook his head a bit*…concentrate on
the chasers for now*…

Harry circled the field with Malfoy on the opposite side. It was becoming desperate, and the
snitch was nowhere to be seen.

"…Parkin's Pince maneuver by Millhouse and Nott catches the brunt end of it, barely
keeping the quaffle out…Slytherin now in control…no *Gryffindor*…no make that *Slytherin*
again…"

Harry spotted a glint of gold somewhere near the bottom of the Slytherin stands and tensed
up…Malfoy had seen it too…

"…*ohmygod* what a move! Transylvanian tackle done by Morter! Very good, I must
say…**ARGH**! Haversacking! That was a foul…five points to Gryffindor…but it doesn't seem to
matter; the quaffle's pitched toward Ginny Weasley and three Gryffindor's try a Hawkshead
formation…**TOO LATE**! Goal Slytherin!"

Then a minute later… "**GOAL GRYFFINDOR**!"

The crowd of students were going wild, the colors of red, gold, green and silver moving in the
air like giant waves as they stood and sat again with every move their team made.

Hermione spotted Harry when he tensed up, and saw Malfoy do the same, and both were now hurtling
downward at lightning speed toward the ground, bending low on their brooms, wind whipping robes of
red and green behind them. She fought the urge to cry out and cover her eyes.

"…**BY MERLIN**! And I think the snitch has been spotted! Look at that Sloth Grip Roll
by Potter! Malfoy nearly lost it there, but he regains control…I SEE IT NOW!"

Draco and Harry were neck and neck, ramming into each other, skimming the ground and performing
difficult moves so fast that most were unable to make them out. The crowd had become eerily
silent.

"**LOBBING**! Excessive use of the elbows by Malfoy…no Potter…no Malfoy…no Potter and
Malfoy…ah who gives a *rub*, and they're gaining **fast**!"

The snitch was moving erratically in front of them, a blur of gold and wings as it darted up and
down, forward and backward, moving at impossibly fast speeds. Harry could feel the wind shoving his
glasses back painfully onto his eyes, but it didn’t seem to matter. Malfoy's fingers were
centimeters from the golden ball…so were his…

Both leaned so low to their brooms that they seemed like one with them. Harry's Flametorch
was performing awesomely well, but Malfoy's Nimbus 2005 was an excellent broom as well.

The snitch began zooming above student's heads in the stands, they bent low, murmurs and
cries coming from the audience. Harry zoomed so low over Hermione and Hagrid's head that she
could almost reach out and touch his boot.

But then, the unthinkable happened.

As they made their way around the field yet again, this time whizzing over the heads of the
Slytherin spectators and even the teachers, Malfoy had gone too fast and low to pull up in time and
ended up ramming the end of his broom handle with head-on-collision speed into one of the wooden
pillars supporting the stands. The sudden break gave Harry enough time to close his fingers over
the snitch, and the crowd erupted in a roar, until they saw Malfoy fall almost gracefully from his
broom. He plummeted almost fifty feet downward to land with a sickening thud on his back.

A loud gasp and some screams came and instant later, and every teacher in the stands immediately
began making their way quickly from their seats. Oliver Wood, who was closest, ran onto the field
first, with Ginny Weasley zooming downward only moments later, and Harry dropping down neatly
beside her.

All three knelt quickly beside Malfoy. He was sprawled in an unnatural fashion; one arm and one
leg at crooked angles, and a thin trail of blood trickling from frighteningly pale lips.

Not giving a shit who saw, Ginny cried out and bent low over him, placing her cheek over his
face.

"*I don't feel any breath*!" she screamed in a panicky voice.
"*He's not* **breathing**!"

"Move aside, move aside," panted a pale-faced Madame Pomfrey who had been sitting near
in case something like this were to occur. Hermione joined her only moments later, with the rest of
the teachers desperately trying to keep the other horrified students at bay, and keep them off the
field. The members of both Gryffindor's and Slytherin's teams landed quickly all around
them and stood back, nervously glancing at one another or whispering to each other.

Pomfrey checked Malfoy's pulse and then pulled out her wand and pointed it at his chest.
"*Pulmo impigritus*!"

Suddenly Draco's eyes flew open, bloodshot and unseeing. His lungs drew in a ragged breath,
and then continued inhaling and exhaling on their own, although shallowly.

Ginny exhaled in a loud sob and placed her hands on either side of his face, shaking it a little
bit.

"D..*Draco*? Can you hear me?"

Ron, standing to the side next to Dean fought off the strong urge to drag Ginny away from the
ferret. Although he wanted to, he knew that if he did she might never forgive him.

Draco continued to breathe, but Ginny saw no recognition spark in his lifeless gray eyes. In
fact, it was almost as if he was gazing through her. She shook him again until Madame Pomfrey
admonished her not to, speaking in the same breath to Hermione to levitate him and follow her to
the infirmary.

"*Locomotor Draco Malfoy*!" said Hermione pointing her wand at Malfoy. His limp
body rose upward and obediently followed Hermione and Pomfrey as they quickly made their ways
across the field and began to wade their way through the throng of chattering, curious students
being held back mostly by Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore.

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

Ginny, Harry, Ron, Professor Dumbledore, and Snape all trailed into the infirmary behind
Hermione and Pomfrey, and stood aside as Poppy worked over Draco, now sprawled out on one of the
infirmary's impossibly white beds.

Hermione stood to the side, dancing on the balls of her feet and chewing on her knuckles, and
kept making little movements as if to jump immediately should Pomfrey call on her to help. She
hadn't yet assisted in any case this bad, but since her eyes kept inadvertently traveling to
Ginny's stricken face, it was all she could do not to try to help with something…anything.

Pomfrey muttered a few more spells over Malfoy, but still the unblinking, unseeing expression
stared through the group standing to the side. His eerie bloodshot gray eyes seemed to be looking
straight at Harry, who flinched and tried to look away, but kept inevitably gazing back again. They
seemed to him almost to look accusing. **You** *did this*…**you** *caused me to
fall*…

Harry knew it wasn't true and yet couldn’t shake the feeling that if Draco were to die that
it might somehow be his fault. He stood covered in dirt and sweat, his hair matted down on his
head, and his chin downward. But his gaze rolled up over the rim of his glasses to meet
Malfoy's blank stare once again. He nervously brought a thumb up to chew on the nail.

Seeing that there was nothing she could do to help Pomfrey at the moment, Hermione moved over to
Harry, and gently pulled the hand from his face.

"Harry," she whispered, "I know what you're thinking. It's not your
fault."

"I led him towards those stands, Hermione," Harry whispered raggedly.

"You were chasing the snitch, mate," said Ron beside him, "You didn't do
this."

"I could've gone round them," Harry added quickly, chancing a glance over at
Ginny, who stood near Professor Dumbledore. He had a wizened hand on her back, and she had a fist
pressed to her mouth, tears running over the knuckles.

"I was showing off…thinking he wouldn't chance to follow me. *Damn* *it*…look
at Ginny…Look at what I did."

Ginny leaned on Dumbledore who gazed down at her with pity, his eyes shining a bit. They watched
as Poppy levitated a broad white slab of metal with an eyepiece over Draco and pointed her wand at
it, saying clearly, "*Perspicuus Corpus*."

The slab seemed to glow for a moment, and Pomfrey then placed an eye over what resembled a
monocular attached to the top of the metal.

After a few moments of staring into the scope and moving the slab to different areas of
Draco's body, pointing to some with her wand and muttering healing spells, she stood erect and
gazed down at the pale blonde in the bed in front of her. She turned toward the small group behind
her with a morose look on her face.

"Well, I'm afraid I've done all I can for now," she said with a defeated sigh.
"I don't believe he has any brain damage, but he has quite a bit of damage to his ribs,
not to mention a broken arm and leg. I've done what I could, and healed the bones, though I
wager it'll be a long while before he's able to do much of anything. I've lifted the
breathing charm and at least he's doing that on his own, now."

"*Oh gods*," sobbed Ginny, "Isn't there anything else you can do!? He
looks really pale, and…"

"He has some bad internal injuries, I'm afraid," said Pomfrey. "I looked
through the internacorpus machine and healed the ones I could. But there's one area inside his
lungs that I wasn't able to get to. If it doesn't stop bleeding on it's own, I'm
afraid his lungs could fill with blood. He won't be able to breathe."

Ginny began to choke on her own sobs once again, and Ron moved over to her side placing a hand
on her shoulder.

She looked up at him with fury shining brightly in her eyes and gritted her teeth. "**Ron
if you're coming over here to go off on him in** **ANY WAY** **you can get the**
***hell* *out of it***! **I don't care what you think or say…I like him and
that's the bloody end of it**!"

No one said anything at the moment. Ron merely nodded at her and held his arms out. Ginny
hesitated only a moment before throwing herself against her brother's chest and beginning to
sob and shake uncontrollably.

An hour later, no one was left in the infirmary save Hermione, Ron, Harry and Ginny, all of whom
had been allowed to stay by Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey. The whole of the infirmary was covered
in darkness, the only light coming from a small candle lamp above Malfoy's bed. It cast eerie
shadows over the faces of the four sitting next to him.

Hermione was to come and get Pomfrey immediately should anything change with Draco, and was
admonished especially to watch over his breathing. Draco had as of yet, not made a single motion,
except for the rhythmic up and down movements of his now bare chest.

Ron sighed in the silence of the room. "Well, at least we won the game."

Ginny had been resting her head on the bed, staring into Draco's eyes and watching for any
signs of life, but suddenly sat bolt upright, her gaze shooting dangerous daggers her brother's
way.

"Well, wasn't that **wholly inappropriate**," she seethed quietly.

Ron hung his head. "Sorry, Gin. I'm just trying to lighten the situation."

Harry and Hermione glanced quickly at one another before returning their gazes back to
Malfoy.

"Well do us all a favor, and *DON'T TRY*," she responded nastily.

Hermione cleared her throat and spoke quietly. "Ginny, you shouldn't attack Ron.
He's only trying to help. He didn’t mean anything by it."

Ginny turned an angry gaze Hermione's way, but spotted the pleading look she had on her face
and calmed down. "I'm sorry, Ron. I'm just…I'm…not myself, right now."

Harry shifted in his chair. "Love will do that to a person."

This time three shocked glances came his way, and it was Harry's turn to look abashed.
"I'm sorry. I…I spoke out of turn, I reckon…" he looked at Hermione quickly and then
back at Ginny. "But I would know."

Ron looked wordlessly at Ginny, whose mouth had suddenly gone dry. She tried to form words for a
few moments but found that none would made their way past her throat. Finally she began to try to
rasp out a reply.

"W…well I don't…don't know if that's…only just started to…can't possibly
think that…"

Hermione gave Harry a harsh jab in the thigh in the darkness of the room and he sent her a
reproachful look.

"It's all right Ginny," she said soothingly, "You don't have to explain
yourself to anyone…what you feel is completely your *own*, **and**…" she sent
meaningful glances Harry's and especially Ron's ways. "**Completely
private**."

Ginny continued to resemble a fish out of water, and Ron noticed quickly that she'd been
holding Malfoy's hand the whole time. He scowled unhappily but chose to keep silent.

"B…but I…*nothing to hide*…don't have…not sure what you're all thinking…no
relationship yet or anything…"

Ron sat up stiffly in his chair and leaned forward. "*YET*?" he hissed out
angrily, "You mean **never**. '*Friends*' is one thing. The word
*relationship* crosses a **whole** **'nother line**, there Gin…"

"*Ron*," said Harry warningly.

"**MY LINE TO CROSS**," Ginny leaned forward and whispered back furiously through
gritted teeth.

"Ginny, he's just…" began Hermione.

"It's not all about **you**, Ginny," said Ron fiercely, "Think about
it…who was it that attacked Hermione last month and set the bloody *dark mark* over the
school!?"

"Ron, **drop it**," Harry warned again.

"That was his father, you **git**. Not Draco…" spat out Ginny.

"Haven't yet noticed the **resemblance** in them, then *have you*?" Ron
replied sarcastically.

Ginny sat back and narrowed her eyes dangerously at Ron. "How **dare you** judge him
when he can't defend himself, Ron. You have **no idea** if Draco is like his
father…"

"Look, let's just calm down, all right?" said Hermione holding up her hands in a
pleading gesture.

"I have plenty of ideas on him, Gin and none of them are good," said Ron standing up
angrily. "You don't think his father's just waiting to give Draco Voldemort's mark
the moment he graduates this year!?"

"Ron, sit down…please…" said Harry.

Ginny's wide eyes now flashed so furiously that Hermione thought she might jump over the bed
and start beating on her brother. "Well, Ron…I didn't know you were such a Legilimense.
Who knew?" she seethed sardonically. "What I'm saying for those of us here too ruddy
**moronic** to understand is that we have **NO IDEA** what Draco is going to choose, do
we!?"

"And I guess his character thus far is no indicator!?" Ron shot back.

"Ron, you had best shut you're mouth while you're ahead…" began Ginny hotly
but she never got to finish her sentence.

"**Oh gods**," Hermione cried out, staring down at Malfoy. "Ron…shut up and go
get Madame Pomfrey…his lips are turning blue!"

Ginny squealed suddenly and dropped Malfoy's hand, falling to her knees beside his bed and
staring into his face. His lips were indeed tinged blue, and the shallow breathing he was yet able
to do now sounded congested and came out with a horrible gurgling, wheezing sound. His expression
had finally changed, but it was one of distress now…and his eyes were turned on Ginny's face as
if pleading her to help him take a breath. Ginny began to scream.

Ron took off out of the room and down the hallway to the left, out of sight, where he could be
heard banging on Pomfrey's door and yelling for her to come.

Harry stood stiffly, looking at Ginny and Hermione.

"**Do something**!" Ginny's tearful face turned to Hermione and she desperately
gripped at her robes. "Hermione, you're an assistant! Please for the love of Merlin,
**HELP HIM**!"

Hermione turned her stricken face away from Ginny to look at Harry. "Harry, I don’t know
what to do…I've never dealt with this before…"

Harry shook his head at her and turned to look at Malfoy who was now almost a grayish shade of
blue. The gurgling sounds had almost stopped, but that meant that he wasn't fighting as hard to
continue breathing.

" 'Mione..I…"

"Hermione, **PLEASE**!" Ginny screamed. She placed her mouth over Malfoy's and
began breathing for him, but the air only whistled and crackled in his chest. "**WHERE IS
MADAME POMFREY**!?" She screamed out in frustration before trying to breathe for Malfoy
again.

Hermione placed her hands instinctively on Malfoy's chest, trying to feel whether or not the
air was filling his lungs. He was now almost completely gray, and the blue was starting to fade.
*Come on, Malfoy, breathe! Don't do this…don't do this to* *Ginny…breathe…*

"**RON**!" bellowed Harry anxiously, "**What's taking so long**!
**HURRY UP**!"

Hermione pressed more firmly on Draco's colorless chest, not realizing she was doing it. Her
mind was willing him to wake up…to fight…to breathe…

Ginny sobbed into his mouth as she continued puffing into his lungs but was realizing that she
was losing the battle. Suddenly, when her lips came into contact with Malfoy's again, she
received an electric shock that zapped her so badly that she yelled and broke contact with him.

"**WHAT THE HELL**…" exclaimed Harry, pulling Ginny away from him.

Ginny struggled in his grasp. "**Harry, let me go for Merlin's sake**…**I have
to** **help him**!"

Harry held her arm more firmly and pointed to Hermione and Malfoy. "Ginny, look."

Hermione's eyes were closed, and she seemed to have lost all contact with anything else
going on around her. As if she was in a trance, her head bowed low over Malfoy's chest, her
hand began to glow a purplish gold color, and the light began to spread over Malfoy's chest and
up towards his mouth. An electric field seemed to hover over the whole area, and Harry, along with
Ginny vaguely noticed that the hair on their arms and heads was standing up at the roots.

Hermione's lips moved steadily, as if she were chanting some spell, and she still seemed
unaware of what was going on around her. With a sudden gasp of pure astonishment, Ginny saw the
grayness fading from Malfoy's skin, her tear-stained face beginning to drain of all color, much
like his had been, but more out of shock than anything.

*Breathe, Malfoy…don't do this to Ginny…take a breath…take in some oxygen…Merlin just let
the bleeding stop…just let it disappear…just let him breathe…just wake up you idiot…* Hermione
continued to murmur and began to see the glow of light from behind her eyelids. When she finally
opened her eyes, much wider than normal, she saw her hand as if it was glued to the Slytherin's
chest, and the purplish glow that seemed to be permeating, digging beneath his skin, down into his
body and outward again, as if forging some unseen trail. Her hair was now standing on end, and she
saw that the glow had finally detached from her fingers to finish it's journey on Malfoy's
body. As quickly as it had begun, the electricity winked out with a loud snap, and Hermione's
hand suddenly came loose from his chest.

Without warning, with a gasp as if from the dead brought back to life, Malfoy's eyes
abruptly shone with life, blinking rapidly, and his body arched up from the mattress.

Ginny screamed and Harry grabbed at Hermione, holding both she and Ginny to him and watching
Draco with horror.

As soon as he exhaled, Draco's body dropped back onto the mattress, and he lay there for a
moment, looking exhausted and thoroughly stunned, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes.

Pomfrey in her robe and slippers, with Ron running behind her finally rushed to the bed, puffing
in absolute terror. She put a hand on Malfoy's head and whispered. "Draco? Draco, can you
hear me?" She paused for a moment and then turned to Ron, staring at him accusingly. "Mr.
Weasley, is this you're idea of a some idiotic **joke**!? I assure you life and death is
nothing to take lightly! He's not only still breathing, but he's awake!"

Ginny gasped and Hermione moved weakly up to stand beside Malfoy and Pomfrey to stare at him
with eyes blurry with complete disbelief. *What had just* *happened…what in Merlin's
name had just happened…*

No one said a word, until Malfoy turned his gray eyes to look at Hermione, not with the usual
contempt, but with a look of wonder. "Granger?"

Ginny, Harry, Ron and Poppy's eyes all fell on her, and at that moment, Hermione, feeling
weaker than she ever had before, opened her mouth to say something. But nothing escaped her lips
but a breath of air, and she promptly passed out, Harry rushing behind to catch her just before she
fell.



21. Chapter 21: The Tie That Binds
----------------------------------


Chapter 21: The Tie That Binds

Hermione willed herself to move, to speak; if only she could just move one foot in front of the
other she might be able to do something about the horrible scene playing out before her now like
some nightmare from which she couldn’t wake. The whole thing was impossibly wrong, false…this was
not how it was supposed to be. Voldemort couldn't win…from the moment she'd met Harry
Potter on the train some seven years ago, she'd known ultimately that the dark lord would be
destroyed. Evil never won in the end, did it? Didn't good always ultimately come out on
top?

Yet, here she was, staring at the immobilised forms of Harry, Ron; perpendicular to Harry, and
herself, sprawled out at their feet. They were in the dark Forest of Kavan, she realised now, as
she saw the burned out ruins of what must have been the dark lord's rebuilt home, now destroyed
again.

Voldemort stood above them, tall, fully formed, and filled with an unholy glee as if he knew
some secret that he was about to divulge. Death Eaters stood all around him, and…dementors? What
were they doing there? Weren't they still guarding Azkaban? No…she reminded herself, they had
defected. Of course, they had joined Voldemort. Who else was there to unite with? If they
weren't with the ministry anymore there was only one other side to go.

Voldemort was addressing his followers, spouting off some egotistical speech he'd probably
been planning for years in expectation of this very event. Hermione took that opportunity to gaze
at herself, Harry and Ron on the ground. If she listened closely, she could hear what Harry was
saying to them…

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…this is all my fault…"

"Shut up Harry," Ron's voice seemed hoarse and he turned his head as far to the
side as he could. "You can't take all the blame for this you selfish git…We all failed…all
of us."

"But I…"

"Ron's right," this was herself talking now, and Hermione leaned forward, almost
in anguish herself at the painful expressions on the three faces. "We're all to blame…we
all made the pact, remember? We're all in this together, we…"

*All in what*? *Where was she*? *What in **Merlin's name** was going
on*!?

"Never mind," the Harry on the ground spoke up again, "Never mind. It doesn't
matter anymore. It's over, I…but I won't die without telling you both how much you mean to
me."

*Ohmygod…* *So Voldemort was about to kill them*… Hermione wondered to herself how she
could've expected anything less…

Harry was taking one painful turn after another, pouring out last words of love and friendship
to both she and Ron. Hermione opened her mouth to scream at him…to snap him out of his lethargy…to
make him do something; after all, he almost didn't need his wand anymore… However, not a word
escaped her mouth, not one sound from her throat. She was bound here to watch herself and the two
most important people in the world to her die, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She'd always hated the feeling of helplessness, even to the point of almost hating dependence
on anything or anyone. But now the absolute tangibility of it washed over her like some giant tidal
wave, shoving her down into the sand, scraping her body backward into the undertow, sapping her
strength and stealing her breath.

Voldemort was now gesturing around himself to his followers like a king addressing his army.
"With the death of these comes the dawning of a new era…A time in which darkness will rule
once again…"

Hermione tried desperately to scream, waving her arms and willing the three on the ground to
turn their heads and see her, but nothing happened. It was as if she were in a dream. All she could
do was watch the three captives on the ground grow increasingly despondent. *Please get
up...please do something! DON'T GIVE UP!*

"…Ron…you're like my brother. Y…you don't know how much you mean to me…"

*Merlin, ohgod, anyone...oh my god, he's coming toward them…*

" 'Mione, I love you so much…You'll never know…how much…"

*NO PLEASE DON'T LET THIS HAPPEN...*

"Harry, don't…" the Hermione on the ground was sobbing now, as much as she
was.

"I wish I could've had more time with you. I don't know why we can't…but I want
you to know, you mean everything to me."

The Hermione watching fell to her knees in torment, blind to the fact that on either side of her
knelt two others doing the same thing…hands to their faces, screaming in silence, trying in vain to
move forward, to intercede. Unknown to her, she mouthed at the same time the exact words that her
counter-self, lying on the ground, responded to Harry with in utter agony.

"O god Harry, I love you too…"

No more words were said because Voldemort had chosen that moment to finish his speech and was
now bearing forward toward them, followed closely by two Death Eaters.

"You two take whichever you want," he said, and moved with practised ease and an
expression of rapture over toward Harry. "But Potter's mine."

After these words were spoken, Hermione could hear no more. Her hearing was beginning to fade
and she realised with a sickening jerk downward of her heart, that this was not going to end the
way she had hoped.

She watched in pure horror as Lucius Malfoy lowered the hood of his black robe and murdered Ron
with one lazy movement of his wand. She watched with a sick lurch of her stomach as the Hermione on
the ground turned to Harry and gave him one last unheard admonishment, and perhaps a goodbye,
before the other Death Eater killed her as well.

Finally, as it was only Harry left to deal with, the sky above her suddenly grew darker. She
realised that it had begun growing darker the moment Ron had died, but now, the change was all the
more noticeable. What was once the orange, pink and dusky purple of a new dawn had now turned to a
dark ashen grey, and some of the clouds that swept the sky had suddenly turned into a horrendous
tornado, stabbed frequently with huge bolts of red lightning. The vortex came whirling towards the
group on the ground, roaring louder and louder the closer it approached, and finally halted to
hover above Voldemort's head. Rather than being alarmed by this fact however, the dark lord
looked up into the eye of it as if greeting an old friend, and turned his attention back to Harry,
who lay on the ground with a look on his face that voiced his indifference now to the situation.
Hermione knew the moment he had seen Ron and her die that he had given up the will to fight. He had
no emotion left…none even for himself.

She watched, paralysed with shock, as Voldemort chose a killing curse for Harry; watched as
Harry twitched in the last throes of death, and as she began to slip gradually into
unconsciousness, watched, through half-blinded eyes as the dark lord opened his mouth abnormally
wide, jaw magically unhinged, and began to swallow the vortex whole.

Ruby red lightning now stabbed the rest of the sky, thunder roared like a giant beast, and the
dark grey clouds above began roiling and surging like a gigantic whirlpool, like the forming of a
massive black hole…like the earth mourning for the darkness fallen.

As she slipped away, Hermione's last thoughts were not for herself, for Ron, even for Harry,
but for what the wizarding, and muggle worlds had just lost with the death of them. The prophecy
had foretold that either Harry or Voldemort would die… '*FOR NONE CAN LIVE WHILE* *THE
OTHER SURVIVES…*' she'd just never dreamed that it would be Harry Potter.

Void. Emptiness. Darkness, whole and unbroken… drained of light. There would be none any longer.
Light had just died.

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

"*Hermione love, wake up!*" Harry frantically tapped on her cheek once, twice…and
still she cried as if her heart had just been ripped away. He couldn't get through to her.
"**RON**! **Go get Madame Pomf**…"

"*I'm on it*." Ron scrambled from his seat on the side of Hermione's bed
and flew down the hallway once again to get Madame Pomfrey, but this time she'd heard the
scream and was already sprinting down the hallway.

Ginny, perched on the side of Draco's bed beside Hermione's, was abruptly turned from
her conversation with him and her mouth gaped open as she watched Hermione sob hysterically, while
Harry tried to soothe her.

"What's wrong with her…" drawled Draco remotely as if asking about something as
mundane as the weather. He sat up with a short grunt and peered around Ginny.

Harry didn't answer and continued his ministrations with Hermione, but his jaw was locked
tight with anger. Hermione had just saved the *bastard's* life and he sounded about as
concerned as a curious bystander.

"Move aside," said Madame Pomfrey briskly as she dropped to her knees beside
Hermione's head.

Harry backed away beside Ron as Pomfrey took Hermione's face in her hands and with one hand,
gave her cheek a hard slap.

Harry surged forward angrily, only just held back by Ron. "*What in the **hell**
do* *you think you're*…"

Hermione opened her eyes and looked around wildly, finally, hesitantly bringing her hand up to
rest on her stinging cheek and blinking hard to get her bearings back. She stared up at Poppy with
a hurtful expression.

Ron grunted in surprise at the nurse's actions. "Modern medicine…"

Pomfrey gazed at Hermione apologetically. "You were hysterical Ms. Granger. I'm sorry I
struck you. Was it a nightmare?"

"A nightmare…" repeated Hermione, wiping away stray tears; quite the understatement.
However, she imagined had Pomfrey not slapped her to bring her awake, she might have continued in
the awful imagery for longer. "Yes. The worst kind."

Harry moved back to her side, sitting on the side of her bed and taking her face in his hands,
tenderly wiping away remaining tears with his thumbs. He helped her to sit up and she sat back
against the headboard, fighting off the dizzying spell that threatened to make her sick.

Pomfrey sighed. "I thought as much. Well…are you all right now? Do you need
anything?"

"I need to get out of this infirmary," said Hermione in an annoyed tone.
"I've spent way too much time in here lately and I've got too much work to make up for
to be **setting up residence** in here like this!"

"That's our Hermione," said Ron dryly.

"Yeah," said Harry with a relieved expression. "I think she'll be all right
now."

Pomfrey pursed her lips and shook her head, insisting on giving Hermione a thorough check up
before "being the judge of that", as she put it.

A few minutes later, she declared Hermione 'fit as a flying fyxofloggle' and gave her
permission to leave if she wished, but not before giving her one last admonishment.

"All right then Ms. Granger, you may go. I'm letting you leave because you've been
through a great deal tonight and I don't want to put you through anymore. However, I want you
to know I've never seen *anything* such as what you performed tonight. So I think soon as
you're up for it, we'll need to have a chat with Headmaster Dumbledore. I don’t know what
this means, but I tell you the truth…I've never before witnessed healing powers such as
you've shown. Never. We need to know what this means."

All eyes focused on Hermione and she nodded slowly, thinking to herself the exact same
thing.

"You will help her back then, won't you two?" asked Pomfrey to Harry and Ron. She
spared a glance at the infirmary clock on the wall and saw that the thermometer and syringe hands
were pointing at four a.m. and flashing with a resounding (*dawn in two and quarter
hours*).

"*Great Godric's Ghost*, look at the time," she exclaimed tiredly. "Well
if you all can keep yourselves out of trouble long enough, we might all spare a good few hours of
sleep. Do you think you five can scrub round calamity for that long?"

"I reckon we'll give it a go," smirked Ron.

Pomfrey scowled at him and planted her tired, purple-ringed eyes on Ginny. "You too, Ms.
Weasley. Time you were out for a proper sleep. Tomorrow *is* Sunday but I gather you need to
rest as well."

Ginny nodded and stood up. "Thank you Madame Pomfrey. I'll leave straight
away."

Pomfrey nodded back to her and then to all of them. "Well, goodnight then." She padded
back down the hallway and out of sight.

Ginny then turned coolly to Malfoy, who studied her just as coolly back. "Well…I may come
visit you tomorrow…time permitting and all. No promises though."

Malfoy sat up a little more, groaning a bit painfully but managing all the same to look
supremely unaffected. "None needed. Don't lump it just for me, Red. It might be brutally
hard, but I'll try to muck through without your company."

Ron scowled at their verbal bantering. He'd heard Malfoy's snide comments before, but
these seemed different somehow,…it seemed almost as if they were…*teasing*…each other. He
clenched and unclenched his fists reflexively. He'd be damned if he'd let Ginny start
something with the little maggot. *Over his rotting body*…

Harry helped Hermione to her feet with a look in his eyes that promised a great deal of
conversation to be had once they reached their rooms. She nodded to him and simultaneously took
hold of Ron's arm.

"**What**!?" He growled, turning sharply as he thought it was Harry. When he saw
the frown on Hermione's face, he softened. "Sorry there, 'Mione. I'm just a
little…on edge."

"Three guesses as to why," said Harry with a glance Ginny and Malfoy's way.

Ron opened his mouth to speak but Hermione cut him off. "Let it go, Ron. Ginny is sixteen
years old and perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Besides, do you really think she's
just going to bow to your will? You know her better than that."

"I just need to try harder to make her **understand**," said Ron hotly, glancing at
the two still talking behind them. "He's dangerous, mates."

"We don't know that," said Hermione softly.

Harry looked at her incredulously. "You're not serious Hermione. What about all of his
leanings toward Voldemort's views, huh? What about the fact that his father is a Death Eater?
You can't seriously think he's on our side, can you?"

"As much as I hate saying it Harry," said Hermione, linking her arm with his as they
moved toward the infirmary doors. "*Innocent until proven guilty*. And Professor
Dumbledore said that, didn't he?"

"Yes he did love," said Harry with a strict look in his eyes. "And here's
hoping it applies to Malfoy, because after seven years of knowing him, he's not looking too
spotless."

Hermione frowned but chose not to respond and turned around to beckon toward Ron. "Ron…come
with us, will you? I know it's really late but what Harry and I need to talk about concerns you
too."

Ron sighed, finally conceding that Ginny was purposefully ignoring his gaze of death and moved
to follow Harry and Hermione out of the infirmary, but a voice behind the three stopped them.

"Granger…"

Hermione stiffened. She had hoped to be able to sneak out without having to talk to Malfoy. She
couldn't imagine for the life of her what he'd have to say to her. None of what he'd
ever had to say to her was good. Most consisted of name-calling.

She felt Harry and Ron grow instantly rigid beside her but turned anyway.

"Look," she began quietly, not meeting his eyes. "It's really late. Can we
just skip all of the…"

"Thank you."

Out of all the things Hermione had envisioned Malfoy saying to her in that moment, 'thank
you' was definitely not one of them. She had expected some nasty remark; some inappropriate,
ugly comment about being touched by a 'mudblood' or some other such nonsense. She realised
that she had turned around and was moving her lips without a sound. Harry and Ron seemed to be
equally as thunderstruck. Neither said a word.

Malfoy looked either slightly embarrassed or somewhat uncomfortable, but he pressed on
irritatedly anyway. It was apparent by the look on Ginny's face that she hadn't expected
this turn of events either.

"I mean it. I don't know what you did, but…I a..apr…appreciate it. Thank you."

That such simple words could so thoroughly stun her…Hermione's eyes widened. She began to
think that maybe, just maybe, the three of them might somehow be able to get along with him after
all; if they could just all come to an understanding of each other. Maybe Ron might someday be able
to accept Ginny and Malfoy's relationship…whatever that was. However, Ron chose that moment to
do a dumb thing.

"She didn't do it for you, *ferret*. She did it for Ginny." He looked irately
from Ginny to Malfoy, whose hand was way to close to his sisters for his comfort.

At that moment, any semblance of civility went out the door as abruptly as it had snuck in.
Hermione looked down and placed a hand over her face, then looking up at Ron.

"Ron…I can't believe you just…"

"Don't believe anyone asked for your opinion, Weasel," said Draco, now with the
cool hard edge to his voice that the trio knew him by. "And on top of that, you can ruddy well
*kiss my arse* you trumped up *piece of shit*."

"Come round and bend over then. Let's see what happens…" said Ron dangerously,
balling up his fists.

Ginny reddened with fury and stood. "In case you've missed it Ron, he's got a
broken arm and leg…and I **swear to Merlin** I'll never speak to you again if you…"

"Ron, let's go." Harry took a firm hold of his arm and began pulling him out of
the infirmary.

"You stay away from my sister you son of a bloody Death Eater!" Ron yelled out
furiously as Harry yanked him out of the door and let it swing shut with a resounding bang.

*Son of a bloody Death Eater*…The sound of it rang through the room for a few moments
before Ginny turned toward Draco again.

"I'm really sorry, Draco. He had no right saying…"

"Maybe you **should** go then," said Malfoy in a glacial, dismissive voice that
he'd not quite used with Ginny before.

Ginny paused, mouth still open to form another word, and looked at Draco as if he'd just
formed a second head. "**What**?"

"Go on then," barked Draco with a hard, yet smooth edge to his voice. "Didn't
think I really needed you, did you? I don't need anyone. Though I do use them for a while if
the urge comes on. You didn't honestly think you and I could..be…**OH**. I guess you did
then," he finished cruelly.

Ginny looked simply floored and felt her eyes filling, her face flushing hot.

"Well," continued Malfoy with an air of complete nonchalance, "Life's full of
brutal lessons, isn't it? *SO*…Life lesson number one, Red: don't trust *anyone*.
There's not a person in this world who won't let you down."

Ginny stood for a long moment, peering searchingly into his face; eyes filled with unshed tears,
swallowing reflexively. Then, she did something Malfoy totally hadn't expected from her. She
calmed completely down.

When she spoke, her voice was icy and even. "All right then. I'll go if it's what
you want. I have to tell you though Draco…I'm highly disappointed."

With that she turned on her heels and began to march composedly toward the door, yanking up her
discarded Quidditch wrist and kneepads in her wake.

Draco became even more infuriated and sat straight up in his bed, ignoring the pain in his arm
and leg from the shift. "What the *hell* is that supposed to mean?"

Ginny whirled around. "Now you want me to stay? Which is it? I don't have time for
games."

He ignored her question. "Just what the *bloody hell* do you mean by 'highly
disappointed'!?"

Ginny smirked, completely in control of her emotions. It felt good. "Exactly that. I just
thought you were your own person, that's all."

Draco thinned his lips. "**Again** I ask, what the **bloody hell** is that supposed
to mean!?"

Finally, Ginny got mad. She tossed down the Quidditch gear and strode over to his bed, pointing
a shaking finger in his face and effectively stunning him into silence. "If I had my wand with
me I'd put a bat bogey hex on you that would make the one I gave you two years ago look like
frickin **CHILD'S** **PLAY**," she hissed furiously. She felt her blood boiling, but
visibly tried to calm herself. She finished her sentence with a cool sort of detachment of which
Malfoy had only thought himself capable.

"I'm surprised at you. Here I thought you were always so in control, so self assured,
so confident in yourself and who you are…but one word from my brother makes you doubt yourself so
much you'll push away the only **real** friend you've ever had."

"Don't act as if you really know me, Red," snarled Draco angrily with narrowed
eyes. "No one does!"

"***WHOSE* *FAULT IS THAT***!?" roared Ginny furiously, close to his
face. "If there's anything I DO know, it's this…you can be *whoever* you
*want* to be! You can turn into *whatever* type of person you choose! You don't have
to follow your father! You don't have to act a **bastard** because it's expected of you!
You don't have to be a **damn** **PRICK** just because my brother and his friends think
you are! And you don't have to **push me away** because your scared I'll agree with
them…because like you…**I** have a mind of my own! And right now, my mind is telling me to
**get** **the hell** **out of this** **room**!"

With every word, Draco felt his icy interior thawing. She *believed* in him. She actually
believed there was more to him than what met the eye; that he might in fact have the decency in him
to turn out differently. And along with the awesome feeling of letting his guard begin to slip for
once, he found a furious, fiery, completely in control Ginny to be a massive turn-on. He would
finally admit to himself much later that the combining of those two emotions would prove to be the
downfall of the usual Draco Malfoy.

With a look that told him that she'd had enough of him and that he could most certainly go
to hell, Ginny turned to leave, but Malfoy caught her hand and pulled her down to the bed beside
him.

"**What the bloody hell do you think you're**…"

However, Ginny's words were muffled and ultimately cut off by the hand that suddenly gripped
behind her head and yanked her into a hard, aroused, heated, and most desperately passionate kiss.
A kiss so full of desire, so full of a hot powerful, drumming need; craving, pent up emotion that
had just begun to spill out, that it left her breathless and trembling; weak because of it. For a
moment, she was stunned breathless; then all of her anger surged upward and she replaced it with an
appetite for him that was just as intense.

*How dare you..push me away,* she thought. She returned the bruising pressure; wrapping one
arm around his good side…mouths pressing together hungrily, yearning, succumbing to the downward
rhythms his mouth was pushing her with towards the bed.

Draco increased the urgency, sliding his tongue into her mouth, filling her, tasting her,
needing her…YES. **Needing** her… *Don't think you know me*…

*Don't think you can control me. N..no one c..controls me*… Ginny felt a fluttering
heat just under her ribcage, one that travelled deliciously downward…

Draco laid her back and rolled halfway on top of her, keeping the pressure firm but moving
slowly owing to the pain in his newly mended arm and leg… *I can... make up my own damn
mind...* He felt his precious self-control, the one thing he truly owned in and of himself
beginning to slip away. He began to mould his body to hers… pressing, rhythmic, demanding, firmness
meeting curves…

His blonde hair, normally smoothed back, had now begun falling wildly over his forehead. The
natural freedom of it, at least to Ginny, somehow served to mimic something inward. A side he kept
hidden from the rest of the world…the side that was passionate; the side that *felt*.

She'd been kissed before, but never, never like this. She'd never known anything like
him; so smooth, so sensual, so blindly knowledgeable, demanding, intensely bent on ownership. His
body moved over hers so slowly, so deliberately slowly… *N..no one tells me wh..what to do... I
can make up my own damn mi...my...**mygod**...*

Draco felt himself hardening, felt Ginny beneath him whimpering into his mouth her loss of
control, and felt his own fears releasing… *I can make up my* *own damn
mind*…**she's right**.

His lips finally lifted from hers, faces close, breathless, flushed, overwhelmed with a long
denied want and pent up frustration. He felt himself throbbing with need and knew by the movements
she made underneath him, with eyes half-lidded and glazed with passion that she was too. This
meant, if he truly cared about her, and he did (damn her), that he would need to stop this right
now. *But gods, it felt too good to just let go*…

Ginny pushed him upward with a reserve of control she wasn't sure she had and wriggled out
from underneath him, causing a groan from him that could only be described as primal. She smiled
shakily and sat up, pausing for a moment to control her laboured breathing before speaking.

"There now. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Her tone belied the fact that she felt
totally powerless now where he was concerned, but it didn't hurt to have him think
otherwise.

The smouldering look Draco gave her was enough to make Ginny squirm. He licked his lips.
"Damn you, Red."

Ginny smirked. "I think you just lost control."

"I could say the same," countered Malfoy, crossing his unsplinted arm over the other,
covering his bare chest. "And Malfoy's *don't lose control*. We just put it aside
when the mood suits us…and it definitely suited me."

Ginny stood and began smoothing down her long hair. "Whatever you need to tell
yourself."

She began to walk toward the door, swinging her hips more than needed, until a final soft word
from Malfoy stopped her.

"Ginny…"

That low, sensual tone…smooth as silk. The word travelled across the room and moved over her
like a caress. She could almost feel his eyes raking her…those grey, smoky, seductive eyes… She
shuddered and closed her own for a moment before turning around.

"Yes?"

Malfoy smiled then, a slow lecherous upcurving of his lips and a downward cock of his head that
made her tremble. "Come visit me tomorrow."

After reminding herself to take a breath, she smiled back at him. "I think that's the
first time you've ever called me Ginny."

"It's your name, isn't it?"

She decided to return the seductive look. "Call me Red."

With that, Ginny left the room feeling light and airy, buzzing full of something she
couldn't define, and leaving Malfoy slumped in his bed feeling the exact same things.

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

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat themselves in front of the warm fire glowing orange and yellow in
the head boy and girl's common room. Harry had fetched a quilt for Hermione and had wrapped it
snugly around her before joining her on the couch, with Ron on her other side. The quiet in the
room after the day's crazy events was certainly welcome, and Hermione sat for a few moments
with her favourite boys content to just soak up the silence. She and Harry didn't mind letting
Ron share in their little hideaway every now and then, though with his relationship with Lavender
blossoming the way it seemed to be, he rarely interrupted them anyway. The three had almost settled
into a routine. Trio time was done after school…a couple of hours of fun and relaxation followed by
a few hours of studying. Then Harry and Hermione would retreat by themselves, leaving Ron to spend
the rest of the evening with Lavender. Sometimes though, it was nice to just have the three of them
together in Harry and Hermione's private common room; to pretend they were all eleven again and
naïve to the world's problems. Ron was always welcome. However, with what they had to discuss
tonight, childishness, peace, and quiet would have to wait.

Harry was the first to break the silence. "So…do you want to tell us what that was back
there?"

Hermione looked rueful and drew the quilt tightly about her, sidling closer to Harry's side.
"Which part? There were so many."

"The part where your glowing hand was stuck to Malfoy's chest," said Ron, slumped
on the couch and keeping his eyes planted on the dancing flames before him. "The part where he
was suddenly all right when only seconds before he was ready to kick it… and let's not forget
the part where you fell out afterward…"

"I get your point," said Hermione drolly.

Harry sighed and put his arm around her, drawing her closer to him. "Do you know what
happened, love?"

"No, I really don't," said Hermione a little shakily. "One moment I was
completely overwhelmed what with Ginny hysterical and begging me to help…I put my hand on
Malfoy's chest to see if I could feel him breathing. I remember thinking things to myself…just
begging him not to die, willing the bleeding to stop; willing him to take a breath, and then…my
hand was joined to his chest. I felt this…this *warmth* spread over me; this energy that
I've never experienced before. I remember feeling it flow from me into him, and when I could
finally lift my hand… I was so weak I could barely move."

"…And the little rotter was all right again," said Ron bitterly.

"Don't sound so overjoyed," said Hermione a little coldly. "However we may
think on him Ron, he's still a person. He doesn't deserve to die."

Ron shook his head in frustration. "I don't want him to *die* for Merlin's
sake. I just want him to naff off Ginny."

"Once again Ron," said Harry, shifting a bit in his seat, "Ginny is sixteen. She
can make up her own mind. Odds are she will… In any case, we've more important things to think
on now."

"More important that **my sister** *arsing about* with Lucius Malfoy's
son!?" asked Ron a little hotly, sitting up and peering around Hermione at Harry.

"Yeah Ron, for the moment," said Harry with hard sarcasm in his voice.

Hermione spoke up to intercede before the two began arguing. "I've something else to
tell you two. About the dream I had."

"The nightmare?" said Ron.

Hermione nodded and tore her eyes away from the fire to look from Ron to Harry. "It was the
worst I've ever had. The worst I hope to *ever* have."

" 'Mione," said Harry gently, "I've had nightmares. That's all they
are; just nightmares."

"This was *different*," said Hermione with conviction in her voice. "There
was something almost…*futuristic* about it; like a warning."

Ron smirked at her. "Thinking of nicking Trelawny's position? Hermione Granger…**Seer
extraordinaire**."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Ronald Weasley…Potions expert. Professor Snape's
**right hand man**."

Ron frowned at her. "Hermione…that was below the belt."

She rolled her eyes and ignored the comment. "When I blacked out, I felt as if I fell
instantly into the dream. It was as if no time passed where I just *slept*. I *closed* my
eyes in the infirmary…and I *opened* them in the Kavan Forest; back in the dark little
clearing where Voldemort held me captive year last. His cabin looked as if it had been rebuilt and
destroyed again. Voldemort was there, and Harry…he had his body back."

Hermione suddenly noticed that both Harry and Ron had stiffened, and Harry in particular stared
intensely at her as if his very life now hung on her words. She had expected them to take her dream
seriously, but the fervour with which they were listening began to make her uneasy.

"What is it…?" she asked warily.

"Keep on," said Harry. Ron merely nodded at her.

She glanced suspiciously at them and continued. "We were all three there. It was as if I
was watching from the outside looking on. I couldn't move, speak, or do anything to change what
was happening. We were immobilised; laid out in a strange sort of pattern I can't remember.
Voldemort was talking to Death Eaters and Dementors…telling them they would be rewarded as
promised. Then…" Hermione felt her throat tighten and closed her eyes to ward off the tears
that threatened to spill out again. The thought of the horrendous things she had witnessed,
although it had only been a nightmare, was enough to make her begin to tremble. Ron took her hand,
and Harry squeezed her tighter to him.

"Then," she managed to choke out, "Voldemort decided it was time for us to die.
Lucius Malfoy killed you, Ron…another did me. The sky had begun to change, to grow darker and more
threatening the moment the first of us died. Voldemort decided he wanted the honour of killing you
himself." She glanced up at Harry. An ominous frown was stamped on his face and he sat deathly
still, his eyes planted on the fire in the hearth, but staring through the flames.

"Right before you died," she continued a bit tremulously, "it was darkest of all.
A horrible tornado swirled across the sky and came to rest right above Voldemort. When…wh..when
he…killed you…after you died…he swallowed it whole. I just remember the look on his face. He opened
his mouth *so wide*." Hermione shuddered violently. "It was the maddest look
I've ever seen."

Harry looked deeply troubled now, and Ron, Ron looked as if he was about to pass out himself.
Hermione looked from one to the other and a fear began to spread throughout her body as if her
blood were rushing it to every part at once.

"What is it!?" She finally cried out. "What has you two so jarred!? Harry, you
said yourself it was only a nightmare…"

"I've *had* that dream Hermione," said Ron quietly. "The very
same."

Harry jerked round to look at him.

"**What**!?" Hermione felt as if a swarm of bees had just been set loose inside her
body. "No Ron. That can't be. Maybe it was just similar to…"

"No," said Ron firmly, "it was that exact dream. I remember watching us lay
there. I couldn't move…I couldn't speak. I remember giving our good-byes. Harry said I was
just like his brother. He said he wished he had more time with you. He told you he loved
you."

Hermione sucked in a breath that sounded more like a sob, her eyes wide and unbelieving.
"**Yes**!"

Ron lowered his eyebrows, his face a mixture of fear and confusion. "I don't know what
this means…"

"Harry?" Hermione turned to Harry, who hadn't yet spoken.

He turned troubled eyes to stare deeply into hers, and then at Ron. "I don't know what
it means either…because I had it *first*. The same bloody dream this summer at the
Dursley's."

For a moment, Hermione felt as if she were floating back in a fantasy world again, as if she
might wake up the next moment and everything would turn normal once more. Nevertheless, she knew by
the looks on Harry and Ron's faces that what they were discussing was all too real.

Suddenly Ron looked up to Harry as if he'd just had an epiphany. "Harry! Do you
remember that day in Divination? When Trelawny turned rigid and started spouting bosh on how the
dark one was coming? Something about…' the forces of light will scarce stand against it…the
triangle must come together…' "

"Yes," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I remember what you told me…' she also
said the circle must be made whole…he must learn what he was born to perform…he must train…'
I…I think the pattern we were laid in the dream now I think on it…it **was** a
**triangle**!"

Harry nodded then and spoke up. " 'Only the covenant of the triangle will stop them;
only the *joining* of the circle will make him strong enough.' I still don't get the
circle…She said some Latin phrases too, though I don't remember them."

Hermione sighed loudly. "*Honestly* Harry. This could be one of the most important
prophecies we've heard and you don't think to write everything down once you've heard
it? *For the love of Godric*…" She got up a little huffily and strode into her room.

Harry looked exasperated at Ron and shrugged. "**What**? How should I know when the old
bag's had an actual '*premonition*'!? Most of them are rot anyway."

"Don't ask me mate," said Ron a little chagrined. "I never wrote any of it
down."

Hermione exited her room soon after with a small rolled up piece of parchment, a quill, and an
ink bottle, and made her way over to she and Harry's small library in the back of the common
room, plucking three thick, dusty volumes from off of the shelves.

"I wrote down the whole of the prophecy in case we needed to think on it again," said
Hermione officiously, walking round the couch and plopping down beside them. She dropped the books
on the couch and unrolled the parchment, glancing over it reproachfully at Harry and Ron.
"Let's see…" She mumbled the words she read under her breath until she found what she
was looking for. "Here it is! *Sodalis tria*…*Evalesco* *Leo*… She repeats it a
few times…"

"Well that's all gash to me," said Ron, flopping back against the couch again.
"What's it mean then?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, looking frustrated with them again. "**Mingin'**
**Merlin**…are you two **ever** going to study up your Latin? Don't you ever think on the
definition of the words we use in our spells?"

"Not often," said Harry flippantly. "I just worry they get the job
done."

"Right on," said Ron lazily.

Hermione huffed with displeasure but smiled anyway. "Well fortunately for you two, **I
do**." She held up three copies of *Demonstrative Latin Lingo*, Volumes *D-F,
J-L,* and *S-U*, and instantly brightened.

"Isn't it wonderful!?" she beamed happily. "I've been scanning our little
library here in my spare time, and see what they've given us!? An entire set of Latin
dictionaries! Harry, I'll wager you need quite a bit of dusting up with your Latin. We can
study on it later, starting with Volume one, *A-C*. I'll quiz you!"

Harry looked at her shining face and smiled weakly. "Can't wait."

Ron snuck Harry a look of pity while Hermione scanned the volume excitedly. Finally, she came up
for air.

"Here's the first word," she said a little breathlessly. "*Sodalis*. It
means…society or fellowship."

Harry peered over her shoulder but she snapped the book closed and quickly charmed her quill to
begin writing. The quill jumped upright, dipped itself into the inkbottle and wrote the word
'*society*' on the parchment in Hermione's tidy scrawl.

"Now then," said Hermione business-like as she picked up the second volume, "Next
word."

She flipped through *S-U* until she found what she was looking for.
"*Tria*…three. Should've known that one." The quill scratched down the word. The
next two words were equally as simple to find. *Evalesco* ended up meaning 'power',
and *Leo*, obviously, 'lion'.

When it was finished, the quill threw itself down flat on the table and Hermione snatched up the
parchment.

"*Sodalis tria*…The 'fellowship of three', I suppose. And *Evalesco Leo*…
'power of the lion'."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Well…that says it all
then doesn't it? It's obvious we're the fellowship of three, you Ron and I; you two are
closest to me. And 'the power of the lion'…we're all in Gryffindor."

"I wonder," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Are we to make some sort of covenant
with each other, then? Some sort of magical pact? According to what Trelawny said…"

However, Ron, now musing thoughtfully with his chin in his hand, spoke up with a quiet voice
full of a wisdom he felt he couldn't define. "I think we've done it already."

Harry frowned at him. "Huh? What're you on about? Some magical coming together? I
don't think so…"

"I don't think it's meant to be magical Harry," said Ron giving the two of
them a piercing look. "Do you remember when the three of us became *real* friends? Not
just you and I Harry, but all *three* of us."

Harry took a moment to think back. The three of them had been so close for so long that it
seemed he had a lifetime's worth of memories to sort through. However, the answer came to him
quickly.

"Our first year…that day with the troll. You remember love?" Harry smirked and turned
to Hermione who sat looking at the two of them with a wistful smile on her face.

"Well…Very well." she said quietly. "When I lied to Professor McGonnagol…I'd
never thought I would lie to a teacher. I'd never thought I would ever *break a rule*! But
you two were worth it…worth any trouble I might have got into. I think we all knew right then
we'd do anything for each other."

"Still do," smiled Ron. "And that day…**that** was the day we made the
covenant. It may have been without words, but it was a pact all the same. I think we all knew it on
some level. Maybe it just took us this long to understand it. Maybe that's what the prophecy is
about…just *realising* it."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ron knew he had hit on it. Something amazing began to
happen; something static and energised… The warm air in the room suddenly hummed thick with power.
Needle thin strands of light; blue and purple and green came from nowhere and buzzed above their
heads, making the hair on their heads stand; lighting the room with a swirling kaleidoscope of
colour…an electrical storm so tangible that they felt they could reach out and touch the discharge
on their fingertips. Power blew around them like a warm breeze, leaving a metallic taste on their
tongues and covering their skin in gooseflesh.

Hermione hugged herself, feeling as if the sudden eerie display should have frightened her,
frightened them all, and yet, she felt calm, peaceful somehow. It was as if she'd always known
there was something more; something just out of reach. Perhaps it had just not yet been the
time…

The electricity stopped its movement and began dying away, each strand converging together to
form a bright golden colour and finally cracking out of existence. The room was instantly shadowed
and warmed only by the fire once again.

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat staring at each other for some time; eyes wide with surprise but
calm, hearts beating fast, but with the strange knowledge that what had just happened wasn't as
foreign to them as they would have thought. Nothing about themselves had changed, just the
knowledge that their friendship, their supposed chance meeting and consequential friendship,
wasn't as random as they had thought. In fact, it had never been haphazard at all…

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

As it happened, neither Harry nor Hermione got much sleep, having only just dropped exhausted
onto Harry's bed by six o'clock the next morning. Dawn seemed to rise extra early, but
Harry had set his drapes to stay closed until he opened them himself, so he ended up waking on his
own with Hermione still nestled closely into him sleeping soundly at around ten Sunday morning.

Oddly enough, his first thoughts when waking earlier than he had intended was that he wanted to
talk to his father. Talking with Sirius was damned near impossible as Dumbledore had warned him to
use the floo only when absolutely necessary to keep his fugitive godfather safe. In addition,
although he knew he could share anything with Sirius, somehow Harry wanted to share what had
happened last night with his father. Somehow, for some reason, he had woken earlier than he had
intended with the immediate feeling that he was now ready to have a real heart-to-heart with
James.

He felt, without understanding why, that the current state of his life was drawing to a close,
to some sort of ending. He hoped that meant that a new beginning was waiting in the wings, though
he wasn't so naïve as to think that he was invincible. The truth was that when he finally did
meet Voldemort again, if he really was as powerful now as the shared dream had lead them to
believe, he might not make it out alive. He wanted all loose ends tied up if that was to be the
case. He wanted the chance to clear everything up with his father …and to know as much about he and
his mother as he possibly could.

Harry eased himself onto his elbow carefully so as not to disturb Hermione and gazed tenderly
down at her sleeping form. *Gods*, what he would give to be able to promise her that
everything was going to turn out all right. To promise that they would all make it through the last
battle with Voldemort unscathed; that they would be able to grow old together, he with her, and Ron
with whomever he chose.

He wanted to be able to tell her that he could see them all together some ten years from now,
sitting on the front porch of one of their houses, laughing with each other and watching their
children romping playfully together in the grass.

Not for the first time, Harry smiled ruefully at the fact that if he were a normal boy of
seventeen, the thought of marriage and a yard full of children would be the last thing on his mind.
However, Harry was far from a normal boy of seventeen. He had already lived through a
lifetime's worth of sorrow and had had to endure far more than his share of worry. He knew
he'd had to grow up a lot sooner than most others do. He didn't however feel sorry for
himself; it was just fact. Such was the life of the boy-who-lived. He looked down at Hermione's
curled up form once more and gently smoothed her hair down. He'd often thought to himself that
a more appropriate title would have been the boy-who-survived. After all, he hadn't really had
the chance to *live* yet, had he? Surely, there was more to life than mere survival.

Harry sighed and put away his thoughts, carefully extracting his arm from under Hermione's
waist and easing slowly out of the bed. After pulling on a black jumper and a worn pair of jeans
and trainers, he pulled the golden quilt up to Hermione's shoulders, planted a soft kiss on her
cheek and headed out of his portrait door.

After failing to find his father in his classroom, the great hall, the teacher's lounge, or
his quarters, Harry had a good idea of where he might search next.

To his surprise, the halls leading outside were almost empty, but once he opened the great doors
to the school and blinked his way into the bright chilly autumn morning, he understood why.
Hogwarts grounds were littered with students; some lying together on blankets, studying and
reading, others playing Hell or Hex, (Dean had obviously got the raw end of the deal as he was
currently being forced to plant a kiss on a raging, struggling grindylow. Seamus and Neville were
nearby howling with laughter).

Some headed towards the Quidditch pitch, brooms in hand, and others simply lounged peacefully
near the lake where the giant squid was out in full force, waving to the students from afar as it
was too cold for anyone to swim. It was a beautiful day to be outdoors, but as Harry crunched his
way across the multicoloured grounds littered with fallen leaves towards Hagrid's hut where, a
plume of smoke was rising lazily from the chimney, it was almost impossible for him to appreciate
it. He marvelled as he passed fellow students smiling and laughing together, playing or preparing
for tests, that there were still people in the world who worried about things as mundane as
schoolwork or the next Quidditch match, or anything of such small importance for that matter.
Voldemort was back with a vengeance, strange things were happening with he and his friends, he had,
at best, a floundering relationship with his father whom he had thought dead for the last sixteen
years, and had only the world's nastiest relatives to fall back on in the way of family.

Nevertheless, Harry stopped then and mentally raged at himself. He had Sirius, Ron, who was like
a brother to him, not to mention the entire Weasley household, and Hermione…beautiful, amazing
Hermione. Hermione who truly loved the real him and not just his image; Hermione who held him
grounded; Hermione who had always believed in him to a fault; Hermione who kept his faith;
Hermione, who was to him like water to a man trapped in the driest desert. Harry smiled to himself.
He had nothing to regret. He was the richest man alive.

The door to Hagrid's hut was open, probably to let in fresh air. As Harry approached, sure
enough, there sat Lupin, sharing a pot of tea with Hagrid, and looking strangely dwarfed by the
giant's huge table and chairs. Harry smiled again as he heard Hagrid's roaring laughter
resounding off the walls of his large hut, and at Lupin, grasping a huge teacup and grinning
madly.

"Well, 'Arry!" boomed Hagrid, catching sight of Harry as he approached with hands
crammed in the pockets of his jeans. " I was wunnerin' when you'd come ter visit me
agin! Yer father n' me were jes' swappin' stories 'bout our days back at school,
there. Sounds ter me like we was roun' a 'bout one an' th' same as far as trouble
makin' went!"

Harry smiled. "I can only imagine." He entered the hut, noting the look of pleasant
surprise Lupin gave him as he approached.

"I'll wager you can do more'n imagine, there." Said Hagrid, giving him a keen
glance over his teacup. "You an' yours 'ave 'ad your share then, 'aven't
ya?"

Harry grinned passively back at him. "Well, I reckon it's more like trouble finds us
than the other way round."

"That's how Sirius and I always saw it." said Lupin. "Hello son."

"Professor," Harry nodded back.

Hagrid caught that Harry had not called Lupin 'dad' and frowned very slightly. However,
all Harry noticed was that Hagrid had called Lupin his 'father' and that Lupin had called
him son in front of the giant.

"I guess you've been updated then," said Harry to Hagrid as he leaned tiredly
against the doorjamb.

Hagrid faltered for a moment. It wouldn't do Harry or his dad's relationship any good
for Harry to know how Hagrid had raged at James for the better part of an hour when he'd found
who he really was, about how his son had grown up without him. James had taken it though as if
he'd deserved every condemning word, and had thanked Hagrid for loving Harry as much as he did.
He'd explained his actions to the giant as well as he could, and Hagrid, after understanding
him a bit more, had decided to try to get to know the elder Potter. They'd been spending bits
of time together ever since.

Hagrid couldn't find proper words to answer Harry with. He spoke quietly. "I
'ave."

"I felt it would be easier that way," said Lupin straightforwardly. "I've
only told the other professors though. I hope you're alright on that, Harry."

"Might as well," said Harry more easily than he felt. "It would have got out
sooner or later. Dumbledore and McGonnagol already knew…how did the rest take it?"

Lupin sighed. "Well, they were surprised to say the least. Snape was in a right state. He
hated me enough as Remus Lupin, but at least Remus was a bit sympathetic to him in school. I on the
other hand…Well, suffice it to say I had a bit of an ego problem back then."

Harry paused and thought it best not to reveal to his father that he'd seen some of his
behaviour in Snape's pensieve his fifth year. Besides, all else could wait for the moment.

"Sit an' 'ave a cuppa with us, then," said Hagrid beginning to get up to
refill his huge kettle.

Harry held up a hand. "Could I come back later for it, Hagrid? I was hoping to have a talk
with the professor if you don't mind."

Lupin turned to look at Harry once again, clear surprise etched in his features, but he was
quick to take Harry up on the offer. Hagrid had begun to smile. It was obvious he thought some sort
of breakthrough was on hand.

"Of course," said Lupin. He stood up and pushed his chair back under the table.
"Hagrid, thank you for the tea. We'll chat again sometime soon."

They said their good-byes to the giant and Lupin followed Harry out into the crisp late morning.
After they'd got a bit farther from the hut, Lupin spoke up.

"Where would you like to go?"

"I thought we could stroll round the lake if it suits you," said Harry.

"Fine," said Lupin. He'd felt this time would come eventually. He wasn't so
naïve as to think that the entire conversation was going to go as pleasantly as it had so far.
After all, Harry surely had a lot of bitterness and anger, and many unanswered questions. But it
would be communication nonetheless, and a start to something more. Openness and honesty usually
broke down the barriers, no matter how painful the truth turned out to be.

The late morning sun shone on the top of the massive lake like a web of diamonds, but it was
still not enough to warm the autumn chill in the air. The giant squid had disappeared back into the
dark depths of the water which was still surrounded by clumps of students here and there, most
noticeably a large gaggle of first years playing "Where's the Wizard?", a game Harry
noticed was strikingly similar to the Muggle version of "Hide and Seek".

They had to walk for quite a while to find an area not yet populated, and Harry and his father
stayed in relative silence until they were finally able to come upon a suitable area with no one
else around. Harry slowed to a halt, nervously running his fingers through his hair at the same
time as Lupin did; though neither was paying enough attention to notice.

Harry began inarticulately, giving away just how nervous he really was. "Er…I…we
haven't really had the chance to talk as of yet…Been quite busy you know, what with Head Boy
duties and N.E.W.T.s coming up; not to mention all the goings on with Voldemort." Harry
paused, with his hands still crammed around his robes in the pockets of his jeans. He shifted from
one foot to the other and finally raised his eyes to squint at his father through the rays of the
bright sun. "But there's other more important things I wanted to talk with you about
first."

Lupin peered at him. *More important*? He had thought he'd been keeping quite a close
eye on Harry and his companions as of late. How was it that he had missed something?

"Go on."

Harry nodded. "I'm sure you heard about what happened with Malfoy…"

" 'Course I did Harry, I was there," said Lupin, "Every teacher
was."

"Not after," finished Harry abruptly. "Something happened in the infirmary;
something with Hermione. I…I wondered if you might have any thoughts on it."

Lupin frowned in concern. "Is she all right, then?"

"She's fine now," said Harry, "though when we were all in the infirmary I
wasn't so sure."

"Hang on," said Lupin with confusion. "I thought it was Malfoy who'd had the
injury…"

"It was…and he would've straight died if it hadn't been for Hermione. That's
what I wanted to talk to you about; among other things."

Lupin gestured for him to continue, and Harry related the whole of the story to him, making sure
to give him every detail of the healing Hermione had performed. After finishing with it, he went on
to tell him of the strange lighting that had gone on in his and Hermione's common room when
they, along with Ron had gone back over the 'prophesy' Trelawny had spoken. When he was
done, Lupin stood staring at him for some time before speaking.

"Well…Hermione *is* a special witch then, isn't she?" he began slowly,
choosing to take one subject at a time. "That is quite an uncommon gift Harry. I have to say
I've never heard of a healer able to heal with just a simple touch. Most, even the best ones
have to use their wands."

Harry nodded. "She almost seemed as if she was willing Malfoy to heal. She was in some sort
of trance and a purplish light glowed from her hand and travelled all through his body. When he
woke up, the only injuries he had left were the broken bones."

Lupin thought hard on this for a moment and then spoke again. "Do you remember what she was
saying?"

"A lot of things," said Harry, shifting his weight once again. "She kept telling
him to breathe, telling the bleeding to stop, telling it to disappear…"

"Did she ever once mention the broken bones?" asked Lupin.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Breathing seemed to be the foremost thing on the agenda at the
time."

Lupin replied drolly, matching Harry's sarcasm. "I'm sure. What I'm getting at
is, only the things she thought on healed. Only the ones she was **willing** so hard to cure,
actually cured. You understand?"

"You're saying she actually *did* **will** him better?" asked Harry
incredulously. "That Hermione has some sort of extraordinary healing power?"

"I'm saying it certainly wasn't some random event, Harry," said Lupin.
"Think about it. She willed the bleeding to stop; willed the lungs to heal; willed him to
breathe, and all of it happened. Of course she didn't mention the bones because she was
thinking so intently on what was most pressing at the time. And they weren't healed, were
they?"

He paused to let his words sink in. "I think it's safe to assume Hermione has a very
special gift, Harry."

Harry thought for a few moments before speaking. "Maybe you're right."

Lupin spoke up again. "What colour did you say the light was coming from her
hand?"

Harry lowered his eyebrows. "Purple. But what does that have to do with…"

"And I'm sure you've seen her perform magic countless times with her wand,
haven't you?"

" 'Course I have."

"And you recall the colours that came from it?"

Harry paused and his eyes widened. "*Purple*. It's always been purple."

Lupin nodded. "As wizards, our magic comes from inside of us and through our wands, not the
other way round, Harry. Our wands enable us to perform *focused* magic. After all, what good
is unfocused magic? Not very useful. Most wizards and witches *need* their wands.

However, every now and then, though very rarely, there are those born with power enough to focus
their magic without the need of a wand, as you are proving to be. As for Hermione, you mentioned
even Pomfrey *with* her wand, couldn't heal the damage done to Draco's lungs. I reckon
only time will tell whether Hermione is able to use unfocused magic for everything, or just
healing. After all, some witches and wizards are just more adept at certain things. This may be the
case with her."

Harry was taken aback, and then realised something important. "You know, Ron seems to be
growing more powerful as well, at least where defensive spells are concerned."

"I've noticed," replied Lupin thoughtfully. "And his wands colour…"

"Green," said Harry at once. But then the truth of it struck him like a lightning
bolt. His voice wavered with shock. "Mine has always been blue except for the first time I got
my wand from Mr. Ollivander. Then it shot out red and gold…"

"Perhaps it could simply recognise the heir of Gryffindor, strange as that seems,"
said Lupin. "If I recall correctly, my wand did the same thing when I first got it, and only
that one time. After that it's always been blue."

"Blue, purple and green," said Harry loudly, his heart beating wildly. "Those
were the same colours that flew around the common room last night. When they came together they
formed gold and then disappeared. Merlin's beard…there was a reason for it. What it was,
I'm not sure, but I've a feeling we'll be finding out."

Lupin, full of the same kind of excitement on hearing Harry's words, nodded. "I imagine
you will." He paused for a moment to choose his next words carefully and swallowed hard,
knowing they were to be painful.

"Harry, your mother and I always knew you were special. However, it was only the night…the
night your mother and Remus died that I finally realised just how much; and it wasn't just
because you'd survived.

That night, Dumbledore told me of the prediction Trelawny had made. He told me that…that either
you or he would eventually die. '*For none shall live while the other survives*'…
Harry, I'd just lost your mother. And while I didn't think in that moment that it was
possible to want to die even more, I knew then that I had to give you up. We'd already known
that Voldemort would be after you simply because of the Gryffindor-Slytherin bloodlines. But now,
there was even more reason for him to want to kill you. The only way to keep you safe was to give
up my rights to you…to hide you for as long as possible."

Harry felt himself tensing; felt the familiar resentment and anger building inside. He
hadn't been sure until that moment that he'd wanted to bring this particular subject up
today, but his father had just taken the matter into his own hands.

"I guess you found that easy enough, didn't you?" The voice that came out was
cold, distant, and utterly unfamiliar to Harry's own ears.

Lupin's gaze shot up at once, a look of pure disbelief on his face. "Harry…giving you
up nearly *killed* me. You can't imagine what life has been like without you…without my
son…"

"*And **you** can't imagine what **my life** has been like*!" yelled
Harry at once. All the anger, all of the bitterness and abuse and misuse of his entire life seemed
to be simmering dangerously just below the surface. It had risen up in him so fast that Harry's
own reaction almost startled him. He began to pace furiously.

"I reckon it was easier for you to just hand me over…to be able to rid yourself of whatever
reminded you of **her**, was that it!? Or was it the fact that you had a baby to raise on your
own now? Was I just more than you wanted to take on at that point!?"

"No Harry! **Never**! I…"

"Or, maybe you haven't *thought* on the fact that had it not been for your actions
that night, neither she nor Remus Lupin might be dead today? Has it occurred to you,
**dad**," spat out Harry sarcastically, "to wonder how your decision to leave me with
the Dursley's for the past sixteen years has gone over? **Do you know what** **MY**
**life has been** **like without** **YOU**?"

James swallowed, doing his best to take his son's anger toward him in stride. He was wholly
entitled to it, and yet, Voldemort had stolen both of their lives that night, not just Harry's.
"I know you haven't had it easy with them, Harry. Please believe me when I say that
Dumbledore and I thought we were doing what was best for you, and **only** you, at the time. I
didn't know Vernon and Petunia would treat you so badly…"

"And the way they've always felt about magic gave you absolutely **no** indicator,
was that it!?" Harry yelled venomously.

"Harry, Petunia is a squib," said Lupin. He missed seeing Harry's eyebrows
disappear into his hairline at the revelation as he continued. "I never knew Vernon that well,
but back when I knew Petunia, she seemed to love Lily very much. I knew she always resented her
somewhat for her skills, but I never imagined in a million years that coming from the same family,
one who owned the same skills, that she would treat you badly, or allow Vernon to do so…"

"AUNT PETUNIA!?" exclaimed Harry. "A SQUIB!?" It would certainly explain
quite a bit of the resentment she seemed to hold toward his mother. He'd always thought that if
Petunia really thought of magic as '*unnatural and freakish*' as both she and Vernon
put it, that there would be no reason for the look of utter jealously and bitterness on her face
when she mentioned Lily. It probably didn't help his own case much either when Petunia saw how
much magic Harry possessed. He could only imagine that Uncle Vernon knew nothing about
Petunia's being a squib else he probably would've never married her. She'd probably
allowed him to poison her mind even further against magical folk when they had married. It all made
sense now. It took him a few moments to process the information before turning his rage back onto
his father.

"Well," continued Harry, with the same biting sarcasm in his hard voice, "if
you'd been around to check on me, even once, you might've known that my life with them was
and is a living HELL. The only reason it's even bearable now is because I've finally gotten
big enough to defend myself somewhat."

"Harry…I'm so sorry. I never knew…"

"Of course you never. I spent the first eleven years of my life living in a **cupboard
under their staircase**, did you know that!? I only got to eat whatever was left over from dinner
after they and the **ORCA** they call their 'son', finished cramming themselves full!
Sometimes, when it was *really* bad, mind you, I got nothing but scraps of bread to eat for
days on end! But that was all right, because at least when I was finally moved into Dudley's
spare room, I got to amuse myself watching him play with his roomful of toys. At least I had my
imagination, didn't I!? I could always imagine what it would be like to actually go outside and
play rather than cleaning and cooking all day! I could imagine what it might be like to put on
clothes that actually fit me rather than Dudley's mucky cast-offs. I could imagine what it
might be like to go out and make friends or to even be *normal* for
**shitsake**…**hell**, sometimes if the situation was just right, I was able to imagine what
it might be like to have someone **actually** **love me**. You see, before Hermione, and Ron
and the Weasleys, I had no clue. And now that I have, I don't know how I could ever think you
felt that for me."

The last sentence, spoken with such a biting hurt tone, cut James to the bone. He swallowed down
the massive lump that had risen to his throat at Harry's revelation of his life with the
Dursley's. But he had to try to make him understand.

"Harry…you'll never know how much I hate myself for all the bad things that've
happened to you. I hate myself for not being there for you. I even used to hate myself for not
being able to stop the inevitable. But the truth is, if I hadn't been the one out that night
seeking Peter Pettigrew, even I wouldn't be alive, as Dumbledore put it. I couldn't have
stopped it anymore than I could stop a storm from coming.

Afterward, having to give you up, I felt I would rather die anyway, but Dumbledore finally
helped me realise that someday, I would be able to see you again; that at least, you still had your
father. To keep you would've been one of the most selfish things I could've done, Harry…not
just for me but for the whole of the wizarding world. I wanted to with all of my heart, but you
needed to be kept safe; someplace Voldemort would never think to look for you; someplace where you
could at least partly grow up without the stigma of 'the boy who lived'. If you had stayed
with me, or even in the wizarding world, it would've been like painting a target on your head.
I know I wasn't there for you growing up…"

"No one was," said Harry raggedly.

"But you have to believe that what was done was done to keep you alive. It was the lesser
of two evils, Harry. If I'd had a choice, even a small one, I would have never, ever given you
up." Lupin swallowed hard again to keep himself under control. To let even one tear fall in
Harry's presence was unthinkable. He had no right to it.

Harry's anger seemed to be dissipating with every word from his father, though he held onto
it with all of his might. Sometimes, he just wanted to lash out, to be able to hurt someone as much
as he had been hurt. He knew he sounded like a bad person, but he was only human. He wanted someone
else to understand how isolated and unwanted he'd felt his whole life. He wanted someone else
to swallow that type of pain and be able to look up and back at him with new eyes; ones that
*understood*. He didn't realise that at that moment, his father could read all of this in
his face.

"I want you to know something," Lupin began again, hoarse with the effort to keep the
tears at bay. "I know you never felt love growing up, but **gods**, I swear to you, there
never was a child more loved by his parents than you were by Lily and I. We wanted you, Harry. We
tried and tried for you. Lily was so happy when she found out she was pregnant with you. She gave
her **life** for you. I believe she would do it again in a second if given the chance. She knew
what she was doing, Harry…and the night I gave you up, so did I."

James Potter stood before him a broken man, a man who's wife had given her life for her son,
but in a way, had gotten the easier part of the deal. Because while she had peace, he had to live
every day with the pain of it; and with the loneliness and agony that came with having to give up
his only son. He'd been just as alone as Harry had been, and being a werewolf, he'd been
equally ostracised as well. All this time, Harry had never considered that James might actually
feel half of what he did, and yet, it turned out that he understood the whole of it.

Lupin held out his hands to him in an almost pleading gesture. "Please Harry. I know
we've already missed too much time together, and I know that a relationship with each other
won't come immediately. I know it'll take time. But if it takes until the day I'm on my
death bed it'll be worth it to me. I do love you, son. I always have and I always
will."

And with that, Harry simply crumbled.

Hermione made her way with Ron through the great double doors and into the bright sunlight of
early afternoon. She'd only just been awakened by the sound of Ron's knocking on their
portrait door, (which greatly disturbed Sir Cadogen so much so that he challenged Ron yet again to
a duel) and when she opened her eyes, she realised that Harry wasn't there beside her.
They'd determined that he'd gone to visit Hagrid as the three of them usually did on
Sundays, but had been told that he had gone for a walk with his father. It only took them a few
minutes to decide to try walking round the lake.

They began rounding a section of hill that wasn't littered with other students until
Hermione let out a gasp and grabbed Ron's arm, pointing toward where a pair of men stood with
their arms wrapped around each other. They moved back round the hill to avoid being seen, and
Hermione wiped her eyes with trembling hands, though smiling as she continued to take peeks at
Harry and Lupin. The two finally separated and continued talking, though Lupin kept his hand on
Harry's shoulder the entire time.

And even Ron couldn't keep the tears from his eyes at that point.



22. Chapter 22: The All Hallows Eve Bash
----------------------------------------


**Chapter 22:** **The All Hallows Eve Bash**

Harry knew that word travelled fast around the gossipy halls of Hogwarts, but he had no idea
that moments upon re-entering the school after he and his father's talk, he would immediately
be assaulted by Hermione and Ron.

Hermione, with tears running down her face, pounded down the hall, and flung herself onto him in
a full body hug that nearly knocked him flat. Ron followed her, grinning wildly and hammering him
on the back until it tingled with loss of feeling.

"Hrry 's so *wunerfl*! Yu'n fthr frgiving cn st anw rlaship…"
Hermione's face was buried so fully in his shoulder that he could barely make her out.

He chuckled and shifted her weight in his arms with a grunt. "Learning to speak
Gobbledygook? You've decided to work at Gringott's post-graduation, then…"

Hermione lifted a tear-stained face to him and gave him a punch in the shoulder before sliding
from his grasp. "Don't be a prat. Ron and I went looking for you earlier. We saw you with
your father…Harry, it's so wonderful."

"Yeah mate," said Ron, still grinning Cheshire-like. "Proud of you. I know what a
great lot of nerve that took."

Harry felt the expression freeze on his face and glanced down, shoving his hands into his
pockets.

Hermione frowned. "Love, what is it?"

When he spoke again he was quiet, as if not quite sure how to explain himself. "Look, what
you saw out there…it was nice, I'll admit. It feels good to know I was… was loved, and I'm
beginning to understand why he did what he did…But by no means does one conversation and a hug
erase the past sixteen years. D'you understand?"

Ron blinked for a few moments, obviously not sure how to think, but Hermione seemed to
comprehend him fully.

"Of course it doesn't," she put a hand to his face and smiled at him. "I
don't think for a moment that everything's been instantly put right. Your father
doesn't either, I'm sure. But Harry…it's a *start*. You have to begin
somewhere…right?"

Harry was suddenly more than grateful for being given someone like Hermione; whatever deity it
was that sent her. He brought up a hand to smooth her hair back from her face. "Right love.
Your right."

Ron tried to put his thoughts right and in order. "So then you are a bit better with
him…"

Harry winced, unsure himself why he felt uneasy, and nodded. "I'm trying. We both are,
I think."

"That's all that can be asked, then," said Ron wisely. "Remember Harry,
whatever he did, right or wrong, he did from love for you. It might not've turned out the way
either of you wanted, but at least you have that."

Harry turned to follow Ron and Hermione outside into the bright day, but had no words with which
to answer. As the three strolled in companionable silence round the grounds, Harry still felt the
sting of bitterness tug his heart downward. It was strange; in his mind, he knew he'd heard the
truth; knew what all of the right things were now to believe and think. But a lifetime of regret
had built a wall against probably any answer he might've heard, he thought to himself, and he
was having the damndest time making his heart follow his head.

Yet there was nothing for it but to try. What other choice was there?

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

The end of October brought an even cooler drop in temperature and a greyish tint to the sky over
the Scottish grounds. All around Hogwarts the middle to end of autumn was evident; from the
yellowish tint to the grass, already multicoloured from fallen leaves, to the half-bare trees,
losing more and more of their painted coverings every day owing to the wind. The castle too seemed
chillier than before. In-between classes, throngs of students were seen with woollen caps and
scarves bearing their house colours, and the classrooms themselves now glowed with fires lit in the
hearths.

Though the drab outside could have lent the school a gloomy feel, most inside were upbeat and
even excited. The All Hallows Eve bash was to be held Friday night, October thirty-first, only two
days away, and the halls around the school were already decorated with all sorts of Halloween
paraphernalia. Glowing pumpkins were set outside every classroom door, orange and black streamers
were hung magically here and there down the halls, and webs with magically enhanced spiders
threaded out from corners, (causing Ron to turn three shades of pale). Even the resident ghosts
were taking extra care to rattle chains and moan frightfully in every dark corridor.

Hoards of bats came magically from nowhere to swoop down on unsuspecting students, and Peeves
followed every attack with a bag of mouldy raisins, tossing handfuls over students heads and
screaming 'BAT DROPPINGS!' Only McGonnagol managed to stop him by threatening banishment
from the castle, and vowed to find whomever it was supplying the poltergeist and make them eat a
handful of the real thing.

Ginny tried her best to contain her excitement, Harry, Ron and Hermione noticed as they headed
toward their last class of the day, but she was finding it rather difficult. Malfoy was finally out
from the infirmary and had asked her to be his date, so practically all she could think on was what
costumes might have a couples theme. She'd decided to confide in Hermione some two weeks ago
(neither Lavender or Parvarti were good for anything but dumb giggles as were the girls from her
own year) on what had happened with she and Draco when they'd left the infirmary, and as Ginny
had guessed, Hermione was full of misgivings and advice.

But while she listened to her and nodded in all of the appropriate places, Ginny knew she was
going to make up her own mind. Truth be told, Hermione knew as well, though she hoped at least some
of her words would fix into Ginny's self-conscious enough to later pop suddenly into her
mind.

She and Ginny hung back as Ron and Harry walked ahead of them toward the Advanced DADA class so
that the latter could fill her in on the latest. Though Hermione could be a bit bossy, Ginny was
grateful. She needed a female ear.

"So he *did* ask you, then?" asked Hermione.

"He tried first acting as if it were too childish a thing to attend," replied Ginny
with a smirk. "He said rather drolly, and I quote: 'Well Red, you'll be going to the
**Boo Ball** this year, I reckon.' "

"He called it a **Boo Ball**!?" huffed Hermione in annoyance.

"Oh that's just him making as if he's disinterested Hermione," said Ginny
wisely, rolling her eyes. "You know it would take a right *miracle* for him to openly
allow emotion."

Hermione squinched her face at the other girl. "And you find this… appealing…"

Ginny laughed. "It's not real. He's somewhat of a challenge, yes, but I know how to
make him stop acting a prick."

"And how's that?" asked Hermione. "Hang on, better…what'd you *say*
to him?"

Ginny cut her eyes at Hermione in a sadistic way. "I told him I'd already been asked by
three other wizards, and I wouldn't mind going with one of them if he fancied the '**Boo
Ball'** beneath him."

Hermione stared at her for a moment and then grinned, which made Ginny finally break out into a
peal of laughter. "Cheeky…quite the manipulator, aren't you?"

"And with whom did I grow up?" declared Ginny as if that righted the matter.
"Always master manipulators, that Fred and George. Anyhow, it's not how I see it. It's
rather more like…helping Draco come out from his shell of denial."

Hermione smiled again and shook her head at the younger girl. "So *then* he asked
you."

"He paused a few moments for effect, probably to see whether I was bluffing. Then he said,
and I quote *again*: 'Well, I'll need to go anyway, I suppose. Just to warrant the
party won't be a complete pansy-arse affair. I'll pick you up at seven.' "

"Is that so…" Scoffed Hermione as she and Ginny entered Lupin's classroom and
chose seats next to Ron and Harry. "And who are you two going as?"

Ginny blanched and felt her stomach fluttering. "That's the problem!" she
whispered back as Lupin turned to address his students. "I don't know! He only asked me
yesterday and before that I was thinking of going stag, you know; thought I'd meet someone
there. Now I actually have a theme to think of!"

Hermione shook her head and held a hand up towards Ginny. "No worries. I have a book back
at our common room that will help. We'll talk more after."

Ginny widened her eyes at Hermione. "A book?" She hissed with a panicky voice.
"Hermione it isn't a class, it's a party! How could a book possibly help!?"

Hermione glanced at Ginny patiently and whispered under her breath. " *'The Costumed
Couple: A Witch's Guide to Matching her Mate'*. Got it from Madame Pince last week.
Harry and I've already got ours picked. I'll show you how to transfigure them."

Ginny let out her breath and stared openly at her friend for a few moments. "You never
cease to amaze me."

Hermione smiled proudly in return.

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

Hermione turned to peer at herself in the mirror and gasped as she saw how Ginny had
transfigured her *own* costume into what she had described as 'less *bookish*
Hermione, and more *daring* Hermione'. The sky blue dress was styled as if it were
straight from the rich societies of the seventeen hundreds, full and flowing down to the floor. But
the bodice was quite revealing, leaving little to the imagination, and the dress hugged the entire
top of her body down to her slim hips like a glove. She wore silver hoop earrings, a small silver
chain with a dagger pendant, and matching boots on her feet. Ginny had wanted to make her face up
more than it was, but Hermione insisted that a swashbuckler's wench would probably not be
heavily made up. She wore only mascara, a hint of blush, and a red tinted lip gloss. Her head of
heavy curls was piled loosely on top, with ringlets falling here and there around her face. She did
indeed look as if she'd been a wealthy passenger on a ship, just kidnapped by a pirating
swashbuckler.

"Oh Ginny…I don't…my original dress was fine. Harry'll fall over when he claps his
eyes on this! I think we've gone rather too far."

Ginny had come to Hermione's room to change with her, and Harry and Draco were slumped in
the private common room, sitting as far apart as possible, ignoring each other magnificently, and
looking for the world like they'd rather be anywhere else in the universe than in the same room
alone together, *in costumes*. Both had already called for the girls to 'get a move
on' at least a dozen times or more respectively, but the only response they had gotten was that
'beauty took time'. Time they had, thought Harry daring to glance Malfoy's way,
patience was another thing entirely.

Ginny, who had been busy waving her wand over her own get-up, turned to look at Hermione and
suddenly gave a squeal of delight. "Oh Hermione! No! It's *brill*! You look dead
sexy. And I *rather* think once he sees you he'll **stand up** quite nicely…"

"Ginny!" exclaimed Hermione in her most scandalised voice.

"Oh don't be such a prude," laughed Ginny, smoothing out her Egyptian queen
costume and adjusting her gold head-dress. "Besides, your costume is no more extreme than
mine, I think."

Ginny was decked out in a long white toga, but had made sure to let it fall well within bounds
of her cleavage, and had transfigured a revealing slit along the side. The costume was complete
with golden bands around her upper arms, gold bangles around her wrists, a slim golden belt, and a
golden amulet around her neck. The head-dress complimented her thick straight red hair, and a gold
chain of different coloured jewels dangled across her forehead. She had thick black eyeliner swept
across her upper lids and drawn outward to make her eyes appear more catlike, and had painted her
lips a deep red.

Hermione turned to her and placed her hands on her hips. "You've just made my
point."

Ginny waltzed over to her, placed her hand on the older girls waist, and turned her toward the
mirror so she could fully take in her own form. "Look at you, Hermione. You look smashing!
Besides, how often are we able to relax and just be free?

You've heard the phrase 'Carpe Diem', I'm sure."

Hermione frowned at herself and Ginny in the mirror. "And **I'm** sure they meant
'*seize* the day', not *strangle* it."

Ginny smiled patiently, and for once, seemed as if she were the wiser one giving advice.
"They were referring to anytime one might step out from oneself for just a little while and
run wild."

Hermione swallowed. "Wild?"

"We'll settle for less reserved," said Ginny with a smirk. "Now, we'd
better get out there before Draco and Harry start a row. Neither of them seemed too eager to wait
with the other."

Harry stood quickly as the creak of hinges behind him sounded. "Finally…" he muttered.
Though after seeing Hermione stand shyly before him, and then gaze at him more boldly as she took
in his own costume with an open mouth, he forgave her instantly.

Hermione thought she'd never seen Harry look more…well…*dangerously sexy*.

He wore a dark blue scarf round his head that almost met his eyebrows and knotted round the
back. His longish hair curled out from under the bottom of it quite nicely. He'd decided to
forego shaving the past couple of days to add to the effect, and she thought there was nothing
she'd like better to do right then than to run her hands over those roughened cheeks. He'd
charmed a gold hoop earring in his left earlobe, and wore a roughened skull pendant round his neck
on a gold chain. His billowy white shirt hung open almost to his navel, showing a nice expanse of
olive skin, a chiselled chest, and a line of fine black hair, (*her* favourite line of fine
black hair). The dark blue pants, tucked into black boots, were held on by a dark red scarf tied
round his middle. Godric Gryffindor's sword hung from his sash, magically lightened, and held
in a roughened leather looking sheath.

When he smiled at her though, Hermione thought to herself that she was sure no mangy pirate of
the old seas had ever had such straight white teeth with such a dangerously crooked grin.

"Wow 'Mione…you're, I mean you…loo…look like…just…*WOW*."

Hermione was sure she blushed five deep shades of crimson, as much for the inarticulate
compliment as for the scandalous thoughts running through her mind.

She swallowed and shook her head, choosing not to reply. "We'd…better get there then,
before we miss the whole thing."

Harry grabbed her round the waist and spun her to him, grinning madly and lowering his voice an
octave. "I wouldn't mind."

"Harry!" Hermione hissed through gritted teeth as she motioned toward Ginny and
Malfoy.

But neither of them had noticed. Ginny was too busy by-passing the besotted, lustful looks Draco
was giving her, and taking in his costume. Neffertiti had met her Caesar.

Malfoy had chosen to forego the toga theme, and had instead donned the tight brown leather of a
king just out from battle. He too had foregone shaving and had a nice smattering of rough blonde on
his jaw. He'd charmed his hair short and spiky, which added to the rugged warrior theme. The
studded leather vest was sleeveless, showing pale skin and Quidditch toned arms, with leather
bicep-bands. The pants (**good Godric**) were equally as leather, and equally as tight, with
brown worn boots on his feet and a sword at his side. Six golden studs ran up both of his ears, and
a leather band was tied round his forehead. A more modern approach to Egyptian warrior clothing?
Ginny looked down at the tight leather pants and couldn't bring herself to mind.

Hermione smiled at Harry as she saw the two gazing at each other and motioned him to follow her
out from the common room. He looked uncomfortable at seeing Malfoy ogling Ginny, who was like his
sister, but was given no choice but to follow Hermione out the portrait door.

"When he sees the two of them together like *that*, Ron'll go completely
**apeshit**," said Harry with dread as he and Hermione walked down a hall transfigured to
appear as a dark menacing forest covered in mist.

Despite knowing it was only a hoax, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm even tighter when an
unknown animal growled through the night at her. "And he'll just have to deal with it,
won't he?" Her voice was shaky with nerves.

A pair of gleaming red eyes suddenly appeared in front of them and Hermione screamed, almost
jumping bodily into Harry's arms. But Harry waited it out, and then chuckled and set her back
down again as the red faded from their view.

"A bit inconsiderate of them to use that particular scam, wasn't it?"

Hermione shuddered and didn't let go of Harry's arm. "Had to make them glowing red,
didn't they? Like…like *his*."

"I'm sure it was Filch or one of the others," he replied. "Dumbledore
would've known better. But not many've actually seen Voldemort, you know?"

Hermione stopped abruptly and looked up at him. "Harry…just for tonight, let's not
mention his name. Let's pretend for just one night that all there is this party, and school and
friends…and us."

Harry gazed at her for a moment and then smiled understandingly. "Ok, love. For tonight,
the world is normal."

Draco and Ginny joined them some minutes later, though both could tell they'd done a bit of
snogging first, and the four made it more or less together to the Great Hall, separating quickly
once they'd opened the doors and stepped inside. The sight that greeted them was a surprising
one, indeed.

The whole of the hall had been transfigured to look as if they had stepped into a giant dark
forest with a large hollowed clearing, complete with tall twisted trees, thick underbrush, eerie
white mist, and filtered moonlight, just as the hallway had been. The ceiling, always charmed to
reflect the outside, showed a black sky, very few stars owing to the overcast of smoke grey clouds,
and a pale waning moon, fuzzy round the edges.

There was already a roar of voices, laughter and music, and the huge 'clearing' in the
midst of the forest held hundreds of costumed students, milling about, heading toward the
overloaded snack tables, or moving toward one of the numbers of games that had been set up about
the edge of the circle. A stage had been placed toward one edge as well, and Harry noticed that the
surprise act for the evening was none other than Werewolf Wilmur. He was currently on the second
verse of "*I Wanna Fang You for Loving Me*", his smash hit on the WWN right after
"*Howlo, my love*".

Ron caught site of Harry and Hermione and grabbed Lavender's hand, beaming and weaving
in-between the crowd to get to them. Harry stifled a laugh as he approached.

"There you are! Thought you'd decided to stay in and snog for the evening." He
yelled over the din of noise.

Hermione noticed Lavender seemed a bit nervous and kept glancing around them to see if anyone
was looking their way, but after spotting Ron, it was easy to guess why. He was dressed in very
wide legged pants, cuffed to his ankles at the bottom and black slippers, curled at the toes. His
silky vest was black as well and open to show a nice expanse of pale, freckled chest, and a black
silk turban was wrapped around his head. Lavender wore an open pale purple vest with a modest pale
purple bra underneath, the same colour bloomers covered in blooming gauzy pants, and the same type
shoes. Her blonde hair was covered with a series of veils, with a transparent one covering her nose
and mouth and a band of gold coins were strung across her forehead.

Ron grinned at them again. "So I suppose you two are pirate and wench then?"

"Swashbuckler," corrected Harry, his mouth contorted as he tried to stifle a laugh.
Ron looked a bit, well…*feminine* in his costume. He was sure he didn't know. "And
Hermione does make a *fetching* wench, doesn't she?"

He paused as Hermione shot him a mock-offended look and winked cheekily at her before returning
his attention to Ron. "So…what exactly are you supposed to be?"

Suddenly Lavender dropped Ron's hand with a huff and turned poutily to him. "You see
Ron! I told you we'd be asked that question all night!"

Ron widened his eyes at her as if she were being unreasonable. "No worries Lav!" He
turned back to his friends with a smirk and addressed Harry. "It's obvious who we are
dipshit. I'm a sheikh, and Lav here is my belly-dancing slave."

"I'm not a slave," Lavender retorted quickly.

"Ah," nodded Harry, grinning.

"*Echoes of your name I hear, howling in the wind, just howling in the wind, OWOOOO! And
I just wanna fang you for loooovin' me*…"

The song rose in pitch, obviously a favourite part for Wilmur. Harry, Hermione and Lavender
winced simultaneously.

"This is my favourite of his," said Ron as he turned from looking at the stage to beam
at them once again. " 'Howlo my love' has more or less travelled to the bottom of my
list thanks to Seamus."

"Can't imagine why," said Hermione drolly.

"Right," said Ron. "Well, time to get loose! See you two on the dance
floor!"

He stuck out his tongue and made a dance move reminiscent of a wounded hippogriff stumbling
toward its final resting place. Harry dissolved into snorts of laughter.

Lavender rolled her eyes at Ron but grinned and yanked him out onto the dance floor anyway.

Harry led Hermione to the dance floor and pulled her close, despite the song having a medium
beat. "Well, maybe Dumbledore'll decide to switch on the WWN soon. Don't think I can
lump Wilmur all night long."

"Let's hope," said Hermione with a crooked smile.

They'd finally gotten their wish, and had been on the dance floor for around an hour before
Professor McGonnagol, dressed as Fredweina the Fierce in a long black dress of rags, a painted-on
scowl, and carrying several fake daggers on a belt around her waist, came up on stage and announced
that it was time for the contest, judged by the professors, on whose costume was the most
inventive. Most hadn't even known there was *to be* a contest. There were well over three
hundred students present as fifth year and up were invited to the bash, so when it came time for
willing students to come up on stage to be seen by all, it was no wonder that a few costumes had
slipped the attention of Professor Sinistra, who was to make certain that no one entered the Great
Hall in costumes that were deemed 'inappropriate'.

Crabbe and Goyle, whose costumes almost rendered McGonnagol completely catatonic, were
immediately ordered to get out and change into something suitably decent, or else. Coming to the
bash as a couple of sumo wrestlers had truly been the wrong idea.

Ron mentioned to Harry as the two idiots ran out guffawing to one another, that if he was
*ever*, **EVER** able to get the sight of their fat naked arsecheeks out of his mind it
would be a bloody miracle. Harry was immensely thankful none of their bits and pieces had fallen
out in the process. The comment won him a punch and scowl from Hermione.

Seamus Finnegan, Gryffindor's resident skirt-chaser, was swiftly frowned upon as he charged
on stage as a 'lamp', with a round shade and a pull string over his head, and asked if
there were any witches available to *turn him on*. One from the audience had just time enough
to announce she'd rather 'pull the plug' before McGonnagol herself angrily chased him
from the hall. There was an eruption of laughter with that one.

Neville Longbottom looked positively miserable in his giant carrot costume, followed onstage by
a smiling Susan Bones, in a pair of long bunny ears, a modest white one piece swimsuit, a fluffy
tail, and charmed oversized front teeth. They received a few votes. Harry was sure *that*
particular embarrassment had been Susan's idea.

Dean Thomas won quite a few votes as he toddled onstage in a giant white box, labelled
'Toasty O's' with fake blood smears, knives, and guns attached and announced that he
was a 'Cereal Killer'. Dumbledore, dressed as Merlin, found that one quite amusing and
clapped the hardest among the audience.

Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson were promptly removed after showing up as a pimp and his
hooker, and Millicent Bullstrode received quite a few boos and retching noises when she sauntered
onstage as a French maid in a tiny lacy black dress, a white apron, fishnet stockings and
high-heeled mary janes. Ron decided right then and there to poke out his mind's eye.

To top these off, a particularly randy Ravenclaw boy walked onstage with a cigarette in his
mouth, messy hair, and condom wrappers stuck to his terry cloth robe, and announced that he was
'The Morning After', and would anyone care to experience the night before? Following these,
McGonnagol somehow found a way to pale even more than she'd already done.

Cho Chang received a few votes as Little Dead Riding Hood. A sixth year Gryffindor was chased
from the hall after showing up in a hospital gown, gloves, stethoscope, magnifying glass round his
head, chocolate pudding smeared down his gown, a 'Dr. Ben Dover' nametag, and the
announcement that he was a 'proctologist'. When he began licking pudding from his gloves, a
faint Hermione quickly found a seat.

The night saw a Formal Apology, complete with bowtie, a Split Personality, Lightning Victim,
Green Olive and Pimento, White Trash, and even a Sand Witch. But the grand winners were two
Hufflepuffs, one dressed as a gigantic salt shaker, and the other as a giant Duracell, stating that
they were 'Assault and Battery'. Even Snape smiled with that one, and the award was
given.

Harry felt eternally grateful once the Weird Sisters began to blare from enhanced speakers, and
he and Hermione alternated between dancing near Ron and Lavender, (in which Harry and Ron tried to
constantly outdo the other with really awful dance moves), and wandering round the edges of the
floor in search of a game or two.

The Levitating Sherbet Ball Bob was near the same as the Muggle version of bobbing for apples,
Hermione explained to Harry, who had never had the pleasure of either. They watched Casper
Eustance, a Ravenclaw from the Advanced DADA class compete with a housemate on who could bob the
fastest, though it was an unfair contest. Castor's Dracula teeth made it much too easy for
him.

There was a table of potions (Snape had obviously done), in which the 'victim' was dared
to drink a potion, and hope the results weren't permanent.

In one corner, a cluster of students were playing Pin the Wart on the Witch, Seamus, Dean and
Neville were currently trying to best each other at Pumpkin Bowling, and a pumpkin pasty eating
contest had already made one contestant vomit all over his Unemployed Clown costume. The sign round
his neck, reading "Happy the Clown needs work…owl me. Will work for food" was currently
covered in chunks.

There was a mock wizard duel going on at the other end of the hall, but Hermione chose to Fish
the Witches Brew, where the contestant could reach their hand inside a cauldron and hope they
fished out a candy from Honeydukes rather than Zonko's Joke Shop. But after the accidental
ingestion of a few exploding bon-bons, she kept the sugar quills and gave the rest to a fifth year
near them.

Harry decided later he wanted to do something a little less juvenile and convinced Hermione, Ron
and Lavender to tromp round the Maze of Dread that had been conjured up outside near the Quidditch
pitch. It took a lot of begging, but he and Ron were finally able to convince the girls to do
it.

The four grabbed their cloaks and headed out into the briskly cool evening, though Harry could
tell Hermione was shivering from much more than the cold. He wrapped an arm round her shoulders and
gave her a squeeze as they crunched their way through dried leaves toward the pitch.

"Not scared are you, love? We're not even there yet."

Hermione shot him a look. "I'm not especially keen on mazes of dread, Harry."

"Neither am I," said Lavender with a shudder as she walked ahead of them with Ron.

"It's not a real one," said Ron in exasperation. "Besides, I want to see the
kind of job Hagrid did on it. He was the one who set it up, you know."

"Hagrid!?" squealed Lavender, grabbing onto Ron's arm. "Swell! Can't wait
to see what type of horrors **he's** put in there. Spiders on steroids, pools of grindylows,
manticores, blast-ended skrewts…"

"He wouldn't put anything *real* in there," said Harry with a snort.

Hermione glanced warily at him and slowed a bit. "Harry, you *know* I love him
but…well,…it *is* Hagrid we're talking about. He can be a
bit…**over-enthusiastic**."

"Bugger!" exclaimed Ron, throwing up his hands and turning to walk backward for a
moment as he addressed her. " 'Mione, could you just **try** being spontaneous, for
once!? It'll be fine! Living on the edge can be fun every now and then, right Harry?"

"Er…" Harry scratched nervously behind his ear as he watched Hermione's eyes flash
dangerously at Ron. It was a look he'd seen before.

Hermione pursed her lips in annoyance. "*Fun*, is it? Well Ron, correct me if I'm
wrong, but I believe I've experienced *'the edge'*, as you put it, right along
with you and Harry every *bloody* year we've been in Hogwarts! In fact, I believe I've
*been* there, *done* that and brought back *souvenirs*!"

"Oh, do we have to mention any of *that*?" said Lavender feebly as she eyed the
tall closely grown bushes they approached.

Ron rolled his eyes. "That's not what I mean 'Mione and you know it…"

They'd reached the opening of the large maze, which had been thankfully built as to least
likely resemble the one from the Tri-Wizard Tournament in their fourth year, and Harry decided
he'd better nip the conversation in the bud before it turned into a full blown row.

He held up his hands and put on his most disarming grin; the one that had charmed his way
through many a situation. "All right, that's enough. Ron, you two are worse together than
you and Ginny." Ron huffed in irritation and Harry turned to Hermione. "We don't have
to go in, love. I just thought it would be fun…but I understand if you're too frightened of
what might be in there…"

Hermione scowled instantly. "Frightened!? **Who's** **Frightened**!?" She
turned to stare accusatorily at both Harry and Ron. "*Do you know what I*…*haven't
I been* *with*…*I've seen **just as much** as*…**aarrgghh**!"

She growled in exasperation and blazed past Harry, Ron and an open-mouthed Lavender to stomp
through the opening and down the dark trail. They heard distinct mumblings of "…the
*nerve*…*just* as much as they've done…wouldn't have made it **half** as far
without me…"

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and made to follow her, but not before grinning covertly
at Ron and giving him a cocky wink.

Ron sniggered and punched him in the arm. "Always *could* get to her…cheeky
bastard."

Harry chuckled and made his way down the darkened maze where he knew Hermione would be waiting
for him not too far down the way. Ron and Lavender followed a few minutes later.

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

After many heart-stopping run-ins with creatures such as a fully grown Chimaera, (a monster with
a lion's head, goat's body and dragon's tail), a Demiguise, which kept turning
invisible and brushing against a terrified Hermione, a herd of particularly nasty Fire Crabs
(tortoise-like creatures that shot flames from their arses), swarming Glumbumbles, annoying Imps
that kept trying to pull at Lavender's scarves, and a bunch of Nifflers, which Ron begged to
follow as he was sure they'd lead him to treasure, the four finally made their ways out from
the maze. Ron was sure by that time Lavender had coined the phrase "NEVER AGAIN".

They'd heard others decide to try the maze after them, and saw once they'd come out that
a large number of students had made their ways out to the grounds. Curfew for this night was to be
ten o'clock, but several professors had followed the queue of students outside to watch over
them owing to the events of recent months. No one seemed to be complaining.

The four decided to split up at that point, especially since Ron had just caught site of Ginny
and Draco headed in the opposite direction of the maze and was sure they were headed somewhere to
snog. As he stormed off, Hermione pleaded with Lavender to try and pound some reason into him, and
she hurried off after him.

When they'd gone, Hermione smiled wickedly at Harry and grabbed his hand, leading him round
the lake until they'd reached a secluded area. She pulled him close and smiled impishly up at
him as he winked at her.

"I know what you did…"

Harry feigned shock. "Me?"

"Of course you, you *nit*. You made me tromp through that horrible maze."

Harry shook his head vehemently. "I never *made* you. Can I help it you can't back
from a challenge? Besides…" he grinned wickedly, "I thought we might do a bit of snogging
in there. Never can be sure how long it'll be getting through one of those."

"Only it was too terrifying for that, wasn't it!?" exclaimed Hermione.

Harry wisely decided to take a different tack. "You really do look smashing tonight,"
he said, grabbing her tightly again round the waist.

Hermione gave him a suspicious look. "Are you trying to charm me with your pirate mojo? It
won't work, you know. I'll never fall for it. You've kidnapped me and taken me from my
family and riches, you great dirty mercenary."

Harry grinned and then stepped back from her, affecting an angry air. "For the last time,
I'm a swashbuckler, wench! And you'll do as I say or I'll have no choice but to punish
you!"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest dramatically and raised her chin. "Do your worst.
I'll *never* give in."

"Oh won't you…" said Harry stepping closer.

"Never."

"Not a bit…"

"Not even an…in..inch…" stuttered Hermione as Harry stood inches from her face and
placed his hands on his hips. He stared at her for a few moments, fixing her with a crystal green
gaze until a dangerous smirk crept onto his face. Hermione felt her knees giving.

"Brave girl…" he whispered as his eyes bored into hers. "Ready to be
punished?" He watched a shiver make its way slowly down her body and fought the staggering
impulse to grab her and take her to the ground.

Her heart began pounding out a rapid rhythm of desire, and a thrill shot from the middle of her
chest straight downward. Calm, sure, confident Hermione Granger felt herself beginning to tremble
under his clear gaze. *Damnhimdamnhimdamnhim*… But she was determined not to let him have the
victory so easily this night…

She widened her eyes seductively and leaned even closer to him, making sure to brush against him
in just the right way. "Depends on what you had in mind."

And Harry's mouth went dry.

"Wh…well I…"

"I'm young," said Hermione, now revelling in the gobsmacked look on Harry's
face. "I'm sure I can withstand a lot. You'll find I have high tolerance for
torture…"

Harry's jaw dropped. "Hermione!"

She moved to press against him, and Harry balled his hands into tight fists, willing himself to
keep control, *just keep control*…

"I won't give in…" breathed Hermione on tiptoes, lips close enough to brush
lightly against the hollow of his throat. She felt a hard swallow travel its way down his neck and
smiled against it. *Who's in control now*… "You'll have to keep finding new ways
to discipline me…better start thinking…" She placed a finger on the hollow she'd just
kissed and let it run down the open length of his shirt, down the soft black trail of hair that
stopped at his navel…

The scent and sight of her shut out everything else in the world, and Harry finally reached his
breaking point. He brought his hands up to fist in her hair and pulled her head back to look at
her. The look of hungry desire on his face almost shocked her. He'd never looked quite
so…*carnivorous* before. Without any more words he tilted his head and brought his lips down
to hers. He began tasting her…slowly, but with such an intensity that it felt like she'd just
been set on fire. She felt her knees buckle. His must have gone from under him as well, because he
grabbed her and brought her to the ground with him, not caring about either of their costumes, and
certainly not thinking of the fact that they might get caught. Curfew went out the window as
well.

Hermione laced her fingers around the back of his neck and felt the soft fine hairs beneath the
waves on his nape. She couldn't help it. She'd always loved his hair, so soft and dark and
with the constant messy look, as if he'd just gotten off a wild ride on his broom. She knew he
wished he could tame it, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Truth be told, she found it
sexy as hell.

Harry ran his hands down her bare arms, down her barely exposed thigh, and back up toward her
waist again. It seemed he couldn't get enough of touching her, tasting her, smelling her…hell,
all five senses were buzzing with an electric current…one name fluttered in his head like a hundred
snitches and pounded in his heart like a bludger. *HermioneHermioneHermione*… Her hair had
come down, and Harry grabbed a handful of it, bringing it to his face as she kissed his neck, her
fingernails down his back making him shiver. Long, soft, golden chestnut curls, berry scented
shampoo (*damn her*)… soft olive skin, flawless… gorgeous bay eyes, doe eyes… a sloped
feminine nose, turned up a bit on the tip (he kissed it), full pink lips, a hint of that brown
colouring along the edges…*gods, she was perfection*, and better, she was *Hermione*.
Hermione Granger… **HIS** Hermione… Hermione *Potter*… *Hermione Anne*
*Potter*…

"Hermione Potter," whispered Hermione in Harry's ear. He leaned up to gaze at her.
Had he said it out loud?

He started to say something, but the words left him, and he merely leaned up on an elbow, placed
a hand under her head like a pillow and grinned down at her.

She smiled up at him and pushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. His headscarf had come
off during the rolling and grabbing, and one piece stood straight up towards the back. She forced
herself not to grab him and snog him lifeless again.

"Did I…out loud?" began Harry quietly.

"No," she said with a broad smile. "Not out loud. But I know you were thinking
the same thing. It has a nice sound to it, doesn't it?"

Harry sighed; a happy, idiotic crazy-in-love sigh only Hermione was allowed to hear. "The
best."

"Someday…" she smiled up at him.

He leaned down to place another kiss on the tip of her nose and saw she was nearly spilling out
from the top of her dress. "Not soon enough for me," he said randily.

Hermione followed his gaze down and flushed a deep crimson. "Harry James Potter!" She
sat up shoving him off of her and pulled up on the bodice of her dress. "You sodding perve!
How dare you…"

Harry laughed and rolled over to stand and offer her a hand-up. "I never saw
anything."

"…And me without a single peek at you," she finished with a mischievous raise of her
eyebrow.

She laughed out loud and began running as fast as she could toward the castle, with Harry in hot
pursuit behind her. It had been a good day. It had been an even better night.



23. Chapter 23: It Begins Soon
------------------------------


Chapter 23: It Begins Soon

As November came and neared its end, bringing a wintry chill to the air and the first hint of
snow lightly frosting the ground, Harry was surprised at how calmly his days had been passing.
There hadn't been a single threat from Voldemort in almost two months now, and owing to the
fact that the Dementors had defected and the dark lord now had around fifteen Death Eaters with
him, the lack of bad news was confounding to say the least.

Hermione had both Harry and Ron working harder than ever on their N.E.W.T.s, and since she was
the organisational sort, she'd stayed up late one night devising a strict study schedule for
them to go by. She'd even made up flash cards for each of their classes, and spent many an hour
going meticulously through each one until she was sure the material had been memorised through and
through. Ron called these the 'groaning hours', and Harry usually spent the better part of
the first one keeping the two of them from another row, though he rather felt like Ron.

The one thing he missed since becoming the busiest he'd ever been, was the few times he was
able to grab his broom (the fact that it was a *Flametorch* was a plus) head outside, and take
to the skies before anyone could catch him. He craved these minutes of alone time, where he was
able to gather his thoughts and find fresh perspective on the amazing amount of pressures and
worries constantly pounding in his head. It seemed the higher he flew, the more in sync with his
own body he became, and he was able to sort out those things he couldn't when surrounded by the
circumstance. His father was one issue he was sure he'd never quite know how to deal with. He
wanted to be able to connect with him; to be able to have the kind of father/son relationship
he'd always so desperately needed. But on the deepest level, he knew the kind of relationship
he'd craved all of his life was just simply not going to be. It had been too long; the chasm
between them had grown much too wide and deep.

What he had craved was unconditional love; the full trust and knowledge that one's parent
always knew best, and that they were always right; always the ones to turn to in times of need or
trouble. But those were things learned early on, things not taught, just simply known and accepted
in the normal growth of a parent/child relationship; one that had deepened with experience and
years; one with plenty of time to nourish it; one that hadn't been broken. He hoped that he and
his father would ultimately learn to trust and love each other, but he was a man now, and had grown
up alone. He knew who he was and what he believed through himself, Ron, Hermione, Sirius and the
Weasleys. And where did that leave James? He wasn't sure. There would always be a rift there; a
day when some remark would leave Harry wondering who James thought he was to give him advice. Some
time when he might come to resent James wanting to be fatherly to him, and even the simple
knowledge, as he thought on now, that his own father really didn't even know who he was. It was
these thoughts that made Harry know that no matter how long he and his father worked on their
relationship, some things were constant.

Whoever it was that said "time heals all wounds" had left the phrase a little
unfinished. Time *did* heal all wounds, but a scar always remained.

Despite the chaos of N.E.W.T.s, Quidditch, homework, Head Boy duties, and extra classes, Harry
still found time to spend each night with Hermione. When all duties were done, they were able to
retreat into their little corner of the castle, slam the portrait door on the rest of the world,
and just breathe in each other. For Harry, it was his one saving grace, and he could honestly say
he would rather be with her than breezing through the clouds. While being on his broom high above
every circumstance gave him a chance to think clearly, the sky couldn't talk back, could it?
Hermione helped him sort it all out, organise it, put it into perspective, and stack it up neatly
for later pondering. After all, she knew him as well as he knew himself.

And when all the talk was done, it was wonderful to be with someone with whom you were
comfortable even in silence. A home to come to, finally. To just simply put his arms round her and
hold her close, slumped on the soft couch, in a dark room lit only by dim orange flames…to him,
this was a glimpse of heaven.

Peace…such an underrated thing.

He'd had more talks with his father; each one a little less surface and a little more at
ease. They were slipping into a rhythm of being, a nod and smile here, a conversation there,
invitations to meet with one another for a butterbeer and catch up, no pushing to open up; one
could open up if they wished. James had filled Harry in on a lot of the missed events of his own
life, which consisted most of hiding out under assumed names and taking odd jobs. He'd helped
Harry to see his mother through his fathers eyes; helped him to know the kind of witch she was.
Though, he told Harry, the easiest way to know his mother was to know Hermione, as their
personalities were so much alike.

The Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts classes were going better than even Lupin had
expected. Each student continued to improve daily, and as was habit for him, Lupin paid special
attention in his own mind, on how his son and his two friends were coming along. Ron had become so
adept at defensive spells that when it became time to break into pairs to practice, no one seemed
to want to pair with him voluntarily. Harry was wonderful at defence himself, but his strongest
suit seemed to be attack. He had become so proficient at it, that he was hardly put on defence
himself at all, including his classes with the sword. He was now able to perform wandless magic
almost exclusively, even at times he seemed not to be concentrating especially hard on it.

And Hermione; her skills seemed to be the most unusual of them all, due to the fact that they
had been so unexpected. She'd been working with Pomfrey on almost every case that came into the
infirmary since the incident with Malfoy, and she was now able to perform healing magic on almost
every ailment, though still using her wand, with either a dramatic improvement or complete
recovery. She'd wowed Poppy even more at times when she seemed especially emotional about a
particular injury, as it seemed then her wand was hardly needed. Pomfrey assured her that even the
most expert of healers required the use of their wands at all times. She was so awed by the power
for healing Hermione seemed to possess that she'd already sent in a recommendation that she be
tested at graduation level at University of Sorcery, subject: "The Healing Arts". If she
passed, Hermione would be assured a job at St. Mungo's as soon as she left Hogwarts.

However, as Harry had only half sarcastically put it to Hermione and Ron one night, since
Voldemort had decided to pause on rearing his ugly head for a while, something else *had* to
happen to take his place, didn't it? What would the life of the 'terrific trio'
*be* without drama? He was right as he would soon find out.

Ron and he still attended their classes on Divination with Trelawny without fail, and were bent
on paying attention to her for once, since the prophecy she had made several months prior seemed to
be unfolding before their eyes. So it was, this particular Thursday afternoon, the twentieth of
November, that Harry and Ron, and later Hermione as well, received another disturbance to add to
their already toppling pile.

The class went by as usual, with a curiously nervous Trelawny looking more owlish that ever
behind her enormous magnifying spectacles. As ever, the classroom was overly perfumed and warm,
even though the temperature outside had dropped considerably, and the red scarves she kept over the
few lamps lent it a sickly pastel colour. Round tables, set here and there were surrounded by
students, the majority of whom were trying their best to stay awake. Every now and then as she
spoke, Trelawny would walk between the tables and rap students with heavy eyes and nodding chins on
the top of the head with her wand. She seemed oddly rigid and tense, but kept her voice as steady
as possible as she droned on about the art of *psychometry*, in which a wizard or witch
talented in feeling the "emanation" certain objects gave off, or more commonly known as
"*scrying*", could get senses or emotions on the history and use of the object.

"For instance," continued Trelawny, turning her head very quickly to glance at Potter
and sighing tremulously(it was so quick that few noticed save he and Ron), "some of the gifted
are able to hold certain medicines in their hands, and feel the symptoms of the last wizard to have
used it. Yet again, some are able to get a sense of the '*history*' if you will, of an
object; any one, be it an old wand, a cloak, a key, or even a bottle. All objects give off an
emanation, an aura…"

"Wonder if she can tell how this was last used," whispered Ron indifferently, flipping
a bird under his desk.

Harry swiped a hand down his face and slumped even further in his seat, doing his very best to
pay attention. So far the class had been the usual rot. It was only when Trelawny seemed to go
mental that she ever spoke anything of consequence anyway. Though these days he wasn't sure
he'd know the difference when it came.

Parvarti, whom Lavender insisted on sitting with since she knew how Ron felt about the class,
suddenly spoke up. "Oh professor, I feel sometimes I have that gift. I'm sure of
it!"

Half of the class groaned, but a murderous look from Trelawny shut the whole of them up.

"Go on, Ms. Patil."

"I've a bracelet a certain someone bought for me not too long ago," sniffed
Parvarti quite proudly, as if she were the only girl to ever receive gifts from a boy. "Every
time I wear it, which is *often*, I get the most peculiar feeling…as if, *oh* I dunno…as
if the last owner was *unethical*…a leery sort."

Trelawny smiled proudly at her. "Well done, Ms. Patil. You may very well have a bit of the
psychometrist in you. Are there other objects you seem to feel…"

"**Hang on**," called out Dean Thomas, sitting next to a suddenly pale Seamus
Finnegan, "Let's see that bracelet…"

Parvarti whipped round to stare suspiciously at him. "What for?"

" Mr. Thomas, we've a lesson to finish," said Trelawny, annoyed.

Dean grinned. "Just hold it up a sec."

Parvarti looked at Dean as if he was a huge nuisance but shook her dark hair, rolled her eyes
and held up her wrist haughtily for all to see anyway.

Seamus looked as if he were trying to disappear under the table, but a sniggering Dean suddenly
grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him up, poking him hard in the ribs with his elbow.

"Finnegan! You dirty dog!"

"OW! *Bloody hell*, you *sodding*…"

"…That isn't the bracelet you gave to Mirabel Adkins last week!?"

Parvarti's jaw dropped and Seamus began to stutter. "W..*well* I…that
is…"

Dean snorted heartily. "…and Bertrand Porter the week before, and Adelaide Thompson two
weeks before that…**HA HA**!"

Dean slammed his head onto his desk howling, Ron began to perk up significantly, Parvarti began
colouring and Seamus kept paling.

"No, you see…it's not how you think…" said Seamus desperately, watching Parvarti
grow more and more furious.

"**How dare you**…" she hissed yanking the bracelet off and throwing it onto the
floor. "Bertrand Porter!? And Thompson… that *thick* blonde Hufflepuff!?"

Lavender reached over to console her, patting her on the back and giving Finnegan a scathing
look.

Dean raised his head from the table and swiped at the tears streaming down his cheeks, barely
controlling his voice. "Y'might *be* a true psychometrist! Unethical and leery…that
bracelet's gotten Seamus more arse this year than *ever* before…"

"**DEAN THOMAS**!" shouted Trelawny furiously.

"Have you gone **barking mad**!?" wheezed Seamus, gripping at Dean's robes.

Ron howled, slamming his fist onto the table and Harry laughed out loud. As the entire class
followed, bursting into laughter, Harry thought this was the best class they'd had yet.
Parvarti looked ready to commit murder.

Before Trelawny could speak another word, the bizarre clock on the wall suddenly switched
Mars' path with Jupiter and announced in a rather trance-like voice that class was over.

Students began to scramble up and Trelawny placed a hand on either side of her head as if
literally holding it together.

"Fourteen inches on Psychometry, the art and its uses by tomorrow!" she called out
almost wearily as students began to leave.

The class seemed to sag as a whole at that, but roared with laughter once again as Seamus
frantically blazed a path through them screaming "*ONE SIDE*! *OUT OF MY WAY*!"
with a violent Parvarti hot on his trail, her wand out and ready to hex.

Before Harry and Ron could make their escape however, Trelawny called them back. "Mr.
Potter, Mr. Weasley, I'll need to speak with you."

Harry sighed and turned back round with Ron to re-enter the class.

"D'you suppose she saw me flip her?" whispered Ron anxiously.

"Doubt it," said Harry.

They approached Trelawny's desk where she slumped wearily wrapping her shawl round her
shoulders and dropped their books onto a nearby table.

Trelawny glanced up at them impatiently. "Well, c'mon then. Pull up chairs, this might
take a bit."

"Professor we have Advanced DADA," said Harry as they sat. "We'll be
late…"

"I've cleared it with Professor Lupin for you two to be absent today. And as what I
have to say may very well involve Ms. Granger as well I'll trust you two to fill her in once
we're through."

Harry sat up quickly. "What *about* Hermione…"

"Not her *directly*, or either of you two for that matter," said Trelawny. Once
again she affected her usual otherworldly voice.

"Last night, while I slumbered…I had a dream…rather a *vision* as we with the *inner
eye* are sometimes wont to do," she sighed dramatically as if it were such a burden to be
so gifted. Ron rolled his eyes as she continued. "I carried it to Dumbledore this morning, and
he felt same as I, that it somehow might involve the three of you, quite possibly as my *last*
*prophesy did*," she emphasised sternly.

Ron's jaw dropped and he sat up shocked, looking from Trelawny to Harry. "But
*how*…mate you didn't tell…"

"Oh yes, I know about that one," said Trelawny quite importantly.

"But you seemed catatonic…quite unaware you'd said anything," said Harry, just as
surprised as Ron seemed to be.

"My star students keep me well informed," said Trelawny smiling righteously.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Parvarti and Lavender, then."

Trelawny nodded, eyeing them sternly as she did. "They told me of the prophecy I made. I
would've never known if they hadn't. And it well benefits you they did, as it made me aware
this vision may be somehow linked."

"Linked…" said Harry.

Trelawny sat up. "As in *again* pertaining to you and yours, Mr. Potter."

Harry sighed a bit sceptically but thought to himself that it might well serve them to hear it
anyhow. "All right, we’re listening."

Trelawny tensed theatrically, as if she were mentally preparing herself for recalling something
extremely momentous and then spoke. "Well, 'vision' might be an inappropriate word for
what I had, I suppose. I did see things, but they were only shapes; a triangle, a circle; though
the circle was quartered, each part having been separated from the others, but clearly belonging to
the whole. The rest was more a prophecy, of sorts, but one that I saw written in my head, as if the
words were etched behind my eyelids. I could read them very clearly."

Harry and Ron nodded for her to continue, however still quite dubiously.

"It was quite foreboding," said Trelawny dreamily. "The words felt extremely
urgent. I'll recall it as best I can, though I doubt I've forgotten any of it as I
don't often receive 'messages' of this nature. Let me see…

*'The strongest link shall lead the fight, from dawn of day to dark of night.*

*The second link, his closest friend, from start to finish shall defend.*

*The third link; the stablest one, shall heal until the fight is done.*

*Should the equal fail the fight, darkness shall fall and veil the light;*

*lest one whose worth is not yet known, should yield his life for his own.*

*Then must the circle, in fourths, undone, reunite to form as one.*

*For division brought about the bane, a purge of lines, the innocent slain.*

*All must join, in heart and hand, for the divided fall, but the united stand.'*
"

When she was done, Harry and Ron, both with gazes that revealed they weren't sure of
anything anymore sat facing the Divination teacher with nothing to say. And for the first time they
could remember, Trelawny dropped all signs of pretence. 

She stared at the two for a time before speaking in the most sincere voice they'd ever heard
her use.

"I know what you two think of my class. I know you think I'm a right old
fraud…"

Harry swallowed. "Well…you see it's not…"

"At times, I've wondered it myself to be quite frank," she continued bluntly.

Ron glanced at Harry as if he needed reassurance he'd really just heard what he had. The
look on Harry's face gave him no doubts.

"However, if I've ever been sure of anything in my whole life and career, I'm sure
of this one thing…It was real what I experienced last night. Call it a dream or a vision, whatever
you must… but dark times are ahead, darker than ever before…I feel it in my bones." She gave
the two boys her most piercing gaze, but they would've felt the rightness of her words even
without it. She continued gravely.

"For some reason, you three are directly involved. Mr. Potter, we've known of you ever
since the night You-Know-Who gave you that scar, but as for Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger, I think it
safe to say that none of you met by chance."

Once again the two sat still, staring numbly at her until Harry finally spoke up quietly.
"I think we agree on something, for once."

A few minutes later and Trelawny was left by herself in her warm pastel classroom, the only
sounds coming from the pinkish flames crackling in the hearth. Yet she still hadn't moved from
her place behind her desk. She felt useless for once, purposeless; surrounded by futile trinkets
and crystals and portents that suddenly mattered not at all. Her gaze bored an uneasy hole into the
desk before she spoke quietly to no one at all.

"It begins soon."

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



24. Chapter 24: Oblivious Sirius
--------------------------------


**Chapter 24: "Oblivious Sirius"**

Harry left Ron outside the Gryffindor common room and quickly headed towards Lupin's
classroom to catch his final class of the day. He'd called a Quidditch practice for before
dinner owing to the upcoming match with Ravenclaw, and since what had just happened with Trelawny
had left him feeling tired not only in body but in spirit as well, he regretted it. But the match
was Saturday, and since it was Thursday, they really needed the practice.

He reached the classroom slightly out of breath and saw Lupin already waiting for him with the
room readied and sword in hand. Harry dropped his arms dully.

"Sorry. Got tied up with Trelawny after class."

Lupin tossed him Godric Gryffindor's sword and Harry caught it easily by the hilt,
immediately comfortable with its familiar weight in his hand.

"No worries," replied James easily. "She told me she'd be needing you and Ron
during our first class, but I *am* glad you've made it for this one. Ready?"

Harry ran a hand wearily down his face and back up through his hair, shaking his head slightly
to try rattling all distracting, oppressive thoughts from his head. He hefted the sword up and
fixed Lupin with his best centralised stare.

"All right."

Lupin stared at him for a moment. "Want to try attacking or defending first?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Think I'll attack; get rid of some nervous
energy."

"And frustration, perhaps?" said Lupin perceptively, fixing him with a gaze.

Harry sighed. Apparently there would be no fooling anyone today. "Something like
that."

Lupin readied himself and took his familiar stance. "Want to talk about it later? Might
help."

Harry chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Need to talk on it with
Hermione first…but later if you're free, say eight…"

"I'm free," said Lupin as quickly as he could without sounding too excited.
"Make it nine though? Full moon out tonight. Snape's been busy since yesterday brewing me
a wolfsbane potion."

Harry's lips curled ironically on one side. "That might explain his particularly
*shitty* mood today."

James laughed heartily. "Yes he does love helping me out of a good jam, doesn't he? So
Potions went *swimmingly*, I gather?" He ended sarcastically.

"He's been right pissed off all day," said Harry a little too cheerfully.
"Even took twenty points from his own house. Malfoy went spare."

Lupin barked out a laugh, and Harry dropped his sword down, joining him. He then realised
abruptly that this was the first time he and his father had laughed together. Funny the things you
notice when you never had them to take for granted. He wouldn't know it, but Lupin had noticed
too.

They sobered quickly; business to attend to. An hour passed, and the class ended with James flat
on his back, his sword in Harry's other hand, and Harry standing over him with the tip of his
own blade pressed near his jugular. Nearing the end, their swords a blur of activity with the
clashing and clanging of blade against blade, Harry had given James sword a powerful upward arc,
wrenching it suddenly from his grasp. In mid-air, Harry had summoned it wandless to his own hand,
and had knocked Lupin to the floor.

Lupin, red in the face from exertion and with sweat gleaming on his face and arms, beamed up at
his son.

"Brilliant Harry."

Harry, sweating and breathing just as hard, his cheeks blotched with red and his hair wildly in
disarray, lifted the tip from his fathers neck and moved backward a bit. In his left hand, he
flipped James sword up to catch it by the blade and handed it back to him, hilt first.

James took it and the hand Harry offered him, pulling himself up with a grunt. "Either
I'm getting rather old and feeble or you're getting really good."

"Let's hope it's the latter," began Harry without really thinking, pulling up
the bottom of his button down shirt to swipe his face with it, "We'll need you when all
this comes to…a head…" he trailed off, realising he'd just voiced some of his own
fears.

Lupin swiped at his own brow and brought his arm down slowly, gazing at his son. He paused for a
moment. "Yes. We will, won't we…"

Harry stood awkwardly for a moment before glancing up at the clock above Lupin. "Oi…I'd
better get going. Got to head to the pitch for practice and then shower and meet Hermione for
dinner…" he trailed off once again.

Lupin spoke quietly. "It's not easy..is it son?"

Harry stood stock still for a moment. "No it's not. I'll be to your room at
nine."

Lupin nodded and watched Harry walk out, thinking to himself that Harry was living proof of the
old adage "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger".

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

Quidditch practice went swiftly enough, and Harry left the pitch, dirty and even sweatier than
before, along with Ron; both feeling great about Gryffindor's chances against Ravenclaw.

As they walked at dusk back towards the castle, Quidditch robes billowing behind them in the
chilly breeze, brooms thrown carelessly over their shoulders, and boots crunching through a new
layer of snow, they discussed Trelawny's latest prediction.

"Well the three links are obvious," said Ron, watching his breath meet the cold and
swirl out misty white. "Damn spooky the way she called out the three of us. It's not as if
she's seen what's been going on with your bit of wandless magic, or my defensive spells or
'Mione's bizarre healing…"

Harry nodded his agreement. "Just some parts of her prediction I'm stumped on… Like the
part 'lest one who's worth is not yet known gives his life for his own'. What in the
hell does that mean? How can one give his life for his *own life*? And his worth not yet
known? To who? Makes no sense."

"Dunno." Ron shook his head darkly as if trying to figure it out on his own.

"Don't strain yourself," said Harry snidely.

Ron growled and pulled a punch to Harry's ribs. But neither had the desire to laugh at that
particular moment.

Harry sighed as he wrenched one of the huge double-doors to the castle open allowing he and Ron
to step inside. "Well, once again we head toward our 'stablest link' for
answers."

"I hope she has some to give," Ron smirked half-heartedly. "See you in the
Hall."

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

Harry headed toward his and Hermione's quarters and entered to find her curled on the common
room couch asleep; her hand still barely curled around a half-opened book threatening to drop to
the floor at any moment.

Harry smiled and shook his head, leaning his Flametorch broom against a wall. "That's
my girl."

He squatted beside the couch, content for the moment to watch the shadows from the fire dance
across her face. He eased the book from her grasp and closed it, laying it on the floor before
brushing a hand across her cheek.

" 'Mione… Wake up sleeping beauty…"

Hermione stirred and opened blurry eyes to see Harry's face before her. Without speaking a
word, the first thing she did was curl a hand round his neck and pull him in for a kiss. When they
parted, she blinked and took a good look at him. He was dressed in his full game uniform, scarlet
robe, elbow and knee guards as well, his hair stood in twenty different directions, he'd shoved
his glasses up onto his head, and dirt mingled with sweat smudged his face. He looked
wonderful.

"You smell like sweat…and grass."

"Took a few tumbles catching the snitch," Harry grinned and stood, offering her his
hand. "Sorry. I'm sure I don't half stink. Left class with dad sweating and sweated
even more at practice."

Hermione's jaw dropped as she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet.

"Harry!"

Harry frowned. "What? I'm going straight away to shower, I promise…"

"No!" said Hermione smiling. "You…you just said…you just called Professor Lupin
your *dad*."

Harry looked down for a moment and mentally ran through his last two sentences. When he hit on
it he looked a bit shocked as well, and scratched at his head with a bit of embarrassment.

"Er…I..guess I did, didn't I?"

Hermione sniffed to try keeping back tears. "You did."

He stared at the floor for a few moments more, unsure what to say. *It didn't mean
anything…did it? Except maybe I'm getting more used to the idea…or more used to him… Bloody
hell, there's too much else to think on at the moment…*

"Well, I'll head to the shower and then we'll meet Ron in the Hall for dinner.
We've got loads to tell you," said Harry, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. As he
headed towards the bathroom, he threw his cloak over the back of the couch, tore off his boots,
tossed his elbow and knee pads to the floor and ripped off his shirt, leaving him clad only in the
tight corduroy trousers; his broad back gleaming with sweat. Hermione gawped at him.

"T..tell me?" she managed to choke out. In those pants his arse seemed to be a wonder
unto itself. She cocked her head and watched it enter the bathroom. "All right…What
about?"

"Trelawny's class today," said Harry, his voice echoing from the bathroom.
"She said…well, she's had another premonition, of sorts." He shut the door.

Hermione's jaw dropped and she ran to the door, knocking rapidly. "Harry, she
*what*!? Come out! You can't just tell me something like that and leave off!"

She heard Harry turn on the shower. " 'Mione, you, Ron and I will talk on it at dinner.
We need to discuss it together."

"But Ron has class with you; he knows already! Let me in there so you can fill me
in…"

Harry paused for a moment and then answered brazenly. "Don't tempt me."

Harry's arse…*sans* pants… Hermione did her best to sound indignant. "I meant we
could talk with you *behind* the curtain, you prat."

Harry laughed at her. "I'll be out soon, love."

Hermione huffed in annoyance and walked away to sit rather heavily on the couch, playing mental
games with herself to try thinking of anything but Harry's wet body at the moment.

After a brief shower, Harry and Hermione headed toward the crowded noisy Great Hall and found
Ron sitting in their usual spot near the front. They took seats opposite him and Harry began
filling his plate until Hermione put a restraining hand on both their arms. Ron reluctantly lowered
his forkful of bacon and pease pudding.

"All right, I want information. Now."

"Mione, I'm flippin' *starved* here," grumbled Ron around his first
mouthful. "I need nourishment."

"Talk while you eat…" said Hermione annoyed. "For once, I’m *asking* you
to."

Harry glanced up to see Lavender headed their way and sighed. "Ron, I know Lav's your
girl, but we really need to talk the three of us alone, tonight."

"No worries," said Ron with a grimace. "I'm sure she won't be sitting
with me."

Sure enough, when Lavender got nearer them, she turned up her nose at Ron without giving him a
second glance and continued past them to sit beside Parvarti.

Harry glanced down the table at her and then turned back to cock an eyebrow at Ron.
"Trouble in paradise, Ronniekins?"

Hermione jabbed him disapprovingly with her elbow.

Ron scowled at him but then returned to looking slightly dejected. "She's upset with me
that I laughed at Seamus in class today. Thinks it's an indication what '*sort of man I
am'*."

Hermione raised an eyebrow slightly. "*Man,* is it?"

Ron scowled once again. "*Her* words Hermione, not mine. And *yes*… I'm of
age now, *aren't I*?"

"I suppose so." Hermione glanced down and suppressed a small smile.

"Anyhow, it'll be a while before we're speaking again, I think; at least until
Parvarti stops trying to jinx Seamus. So we've all the privacy we need."

"Good," said Hermione rather sternly. "Then let's get started, shall we?
Before *I* start jinxing *you two."*

Harry held up a hand. "All right, all right. After Divination today, Trelawny called Ron
and I back into the classroom for a while. Said she had something to discuss with us."

"Professor Lupin *did* say you and Ron had been excused from Advanced DADA
today," said Hermione rather breathlessly. "Go on."

Harry took a quick bite of his food and continued. "Told us of another *vision*
she'd had. While she slept last night she saw a bunch of words and some shapes."

Ron nodded and Hermione practically bounced in her seat for more information. "What sort of
shapes?"

"Tr'angw…cucwe quuhted," said Ron around the huge mouthful of pudding he'd
just stuffed in. "S'm fing w'v sheen…"

Hermione screwed up her face in disgust at him. "*Ugh*, Ron. Try again."

Ron swallowed with effort. "Sorry…she saw a triangle and a quartered circle. Same as
us."

Hermione bit her lip and took a small bite of food as an afterthought. "Hmm, interesting.
And the premonition?"

"Oi, look!" Ron brightened proudly, shoving a hand into the back pocket of his pants.
"Took your advice and wrote it down before we forgot!"

He pulled out a small piece of parchment and read the whole of it to her.

Hermione listened intently with her mouth slightly open until he was through and then snatched
the parchment from him.

"Well…" she breathed, her eyes carefully scanning the words. "She really
*does* divine at times, it seems."

Harry nodded. "That's how we thought. Still, there're a few things we're shaky
on; like quite a bit of the last part. The 'one whose worth is not yet known gives his life for
his own' completely stumps me…And what the circle represents, I'm not sure."

Hermione thought for a moment and lowered her fork, most of her food completely untouched.
"I have a suspicion…but before I'm certain I'll need to research something…"

She began to stand.

Harry lowered his fork as well. " 'Mione, we can at least finish eating…"

"You and Ron go ahead," said Hermione, once again lapsing into one-track-mindedness.
"I want to look this up while it's fresh in my mind…You can meet me at our common room
later."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "All right."

He watched her go, and a few moments later, Lavender finished as well and sauntered toward he
and Ron, flipping her blonde hair haughtily.

"*Well*…so you two've managed to drive away *another* woman, have you? What
sort of piggish things have you found to laugh at now?"

Harry gawped at her in amusement and Ron threw his head back with a groan. "Oh for the
*love of Merlin*, Lav. Let it go, *will you*?"

Lavender instantly scowled. "I will **not**, Ronald Weasley! It's **horrible**
how you, Dean, and **you** for that matter," she narrowed her eyes at Harry, "started
the whole class laughing at poor Parvarti! She thought Seamus really fancied her…"

Ron stared at her. "*He* *does*! He just fancies a few others as well!"

Lavender suddenly looked incensed. "*What*!? So you reckon this is all right, *do
you*!?"

"Of course!" answered Ron incredulously. Harry groaned and slapped a hand over his
eyes for a moment. *Ron…stop now…just stop now…*

"Better he play the field for a while and find the right one than settle just yet! What if
he finds someone more suitable!? It wouldn't be fair to Parvarti either!"

"*And the bracelet*?" seethed Lavender.

Ron looked as if he'd completely lost the plot. "Don't **you** like
jewellery?"

Lavender stood rigidly for a moment, completely dumbfounded at Ron's idiocy and then hissed
quietly. "Ronald Weasley…*you* *great, dumb **clot***…I don't know
*what* I ever saw in you!"

She stomped away angrily, leaving half the Gryffindor table, who'd been watching with great
amusement, snickering as she left. Dean howled out loud. Only Parvarti seemed unamused. Ron glanced
round at them all with a completely gobsmacked look on his face.

"*Gods Ron*…" Harry closed his eyes and sighed wearily.

Ron jaw hung open. "What'd **I** do!?"

Harry groaned.

"**WHAT**!?"

(A/N: Bama loves Clueless!Ron. ;0)

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

Harry and Ron finished their dinner in an awkward silence. It didn't help that half of
Gryffindor table were still snickering and covertly discussing Ron's situation with Lavender.
Harry spent the better part of the way back to his and Hermione's dorms trying to pound common
sense into Ron's thick skull.

"…so since Seamus had given it to every other girl he'd wanted to make it with, it
wasn't a gift at all, you see?" said Harry, putting a different perspective on a situation
he'd already tried to explain to Ron more than three times so far.

"But he gave her **jewellery** mate," said Ron blatantly as if Harry was somewhat
naive. "I mean he wouldn't have given her anything *at all* if she weren't
*something* to him, right?"

They'd reached the portrait door, and Harry found himself wishing Sir Cadogen would ride up
and hack him to death with his tiny sword. *How in Merlin's name was Ron so utterly
clueless*?

Harry sighed deeply. "Ron…let's let Hermione try and explain it to you, all right?
Dragon's lair." The portrait opened automatically owing to the absence of the tiny
knight.

Ron followed him in muttering under his breath. "…nothing to bloody explain…got a good
grasp on things, I think…"

Harry rolled his eyes, and at that moment, Hermione walked out from her room with her nose in a
book, muttering to herself in much the same way. She nearly bumped headlong into Harry before she
realised the two of them had entered. He caught her by the arms before she nose-dived into the
floor. She looked suddenly flustered.

"Oh! You're back then, are you?"

Harry began to respond snarkily to her but she cut him off before he could. "Good. I've
got loads to share with you two."

She and Harry took a seat next to Ron, who continued to look sulky at Harry's insinuation he
needed help with members of the opposite sex. If she noticed anything untoward, Hermione ignored it
magnificently.

"All right. So I went to Professor Dumbledore's office right on leaving here,"
said Hermione matter-of-factly.

Harry started at her. "Dumbledore's office? 'Mione, you didn't go to share
anything with him, did you?"

This snapped her attention back to him. "If you'll remember Harry, Professor Dumbledore
gave us his password to come talk to him anytime we wanted. We are Head boy and girl, after all.
Personally I don't understand why you don't want to talk to him about any of this. He cares
about you so much."

"Exactly why," said Harry with a sigh. Seeing Hermione's look, he finished
quickly. "Not that I don't appreciate it mind you, it's just that I want to make
decisions on my own if I can. I'm bloody seventeen Hermione. I don't need Dumbledore
deciding to take any matters on my life into his own hands."

Ron finally spoke up. "And you don't think your dad is filling him in on everything you
tell him…"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe so. But at least he's noticed it's not me doing it. If I
need his help or advice, I'll ask for it. I think he knows that."

Hermione smiled. "Well if I know Professor Dumbledore at all, he's right glad your
talking to your father about things. He'd much rather it be Lupin you're confiding in than
himself, I'm sure."

Harry stiffened just a bit. The subject of him coming to his father for advice usually made him
bristle, though he wasn't quite sure what it was about it that made him feel so. The only thing
he could deduce was that he'd always had to take care of himself, and he couldn't imagine
delegating that task to a man that had been absent his whole life, however out of the ordinary the
circumstances were. True, he had shared some things with James, but to be truthful to himself, he
would've felt more comfortable sharing them with Sirius. If it weren't for the bloody
ministry watching every floo network like hawks, even the ones at Hogwarts, he would've done by
now. But there was no way he was going to risk Sirius getting caught.

Hermione noticed his change in demeanour immediately. "Oh Harry, I’m sorry… I know how
difficult it's been for you to share things with him. I didn't mean to…"

Harry put a hand to her face. "No, it's all right. No worries."

A short silence filled the room before Ron broke the awkwardness. "So what'd Dumbledore
have to say?"

Hermione seized on the change of subject, and sensed Harry was grateful for it as well. "I
didn't exactly go there to see him. He wasn't there anyway. I went to speak to the sorting
hat."

Ron sat up quickly. "The sorting hat? As in have a conversation with it?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes Ron. It *can* talk if you'll recall."

"Yeah but I didn't know it could actually carry on a discussion with you!" said
Ron dumbfounded. "I thought all it was good for was sorting and coming up with a new song
every year."

Hermione sighed deeply as if once again she found a friendship with two boys to be very taxing.
"Once again Ron, I'd like to stress that if you'd **ONLY** **READ** *Hogwarts:
A History*, you would never have to ask me such ridiculous questions again…"

"All right!" said Ron exasperated, holding up a hand. "Nevermind…it's not
worth it! Just go on."

Harry grinned covertly at the two of them as she continued. "Well…what Trelawny said, about
the quartered circle… I had an idea what it could mean but I wasn't certain until I asked the
sorting hat to sing for me again the song it did in our fifth year."

"You actually remember that song?" asked Harry, impressed.

"I remembered it enough that it seemed to apply to this," said Hermione, holding up
the scrap of parchment with Trelawny's prediction written in Ron's untidy, loopy scrawl.
"However, I couldn't remember it entirely. I had the hat sing it for me again. Once it was
through and I told it the part about the circle, it seemed to agree with me."

"It *agreed* with you!?" asked Ron incredulously. "As if the bloody
thing's alive?"

Hermione sighed in aggravation. "*Merlin* Ron, what'd I just say…"

Harry groaned despite himself. "For the *love of Quidditch* just go on. Ron shut it,
will you?"

Ron shot him a filthy look but allowed Hermione to continue.

"So the prediction states: 'Then must the circle, in fourths, undone, reunite to form
as one. For division brought about the bane, a purge of lines, the innocent slain. All must join,
in heart and hand, for the divided fall, but the united stand'." Quoted Hermione.

"Now, what can we think of that's been divided into fourths? Something that has
sometimes brought about strife because of it?"

Harry and Ron thought for a few moments before Harry finally spoke.

"The only thing I can think that might pertain is the four houses in Hogwarts. We know in
the beginning the four houses got along fine…and then some conflicts came about because of the
division."

"Too right!" exclaimed Hermione breathlessly. "Which is why I wanted the sorting
hat to sing over its song from fifth year. I did a recollection spell so we could hear it in its
entirety again but I think I'll just forward to the relevant parts."

Ron seemed relieved and let out a sigh he hadn't meant Hermione to hear. She fixed him with
an exasperated glare before deciding to ignore him. Holding her wand upright and turning it
counter-clockwise twice, she then flicked the wand toward the wall above the mantle of the
fireplace.

"*Resonomelos* Sorting Hat, fifth year!"

The bit of wall above the fireplace suddenly gave off a gentle purple radiance before words
began etching themselves out in an ancient scrawl. An echoing melody began to filter through the
dim room, and Harry and Ron leaned forward on their knees staring intently at the wall, at once
recognising the old scratchy voice of the sorting hat. It hadn't come up with a new song since
fifth year.

"*In times of old when I was new and Hogwarts barely started*

*The founders of our noble school thought never to be parted.*

*United by a common goal they had the selfsame yearning,*

*To make the world's best magic school and pass along their learning…*"

"All right, I'll forward to the parts we need especially to hear," said Hermione,
raising her wand once more. She began this time to twirl it clock-wise, and the song sped up almost
comically, the words a blur as they appeared astonishingly fast on the wall, and the voice becoming
at once high-pitched and very fast paced. But while Harry and Ron might've normally found this
funny, there was no humour in it for them this night, only a desire to pay close attention. The
song began explaining to them certain parts of Trelawny's prophecy they had previously been
unsure about.

Hermione lowered her wand and the song slowed to normal pace once more.

"…*So how could it have gone so wrong?*

*How could such friendships fail?*

*Why, I was there and so can tell*

*The whole sad, sorry tale.*

*Said **Slytherin**, "We'll teach just those*

*Whose ancestry is purest."*

*Said **Ravenclaw**, "We'll teach those whose*

*Intelligence is surest."*

*Said **Gryffindo**r, "We'll teach all those*

*With brave deeds to their name."*

*Said **Hufflepuff**, "I'll teach the lot,*

*And treat them just the same*."

For each house's name said, Harry held up one finger. Hermione paused the song as he turned
to her and Ron holding up four.

"Hogwarts divided into four houses. A circle, separated into four parts. And what
represents wholeness more than a circle? There's no angles to ford off sharply like with a
square or rectangle. What other shape describes unity as well as it?"

Both Ron and Hermione nodded, and Hermione forwarded the song a bit again, slowing it until it
came to another desirable part.

"…*So Hogwarts worked in harmony*

*For several happy years,*

*But then discord crept among us*

*Feeding on our faults and fears.*

*The Houses that, like pillars four,*

*Had once held up our school,*

*Now turned upon each other and,*

*Divided, sought to rule.*

*And for a while it seemed the school*

*Must meet an early end,*

*What with duelling and with fighting*

*And the clash of friend on friend*

*And at last there came a morning*

*When Slytherin departed*

*And though the fighting then died out*

*He left us quite downhearted.*

*And never since the founders four*

*Were whittled down to three*

*Have the Houses been united*

*As they once were meant to be…*"

"Notice," said Hermione as she paused the song once again, "When Slytherin left
the fighting died off. Maybe Salazar was the one making certain the school stayed in discord and
divided."

"It seems he did his job well too," said Harry thoughtfully. "Even after he left,
the damage had been done, hadn't it? The school never reunited as it was meant to, did
it?"

Ron gave a low whistle of surprise. "I never knew the sorting hat would be so
important…"

Hermione chose to leave the comment alone and continue the song where it left off.

"*And now the Sorting Hat is here*

*And you all know the score:*

*I sort you into Houses*

*Because that is what I'm for,*

*But this year I'll go further,*

*Listen closely to my song:*

*Though condemned I am to split you*

*Still I worry that it's wrong,*

*Though I must fulfill my duty*

*And must quarter every year*

*Still I wonder whether sorting*

*May not bring the end I fear.*

*Oh, know the perils, read the signs,*

*The warning history shows,*

*For our Hogwarts is in danger*

*From external, deadly foes*

*And we must unite inside her*

*Or we'll crumble from within*

*I have told you, I have warned you....*

*Let the Sorting now begin*."

"Know the perils, read the signs; the warning history shows. For our Hogwarts is in danger
from external, deadly foes," repeated Ron with wide eyes as the song ended. The direness of it
all was beginning to hit him full force. Hermione '*scourgified*' the song from the
wall, and the room was plunged into silence and the dim orange glow from the fireplace once
more.

"Voldemort could be the prediction's 'bane'," Ron spoke into the new
silence of the room. "He always did want to purge the school, didn't he? He started to
with Moaning Myrtle. That certainly could be a warning from history, couldn't it?"

"He especially wanted it 'cleansed' when it came to his own house," added
Hermione quietly.

Ron suddenly sat bolt upright, his face draining of colour. "The purge of lines…Harry, now
he knows you're a Slytherin too, there's nothing more he wants than to get rid of you and
the other offshoot of Slytherins' line you represent. The one that should have never been,
right mate?"

Harry looked stunned for a moment. "I never thought of it that way before, but if he got
rid of me, the last heir of Aberdeen's affair, or the last he knows of, his 'line would be
purged', wouldn't it? And…"

Hermione spoke up in almost a whisper. "The innocent slain…Voldemort also wants only
pure-blooded wizards involved in our world. In fact, he **only** wants pure-bloods, I believe.
The first thing he'd do when able was to rid the world of Muggles and half-bloods." She
clasped her hands very tightly in her lap and shuddered despite herself.

Harry saw her gazing down in fear and took one of her hands, while his other came up to clasp
her chin and force her eyes to his. His determined gaze burned into hers, and his eyes held a cold,
deadly resolve. "He's never going to touch you, you hear me Hermione? I won't let him
near you. I'll kill him first."

Something began to happen, something that had never happened before. Harry's whole body
began to glow in much the same way Hermione's hand had when healing Malfoy's injuries. He
seemed unaware at the moment it was happening, but his eyes burned with an almost neon green fire,
and the whole of his body began emanating a luminescent sapphire blue. It shimmered and wavered
around him like an enormous halo and burned brighter and brighter the longer his gaze locked with
hers. Hermione felt a fluttering in her chest so concentrated that it was almost painful. She'd
only once before seen that look on his face, one that might send even the fiercest of enemies
scurrying for shelter. It was when he'd faced Voldemort in the Kavan Forest last year. But
there hadn't been the eerie bright blue glow, and the palpable, metallic taste and smell that
seemed to be hovering about him. Even without ever experiencing anything like it before, Hermione
was sure of what it was. It was power. Great, unharnessed, pulsing, throbbing power, like a rogue
lightning bolt from an electrical storm. She could almost feel the hairs on her body standing.
Harry's gaze burned with a fire that almost scared her breathless.

"H..Harry," was all she could sputter out.

Ron for his part seemed frozen in place. He was staring at Harry as if he'd never seen him
before. "Mate…are you all right?"

The two voices seemed to bring Harry down, and the aura around him suddenly dissipated with an
audible **SNAP**.

Harry lowered his brows at Ron and released Hermione's hand. "What? Why'd you ask?
'Course I am. I'm just not going to let Voldemort get to Hermione; or you mate…No matter
what…whatever it takes…"

He'd finished the latter part of his sentence as if speaking only to himself, and Hermione
suddenly felt a sharp bolt of fear stab at her chest. It would be just like Harry to recklessly
sacrifice himself if he thought it would save her or Ron…

"What'd you mean by that!?" Her voice came out like a breath, and she
instinctively gripped at his sleeve. "What'd you mean '*whatever it
takes'*!?" A pulsing panic began to tighten the walls of her chest and she felt the
sudden urge to grab onto Harry like a vice and never let him go.

Even Ron seemed to have balked at Harry's last statement and spoke up roughly.
"**Don't say things like that mate**. We're all in this together remember? Have
done since the beginning. Don't you ever forget that."

Harry immediately lightened and shook his head. "I wasn't…I didn't mean to scare
you two. I just…if he ever…**ever** tried to… Let's just concentrate on Trelawny's
prediction, all right? One thing at a time."

Ron nodded, at once settling to the task at hand with Harry following, but Hermione merely
watched the two talk for a moment, her focus solely on Harry. For some reason the sense of
foreboding would not go away. If Harry had a fault that stuck out in her mind, it was that he was
reckless when it came to his friends. And now more than ever, the threat that he might somehow be
forced, in his own mind, to take certain burdens on himself to spare others, loomed before her like
terror made physical and solid, a fear she could almost reach out and grab hold of. If she somehow
lost him, Hermione was certain she would somehow live on, though hollow and empty. But the question
had never been that. The question had been, if Harry was lost to her, would life be worth the
living?

Her eyes traced his face, somehow boyish and manly all at the same time. His dark messy hair
waved all over his head, and the absurdly long lashes were tipped with gold from the fire glow. She
watched the dimple mar his left cheek as he smirked at something Ron said, watched his form as he
leaned forward on his knees and snuck a glance at her, seeing her and waiting for a reassuring
glance back. She gave him one, but though he saw it, he couldn't see the heartbreak that lay
within. Voldemort's threat had somehow become more real for her in the span of only a few
moments.

*Oh Harry, could I live on if you didn't*? Her body would remain, of that she was
certain; but her heart and soul would forever be clutched in his hand.

Harry turned to smile grimly at her, and a physical pain stabbed her chest.

"Hermione? Come join us, will you? We need you on this too…"

As she moved over closer to them both, Hermione realised that the subject had changed to
Parvarti and the bracelet. *Thank Merlin for Ron*, she thought with a small smile. Sometimes
he brought about a much needed lightness and humour. But as she concentrated on helping him
understand the female mind, (although she rather thought it was common sense) she was also
supremely aware that a new heavier fear had saddled her heart.

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

Nine o'clock came round more suddenly than Harry had expected, and he, Hermione and Ron,
after Hermione's overly simplified explanation of the bracelet fiasco, had still failed to
figure out a few parts of the prophecy. But, he figured, there were some things one wouldn't
figure out until they came to pass, weren't there?

He and Ron left Hermione still doggedly poring over books of prophecy in an attempt to find out
more, and when they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry left Ron as well, with Ron
fervently promising that he now understood why Parvarti felt the way she did, and that he was going
to make things right with Lavender straight away.

"That is if I don't screw it up by making another dumb-arse comment," said Ron
frustratedly. "I just never know when one's coming."

Harry knew he'd meant he never knew when something he said was inappropriate, but he laughed
at Ron's wording all the same, until Ron punched him hard in the arm. They tussled
good-naturedly outside the common room for a few moments before he swore at himself for the time
and ran to make it to Lupin's private quarters, leaving Ron with a matching bruise on his
arm.

As he sauntered along with hands jammed into the pockets of his robes, Harry mused about the
fact that he was still nervous, after four months or so of knowing James, to have one-on-one
conversations with him. He hated the awkwardness of always being hyper-aware of every word his
father said; looking for clues that weren't necessarily there, or hidden agenda's in his
father's advice. He supposed it would be hard for him to ever fully trust him, and yet, here he
was headed toward his room to talk things over with him. How he wished he could talk with Sirius as
well…

Once there, Harry rapped lightly on the door. He heard a muffled 'come in' and entered
the room, closing the door lightly behind him.

James was seated somewhat rigidly near the fireplace in his small room, with an extra plush
chair next to him, obviously for Harry. His father smiled and motioned for Harry to join him, but
before he did, Harry took a few moments to survey James' living quarters.

It was basically one large room, with half-partition walls separating the bathroom from small
kitchen, to living area, to small bedroom. The living area consisted only of two plush golden
coloured chairs, large shag-like deep red carpeting thrown over the stone floor, a couple of
bookcases, and a polished wooden mantle over a large fireplace.

As Harry made his way toward James, he noticed loads of pictures on the mantle. To his surprise,
his parents had mapped out every bit of his short life with them. A picture of a red, wrinkled
new-born with a shock of black hair, in the midst of a silent fit of screaming stood in the middle,
titled: Harry James Potter, 31 July 1980. In another, Harry was seated in a high-chair with a face
full of cake that he had obviously smeared up into his hair. Lily, with James arm round her, was in
the background having a hearty laugh at him. There was a "1" candle lit on top of the
rest of the cake, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder how long after this happy event Voldemort had
attacked. More pictures stared at him from worn frames. Harry swinging in between his grinning
parents hands, obviously in some park. Harry perched atop his father's shoulders, grabbing onto
the shock of dark hair so much like his own for dear life. Lily holding baby Harry and grinning
into his face as Harry laughed back. James with little Harry perched in front of him on a Shooting
Star (must've been a top model broom then), his father grinning wildly and ruffling Harry's
hair much like he used to do his own. Pictures of James and Lily themselves graced the mantle as
well. Dancing pictures where they looked so in love, pictures of them at school, wedding pictures.
There were even pictures of James along with the rest of the Marauders, grinning and acting like
idiots, and Harry felt his mind swirling with the thought that he must now, in his own mind, switch
the face of the James in the picture with Lupin.

Somehow, although Harry knew it shouldn't have, the sight of the pictures came as quite a
shock to him. He supposed it had to do with the fact that it was just one more reminder of how
unwanted he'd felt his whole life, and how wrong he'd been.

Harry finally turned to look at his father, who had been silent the entire time, and saw the
ghost of a sad tight smile on his face. As Harry sat, Lupin tried to change the mood a bit.

"Well, it's not much compared to the Gryffindor common room, I'm sure," said
Lupin with a small, nervous laugh. "But I assure you it's a palace compared to some of the
other places I've lived."

Harry nodded, still not quite trusting himself to speak just yet, but Lupin spoke first
anyway.

"Harry…I…thought…I thought it might well be time to invite someone else in on our
conversations."

Harry frowned. Lupin sounded as if he were dreading something, and for the life of him, Harry
couldn't deduce what it was.

"All right," he drawled out slowly, eyeing him. "Who?"

Lupin spoke after a beat of hesitation. "Sirius."

Harry instantly brightened and sat straight up. "You're wh…I mean *really*!? But
what about the Ministry? Dumbledore's been *pounding it in my head* they're watching
the floo networks here like *hawks*, especially now they know I've been in contact with
him before…"

Lupin felt a twinge of jealousy run through him at Harry's obvious excitement and raised a
hand to stop him. Harry fell silent. "I've worked it out with Dumbledore. The Ministry was
certainly not able to bug every single floo network here. There're hundreds of hearths in
Hogwarts set to it, and mine happens to be one of them. This room was vacant for years before
Dumbledore gave me use of it so they had no need of watching over it. He's conveniently
forgotten to inform the Ministry it's now being occupied."

Harry instantly felt a little more forgiving toward the Headmaster. "So have you been in
contact with him this whole time!? Why haven't you let me know!? I've wanted to talk to him
for ages…"

"Actually Harry, I haven't," said Lupin quietly. "I…I haven't been in
contact with Sirius for some months now…almost four, to be exact."

Harry narrowed his eyes at his father until a look of stunned comprehension began to dawn on his
face. "Don't tell me…don't you tell me Sirius doesn't know…"

Lupin sat very straight in his chair, his eyes not quite meeting Harry's. "He
doesn't."

Harry felt as if he'd been punched. "How could he possibly not know!? You and he were
best mates in school! If anyone would know the difference between Remus Lupin and James Potter it
would be him!"

"You're absolutely right," said James, nodding along with his son's words.
"And if he had found out, Harry…If Sirius were suddenly to find out his best friend was still
alive, how do you think he'd react?"

Harry's reply was instant. "He'd have come after you! He'd have wanted to be
with you, help you find Peter Pettigrew, fight your fights, help you with me… with..
Voldemort…" he trailed off, and understood.

"Yes…he would have," answered James slowly. "And that's why, every time he
found out and confronted me with it, how much I spoke like James, how much my mannerisms copied
James, I had to make him forget. For his own good I had to make him forget, to keep him out of
sight and away from the Ministry's bloody watchful eyes."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "You *obliviated* him."

Lupin nodded sadly. "It's been lonely without him. I can't tell you how many times
I was tempted just to let him be. To let him find out I was still alive…but I couldn't put him
in that type of danger. Knowing Padfoot, he never would've left my side after that. I
couldn't do that to him…or to you. I wanted nothing to tip off the fact I was..am your
father."

And the very next question that popped into Harry's thoughts was one he knew, even in the
utter chaos and confusion of finding out who Lupin really was, he should've thought to ask
long, long ago. Immediately Harry felt every muscle in his body knot with tension. If James had
been alive this whole time…

"And what about the twelve years Sirius spent in Azkaban," Harry seethed dangerously,
now perching as if ready to spring from his seat. "You've *known all along* it
wasn't him that killed those Muggles that day in the street. That Peter Pettigrew survived that
attack; that he did it himself…"

"Wait Harry, let me explain," said James immediately.

Harry's breathing was very shallow and he seemed on the point of violence, but he sat
himself back in the chair, his piercing gaze never leaving his father's. "All right, I’m
listening."

Lupin closed his eyes for a moment, painful memories resurfacing to tug painfully inside his
chest. He swallowed down the lump that had risen so suddenly and began to tell the story.

"After Lily and Remus were killed and you were taken to the Dursley's, I immediately
went into hiding in the Muggle world for a while. Dumbledore was my only source of news, so suffice
it to say, I didn't get much that often as neither of us wanted the neighbours getting
suspicious, or Voldemort and his followers for that matter. But Dumbledore did deem it important
information for me to know the day Sirius was framed for the murder of the twelve Muggles and
supposedly Pettigrew. I met Hagrid in Diagon Alley the next day, and he took me straight to
Hogwarts where Dumbledore and I argued for the better part of the next week over what to do. Of
course, I wanted to testify on his behalf as Remus Lupin, but Albus informed me Fudge had already
believed him guilty, and had sent him straight to Azkaban without a trial."

"Sirius never got a trial?" asked Harry incredulously. "Why?"

"Because even back then Lucius Malfoy had Fudge in his wealthy back pocket. And I believe
Lucius was already on Voldemort's side. Having heard James Potter's infant son defeated the
most 'powerful wizard in the world', I think nothing pleased Malfoy or Voldemort more than
to see James' best friend headed to Azkaban for murder. And with the very wizard supposedly
murdered helping Malfoy out with details…well."

Harry took in the information and filed it away with what he already knew. "So Sirius went
to Azkaban. Why didn't you and Dumbledore fight to get him out? He would've done for you if
the situations were reversed. I know he would've."

Lupin sighed downheartedly. "You and he've become quite close, haven't
you?"

Harry set his jaw and spoke in low tones. "He's the closest thing to a father I've
had for a very long time. Yes, we have."

Lupin felt the impact of his son's words like a blow to the chest, but steeled himself
against it anyway. What else could he have expected? And if it couldn't be himself acting as
Harry's father this whole time, there was no one else he would've picked over Sirius, was
there?. Yet, it was still painful to see how Sirius had virtually replaced James in Harry's
life.

"You haven't answered my question," said Harry bluntly. "Why didn't you
and Dumbledore fight to get Sirius released..."

"We did Harry," said James quite sadly. He clawed a hand frustratedly through
Lupin's straight brown hair. "We fought Fudge for twelve long years trying to get him out
until we'd exhausted every witness and resource we had. If you'll remember, before Sirius
broke out of Azkaban, there hadn't been a breakout for some odd fifty years. How do you think
he was finally able to get free?"

Harry hadn't considered this before, and he now thought rather stupidly of himself for it.
Lupin answered the question for him.

"Still have my old invisibility cloak?"

Harry blinked hard and shot his gaze back to his fathers. "No…that doesn't make sense!
Sirius didn't have the cloak then, I did. Still do."

"You think that's the only one in existence?" said Lupin almost dully, as if the
memory of the past was beginning to wear him down. "True they are rare. More rare than you
could possibly imagine. The wards around Azkaban are so strong, there is absolutely no penetrating
it from the outside. Dumbledore and I had one of his operatives hiding out close to there almost
every week for years and years trying out some new spell or incantation to break in. Nothing ever
worked. Until we found out Sirius was still lucid enough to receive and read the Prophet from his
cell. I hadn't thought it possible that he still had that much of his mind about him, but he
did. To this day, I still don't know how he managed it. In any case, that's when I began to
realise that if we could somehow slip in something for him to use, he was possibly cognisant enough
to break *himself* out. We planned for months, and finally devised the only way to get it in
to him. We had one of Dumbledore's own people sent away."

"To Azkaban?" asked a baffled Harry.

"Yes," said Lupin. "Only we had a loyal Ministry official from the inside, not
one of Fudge's own men escort him in. I would've done myself but Dumbledore thought it
would look too suspicious, besides the fact I didn't need to be seen. Anyhow, he hid with him
an invisibility cloak we'd nicked from the Department of Magical Artifacts. It took months of
torment before Dumbledore's man and Sirius were able to escape; at which time during the
waiting, Dumbledore hired me on here at Hogwarts as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Mainly because Hogwarts needed one and I was well versed in it having been in the Order of the
Phoenix myself, but also to await Sirius' escape."

Harry was dumbfounded. "I'm…this is a bit much to take in all at once…on top of
everything else," he finished somewhat sourly.

Lupin closed his eyes briefly and nodded. "I understand…Now you have to understand
something. Sirius knows of everything I've just told you, down to the very last detail..except
for one thing."

Harry glanced up at him. "Who you really are."

James nodded slowly, the weight of such a heavy burden for so many years etched permanently in
the lines on his face. "And now that you know, it's time he knows too."

"What about what you just said though?" asked Harry, leaning forward on his knees.
"What about the fact he won't be able to keep himself from wanting to help us?"

"I've thought that over a lot myself Harry," said James with a wry smile.
"And here's the conclusion Dumbledore and I've come up with. The final war with
Voldemort is approaching so fast we aren't even assured tomorrow. And when that day comes, I
want Sirius standing with us; Ministry be damned. I know he'd want the same thing. Remus and
Lily are dead because of that *bastard* Harry. And I know once the battle is over, new lines
will be drawn and old lies will be brought to light. I believe he will be exonerated anyway.
Especially if Dumbledore takes over Fudge's position. And he will, either way the battle falls.
No wizard or witch in their right minds will want Fudge back in power when they find out how long
he's been trying to deceive them."

Harry nodded slowly. "So you think Dumbledore'll let him fight, do you?"

Lupin set his mouth into a grim line. "I think once the war finally does start there'll
be no way he can stop him. Whether or not Sirius ever found out I was really James, he'd still
be involved in this war. After Sirius denounced the Blacks, Lily and I were all he had. Do you see?
Voldemort took away part of his family, just the same as he took mine."

Harry nodded his head heavily, the realisation that the lines in the sand were being drawn and
the stage for war was being set weighing down so oppressively on his shoulders, that all he could
think of was how much he wanted to get back to his and Hermione's common room and hide away
with her again for the night. But he needed to see Sirius as well; needed to be there for him when
he found out who Lupin really was; and needed to be there when he came apart. Because he would just
as certainly as Harry had, he mused grimly. And as certainly as James was family, so was Sirius,
almost more so. He just hoped when the revelation came Sirius would be able to withstand it.

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

A/N: I hope this clears some things up for you guys. I did my best on this, and tried to
determine how the characters would react and feel in the situations I've put them in! Anyway,
thanks sooooo much to all of you who review, you're all so awesome and really make me keep
going! If not for your reviews, I would have probably stopped long ago because you make writing
worth it; besides the actual thrill of writing my own storyline! (SQUEE!) Anyhoo, please continue
to give me your thoughts, and I will certainly continue to write for you. **Cheers**! Bama.



25. Chapter 25: Reunion
-----------------------


**Chapter 25: Reunion**

James Potter turned to his son, sitting beside him in front of the now extinguished fireplace
and noted the grim, foreboding look on his face. Truth be told, he felt exactly the same way.

"You ready then?" asked James quietly.

Harry shifted rigidly in his seat; cold prickles of nervousness shooting down his spine. His
eyes stayed glued to the floo. "Doesn't matter. He needs to know."

James nodded in agreement and stood, stepping close to the hearth. He pulled up what Harry
realised was a fake plant from a flowerpot near him and reached inside, grabbing a small palmful of
what looked like lime-green ash. After replacing the false plant, he tossed the substance into the
fire and watched as a wall of green flames suddenly whooshed up to lick the insides of the
fireplace.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."

As Lupin stuck his head in the flames and felt the familiar nauseating sensation of his head
being screwed off like a top, he opened his eyes to finally find himself staring at the sparse
unkempt living room of Sirius Black.

Back on the other side, his eyes planted firmly on the lower torso of his father, Harry wrung
his hands in nervousness.

James took a few moments to let the vertigo pass, and then called out quietly.
"Padfoot…"

No answer. "Padfoot!" Lupin called, his eyes scanning the room as far as his vision
could take him. "Sirius, are you there mate?"

A rushed thumping sound came from somewhere toward his left, and Lupin finally saw Sirius Black
rush round the fireplace and throw himself haphazardly on the carpet in front of the fire, his eyes
at once scanning the face of his friend.

"Remus! *Where've you been*!? It's been *months* since we last spoke, why
haven't you…Hang on…*is it Harry*? *What's happened*…"

Remus quickly shook his head and steeled himself, fighting down the small surge of jealousy that
stung him at the paternal sound in his friend's voice. Sirius, though looking pale from all the
months of being cooped up inside, looked no worse for the wear. His long, unkempt hair was pulled
back in a low ponytail, and a few days worth of stubble roughened his cheeks. He looked as if
he'd been taking better care of himself. He'd filled out more, and the haunted look that
had once been a permanent feature on his face seemed to be slowly disappearing. Inwardly, James
felt a bit of relief wash over him. The last thing Sirius needed was to be in poor health for what
was in store.

"No, no. Calm yourself, Sirius. Harry's fine…In fact, he's here with me
now."

Sirius narrowed his brown eyes and moved to perch himself rigidly on the edge of his couch.
"There with you…and where exactly might that be?"

"Hogwarts."

He started. "Hogwarts!? What in Merlin's name are you doing there? And for that matter,
what're you doing flooing me from there unless something's happened!?"

Just from watching the lower half of his father's body, Harry could see the nerves
stiffening his spine. Lupin's torso shifted uncomfortably and for the life of him, Harry wished
he could hear the conversation on the other side. *Just hurry up for the love of god…get him over
here…*

"Dumbledore's offered me the teaching position over the Advanced Defence Against the
Dark Arts class," replied Remus as he steadied his voice. "Along with extra classes for
Harry in particular."

"Advanced DADA?" said Sirius surprised. "That's a new one, I take it. And
extra classes for what?"

Lupin paused, feeling out his next words. "Well, I've…been schooling him in a bit of…a
bit of fencing."

Once again Sirius frowned in confusion, but an ironic smirk twisted the corners of his mouth.
"Fencing aye? I'm surprised Dumbledore chose you as his teacher, no offence, mate. You
never were that steady with the sword, were you? That was always James' strong suit. Took after
his father, I reckon."

Lupin paled. "Yes..er well…suffice it to say I’m glad I've gotten better at it. With
what's been happening round here, Harry might very soon have need of it."

At the last sentence, Sirius stood up so swiftly that the small coffee table in front of him
almost toppled over. He reached behind him to grab his wand out from his back pocket. "With
what's been happening!? What'd you mean!? Does this have to do with Harry!?

"Harry…among others," said Lupin quietly after a small pause.

"And **why**, might I ask, is this the first I've heard of it?" Sirius hissed
angrily. "We bloody well **did** promise we'd keep the other informed if one of us got
any news, didn't we!? Or was that some other two wizards I'm getting us confused
with!?"

"I'm here telling you now, aren't I?" said Lupin quickly.

"And yet for some reason I get the feeling you've waited to get in contact with me. In
fact, I get the *distinct* feeling you've been trying to avoid me for some months
now," said Sirius with a hard, sardonic edge to his voice. "In case you've **missed
it** Remus, I'm his **bloody godfather, for shitsake**! I more than *anyone else* am
entitled to know what's going on with Harry!"

"More than *anyone else*!?" James suddenly blurted out angrily through his teeth.
"You're not even his *fa*…" But he stopped himself before what he had to divulge
came out in a much different way than he'd intended.

"I'm sorry, Padfoot. I'm sorry." James shook the brown hair from Remus'
eyes frustratedly. "Look old friend, I've had a talk with Dumbledore. He's agreed so
long as you stay in my room and don't leave it, you can come to visit Harry and I whenever you
like. I really think now would be a good time. We…I mean I have things to discuss with
you."

Sirius glanced down to the floor angrily and leaned forward on his knees. "Brilliant. So
he's agreed to allow me to transfer occasionally from one prison to another, is that it? How
generous of him."

"You're not wanting back into Azkaban, are you?" asked Remus harshly.
"Because the way I see it until the Ministry clears you; if anyone other than Dumbledore, the
Order, or Harry and his two friends sees you that's exactly where you're headed."

Sirius eyed him angrily for a few moments but wisely decided not to answer, knowing full well
the truthfulness of his friend's words. He finally stood. "And where am I headed
now?"

"You have floo powder?" asked Remus shortly.

Sirius favoured him with a curt half-nod. "Ironically, yes I do."

"Good. Room number one twenty one, Hogwarts. We'll see you in a few." And Remus
Lupin's head disappeared from the floo.

Harry leaned forward on his knees, nervously bouncing his leg up and down; his hands clasped
white-knuckled before him. As his father finally, mercifully pulled his head back from the fire and
stood upright swiping ash from his face, Harry immediately noticed the look of frustration. He
quickly jumped to his feet.

"Well?" said Harry anxiously.

"He'll be here in a few moments," said Lupin as he moved his chair away from the
hearth and motioned for Harry to do the same.

As he did so and stood back, Harry's heartbeat began to pound out wave after wave of dread
and he nervously clawed a hand through his hair. His eyes stayed glued on the hearth as they had
been moments before. For some reason, he felt more nervous for Sirius than he had for himself the
night he sat facing Dumbledore and Lupin, knowing they had kept some earth-shattering secret from
him they were about to divulge. He guessed knowing how it had effected him made it almost
unbearable for him to watch the same happen to Sirius. He felt though, that the impact for Sirius
might somehow be even more intense than it had been for himself.

Sirius had known Remus Lupin as long as he had known James Potter. Not only would he soon be
shocked with the knowledge that his best friend was still alive, but he would also have to deal
with the fact that for all these years, he hadn't been sharing a relationship with Remus Lupin
at all. That in fact, his friend was dead, and had been for the past sixteen years.

Harry shifted nervously from one foot to the other and jammed his hands in the pockets of his
robes; all thoughts of what he'd previously come to discuss with Lupin banished from his mind.
Once again he fought the desire to run back to Hermione and seal their portrait door shut to the
world. He immediately felt selfish, but it was hard to suppress the urge to return to where he felt
safest and most normal. After sixteen years of never having a loving haven to retreat to, it was
hard for Harry not to wish he was there most of the time. He sighed out loud, and Lupin glanced at
him.

"You don't have to be here for this Harry," he said quietly.

Harry instantly had to push down the outraged response that leapt to his mind. *No…he just
doesn't understand, that's all…he doesn't understand…* "Yes I do. I have to be
here for Sirius. You can understand that, can't you?"

"Yes I can…" Lupin gazed over at his son without resentment, but swallowed down the
lump that seemed nowadays to reside permanently in his throat. "And I will, Harry. I'm
proud of you son. No matter what, I'm proud of you."

Harry blinked a few times, obviously surprised at the response he'd just gotten. Those
simple words of acceptance from James over Harry and Sirius' relationship did more for Harry
towards his father than anything else before combined. He only had the willpower at the moment to
nod gratefully at him.

A great whoosh sounded in the fireplace, and a gusty cloud of ash preceded Sirius Black as he
landed unsteadily on his feet in the hearth and stepped out, his eyes immediately falling on his
godson and Lupin. He cleaned the mess and himself with a flick of his wand.

A genuine grin split his face, and it seemed to Harry as if it'd been a long time since
he'd last seen that expression on him.

"Harry," Sirius walked over to him and gave him a swift hug.. "It's good to
see you."

Harry felt himself grinning back despite the situation. "You too."

Sirius nodded cordially to Lupin, missing the fact that for a moment, he'd looked away from
the two.

"Good to see you again," said Lupin, walking over to the two to shake his friend's
hand.

"You too Moony," replied Black, finally moving to seat himself at one of the three
chairs surrounding the small dining table near the kitchen. As he sat, he took a brief moment to
eye his friend's surroundings. "Not bad…not bad at all."

Lupin nodded his agreement, and he and Harry took chairs at the table as well. Sirius eyed the
two as they sat, making note of the fact that both men, the younger and the older, seemed a bit
strained, at best. His suspicions began to rise even more.

"Butterbeer?" asked Lupin as he made to rise from the table as soon as he'd
sat.

Sirius raised a hand and spoke up sternly. "No, thank you, Remus. But what I would like is
an explanation. Being holed up in the old estate I don't get a lot of information but from what
you've said it's obvious Voldemort's been showing himself again. Whatever's been
going on here, I want a part of it. I'm entitled to it, I think."

"No!" Harry barked out. He turned to him directly, instantly frightened at the thought
that Sirius might do something to get himself caught. "There's nothing you or anyone else
can do right now. We don't know where he is or what he's planning as of yet."

Lupin watched Sirius eye them furtively, and decided to move ahead with the issue of Voldemort
first. "I reckon you've heard about the Dementors defecting…"

Sirius nodded. "Thankfully Dumbledore floo's me the Prophet daily; too risky with owls.
He at least understands I need to keep up with the news. Of course my first thought was to contact
you, but I didn't know where you'd gotten to, did I?"

"There is a reason," said Lupin quietly, leaning forward to place his weight on his
elbows. Harry shot him a look.

"I'm listening," said Sirius with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

"I've had something I've needed to tell you for a long time," said Lupin,
glancing down as he clawed a hand through his hair. Upon seeing this, Sirius squinted closely at
him, a feeling of familiarity ticking in his mind. Without really thinking about it, his gaze
turned toward Harry who so resembled his late father. *Odd, he'd never noticed Moony with
that habit…*

Lupin seemed to stiffen and decided it would be best to get all other business out of the way
first. "I think first we should let you in on what's been going on here. Harry, I'll
let you start."

Harry shared a slight nod with his father, and Sirius felt himself getting angry at the cloak
and dagger game his godson and Remus seemed to be playing. "I don' t know what the
**bloody hell's** going on here, but *one of you* had better tell me *something*,
**now**."

Harry turned to his godfather and instantly affected a relaxed posture. "Sorry Sirius.
Things have been strange for a while. Believe it or not, it goes all the way back to this past
summer at the Dursley's. Started rather oddly with a nightmare…"

And for the next couple of hours, Harry explained everything that had happened to him, Hermione
and Ron, from the day he met them in Diagon Alley up to last night, when they'd been able, with
the help of the sorting hat's song from fifth year, to figure out some of the cryptic message
Trelawny had divined. Lupin interjected some when he could, from when he'd gotten there, to
when he was able to add insight, being careful for the moment to leave out certain things. And the
thick tension in the room dwindled to a slight unease for the time being.

"So, I reckon Trelawny's not quite the batty old crackpot we always took her for,"
said Sirius in all earnestness.

"Seems that way," said Remus as he massaged his temples.

"But about the old prediction she made involving you and Voldemort," said Sirius as he
turned toward Harry and placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Harry, I want you to
know, I don't give a damn if **Merlin himself** comes back and tells you to face him alone.
It's *never* going to happen, you hear me?. You will **never** be alone in your fight
with him. Remus and I, along with the rest of the Order member will be right along side you,
fighting to the end."

Harry paused for a moment, the heavy burden sinking its claws into his flesh with an icy
numbness once more. "I know that's what you'd like to happen; but Sirius, in reality,
I think it'll turn out exactly as Trelawny said."

"*We* decide the future Harry, not the other way round," said Sirius, stubbornly
setting his jaw. James recognised the expression on his face and knew it would do no good for Harry
to further argue with him.

To Harry's surprise, although he shouldn't have been, James agreed with Sirius.
"He's right. You won't be alone Harry. Neither of us would ever let you, and for that
matter, I don't believe Ron or Hermione would ever permit it, either. Do you?"

Harry clasped his hands in front of him and chose not to answer. The question had never been
would there be those out there willing to sacrifice for him. The question had been, when it came
down to it, would he allow them too? Harry had been grappling with the same torturous thought night
after night in his nightmares. He would wake, drenched in sweat, his heart hammering so hard in his
chest that he was sure it would soon wake Hermione, nestled so close to him. He could still see
them in his mind's eye even now, Ron, Hermione, Sirius, his father, all laid out on the ground
before a grinning Voldemort, eyes dead and unseeing, but plastered on Harry all the same. And the
forgiveness he would read in their expressions…*We would do it all over again for you in a
second, Harry*… But in the mirror of his mind, accusation and hatred would stare back at him
forever.

"Harry," repeated Sirius, louder this time. Harry's attention snapped back to the
present.

"You all right, son?" Lupin, concerned for him, had barely noted what he'd just
said. Instantly, Harry shot him a panicked look, and his father realised what he'd done.
jealous

Sirius looked more angry that he did confused and turned a resentful gaze on Lupin. "And
when exactly, did you start calling him *that*?"

Harry felt the blood draining from his face, and could see that his father was equally as pale.
But the gaze James shot him translated in his mind immediately. *It's time he knows*… And
Harry nodded to his father, watching him slowly take a seat and turn his attention back to his old
friend.

Sirius' gaze shot between Lupin and Harry, and he suddenly, angrily slammed a fist down onto
the table. "All right. Just what the *bloody hell* is going on? I've let the secret
glances and the strange behaviour go on all night! It's obvious you've been keeping
something from me and I want the right truth now, *damn it*!"

"Calm down Sirius," said Lupin quietly, his gaze directed at the tabletop as he folded
his hands in front of him. "I've been planning on telling you all along as I said before.
I just wanted you to understand what's been going on round here first."

"And I appreciate it," replied Sirius impatiently, fixing the other two with a
piercing stare. "But now I want to know what the bloody hell's got you two acting so
strange. Let's hear it."

He looked from Remus to Harry, and the expressions of dread on their faces did nothing to
alleviate the already growing panic fluttering in his chest. Remus, for his part, looked absolutely
terrible; his eyes red and swimming with tears. And Harry looked as if he'd rather be anywhere
else at the moment.

Lupin spoke up. "I…I don't really know of a way to explain it to you, except to try
telling you the same way I told Harry. What happened that night should never have occurred in the
first place, but on retrospect, I don't imagine anything would've changed…"

Sirius' flustered gaze drifted to Harry who had slumped dejectedly in his seat, utterly
silent except for the deep breaths he seemed to be taking. The young man seemed unable to meet his
eyes. He turned back to Lupin.

"What night? What're you on about, mate?"

Lupin swallowed harshly and his voice broke as he continued. "The night Voldemort attacked.
The night Lily and J…James were killed."

Sirius eyed him sharply. "Wh…I don't understand. Moony, we've been through this
thousands of times since then…"

"Let me finish," Lupin croaked out.

Sirius saw Harry hadn't moved an inch, and he felt a cold dread building in the pit of his
stomach. Something was wrong here…something was very wrong… *What don't I know…What…*

"Sirius…on the n..night…a few hours before Voldemort attacked James and Lily, Re…I was
there in Godric's hollow…at the cottage with them."

Sirius glared openly at him, clearly in shock. "What'd you mean you were there!? That
doesn't make any bloody **sense**! If you were there how in the hell did you
*survive*!? And **WHY THE HELL AM I JUST HEARING OF THIS**!? This doesn't make
sense…this doesn't make a bit of **bloody sense**…" He stood and began pacing the
floor, once again noticing that Harry continued to stare blankly at the table in front of him.

Lupin went on, his grief-stricken voice taking on an almost monotone quality, as if he'd
been preparing the speech for years… "Rem…James and…*We'd* been having a discussion
on how we both felt Wormtail had been acting suspicious. James felt that he wanted to confront
him…"

"James wanted to confront him!?" said Sirius whirling around to stare at Lupin.
"I didn't even know he'd had time to suspect him before Voldemort attacked."

Lupin nodded his head jerkily. "He did. Re…**I***..*didn't want James going off
to find him, but…but he *bloody* insisted. I guess in retrospect it made sense of course.
Since I wasn't Lily and James' secret keeper, I couldn't really question Peter on it,
could I?"

Sirius sat down slowly, absorbed again, as he had been so many times before, in the details of
the night Lily and James Potter died. A fresh wave of pain rose in him sharper than it had in a
very long time, and he felt as if the scab was being peeled back from an old wound that had even as
of yet not properly healed.

He watched Remus face contort with grief the same as it had so many times before on the same
subject, but this time, something was different…something in the way he looked; his face, the way
he held himself…

Something nagged at the back recesses of Sirius Black's mind, something that seemed long
forgotten, but at the same time, just recently misplaced in his mind, as if the answer was just on
the tip of his tongue, ready to spring back to remembrance at any second…

"So…" continued Lupin tremulously, now more shaken than Sirius had ever seen him.
"You know…remember how stubborn James was to a bloody fault."

Sirius nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "He was that."

"I couldn't dissuade him, no matter how hard I tried. James decided then and there,
that he was the only one to confront Peter."

Sirius frowned. "But how could James have confronted Peter with *his own* suspicions?
Besides that fact, Prongs was never very sympathetic to Peter, was he? How in the hell did he think
he was going to get anything from him?"

Lupin turned haunted eyes to his friend, eyes that could've spoken volumes without a single
word. "He didn't…that's why he chose Remus."

Sirius set his jaw and stared at Remus Lupin as if he were completely cracked. "You've
bloody lost me."

"W…we…we decided the only way to get Peter to open up, was to have James confront Peter…as
Remus."

Sirius stiffened, his heart for some reason now jack-hammering against his chest, leaving him
breathless. He felt himself leaning away from Lupin; the nagging in his brain now practically
screaming at him to remember…remember something…

Lupin gripped the table as the weight of his final confession dropped from his shoulders, and
simultaneously sent a shock wave of fear rippling down his body. It was too late to take it back
now, and even if he could, he wouldn't. He owed the truth to Sirius, and now that he was
finally able to give it to him, he wasn't going to slink away from it. He felt Harry's eyes
now boring into him, and somehow found the strength to continue.

"James and Remus decided to perform a switching spell, Padfoot. But while Ja…J…**I** was
gone,," he finally spat out, "Voldemort attacked."

Sirius stood and began to back away from the table, clutching his wand, suddenly terrified of
the tears that were streaming down Remus Lupin's face…a face that suddenly seemed wrong, out of
place…

"Remus and Lily died that night, Sirius…my old friend. And when I returned, I found my son
as the only survivor."

Harry stood shakily, prepared to move toward Sirius, but a look from James told him to stay
where he was.

"Y…You're a liar," breathed Sirius hoarsely, backing toward the floo with his wand
outstretched. "You're a *bloody frickin'* liar, and I can't for the life of
me figure out why…"

He didn't even know what he was going to do with the wand, except for the immediate thought
that the two people sitting in front of him weren't who they said they were. Perhaps they'd
both taken a Polyjuice Potion, perhaps both Remus and Harry were lying somewhere around Hogwarts,
attacked, dead…maybe horribly injured…

"Sirius," said Remus, moving just slightly toward him and holding up both hands to
show he was defenceless. "Look at me, mate. Listen to me…Remember all the times you helped
Lily and I sneak from the common room late at night, under Moony's prefect nose? Remember how
you distracted Philomena Hirum, the pretty brunette prefect along with Remus in sixth
year?"

"Anyone could know that," hissed Sirius almost hysterically, raising his wand to ward
James from coming any further. "Anyone who went to school with us could've found that
out…"

"What about my parents? Thaddeus and Augusta Potter…how they took you in that final time
you ran away from your mum? How you and I were practically brothers from then on, do you remember
Padfoot? Do you remember how we used to sneak out during the summers and catch the Knight Bus over
to Moony's house, where he and Wormtail were waiting? How we four used to tromp about town till
all hours of the night and sneak back in the window just in time?"

Sirius began vehemently shaking his head, his eyes wide and confused, and the colour seemed to
be draining from his face. "Easy facts to find out…anyone…anyone who really wanted to
could've found that out…"

"Sirius he's telling the truth," said Harry quietly. "Please believe him.
I've come to accept it too."

"**Shut up**! **Shut the hell up, both of you**!" screamed Sirius, raising his
wand toward them both. Harry instantly raised his hands as well. "*Who are you*!?"
hissed Sirius. "I don't know why the *bloody hell* you'd want to do something
like this…"

"This isn't a prank," said James quietly.

"**I'LL SAY IT BLOODY WELL ISN'T**!" bellowed Sirius dangerously, raising
his wand at both James and Harry's eye level. "Now, either you start telling the truth, or
I'll stun the both of you and force veritaserum down your throats…"

Lupin raised his hands and made as if to move forward once again.

"If you don't want to be thrown across this room and slammed into a wall, I suggest you
keep still," growled Sirius menacingly.

Lupin slowed his movements dramatically. "Wait Sirius, just listen to me. There's one
time I can tell you, no one else could possibly know. Do you remember, the night we decided to let
Peter be secret keeper rather than you? We had to obliviate the information from your mind so
you'd never be forced to tell anyone what you knew. Do you remember what we did after, though
Padfoot? So that we'd always have a permanent reminder of our friendship? Of the fact that I
would still trust you with my life, and the life of my family?"

Sirius blinked rapidly at the two before him.

"We cut our hands, remember mate? We cut our hands and shook on it. Brothers by friendship,
brothers by fortune, brothers by blood…Even though this body doesn't bear the scar of that
night, I still remember. I know you do as well."

Sirius felt his knees buckling under him and grabbed at the mantle for support. He turned his
right hand over to examine the faded old scar, and the blurred pictures behind it suddenly came
into focus. It was then that he was finally able to study the faces up close. Pictures of James and
Lily, their wedding…James, Lily and baby Harry…intimate moments of their short lives together;
pictures only James Potter would have…

Remus nodded sadly to him when Sirius turned stunned, overwhelmed eyes back toward him.
"Happier times, weren't they mate?"

"He's telling the truth," said Harry quietly, his eyes swimming with tears.
"I wasn't there for all of that, I know. But Dumbledore'll confirm it for you,
Sirius."

Sirius just continued to shake his head, feeling as if he was trapped in some nightmare he
couldn't wake from, as if every moment of the past sixteen years were some horrible dream as
well, that he might suddenly wake from it at any moment and have to face the fact that those past
sixteen years had never really happened at all…

"Let me do something for you," said James suddenly as a thought hit him. "Let me
revisit all those times on you, that you almost had me figured out. Let me help you remember all
those times I've had to make you forget."

"Wh…what'd you…wh..how…" asked Sirius shakily, eyeing Remus as if he saw him now
only through some sort of opaque glass, something that blurred him from reality…

"It's a simple recanting spell," said James reassuredly as he made for his wand.
He picked it up, and then set it back down again in front of Sirius. "You see? You can have me
in an instant if I'm up to no good."

Sirius merely stared from him to Harry and continued to hold his wand on them both. Something in
his mind, the same something that had been nagging at the back of his brain was now telling him to
let it happen. *Let Remus do it…let him help you remember what it is you've forgotten…what
you've possibly been **made** to forget…*

And James raised his wand. "*Commemini Oblivium*."

Blue energy flowed forth from James Potter's wand, and suddenly, snatches of countless blank
areas of Sirius Black's memory began to fill with images. Minutes of his life that had been
unaccounted for suddenly rushed back into his thoughts like the pounding of ocean waves, one after
the other, and Harry, from the other side of the room could almost see the recognition forming in
Sirius' eyes.

Flashes filled the small voids of his memory; a laugh that seemed out of place, countless
gestures that seemed all too familiar on the wrong person. Careless bits of knowledge accidentally
given, information that shouldn't have been known, the way Remus rode his broom, unlike the
careful steady Lupin Sirius knew, and all too similar to the recklessness of James Potter. Simple
conversations that seemed to easy and carefree; too familiar; too unlike the serious Remus of
old…and suddenly, a time when Sirius had almost confronted Remus with the truth…*the truth*
he'd found staring him in the face as he'd picked up and accidentally read the first of a
series of lines from Lupin's personal journal…

*'I don't know how long I can keep up the charade. It kills me not to tell him who I
am; kills me every day I think of how I've had to hand my son's emotional well-being over
to him, though there's no one else I trust as fully as Padfoot…'*

Sirius felt as if he were falling, though he still felt his feet under him. "**Oh my
god…oh god…J..James…oh my god**…"

His face had gone solid white, and alarmed, both James and Harry began to rush forward as one,
but Sirius held up both of his hands. "**N..no**…"

He stumbled backward, ducked into the hearth and ripped up the pot on the floor beside him,
grabbing a handful of green powder and tossing the rest aside onto the floor.

"**Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London**!" He cried out, and was gone in a flash
of green fire.

Suddenly, the room was thrown into silence once again, and James stood lifelessly with Harry
beside him, his arms hanging uselessly at his side. He was vaguely aware of the tears streaming
down his cheeks, vaguely aware that his son now stood away from him, one hand jammed into the
pocket of his robes, the other covering his eyes, tears streaming over the knuckles.

James summoned the strength to continue breathing and sat himself miserably down in a chair.
"**My god**…" he rasped out quietly to himself. "Look what I've done to
everyone I love…**look what I've done**…"

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

A/N: Ok readers. I truly hope I've done justice to how the characters would feel in this
situation. I'm trying to stay as true to them as possible, while at the same time, conveying to
you how they're thinking and feeling. I hope for all of you that I've done it right. I
really enjoy your feedback, so if you have a second, please leave me a little note! Thank you thank
you thank you to all the very faithful wonderful (and talented as well!) people who take time to
read and review. You make my day!!!! Next chapter out very soon…



26. Chapter 26: An Invitation
-----------------------------


**Chapter 26: An Invitation**

December came to the Scottish highlands blustery and bitingly frigid, the howling wind and
whirling snow carrying an icy chill that numbed anyone caught in it to the bone. The purplish
mountains that served to outline the horizon of Hogwarts were now topped with snowfall, and the
grounds outside were a thick blanket of powdery white, with the trees, looking strangely skeletal
for lack of leaves, bowing heavily under piles of snow. The castles eaves, along with Hagrid's
hut for that matter, dripped with long thick icicles that glistened in what little sunlight peeked
out during the day, but the sky had mostly decided now to colour itself in only two ways; grey for
the daytime and grey-black for night.

Since their conversation with Sirius some three weeks prior, neither Harry nor his father had
been able to contact him. They'd figured out, after a week or more of trying to floo him that
Sirius had somehow charmed his fireplace to disconnect from James' floo only, since both Harry
and his father assumed he was still in contact with Dumbledore. He would need to be, if only to
receive news from the outside world.

It was for this reason that Harry and James, along with Ron and Hermione, were headed down the
cold castle hallways at that very moment to Dumbledore's office on a dull grey, freezing Friday
afternoon. They'd finished Advanced DADA a couple of hours ago, with Harry finishing fencing
after, and had decided to finally seek out the Headmaster's advice; though Harry and his father
rather thought to themselves that their reasoning had more to do with the fact that Dumbledore was
the only one who now knew of Sirius well-being.


"D'you think he's in?" asked Ron as they faced the two stone gargoyles that
hid Dumbledore's office from the rest of the castle.

"Don’t see why not," said Lupin as he absently ran his hands over his arms. "For
the *love of Godric* I wish there was some way to keep the *entire* castle
warm."

Harry nodded his agreement and wrapped his arm tighter around a shivering Hermione.
"Sherbet Lemon."

The ugly statues hopped out of the way to both sides and a door ground opened to reveal a
twisted staircase, ascending slowly with the grating sound of stone against stone. The four jumped
on one after the other and rode the steps to the top, where they stepped into a decidedly warmer
and more inviting area.

Dumbledore's office had always been for Hermione particularly, an area of fascination. It
was circular, with some walls filled from top to bottom with nothing but enormous curved
bookshelves that reached toward the ceiling. As she passed the sorting hat she greeted it
politely.

The dozens of trinkets fascinated Ron; all sorts of delicate silver baubles and gadgets lined
polished tables strewn here and there along the deep red carpeting. The portraits of long dead
Headmasters of old pretended to be sleeping, as always, though Harry swore he saw one peek at them
from the slit of an eye and then close it again quickly, affecting a rather loud snore after.

One step up took them to the slightly higher second level where Dumbledore's desk sat
gleaming a dark finished wood in the middle of the floor. It was covered in scrolls and parchments,
devices and instruments, but no Headmaster. Fawkes perched regally on a tall stand by the staircase
leading toward the uppermost floor, and Harry thought to himself that he was looking rather as if
it was coming time for him to burn again.

Four chairs suddenly apparated with a ***pop*** in front of the Headmaster's desk causing
Hermione to squeal unexpectedly. Lupin looked up to discover Dumbledore in dark purple robes with
silvery moons and stars on them, peering over the top floor railing at them through his half-moon
glasses, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Lupin favoured him with a half smile. "Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiled and began to descend the staircase slowly owing to his age, finally coming to
stand before them. "After all this time I think it safe by now for you to call me Albus,
James. Have a seat, please." He gestured politely for the four to have a seat and rounded his
desk to do the same.

"Er…Professor Dumbledore," began Harry a little hesitantly. "We wanted to…discuss
something with you, Professor Lupin and I. Though we want it made clear we're not trying to get
information from you you're not at liberty to give us…"

Dumbledore held up a hand and favoured Harry with a light smile. "Say no more, Harry.
I'm right in assuming this is about Sirius?"

So Lupin had been keeping the Headmaster informed, Harry thought to himself. He wondered
secretly what else his father had chosen to share with him.

Harry nodded sadly in answer to his question. "Yes sir."

"He hasn't tried to contact either of us since the night I told him who I really
am," said Lupin in a small, tired voice. "Not that I blame him, mind you. But Harry and
I've tried to contact him ourselves, and he's cut us off from his floo network. We're
assuming he's still in contact with you?"

Dumbledore nodded from behind steepled fingers. "He is. Though I'm sure you know he
wouldn't be confiding in me on something this personal. Our conversations consist of Ministry
news and the Daily Prophet, nothing more… He's had quite a shock, you know. Might take him
quite a bit of time to come to terms with it."

"I'm sure," answered Lupin matter-of-factly. "And I completely understand it.
I never considered he'd pour his heart out to you. It's just, well…Ms. Granger here has had
an idea she thought might help and I feel she may have something, though we'll need the use of
your floo to do it since you're the only one who can reach him."

Dumbledore, looking slightly surprised even for him, turned his attention toward Hermione, who
shifted a bit nervously in her chair.

"I thought, well… I thought we might invite Sirius to spend the holidays here with us in
the castle," began Hermione. "I figured he might be able to come to terms with things
more easily when surrounded by his friends…While still being with Professor Lu…er, Mr. Potter, he
wouldn't yet have to face the awkwardness of having to meet with him alone."

"You can call me James out of the classroom, Hermione." Said Lupin with a perfunctory
smile. Hermione nodded gratefully, and Harry blinked hard once. The sound of his father's first
name coming from Hermione would be a bit odd for him to hear.

Dumbledore appeared to be considering what Hermione had said and the four waited silently for
his response.

"You've all decided to spend the holidays here at Hogwarts, then?" asked the
Headmaster.

"Well, I'm not. Mum insists we all spend Christmas together…especially
since…well..since *Percy* won't be joining us." Ron ended the sentence with a mixture
of resentment and resignation. "Normally it'd be Harry too, and Sirius would be more than
welcome as far as Mum is concerned I'm sure, but all of the Weasley's on top of everyone
else would be too much for Sirius to handle right now, I think."

"I would tend to agree with you on that," said Dumbledore, a wry smile twisting the
very corners of his mouth.

"So it'd be just myself, Hermione, Sirius…and dad," said Harry, forcing out the
last word in a small voice. Lupin shot him a surprised glance which Harry ignored. "He'd
probably want to stay in the Gryffindor common room; have a bit of privacy. And from looking over
the holiday rosters, Hermione and I are the only students who're staying over the holidays this
year. No one should find out."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes taking a far-off look as he thought over the plan and the
implications it might have. If Sirius were seen by anyone other than himself or the ones in this
room, the consequences could be very dire indeed, yet… he needed somehow to be able to come to
terms with the news he'd just received. Dumbledore could think of no better and less troubling
of a situation for Sirius than to have him over for the holidays. He could floo home whenever he
wished, no pressures to right things straight away, and Ms. Granger was right in saying that the
situation would be much less threatening to him with others around to lessen the awkwardness, and
to soften the blow…

"I'll permit it," said Dumbledore amidst a group of suddenly relieved faces, but
continued with a very stern voice that sounded as if he thought the situation would normally be
against his better judgement. "However, I want it made *absolutely clear* Sirius is to
stay *within the walls of this school*. I'll inform Severus and Minerva of his coming as
they're the only other professors staying over, but I can't stress enough what could happen
should Sirius be somehow found out. Not only would he have every Ministry-loyal Auror and hitwizard
directly after him, but the school would come under immediate *attack* from the Ministry.
Fudge would take this as an opportunity to have me ousted and the school taken over. I'm
trusting all of you to keep this in mind."

Lupin nodded gravely. "I understand the implications Albus. You can be certain we'll
take every precaution."

"It'll be good for Sirius to get out from Grimmauld Place for a while," Harry
stated, almost more to himself than anyone else.

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "He can't be very happy cooped up in the old dark estate
alone with no one round to keep him company…"

"Especially during the holidays," finished Hermione for him. "We'll have to
work hard at making him feel comfortable and welcome. It'll probably be really awkward at
first, but hopefully he'll come round to talking with…everyone. Though it might just be Harry
and I for a while."

Lupin nodded sadly at this, and Dumbledore eyed him with a look of understanding. "You did
what you had to do James," he said quietly. "You kept your identity hidden to keep Harry
and Sirius safe and I think once he understands it, Sirius won't be able to fault you for it.
It may take him quite a while to come to terms with the shock, but once he does, I can't
imagine he'll be anything but happy to have his closest friend back… no matter the
circumstances."

Harry said nothing during this exchange, but somehow in his own mind, he wasn't so sure
Dumbledore understood how Sirius must feel. It would take longer than one shared holiday for him to
suddenly feel right with everything. After all, Harry was still sorting through things in his own
mind, and he couldn't imagine, with Sirius having even more to deal with what with having to
grieve for the death of a friend he hadn't even known was dead, that he would come round so
quickly. Besides the fact, Sirius would probably have the same feelings of confusion and betrayal
Harry had been battling for some odd three months now.

Dumbledore watched the four leave his office and could tell just from the look on Harry's
face that he doubted what the Headmaster had just said. But Harry didn't know that the subject
wasn't one Dumbledore was just pretending to understand. In fact, it was something he dealt
with everyday…something he held closely guarded and wrapped in his own shroud of secrecy.
Something, the Headmaster thought as he watched Harry exit, laying his head heavily in his hands,
he wished he could unburden himself of with every waking moment…

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

The grey, frosty days of the middle of December meant to the students, who chatted excitedly in
the halls between classes, that time for the Yule Ball was fast approaching. Scads of house elves,
along with a grudging Filch who made Ebenezer Scrooge seem almost loveable by comparison, had begun
the yearly chore of decorating the castle for the holidays. The halls leading to every classroom
were covered in wreaths, decorative baubles, snowmen charmed to stay frozen, and great bright
Christmas trees. Even Trelawny had gotten into the holiday spirit and had decided she at least
hadn't seen Harry's early demise happening in December, so he could have a pleasant holiday
now, couldn't he? Ron had loved that one.

Dobby had taken it upon himself to decorate Harry and Hermione's quarters personally with
loads of gaudy ornaments, streamers, a large Christmas tree, and had charmed an entire back wall of
their common room to spell out "Happy Christmas Harry Potter!" in great electric blue
lights. They'd nearly been blinded by it coming in one afternoon from classes and it took Harry
nearly an hour banishing it all away, though he did leave the giant Christmas tree in a corner near
the hearth, having finally charmed his face off from every ornament.

Ginny had decided to make Hermione her personal confidant with all things Draco Malfoy, and was
still working at making headway with him. They had gotten closer, though he seemed to keep her at
arms length whenever other Slytherin were around, or when the subject of "feelings" came
into play. It angered Ginny to no end for Draco to suddenly act as if there was nothing between
them when a housemate of his passed by. And the fact that he skirted easily around having to
describe what he felt for her made her wonder at times if he was merely having his fun with her
until he'd had his fill.

This particular Saturday evening, Hermione had sent Harry and Ron off with the premise that they
needed some 'male bonding time', which neither seemed to mind as Ron immediately punched at
the air grinning that Seamus and Dean had set up a Quidditch match between sixth and seventh year
Gryffindors that night for fun. As soon as they left, Ginny showed up to the common room ready for
conversation.

She and Hermione sat opposite each other on the soft rug in front of the fire, looking through
catalogues of Madame Malkin's robes and fashion issues of Witch Weekly, discussing what they
would be wearing for the ball, among other things.

"…and any time one of his housemates comes near, he immediately makes as if we're not
together. Moves away from me and drops my hand. Sometimes even makes some half-arsed comment just
to make me angry at him so we'll start arguing…I'm sure of it!" Declared Ginny as she
held up a picture of a witch dressed in deep purple robes for Hermione to see.

"Yeah, I like that one," said Hermione absently as she thought over what Ginny had
said. "Have you asked him why he does it? Why he's afraid to have anyone know you're
together?"

"Not *anyone*," said Ginny huffily. "It doesn't matter if some Ravenclaw
passes by while we're snogging outside, does it? Or some Hufflepuff while we're holding
hands? It's only one's from his own house!"

"I don’t think it's that he's ashamed of you then," said Hermione reasonably,
thumbing through the 'Best Dressed Celebrity Witches' section. "If it were that,
he'd not want *anyone* seeing you together. Is there some reason he'd be afraid for
any Slytherin specifically to see you've grown close?"

Ginny sighed in defeat. "I dunno. I've asked him a hundred times in a *hundred*
different roundabout ways, but he scrubs round the question. And if I keep asking him he gets upset
and we end up in a row."

"I'm sure you don't stand for that," smiled Hermione. She gasped at one
picture of a witch in a sky blue velvet gown with snowflakes charmed to sparkle all down the length
of it. Her slippers were clear, made of some crystal-like substance, the same colour. Ginny beamed
at her.

"Found yours, have you?" she asked with a smirk. "And to answer your question, no
I don't; not normally. But he seems so adamant about it that I can't imagine he's not
got some good reason. Doesn't mean I don't want to know what it is though, does
it?"

"You have a right to know, Gin." Said Hermione firmly. "If it were Harry, I'd
be furious."

"It wouldn't be Harry though, would it?" said Ginny a bit wistfully.
"He'd never do something like that…Oh don't look at me like that I don't have
anything for him! I just wish Draco would think on how it makes me feel when he does that. Does
make it seem as if he's a bit ashamed of me…" she ended a bit quietly.

"And if you find out that's what it is," said Hermione fiercely, suddenly looking
her straight in the eyes, "No matter what dumb-arse excuse he might give you… You'd better
drop him like a bad habit, you hear me Gin? You're worth much more than that. You're
beautiful, intelligent, and have a great personality. You could have anyone you want; and you
don't want someone who'll treat you badly."

Ginny returned the look with one of her own. "You have nothing to worry about there,
Hermione. Besides the fact my brothers would shred him to a pile of wizard meat." Hermione
grinned at her. "Still," continued Ginny, "I really don't think that's what
this is about. I wouldn't be giving him near as much leeway on it if I believed that. I'm
trying to be patient. He's got to have a reason, however mysterious it is to me, but I
don't know how long I'm going to let it continue though, that's for certain."

Hermione nodded with reserve, still looking as if she thought Ginny shouldn't abide by
*any* of it, but Ginny merely returned to thumbing through the magazines strewn on the carpet
before them. She was sure whatever was going on in Draco Malfoy's head she would eventually be
able to pull from him...she hoped.

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

The day of the Yule Ball approached quickly, and as with the All Hallows Eve bash, Hermione and
Ginny had decided to dress together. But with Ginny's insistence that it would be great fun,
Hermione had finally conceded to dress with all of the other girls in Gryffindor up in their dorms.
As of this particular moment she had come to regret it.

Lavender was bemoaning the fact that she had no earrings to go with her gown, a crimson dress so
covered in lace and frills that she looked as if she were headed to some rich society brothel. Both
Ginny and Hermione thought it was rather too much, but Lavender had balked at the idea of charming
it back a little. Parvarti, in a silk amethyst gown that trailed the floor, was currently arguing
with Lavender that she needed the earrings she was wearing and that she would have to borrow some
one else's. Other girls in the room, girls from Ginny's year that Hermione barely knew were
whining amongst themselves as well. I'm too fat…my dress is ugly…I didn't get who I wanted
to take me to the ball…my hair looks awful…I have no jewellery…etc.

Hermione, who had never grown up with other girls, and was now used to the peace and quiet of
her and Harry's own rooms, began to grow annoyed at the whining and confusion of too many
bodies and voices in one space. Clothes and makeup were strewn everywhere, things were being
borrowed and passed around and subsequently lost amid the mess, and girls were bickering and
complaining, frantically trying to get ready as they were sure their dates were downstairs waiting.
Hermione thought to herself as Ginny helped zip up the back of her dress that she would never do
anything like this again. The disorganisation and barely controlled chaos was beginning to drive
her mad.

She turned, along with Ginny so that both could take in their reflections in the double wide
mirror lining one wall of the girls dorms, and both gasped at their images.

Ginny's jade green dress had straps that fell off the shoulders, and a tight bodice that
showed just the right amount of cleavage. The full skirt trailed the floor, and tiny emerald
coloured gems were sown all along the length of it, getting closer and closer together as they
reached the floor. Her shoes were the same colour silky jade, with around three inches of heel. The
robe she wore over it was the palest shade of green she had ever seen, almost white, with shimmery
trimming round the edges. Her thick red hair had been pulled into an elegant uptwist, and her lips
and cheeks were tinged with red, with a hint of mascara on her lashes and a sweep of brown shadow
over her eyelids. She wore tiny emerald earrings to top it off, and a thin gold chain with one
green gem clasped in the middle. (Silver and green would've been too Slytherin like, Ginny had
explained earlier with much sarcasm).

"I still can't believe Draco just handed me a bag of galleons and told me to pick out
whatever I fancied," breathed Ginny as she twirled in the mirror. "Apparently he's
not afraid at anyone seeing us at dances together, just together at everyday things… I reckon being
someone's date to the Yule Ball doesn't make it appear as if you're actually
*dating* in his eyes. Though I hope that's not what's going through his
mind."

Hermione nodded her agreement, though she was half listening. Harry had done the same for her as
Malfoy had done for Ginny as they had perused Hogsmeade with the rest of the fifth through seventh
year students last week, although she'd had a hard time accepting it. It seemed a frivolous
thing to do to spend loads of money on a gown and shoes to be worn only once, but Harry had
insisted, and she had decided on the dress she'd seen advertised in the catalogue of Madame
Malkin's robes for all occasions.

The sky blue of the dress slowly faded into a deeper blue as it swept the floor, and the
snowflakes that seemed to be falling down the dress as if from the sky, sparkled and gleamed as if
made from white crystal. Her shoes, a clear sort of substance charmed the darker blue colour, were
heels around two inches high, and Ginny had helped charm very tiny glimmering snowflakes into her
hair, which she'd decided to wear down and only pulled back slightly from her face. She wore
the bare minimum of makeup and jewellery as usual, but a sweep of white shadow across her lids, a
bit of mascara, and some barely pink gloss added to her lips gave just the right touch, along with
a delicate silver chain with a small string of sapphires. Ginny smiled at her.

"You look like a princess. Harry'll drop dead when he claps eyes on you," she
beamed happily as she helped Hermione into the shimmery white robe lying on the bed behind her.

Hermione's jaw continued to hang open. "I've never owned anything like this in my
whole life."

"Neither have I," agreed Ginny as she twirled one last time in front of the mirror.
"And I doubt I ever will again. But Carpe Diem I say, right?"

Hermione smirked at her and stepped out of the way of one frantic sixth year who'd misplaced
a long white glove. "Right. Let's get then. Is Malfoy meeting you there?"

Ginny sighed wearily as they walked from the busy room and headed toward the stairs. "Yes.
I think he's worried some of his housemates will start asking questions like they did after he
came and picked me up from your and Harry's common room for the All Hallows Eve party. He
hasn't said so, but I get the feeling he really doesn't want them assuming
anything."

Hermione stopped midway down the stairs and turned to eye Ginny gravely. "Look Gin. I
really don't think you should put up with that. You could do so much better. Don't let
Malfoy treat you less than what you're worth."

"I don't intend to, Hermione," replied Ginny patiently. "I think something
else is going on I can't see. I'm not going to let it go on for much longer. You can rest
assured, if I think for one minute it's because he's ashamed of me, he'll have my Comet
Two Sixty jammed so far up his arse he won't be able to see straight. So no worries, all
right?"

Hermione grinned and laughed at the younger girl despite her misgivings and nodded, deciding for
the moment to let the matter rest. Ginny was able to take care of herself; she'd shown herself
more than capable on several occasions thus far. And in the end it would be up to her how she
allowed herself to be treated.

As the two girls entered the common room, Ginny gave Hermione a wink and made her way toward the
portrait door and out to head toward the Great Hall.

The common room looked like some sort of formal waiting area, littered with Gryffindor males
dressed to the nines in suits and dress robes. Some were waiting patiently for their dates, others
were looking quite grumpy as they yanked frustratedly on ties and jackets, and still others were
looking quite green and sweaty as they fidgeted and paced, stealing nervous glances toward the
staircase leading toward the girls dorms. Every now and then some girl would emerge and one boy was
reprieved, with the rest sighing and settling back again to wait.

Hermione spied Harry and Ron seated in chairs near the fire. Both were sprawled out haphazardly,
arms and legs thrown where ever they'd decided to land, jackets thrown behind them on the backs
of the chairs and ties loosened. Both looked like they felt overdressed and under-appreciated.

She fought the urge to laugh out loud at them and rounded the back of Harry's chair. Even
sitting carelessly in front of the hearth, tie hanging loosely round his neck, white button down
shirt undone a bit for comfort, and black slacks now slightly wrinkled, Hermione found herself
staring at his long, fit form. His black hair was still untamed and messy, and his overly green
eyes behind the thin lenses seemed glossy from staring into the flames for too long, but he looked
gorgeous to her. He hadn't seemed to notice she'd walked almost in front of him and it took
Hermione's voice to snap him from his stupor.

She rapped lightly on the top of his skull with her knuckles, standing slightly behind his
chair. "Harry, love…you still in there?"

Harry sat up, twisted round quickly, and found that he wasn't the only one in the room now
staring open-mouthed at his date. A few whistles sounded behind him and he stood and gave the
others one of his best *'hands off'* scowls before returning his attention back to
Hermione.

"Hermione…you look absolutely…I mean, just…amazing! Sorry, I was sort of lost in my
thoughts, but *gods* you look smashing…Beautiful, really."

Hermione had the good grace to blush, before giving Harry's now tall, standing form a once
over. How could a seventeen year old manage to make standing in a tuxedo look roguishly sexy?
Wasn't he supposed to come off as some sort of awkward? As not looking quite comfortable? And
yet Harry stood, his weight slightly more on one foot than the other and slung his jacket over his
back winking at her. She felt her knees begin to knock. He still had quite little idea the effect
he had on her, damn it…

Ron stood and gave her a peck on the cheek, managing to look quite handsome himself. He'd
tamed his hair much more effectively than Harry had. "You do look wonderful, 'Mione… Any
idea when *my* date's coming down? For the *love of Godric*, I swear I've been
waiting for an hour now."

Hermione laughed at him. "She was almost dressed when Ginny and I left. Shouldn't be
too much longer."

Ron scanned the room over Hermione's head. "Ginny? Where is *she*, then?"

"Left a few minutes ago," said Harry. "Walked right past you. Didn't you see
her?"

"Obviously not. Did she leave with the *ferret* then?" asked Ron darkly.
"Can't see how I missed *that*."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Ginny and he decided to meet there…Now hang on before you go
off…"

"**WHAT**!?" barked Ron so loudly that Seamus and Dean turned to stare at them.
"You mean he didn't have the *frickin*' *decency* to come get her from
*here*!?"

"Calm down Ron!" hissed Hermione frustratedly. "Ginny's got a good head on
her shoulders. She knows what she's doing…"

"So do I," Ron seethed dangerously as he whipped his wand from his robes and proceeded
to stomp towards the portrait door.

"Ron hang on," said Harry exasperatedly, grabbing onto his arm. Ron stopped but
whirled to give Harry a very dirty scowl. "You can't just go off trying to blast Malfoy
when things don't suit you between them! Ginny's got to decide things for
herself."

"Easy for you to say, Harry. That's not *your* sister being treated like
*shit* out there, is it!?"

Harry frowned slightly at him. "She's as good as, mate. And you know it."

Ron continued to scowl at him, breathing heavily, but finally dropped his arm. "You're
right, I know. I'm sorry Harry. But I don't like Ginny being treated like that. She
deserves more."

"She knows how it seems Ron," said Hermione placing a hand on his arm. "But
she's got a good handle on things. She won't let herself be treated wrong. You know
that."

Ron smirked. "Yeah I do, I guess."

The Great Hall was decorated to resemble a sort of ballroom of old, with large floating candle
chandeliers hanging from the bewitched ceiling, now glowing with a fuzzy moon, very dark grey
clouds, and a whirlwind of snowflurries. Great Christmas trees, once again decorated with live
fairies glowing different pastel colours, stood in every corner. Great long silvery streamers hung
from the walls, icicles hung magically from the large windowsills, and live snowmen greeted
students as they came in.

The impossibly long tables used as house tables for the Hall, now lined the walls, covered in
refreshments and pumpkin punch, being constantly fussed over by one or more house elves. Some of
the earlier arriving couples were already dancing slowly to the WWN Dumbledore had charmed to sound
throughout, and the professors who were dressed nicely themselves in festive looking robes were all
on hand here and there, mingling with each other or manning tables as chaperones.

Ron greeted the snowman on his left gruffly, having already taken in the image of Ginny below,
dancing with a distinctly stiff Draco Malfoy. Lavender pouted neatly beside him.

"Ron, just for tonight let's forget about your sister and have fun, just you and
I."

Ron eyed her more harshly than he'd intended too. "She's my **sister**, Lav! I
can't just *forget* about her! She's being used!"

"You don't know that," said Harry with Hermione from behind the two.

Ron turned to look at him. "I don't, do I!? How else do you explain the fact he
wouldn't come get her from the common room tonight? Or the fact he doesn't want any of his
mates knowing he fancies her!?"

Hermione instantly looked alarmed. "*What*?…How did you…I mean, I didn't
tell…"

Ron rolled his eyes at her and then planted his gaze back on the couple below them. "Aw
come off it, 'Mione. I watch them closer than anyone else here, don't I?"

"I'm surprised you haven't turned him into a newt by now then," said Harry
with a frown.

"It's not for lack of wanting too," said Ron begrudgingly. "But if I did
Ginny'd never speak to me again. I *do* have to let her handle it…*for
now*."

Ron's last words left the distinct feeling about him that he hadn't let go of it by a
long shot, nevertheless, the four entered the 'ballroom' and immediately set to dancing and
having fun. More and more couples joined them soon, and by the time eight o'clock rolled
around, the hall was teeming with young formally dressed witches and wizards.

"…and the most gorgeous by far, Miss Hermione Granger," finished Harry, grinning as he
twirled Hermione outward and then caught her back to himself.

Hermione beamed up at him. "You clean up well yourself there. And you're not
half-biased, are you?"

"Not a bit," said Harry with a mock look of annoyance. "Completely
impartial."

"Right."

Harry smirked at her in that charming, roguish way that made her heart turn over, and Hermione
felt herself giving into him once again. He held her so close, the distinct aroma of wind and
outdoors and everything feverishly Harry about him. His soft, full lips brushed hers and she
intensified the kiss, tangling her fingers in the fine hair that swept his nape. She never
*could* seem to get enough of him…

Gods she tasted like Elysian Fields, some sort of honeyed utopia he couldn't get enough of,
even with all the times he'd fallen into her before. Harry felt the familiar drunken desire
beginning to well up in him and decided to himself that he'd do better to just hold her for
now, lest they end up in a full blown snog that embarrassed the hell out of everyone else.

He pulled back from her somewhat dizzily and turned his head slightly to see Ron, dancing
closely with Lavender, leering at him and giving him a suggestive wink and thumbs up. He blushed a
bit and turned back to Hermione.

"Er, love…much as I **love** kissing you…I don't think I'll be able to control
myself if we keep on."

She followed his gaze and saw Ron waggling his tongue brazenly at them while Lavender did her
best to admonish him. Hermione gave him her best *'sod off'* glower and returned her
attention back to Harry.

"It's all right. I feel the same. Can't help it if your devastatingly handsome now,
can you?"

"And now who's biased?" said Harry with a surprised grin as he held her even
closer.

"I resent the insinuation," said Hermione with a cock of one eyebrow. "I've
always been an extremely unprejudiced judge of your overall…package."

Harry leered at her in much the same way Ron had and lowered his voice an octave. "My
*package*? We still talking about the same thing, 'Mione?"

He'd expected her to punch him for the insinuation, but Hermione merely returned the look.
"I mean that I personally think your outside is as beautiful as your inside. And as for your
*package*…I haven't yet had the privilege of unwrapping it, have I?"

Harry's jaw dropped and he grinned at her. "You'll never stop surprising me, will
you?"

Hermione looked pleased with herself as she let Harry dip her in a silly, overly-proper way.

"And I rather think that when the time comes, we'll be unwrapping presents together,
don't you?" he whispered down into her ear. "I *can't wait* to see
mine."

Hermione turned three shades of bright red as he lifted her back upright.

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

From the other side of the ballroom, Ginny looked up at Draco as he swayed with her and caught a
slideshow of indecipherable emotions crossing his face. He'd been stiff and almost awkward with
her the whole night. Anytime one of his housemates passed by he made sure to hold her at arms
length, and even acted at times as if he felt he would be glad when the whole thing was over. His
attitude was beginning to grate on her, and Ginny felt, as Theodore Nott passed with his date, and
Draco stopped looking at her to find one of the snack tables interesting, that she'd rather had
enough.

"If you're having such a horrible time why'd you ask me in the first place?"
She whispered angrily above the song that had just come on the WWN. The station had decided to play
some of the older, more famous Muggle Christmas songs this year, and the American Bing Crosby's
low voice flowed smooth as melted butter into the Great Hall.

**I'll be home for Christmas…You can plan on me…**

Malfoy blinked a couple of times before her words sank in. "What? What're you on
about?"

"You!" said Ginny, setting her jaw. "All night long you've been distant and
strange with me. 'Specially when one of your damn Slytherin friends pass by."

Draco pulled her to him closer and looked down at her fiercely. "They most certainly are
*not* my friends, Red. You know that."

**Please have snow, and mistletoe…and presents 'neath the tree…**

Ginny sighed and put her arms round his shoulders. "Then why d'you care what they
think?"

She felt Draco stiffen again but he brought a hand up to smooth a flaming red lock of hair back
behind her ear that had fallen out of Ginny's upsweep. "I did tell you how smashing you
look tonight, didn't I? Green is definitely your colour. You look like a jewel… Makes me want
to wear you."

**Christmas Eve will find me…**

Ginny's eyes rounded at his obvious intimation but she decided she wouldn't be swayed
off topic. "Mmmm…sort of like Harry's eyes, right?"

Draco's eyes flashed and he suddenly held her at arms length. "**What**? You got
some thing for *Scarhead*? What's going on with you two!? One witch not *enough* for
him!?"

Ginny smirked triumphantly. "Of course I don't have something for him, but I did just
get you to stop play-acting now, didn't I? Now maybe you'll answer my question."

Draco scowled at her. "Not very nice of you, Red."

"No, it wasn't," said Ginny. "Now answer my question."

**Where the love light gleams…I'll be home for Christmas…**

"Which one was that?" asked Draco innocently as he twirled her outward and then
brought her back in.

Ginny gritted her teeth in aggravation. "The one where I asked you why you care what your
classmates think of you and I?…if you can remember that far back…"

Malfoy smiled down at her. He loved when she got feisty with him. "What makes you think I
do?"

He really was infuriating her now, and Ginny was on the verge of leaving him alone on the floor.
She'd finally had enough. "Oh, I dunno… Maybe it's the fact that whenever one of them
comes near it's as if you feel absolutely **nothing** for me…or maybe its that sometimes you
actually start a fight with me so that it'll appear as if it's just another Weasley-Malfoy
row going on…or it **could be** that you won't hold my hand or kiss me anywhere **near**
a Slytherin…"

Ginny's voice had begun to raise in pitch at the last sentence and Draco began to look
alarmed. He stopped dancing at once and gripped her by the top of her arms. "Not so loud! You
want the whole school hearing you!? Be quiet for god's sake!"

**If only in my dreams…**

Ginny stopped, breathing hard, eyes flaming with fury and hurt and wrenched her arms away from
him. She stared hard at him for a few moments and then turned and began striding purposefully out
from the Hall, obviously sure that he was going to follow. He did.

When they'd gotten to the great oak double doors of the castle and wrenched them apart,
Ginny met him at the bottom of the steps, her eyes shining with angry tears.

"All right." Her voice was very steady, but low pitched and whispery as if she
couldn't trust herself to use it fully. "You'll tell me what's going on right now,
or we're through. You hear me?"

Draco gave her his best scowl. "I don't take well to ultimatums, Red."

**Christmas Eve will find me…** Drifted out muffled from inside the castle.

"That's too bad," said Ginny, enunciating every word clearly. "I want to know
what's going on and I want to know *NOW*."

Malfoy stared at her for a few moments, those infuriatingly unreadable emotions crossing over
his face again. He swallowed roughly.

Ginny cleared her throat to keep her voice steady and spoke quietly. "Are you ashamed of
me?"

Draco looked confused. "Ashamed…"

"Of me, yes," said Ginny clearly. "…Am I too *poor* for you? Is that it? Not
*high-class* enough for a Malfoy?"

"**What**!?" said Draco, angrily. "That what kind of wizard you think I am,
Weasley? Equating me with my **father** now, are you!?"

**Where the love light gleams…**

"What other explanation have you given me!?" asked Ginny hotly. "I don’t know
what to think anymore! I've let it go for too long and now I want the truth!"

Draco screwed up his face and hesitated. He was going to hate himself in the morning.
"Truth is that I have my reasons…and that's all you need to know for now."

Ginny backed from him and crossed her arms over her chest, instantly telling him she was cutting
herself off from him. That had done it. He'd lost her now and he knew it.

"You know me better than that by now, I think." Ginny's breathing became more
laboured and she spoke dangerously low. "You don't seriously think I'm all right with
that, do you?"

**I'll be home for Christmas…**

Malfoy hesitated again. He knew she expected answers from him, but they were answers he
wasn't willing to give. The answers would be worse for her than what had brought on the
questions. He knew his next words would drive her completely from him, but hadn't he known all
along it wouldn't last? He'd known. Trying to mix a Weasley with a Malfoy was like trying
to successfully merge oil and water. It was never going to happen.

He answered her last question steadily. "No…I don't."

Ginny looked a bit stunned and stood, shifting uncomfortably, blinking quietly as if willing her
eyes to keep from betraying her with tears. She just continued to stare at him until he felt almost
burned by her gaze and could no longer meet it. He stared at the ground, hating life, hating
himself, most of all, hating his last name…

**If only in my dreams…**

Then Ginny gave off a very soft derisive laugh at herself and began to sweep past him back up
the steps and into the castle. He heard her mumble through sobs as she passed.

"*What was I thinking*…"

The huge oak door slammed shut behind him with a resounding thud, and Draco suddenly began to
notice the snowflakes falling over him. The wind whistled round the corners of the castle, a thin
layer of ice covering the lake shone dully to him as the moonshine hit it, and he watched
apathetically as the wind began to blow layers of snow from the heavy bows of the surrounding
trees. He jammed his fists into the pockets of his robes, and as the icy wind seeped through his
robes and suit, a chill that had nothing to do with the weather clutched hold of his heart once
again.

*Alone again*, Draco thought to himself. *Just as I knew I would be*.

**If only in my dreams.**

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

Much later that night, after the ball had gone on for another two hours and ended, after
Hermione had tried consoling a distraught Ginny who'd shown up to their common room at around
midnight, and after Harry and Hermione had already changed back into their regular clothes, Harry
finally sat with Hermione to compose a letter to Sirius. Christmas was only a week away now, and
they knew the sooner they were able to ask him to join them, the longer he would have to get used
to the idea of seeing them again.

Every sentence he wrote, Harry turned to eye Hermione for approval, and she suggested small
changes here and there when she found it necessary.

They headed straight away down the dark cold hallways toward Dumbledore's office where they
knew the Headmaster, himself a night owl, would still be awake. Dumbledore took the letter from
them, bade them a good night, and promised them he'd floo it straight away to Sirius.

Fifteen minutes later in London, Sirius sat on his couch at Grimmauld Place in front of the
hearth, still clutching the letter he'd received some ten minutes ago with shaky hands.
He'd recognised the untidy scrawl his name was written in immediately. Harry.

Thinking to himself that it did him no good to prolong the inevitable, Sirius slit the envelope
open and began to read with his heart thudding against his ribs.

*Dear Sirius,*

*I hope all is well with you in London. I understand that what we told*

*You comes as quite a shock to you to say the least. Honestly, I've had a right time
coming to terms with it myself as you can imagine. I understand more than anyone how you must feel.
It's taken me a while to even be able to speak with James, but I know once you've heard him
out you'll understand a bit more why he's done what he has.*

*Please don't shut us out, Sirius. You're still like a father to me, and no one will
ever replace you for me. James knows that. But I need you both. You're both family and James
and I love you more than you know. Please give him a chance to explain himself.*

*Hermione's had the idea that maybe you could come spend Christmas with us here at
Hogwarts this year. It'd be just you, Hermione, James and I. I hate the thought of you being
alone in Grimmauld Place over the holidays, and I know you hate it as well. You could floo home
whenever it suited you if you felt you needed to. We've made it all right with Dumbledore so
all we need is your response.*

*I would love my family to be with me on the holidays. As much as you, James and Hermione are
all I have, I know James and I are all you have, Sirius. We both miss you. If you don't think
you're able yet, I understand. Just please consider it, all right?*

*Hoping to hear from you soon,*

*Harry*

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

A/N: Hey guys. I'm so sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter out. I knew where I
was trying to go but wasn't quite sure how I was getting there, you know? Anyway, after this
things are going to begin heading downhill for everyone as far as the war is concerned, so be on
the lookout for that. I dedicate this chapter to Claire, who owled me saying she was waiting
patiently for the next chappie. Claire, you're the nicest evil fairy I know! ;0) Cheers! Bama (
P.S.- Don’t worry D/G fans).



27. Chapter 27: Happy Christmas, Draco
--------------------------------------


**Chapter 27: Happy Christmas, Draco**

The black steam billowing in great clouds from the smokestack of the Hogwarts Express mingled
with the spinning snowfall as Harry, Hermione and Lupin stood together at a bustling Hogsmeade
Station. Ron, Ginny and Lavender Brown, who had been invited to spend Christmas holidays with the
Weasleys, were currently in the process of hauling their trolleys over to the baggage handlers who
looked slightly overwhelmed with the luggage of over two hundred Hogwarts students, currently
milling about and boarding the train in a mass of barely controlled madness. Although there were
still noticeably less students this year, the workers managed to seem grumpy, despite the lesser
work load.

Ron neared the three after leaving his luggage with a handler, breathing on his cold chapped
hands and smirking at a shivering Hermione who was nearly wrapped invisible with Harry in his heavy
black, winter robes. All he could see of her was a cold pink nose, a pair of large brown eyes, and
a mop of corkscrew curls that Harry was having a hard time keeping the wind from blowing into his
mouth.

"And here I thought 'Mione cared enough to see us off," deadpanned Ron as he
glanced round Harry and Lupin. Ginny and Lavender trotted up beside him having dispensed of their
loads as well. "Nice of her not to show, wasn't it?"

Ginny saw a pair of large brown eyes narrow at her brother from under Harry's chin and
smiled. Lupin laughed and Harry chuckled, giving a slight 'oomph' as Hermione jabbed him in
the ribs.

"Ron, you know I'm here you great prat," came Hermione's muffled voice.
"Now come here you two so we can send you off proper."

Ron and Ginny neared and Hermione untangled herself from Harry and his robes long enough for the
both of them and Lupin to hug the two goodbye, and bid Lavender a good holiday.

Hermione held Ginny close for a few moments and whispered in her ear. "Please try to have a
happy Christmas Gin. You'll be with your wonderful family…all those other redheads that love
you so much! Try thinking on that."

Ginny pulled back from her and gave a sad smile before answering her just as quietly. "And
what would you say if the situation were reversed and it was Harry who'd broken with
you?"

Hermione paused and tucked a strand of Ginny's thick red hair back behind her winter hat.
"I'd tell me to sod off."

Ginny gave a half-hearted attempt at a grin and hugged Hermione again. "I know you're
trying to help. Just knowing you're there to talk to is enough."

"You can owl me anytime while you and Ron are away, you know that."

Ginny nodded. "I know."

The shrill whistle from behind the six and the conductor's bellow of "*All
aboard*!" told them the Express was moments away from beginning its journey.

Ron took Lavender's hand and nodded to Ginny, who seemed now to be staring morosely past him
at something nearer the train.

"Well mates, Professor Lupin," said Ron backing towards the train and deciding in
Lavender's presence to keep Harry's fathers' identity a secret. "I guess we'll
be off. See you after holidays. Christmas won't be the same without you, Harry. Mum's
already had a solid cry and we've not even got there yet without you."

Harry grinned fondly and called after him. "Give her a peck for me, mate! I'll most
likely see her at graduation, I expect."

"Right!" called Ron with a grin as he ushered Ginny and Lavender ahead of him onto the
train and hopped the first step toward the doorway. The attendant was motioning him inside a bit
agitatedly as the train had already begun its first sluggish pull down the tracks. "See you
soon! Give Padfoot a good thump from me! Bye 'Mione, wherever you've got to!"

Hermione knew he was referring to the fact that she was once again swimming in Harry's cloak
with him, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She'd seen where Ginny had been looking a bit
earlier as Ron had been saying his goodbyes; seen the tall, blonde-headed form of Draco Malfoy
slumped dejectedly, peering unhappily back at her from the entrance of the train, his hands shoved
into his pockets, breath billowing out in front of him smoky white in the cold. She'd also seen
him turn away quickly and head through the entrance, most likely to find a compartment to hide in
by himself; headed home for the holidays as well.

Hermione had seen Lavender follow her gaze and give her a quick searching glance, but she was
sure Harry and Ron hadn't noticed anything. Men could be so oblivious sometimes.

She hoped for Ginny's sake that some sort of naturalness could be worked out between them
soon, pushing down her own underlying feeling of relief that Ginny was no longer with the
Slytherin. Hermione knew she had no right to judge the '*book'* by its cover, and yet
the thought still nagged her mind that the farther away from Draco and his father Ginny stayed, the
safer she was.

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

Sirius swept long dark hair from his face and bending forward at his kitchen table, put quill to
parchment with a shaky hand. After a few moments of staring at the words *'Dear Harry
and…*' he lowered the quill once again, letting his fatigue reddened eyes close and his head
drop wearily into one hand.

He'd experienced such a hailstorm of emotions during the past month that he'd almost not
been able to think straight. Not long after the meeting with James and Harry he'd disconnected
them from his floo network, needing time to sort things out in his own mind before hearing from
them again. He'd wept countless nights over the loss of Remus Lupin, lain awake tossing and
turning over the thought that he'd had James with him the entire time and not known it, and had
grown angrier and angrier at his so-called best friend for having kept him in the dark for the past
sixteen years.

Oh it'd been easy enough to reason out why James had done what he had; Harry's safety,
and even Sirius' own welfare had probably been the biggest, most obvious factors, with the
preservation of James' *own* life coming in almost last on his list if Sirius knew him at
all. But still, the thought that his best friend, more of a brother if the truth be told, had lied
to him over and over again for so many years; not to mention the fact that he'd let him believe
that another close friend who had died was still alive, kept him tossing and turning on wave after
wave of confusion for countless hours.

He'd begun dreaming again of the night Lily and James were murdered. A time he'd finally
been able to hide away into the back recesses of his mind after so many years, had snuck back up
into his consciousness as quickly and certainly as a thief, stealing his thoughts again; bringing
back feelings of emptiness and pain, and most of all, overwhelming guilt. Well he remembered the
nights he'd spent in Azkaban having the same awful dreams over and over; visions of their
deaths and baby Harry alone in his crib all night long, watching over the dead bodies lying before
him, ran through his head like some mental horror film. The regret had eaten his joy away more than
the dementors could have ever done.

He'd been away the night Voldemort had struck. Lupin and he had been taking turns staying
with James, Lily and Harry those final days, because of the looming threat they had been sensing.
Had it been his night with the Potters, perhaps he would be the one now lying in the ground.
Perhaps Remus' life could've been spared, maybe even Lily's. Maybe he would've been
a stronger opponent for Voldemort than Remus had been. Remus had always been the smarter one in
school, that much was true, but Sirius had always had the upper hand at duelling. What might've
changed that night?

And Harry…*gods* that boy had already been through enough despair to last two lifetimes.
He'd lost his parents, lost any type of loving family and support he could've come to know,
and then been thrust into the *hell* and abuse that defined the Dursley household. He'd
never known love, respect, or kindness until he'd come to Hogwarts and met the few that cared
for him, and even then he wasn't granted reprieve. Because then he was made to endure constant
threats on his life from Voldemort and constant pressure to be some sort of saviour to some of the
wizarding world, while at the same time having to fear ridicule, unbelief, and slander from others.
How might Harry's life have turned out differently if Sirius had been around to take care of
him instead of in Azkaban? Molly Weasley had inadvertently brought that fact to his attention
during a row two years ago and he'd not forgot it since.

And yet of all the guilt and pain that weighed on him like some cement block hung round his
neck, he was sure none of it compared to the agony James must feel; for Remus, Lily, and for Harry.
And the continuing heartbreak he must be going through having to try to build a relationship with a
son he barely knew, and who barely knew him.

In that moment of clarity, Sirius decided that he owed it to himself, his friendship with James,
the memory of Remus Lupin, and most of all Harry, to try.

With a steadier hand than before, Sirius dipped the nib of his quill into the clay inkpot next
to him and began to scratch out his reply.

**Dear Harry,

It has taken me a good while to even be able to reply to your letter. I understand that it
must've hurt both you and James for me to cut myself from you for a bit after all of that, but
I needed time to think things through, you understand. I'll not try to write out my questions
here, or what's been on my mind; those are things better left said face to face, I think.

Suffice it to say Harry, when you said I would hate spending Christmas alone here in the old
Black dungeon, you were right. I'm surprised to even hear myself say it, but its lonelier here
than before Kreacher died. Barking old rotter of a house elf that he was, at least he was another
living body. And the Order hasn't met much here lately, and won't be during Christmas,
I'm sure. So all of that to say, I'll accept your invitation, and make arrangements with
Dumbledore as to the day and time I'll arrive.

I'll say no more here, except to say that this will be difficult on all of us I think, but
I'm willing to give it a go. I'm most glad for you, that you have Hermione to lean on for
all of this. She's quite the rock, isn't she?

I need my family and friends much as you do, and count myself lucky you consider me part of
yours. I'll be seeing you sometime round next week, I expect.

Sirius

And with that, Sirius walked to his hearth, and flooed his letter straight to Dumbledore's
office, where the headmaster got it straightaway, with a twinkle in his eye that said he felt
something was finally going to be put right.

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

Draco Malfoy sat stoically in the very back of his father's immaculately shined limousine
and peered with dull grey eyes through the blowing snow as the driver turned down number 66
Hawthorn Way, where loomed at the end, the museum-like estate of Malfoy Manor.

A cold, rigid looking mansion towered smooth cream and grey, taller than all others down the
stately area, surrounded by very even, very formal gardens, and a tall ominous looking black
wrought iron gate with the Malfoy crest imperiously set above it. Lucius had designed it that way.
Lofty and unyielding with almost cruelly straight lines; the house was his father put to stone
design. Draco cringed inwardly as the chauffeur drove them through the gates that magically swung
open.

Much like Harry Potter, although Draco would never admit it, he loathed having to come back to
his '*home*' during holidays and summers. Though most of the time he was given free
reign of the place, what with his father out taking care of god knew what, and his mother most
likely off at one of her esteemed *'rich witch'* social functions, he found himself
almost always starved for company. There were times when he would've taken Crabbe and
Goyle's unintelligent blather over the emptiness and quiet.

Narcissa had hired servants, but they'd been trained to be silent and have little to no
personality about them while going about their chores. It was more like having a house full of
zombies than people. He'd grown up with most of them, but could count the conversations
he'd had with them over his seventeen years on his two hands, barring his nanny. But she'd
been cold and impersonal, and at times even cruel.

Yet, Draco reminisced with a shudder, he would've taken her cruelty *any* day over his
father's. With his permanent sneer, and general disdain for anything Draco tried to accomplish
outside of his own express orders, he was the epitome of everything cold, distant, and hard. Well
could he remember the beatings he'd gotten from his father for making low marks in school,
disobeying him indirectly, or failing to complete some task to his exact liking. He'd learned
not to cry out at an early age; it only served to fuel his father's rage even more. After all,
a real wizard took his punishment and learned from it, he didn't run off to squeal like a young
witch, did he?

He exited the car and walked toward the great solid wood door without a backward glance at the
driver. He fixed his facial expression by instinct before he even put his hand to the knob…aloof,
in control, and tough as steel. Lucius Malfoy would take no less.

Draco strode into the massive foyer and was quickly relieved, if only for a moment, that no one
was there waiting for him. A round polished mahogany table always laden with fresh flowers as per
Narcissa, no matter the season, stood regally in the centre of a large marble floor. An intricate
winding staircase loomed directly behind, and to the left, the archway that led to an impeccable
dining room with white carpet, and two large crystal chandeliers hanging over an incredibly long
mahogany dinner table laden with silver ornamentals; a table that more often than not, he usually
sat at alone. The corners of Draco's mouth held a slight frown. Such opulence, all for nothing.
It wasn't as if his parents were often there. The house and all of its rooms and riches were
merely status symbols. This is how the Malfoy's were expected to live. And yet, the house, with
all of the worldly comforts one could possibly ever hope to have, had a depressing, forlorn feel
about it. It seemed whenever Draco came home he could almost *hear* the place mourning,
echoing its lack of warmth.

"Draco."

A smooth, glacial voice sounded from behind him, and Malfoy stiffened inwardly as if his heart
had just been frozen. He fixed his face and turned to greet the impeccably dressed wizard, hatred
coursing through his veins like ice water.

"Hello father."

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

Hermione, with her nose currently stuck in the folds of a thick book, could almost feel Harry
continuing to pace across the room. It was December 24th, Christmas Eve, and the castle
was deserted save them, the Headmaster, and the few professors who'd chosen to stay behind.

She and Harry were currently standing in Dumbledore's office, which he'd kindly offered
to abandon to them as Sirius was now due to arrive. He'd felt Black might feel more comfortable
if only Harry and Hermione were there to greet him initially. Harry'd been inclined to agree,
and he and Hermione now stood waiting for the great whoosh that would signal his godfather's
arrival.

Hermione glanced up from the volume she'd snagged from one of Dumbledore's large
bookcases and gave a small sigh. Harry was pretending to scan the books as well, but was giving
himself away by fidgeting and pacing. He was currently chewing the nails on his right hand to nubs,
something he rarely did, and Hermione felt he was trying to keep his mouth occupied rather than
voice his fears.

"Harry…"

"Mmm, what?" said Harry quickly, whirling to face Hermione and quickly glancing past
her at Dumbledore's hearth. *No Sirius yet*…

Hermione smiled tenderly at him and put her book down, walking over and reaching her hands up to
his face. She turned his gaze to hers.

"He'll be fine love," said Hermione softly.

Harry frowned. "I know that..I know…" But he said it a bit too earnest to be taken
seriously.

"Do you?" She smiled.

Harry relaxed beneath her touch and sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a brief moment. She knew
him too well. "I just want him to feel part of us, you know? I want him to be happy. For him
to get his best friend back… I just want everything to be all right." He turned his head to
kiss one of her palms.

"I know," she whispered, pulling him into a hug which he sagged into gratefully. She
buried her face in his chest, taking in his scent, and Harry dropped a kiss on her hair, lingering
there; the scent of honeyed berries blanketing him in comfort once again.

A whoosh of greyish debris suddenly littered the hearth, and Harry quickly turned Hermione
around to face the fireplace with him, though still holding her tightly against his chest.

A decidedly soot-covered Sirius, dressed in a long, slightly ragged black cloak an a pair of
black Muggle trousers ducked out from the hearth, shaking grey and black ash from his clothes and
mane of shaggy hair much as Padfoot would've done.

"That could do with a good '*scourgifying'*," said Sirius with a thumb
jabbing behind him at the floo. He favoured Harry and Hermione with a small but warm smile.
"Hullo you lot."

Hermione felt Harry grinning behind her and decided to step out of his embrace to encourage him
to move forward.

Sirius and Harry met each other mid-stride in a warm handshake and quick hug.

"I'm so glad you decided to come," said Harry, beaming. "Wouldn't have
been Christmas without you."

Sirius paused, a bit of sentiment stealing across his face at Harry's warmth. When he next
spoke his voice was a bit gruff with emotion. "W…well, couldn't stand being holed up in
the old Black estate over holidays, you know."

"I can well imagine," Harry nodded in understanding. "Have your trunk with you,
then?"

"Shrunk it," said Sirius, patting his cloak pocket, which sounded a bit with the
clanking together of objects. "Got some other things as well," he added with a wink.

He turned his gaze toward Hermione who was smiling with unshed tears sparkling in her eyes.

"And you," he smiled, pulling her into a warm embrace. "You seem to have gotten
more beautiful every time I clap eyes on you."

Harry faked a scowl and placed hands on his hips. "Putting the moves on my girl?"

Hermione managed a choked laugh, while Sirius grinned like a fool. "Best keep a close eye
on this one, Harry. Some bloke'll come round and steal her right from under you, ugly thing
that you are."

"Won't be you, will it?" replied Harry without missing a beat. "Ugly
*and* old."

Both began to laugh and Hermione scoffed as she headed toward the spiral staircase that was now
leading downward toward the ugly gargoyles guarding the office's entrance.

"C'mon let's get, then. Couple of idiot nits, the both of you."

Sirius grin stretched wider as he and Harry followed her down the staircase and out of the
office, toward the head boy and girls dorms.

"So much like you're mum its downright scary," whispered Sirius to Harry as they
trudged dutifully behind her. "Even scolds like her."

"I can *hear* you, you know," said Hermione from ahead with a hint of humour in
her voice.

They'd decided, before Sirius had got there, to wait on taking him to see James, and as
Harry watched Sirius visibly relax having realised they were leading him to their common room, he
decided he, Hermione and James had made the right decision. There would be plenty of time over the
week he would be there for Sirius and James to reacquaint themselves, and Harry'd thought it
best for Sirius to get as comfortable as possible with the idea first. The others had agreed, and
had decided to give Sirius the option of staying in Harry's room for the week while he bunked
with Hermione, or taking Gryffindor tower.

Hermione was least surprised with Sirius decision as he scanned their quarters with approving
grunts. He'd probably love staying in a place with others. Being in Gryffindor tower all by
himself would most likely remind him too much of the loneliness of the Black Estate. He'd come
here to escape that, Hermione knew.

"I'd like to stay here I think, Harry. If it won't be too much of an inconvenience
for you two."

Harry looked a bit surprised but agreed. "No, not at all. I'll just bunk with
'Mione."

Sirius gave him an odd look, and Harry quickly realised how the situation must sound to him. He
immediately began to stutter.

"W..well I…that is, it's **not** how it sounds…You see…we've *been*
sleeping together…I mean…**NO**! That's not what I meant…" Harry shifted from one leg
to the other, gesturing with hands that suddenly felt like comical rubbery things. Hermione had
turned a deep shade of magenta.

Sirius tried hard to keep from laughing and held up a hand. "Harry! What you two do or
don't is none of my concern! You're of age now, aren't you? I don't presume
anything, you know…"

"As well you shouldn't!" said Harry with conviction. "We…we're
not…"

"Absolutely not!" squeaked Hermione vigorously, flushing a deep scarlet.
"We're not…not yet…"

"Really you two. It's none of my business. I think nothing of any of it, all
right?" said Sirius firmly. "Maybe I *should* stay in Gryffindor tower. I don't
mind."

Harry and Hermione, sharing quick looks of deepest embarrassment, shook their heads.

"No," said Harry. "I'd like you here with us. Really, I would."

Sirius looked thoughtful. "We'll decide it later." He turned toward the large,
decorated fir tree Dobby had set in the corner of their common room for them near the blazing
hearth, and smiled easily. "Well, you've even got a tree, have you? Got some things for
it, then."

And as Sirius fished in his pocket and pulled out a handful of tiny wrapped boxes, the tension
and embarrassment in the room dissipated. He began righting the gifts to their original sizes with
an engorgement charm and placing them gleefully under the tree, his face shining like that of a
child's on Christmas morning.

Harry frowned at him as he and Hermione sat on the couch in front of the fire. "Hang on…
how've you been able to shop for Christmas? You haven't been out and around, have
you!?"

Hermione gasped, clearly upset. "Oh Sirius how could you!? It isn't safe! I can't
believe after all the times you've nearly been spotted before… and you can't buy gifts in
your animagus form, can you!? What did you do, then!?"

Sirius waved a hand at them. "Settle down, you two. I haven't been **anywhere**,
unfortunately. I sent my list to Dumbledore, and he sent Snivellus out to Hogsmeade to do my
shopping for me. I'm *sure* he appreciated the opportunity to help me out…" Sirius
ended with a wicked chuckle.

"Oh…" Hermione let out a relieved sigh and relaxed against Harry, who was now
chuckling along with his godfather.

"Sure he did, just like he would a good hex on his privates…" Harry grinned. "Has
to help out dad as well with his wolfsbane potions. He's well pissed with that…" But Harry
had suddenly noticed Sirius posture stiffen and realised what he'd done.

Sirius turned from his task a bit pale and moved to sit in the plush arm chair next to the couch
near them with a shaky sigh, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Harry mentally berated himself. *How could he've slipped like that!? Gods, after what
Sirius had already been through just getting up the nerve to come here*…

"Sirius…I'm sorry. It's not as if you're not choked enough without my banging
on about…*well*…"

"No Harry," said Sirius quickly. "You've got every right to mention your own
father. It's just something I've got to get used to, is all. It's just…hearing him
mentioned… in a state of being alive, and moving and talking and breathing and… **just**
**being**… It's a bit like being punched hard in the gut; takes the wind out of me.
Don't know how else to explain it."

Harry grimaced. That was perfectly describing it in his book. "No need to explain. I
understand perfectly. Still going through it a bit myself, you know."

Sirius nodded and then shook his head at himself, leaning forward on his knees to stare at the
floor. "And now *I* should apologise to *you*. I'm sorry, Harry. Have to remind
myself sometimes that this didn't happen only to me. Probably harder on you than it could
*ever* be on me, I reckon."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, feeling slightly uneasy and at a loss for words.
"I…I don't know."

An awkward silence followed before Hermione finally spoke up quietly. "Well…now you both
know you can help *each other*, don't you?"

Sirius, staring into the flames, smiled with an ironic upcurving of his lips. "You have a
smart witch there, Harry. She's one I'd keep round, I think."

Harry saw Hermione blush from the corner of his eye and pulled her onto his lap between his
thighs, giving her a kiss on the temple and smoothing her curls back from her face affectionately.
She sighed blissfully and snuggled back against him, burying her face in the soft crook of his
neck. He wrapped his arms round her and held her close; one hand resting on the back of her head
with the other on her hip. He felt her plant a soft kiss on his nape and melted into contentment,
closing his eyes.

"Yeah…think I will," he said softly, not sure later whether he'd said it out loud
or not.

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

Draco immediately recognised the once-over his father was giving him; sizing him up from his
stance to his demeanour to his body language in a matter of only seconds. His cold grey eyes,
always scrutinising him from above an uplifted, aristocratic nose and stern chin, swept every inch
of him, shaking him from the inside, though Draco never gave any indication of it. Any sign of
weakness would be punishable, so Draco had learned early, no matter what state he felt himself in,
to always exude confidence and a cold detachment.

Satisfied for now, Lucius addressed his son. "Back for the holidays, are we?"

"I am," replied Draco stiffly.

"Good," said Lucius stonily with the subtle raise of one silvery eyebrow. "I
trust you've been excelling in your studies, what with N.E.W.T.s coming round. I expect
**nothing** below an E in **any** of your classes. We wouldn't want the embarrassment of
presenting the dark lord with a half-witted apprentice, now would we?"

Draco's stomach felt suddenly as if it'd shrivelled down to nothing but a hard, cold
lump of fear. He showed none of it and raised his chin haughtily.

" '*Course* not*,* father."

Lucius paused for effect before accepting his son's response. "Udolphus has taken your
things, then?"

Draco nodded, knowing full well the driver/butler would have already unloaded the boot of the
limo and placed his trunk in his room.

Lucius inclined his head coolly at his son. "Your mother is currently off on one of her
long socialite functions I gather, from what Eleanor tells me. So for the next week, it'll be
just you and I round the house. I expect we'll be seeing a bit of one another."

Draco's stiff posture wavered for a moment and his gaze shot up to meet his father's.
He'd fully expected his mother not to be there. She *never* was. But he'd hoped his
father would be away as well for most of the time, on some business venture, or some Death Eaters
meeting. Anything to keep him away long enough so that Draco wouldn't have to see him.

At the same time this thought hit him, Draco found himself mentally picturing his mother's
latest 'social endeavour'. He wondered who it was this time. Perhaps Berkeley Wilson, the
filthy rich owner of *Wilson's Wizarding Travel Company;* he'd seen them getting cosy
on more than one occasion during one of the Malfoy's famed parties. Or maybe she'd chosen
to take up with Nott's father again; Theodore had said his mother was out of town.

It was almost amusing the lengths Lucius and Narcissa went to avoiding the issue of their own
infidelity. Although it'd been going on for as long as Draco could remember, they never
acknowledged it openly. Such was the life of the rich, beneficial, and socially dominant marriage.
Stray all you like, but stay together for the power.

*But shit, did Lucius have to be here, now?* Draco actually wanted to be alone after
what'd happened with Ginny*…* She'd been the first **genuine** person he'd ever
really experienced…

Lucius studied his son through narrow, suspicious eyes. "Is there a problem,
Draco?"

Draco's heart stuttered in its beating for a moment, and he mentally raged at himself.
*Don't show him anything, idiot! You want him suspicious!? Keep your cool!*

"No father, of course not," lied Draco evenly. "I just assumed you'd be away
on business. It's so rare these days we're able to spend any time together."

Funny it never crossed Lucius mind to doubt his son ever had anything but an awesome respect for
him, Draco thought as his father continued.

"Under the circumstances I would not normally be here at all," said Lucius with a
sneer. "If I were seen outside of this house, I'd be arrested for the attacks done at
Hogwarts some months ago. Dumbledore suspects me." He smiled icily, a deadly glitter in his
grey gaze. "He's right to do so. I did attack Filch, Pot…(*he paused and cleared his
throat..no need for Draco to know too much*)…Lupin and the Granger mudblood. But all with good
reason."

Draco blinked at him. "Why?"

"It is enough for you to know it was necessary," answered Lucius with a voice of
steel. "The dark lord has need of me now more than ever. He'll soon have the Potter boy on
his knees, begging for mercy, his friends broken before him on the ground. And after, with me as
his chief advisor and right hand, the whole of the world, wizard and Muggle alike, will feel the
crush of his fist as he rules supreme."

Draco stared at Lucius, a death-like chill creeping up his spine. It was just then, when the
elder Malfoy had made a fist to further purvey his point, that Draco had noticed the large, golden
hand. The sound of those fingers closing tightly around the palm had sounded like the swift snap of
a bone, such was the power in his grip.

Lucius followed his son's gaze and smiled coldly. "It won't be long before
you'll understand first hand what it is to be in *his* illustrious service."

Draco lifted his head as if he felt honoured by this, but his insides roiled with loathing.
*No way in hell is You-know-who getting his damn talons sunk in me*…

"And now," said Lucius, "There are a few things that have been brought to my
attention as of late…"

Draco's stomach lurched. *Oh my god*…*he **knows***…

"Follow me into the livingroom," continued Lucius quietly. "We'll be more
comfortable there."

Draco's lungs suddenly squeezed uncomfortably in his chest, and he followed his father
toward the livingroom as if he were being led toward the gallows. **Did** he know?… Had one of
his housemates said something to their father?…One of Lucius' Death Eater associates?…

If this was the case, Malfoy knew he was in for a long night…if he survived it.

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

Soft moonlight filtered through the half-moon window above the closed crimson drapes in
Hermione's room, bathing she and Harry in the dim glow as they lay facing each other. They had
stayed awake talking with Sirius for the better part of two hours since he'd finished setting
himself up in Harry's room, and they'd finally decided when midnight had rolled round to
drag themselves to bed and finish catching up in the morning.

Harry continued to stroke Hermione's face, so close under the warm blankets, his arms and
legs tangled with hers, whispering his commitment to her as the quiet and dark often effected him
to. His intense green gaze burned into hers, lips only inches away, mumbling nonsensical,
affectionate things. Both kept stealing kisses from the other that quickly turned into full blown
snogging. These moments away from everyone else were theirs to take advantage of. It became harder
and harder each time to sleep them away.

"You were good with Sirius tonight," Harry whispered to Hermione as his eyes raked her
face.

"I was?" answered Hermione as she stroked his cheek, a bit of stubble roughening it.
"I didn't do anything but talk to him…"

Harry smiled at her. "You helped put him at ease. You have a way of warming people
'Mione, though I'm not surprised you don't know it."

Hermione scooted closer to him and whispered, pressing her forehead against his. "Oh, I do?
So which was it that first warmed you and Ron to me? Was it while I constantly tried to prove what
a know-it-all I am? Or maybe it's been all the times I've nagged you two on your studies. I
know…it's my bossiness, isn't it? I always knew that would get you..."

Harry smirked at her and tucked her hair behind the soft shell of her ear. "That's not
all you're about. And you don't think Ron and I recognise that's your way of caring for
us? No matter how much it irks us at the time…"

Hermione pinched him playfully on the arm. "And you'd never get anything done if I
didn't, would you? I swear what with N.E.W.T.s being right round the corner it's more
important than ever we study extra hard! 'Specially on the subjects you need for Auror. For
example, I was thinking you could do with bringing your Potions grade up a bit, and…"

Harry rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed, slapping his hand over her mouth and laughing as
she mumbled beneath it. "I *never* meant to get you started…what'd I have to do to
shut you up?"

But he immediately noticed the twinkle in Hermione's eyes and brought his hand away to see
that she was smiling. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"I was hoping you'd think of a way to stop me going on," she smiled coyly.
"There's one sure way I can think of…One you're *really* *good*
at…"

Harry favoured her with a sexy, lopsided grin that made her heart lurch. He wrapped his legs
more tightly with hers, pressing her body flush against his. They had already exchanged their
warmer pyjamas for cooler ones when the snogging had gotten them too heated, so Hermione now wore a
pair of his boxer shorts and an oversized tee shirt, while Harry wore only a pair of flannel pants.
His hand began moving gently up and down the left side of her body and he followed her dropped
gaze, watching as the blush crept over her face. He immediately felt the fire beginning to build
between them once again. And **Merlin** how he welcomed it…

"What would that be?" he murmured with a smouldering gaze, his lips inches from her
own. He moved as if to kiss her, and then let his lips brush hers to move almost idly to her neck,
moving up toward her ear. When he began sucking on the lobe, tongue dipping in and his hand sliding
under her shirt to the curve of her waist and down toward her hip, Hermione felt familiar desire
zing from her chest outward like an electrical current.

"I…I think you've hit on it," said Hermione breathlessly tangling her hands in his
hair as his fingers swept the soft swell of the side of her breast. She decided that turnabout was
fair play, so she brought her hand to his chest, tracing the firm lines there and bringing her palm
downward to slide carelessly over the lowest part of his abdomen. She felt him groan against her
ear and he pulled back, his expression carnal and his voice low.

"**Merlin**, Hermione. Don’t do that…it isn't fair."

Hermione eyed him innocently. "Mmm? What isn't fair?"

She brought her hand to above his knee and swept it slowly upward toward his inner thigh,
stopping just below his groin, smiling in wonder at the quick response his lower half was giving
her.

Harry growled almost dangerously. "You're really asking for it…"

"I don't remember *asking* for anything," she whispered seductively, watching
Harry try to shift himself comfortable. "I'm rather enjoying the *giving*
part…"

Her hand moved to his other thigh and gave it the same treatment, massaging the hard muscles
there; at the same time her lips moved to his own and gave him a lust-filled kiss. A moment later
and Harry was on top of her, her arms pinned above her head, and the result of her handiwork
pressed firmly in-between her thighs.

"It's your fault, you know," Harry's low voice whispered against her cheek as
he felt her breathing increase. "You give me no choice… I have to torture you now."

"W..well do what you have to…*oh...ohmygod*," Hermione breathed out as one of
Harry's hands slid slowly down her stomach and back up between the valley of her breasts. He
moved downward, lifting her shirt to just cover the tops of her naked breasts and kissed below
them, drawing his tongue along the underside of each one. Hermione gasped.

"I…I think you're being…quite a bit meaner to me than I was t..to you," she panted
quietly as his lips moved downward. She felt him smile against her navel, dipping his tongue in for
a slow swirl and continuing downward, his hands gliding lazily down the sides of her waist and down
to her hips, holding them firm. *Damn you, Harry Potter, but pleasedon'tstop*…

He spread her legs slowly and moved down toward the end of the bed, kissing her ankles and
taking his time moving upward, sliding his hands, mouth and tongue over her smooth calves, her
thighs… He felt her quivering and a fierce hunger welled up inside him, shooting straight downward.
*Take it easy Harry, it isn't time*…*take it easy*…

He wanted to taste her so badly it was palpable, but he kept himself in check*. I love her…I
want to wait…she wants to wait*… but he grinned to himself. *No harm in a little foreplay
though*… His tongue laved its way upward, his mouth stopping every now and then to suck on a
particularly soft area, his fingers resting on the top inside of her thighs, thumbs moving in tiny
circles so near...

Hermione's body was shaking with desire, fire burning downward with every stroke his tongue
and Quidditch roughened fingers made against her; his soft, wild black hair tickling the insides of
her legs…*oh Merlin, would it never come fast enough, they'd waited so long*…

"H..Harry…"

He finally slowed his torture to pull himself up between her legs, his hands on her hips and his
chin resting on her lower abdomen. His eyes sparkled with mischief.

"You like?" His voice was low and sultry, rumbling in a bare chest that was currently
settled between her legs, vibrating against… And Hermione shuddered out a breath.

She nodded. "And p..perhaps you should stop…before 'I like' *too
much*."

Harry's eyes darkened to jade and he moved back up to lay next to her, pressing himself
firmly between her thighs. He felt her tremble and drive a bit against him. Lust shot through him
like a cannonball.

"I want you so badly," he moaned through gritted teeth, his hands pulling her
completely flush against him. "But I also want to wait for you."

She nodded her agreement, unable to speak at the moment, and Harry pulled her over to lay on top
of him, carefully avoiding his painful erection. She laid her head on his chest and he stroked her
hair softly, his last thoughts before finally drifting off being what a lucky wizard he was.

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

Draco perched motionless across from his father on the edge of an expensive suede chair and
stared into the fire roaring in the hearth. Although on the outside he appeared cool and
indifferent, on the inside he was falling apart. *What did Lucius know*? *If he knew of his
relationship with Ginny*…*Great Salazar, what would the bastard do*…

"I've received some disturbing reports as of late," sneered Lucius quietly.
"About *you*, curiously. And from the most unlikely of sources…"

His fathers snide voice infuriated him, yet Draco dealt him his most unaffected gaze.
"About?"

"It seems you've been seen consorting with one of the more…*undesirable...* sorts
at school," continued Lucius in the same poisonously quiet voice. "Have you any idea of
whom I am speaking?"

Malfoy set his jaw and answered flippantly. "Not a clue." *You arrogant son of a
bitch*…

Lucius surveyed him coldly. "Be careful, Draco."

*Keep it in*…*just keep it in*…*reign it, you idiot*… "Of course,
father."

"Since it seems you're at a loss, I'll spell it out for you," continued Lucius
with a hard sarcasm in his voice. "It appears young Theodore Nott has seen you on several
occasions consorting with…a *Weasley*." The name rolled so disdainfully off his tongue it
was almost as if he'd vomited it up. "I trust with that sort of rumour, you can imagine
the damage and embarrassment that could be inflicted upon the family name…"

Draco studied his father as if all of this was news to him.

Lucius eyed him with a gaze of steel and leaned forward, his voice seething with anger. "I
won't have the name Malfoy tarnished by poor Muggle-loving *filth* such as Arthur Weasley
or his church-mouse daughter. We are bred for much **higher** **association**, do you
understand Draco?"

Draco felt his breath coming harder and shorter and fought the urge to jump from the chair and
pound his fist into his father's face. Outwardly, he was as still as a stone.

"Father," he spoke quietly. "I think Theodore misunderstood what he
saw…"

"There should have been nothing for him to misunderstand!" Lucius barked out suddenly,
his cold grey eyes flashing and his cool demeanour forgotten. "You think it has no
**bearing** on the rest of the family what you do at your school!? Do you think inviting the
little Weasley whore to social functions with you, be it a ball or anything else is
**acceptable**!? Don't for one moment assume I'll allow such *lowering of
standards* by you, Draco. Or must I remind you the lesson you were taught some years
ago…"

He needed no reminding. His father had caught him playing with a boy of lesser social standing a
few streets over. Draco had been viciously caned and sent to his room for three days with nothing
but water to sustain him.

Being as he knew his father, Draco thought a way out, although he loathed himself for it. But
what might Lucius do not only to himself, but *Ginny* if given the chance? There was only one
thing for it… His stomach roiled sickly. *Gods* *how he detested Lucius Malfoy*…

"She's a good lay, father," smirked Malfoy smoothly. "I gather you'll
find I'm not the only Slytherin who knows it." *It's a lie...I never touched her;
not in that way...she's worth more than that*…*She's worth a thousand of
you*…*and me for that* *matter*…

Lucius looked as taken aback as he ever allowed himself to appear. He stared at his son
maliciously, willing him to crack, to waver in his story, but Draco sat relaxed, as indifferent and
cold as the lie on his face. On the inside, he determined himself not to vomit.

Lucius continued his gaze for some moments before an insinuating sneer finally etched its way
onto his face. He sat back and surveyed his son with a little more respect.

"I see," he drawled out quietly.

For a few agonising minutes, Lucius steepled his fingers in front of him, gold on flesh, and
scrutinised Draco as casually if he were some mildly interesting new development. Finally he leaned
forward, his heartless eyes gleaming with something terrible.

"Well," said Lucius quietly. "This being your last year at school, and coming of
age, I believe some…*changes*..are in order."

Again fear zinged through Draco at the subtle implication his father's words held, but he
kept his face coolly impassive.

"Changes, father?"

Malfoy merely inclined his head at his son. "Whore or not, I forbid you to consort with the
young Weasley witch ever again. Find someone more your equal, no matter what your intentions are.
Understood?"

Malfoy hesitated. "Of course, father."

"It's time you're prepared for life after Hogwarts, Draco. This Christmas is sure
to be one you'll *not soon forget*."

Something in the way his father had spoken made Draco instantly uneasy. But he held Lucius cruel
gaze with one of his own, wishing like everything he had someone to talk to, someone to help him
escape this mess…

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

The next couple of days with Sirius passed in a blur of preparations. Neither Harry nor Hermione
had gone Christmas shopping as of yet, and as there was no way Sirius could be seen in Hogsmeade,
whether in Snuffles' form or not, they left him chatting with Dumbledore, knowing that in two
days time, Christmas day, he would need to be ready to face James.

Curiously, Hogsmeade was bustling with activity, so much more so than Diagon Alley had done
previously in the year. Since Hogsmeade was much nearer to Hogwarts, the Forbidden Forest, and
consequently the Kavan Forest where Voldemort had last been seen, Harry and Hermione found it odd
the amount of business the town was receiving. However, they chalked it up to the fact that nothing
had been seen or heard from the dark lord or any of his followers for some months now.

At twilight, the town resembled something out of a Christmas card. The sky twinkled merrily with
only a few stars owing to heavy greyish-white clouds threatening more winter weather. Snow lined
curbs and sidewalks in white heaps, where it had been magically blown to either side to ease foot
traffic. Multi-coloured and white lights draped windows, and the jolly tinkle of bells sounded with
every open door. The air smelled of homemade bread and candy wafting enticingly from shops. Witches
and wizards bustled past balancing loads of packages, dressed in their heaviest wool robes, mittens
and scarves; cheerful greetings and conversations making their breath swirl out misty white. A thin
wizard named Caligulus grinned overjoyed to all passers-by; his coffee cart teemed with business
this time of year, the words Caligulus' Coffee Carriage magically lighted up in bright red and
green over the awning.

With the last of his presents bought, Harry left Zonko's Joke Shop laden with a fresh batch
of dungbombs, hiccup sweets and nose-biting teacups for Ron, who would have a field day opening all
of them when he returned from the Burrow. After this last shop, he was left wondering how Fred and
George were doing with Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in Diagon Alley when he saw Hermione exiting
Honeydukes with a large box. He hoisted up all the bags he was carrying and crossed the road to
meet her.

"Got everything, then?" he said over the noise of the crowd near them.

Hermione tugged her scarf higher up her nose. "No. I still need to get to Gladrags for the
sweater I ordered Mum, and to Scrivenshafts to get a new quill for Ginny. Oh! And I wanted to go by
the post office to owl a card to mum and dad. They were so disappointed when I told them I was
staying at Hogwarts over holiday. I want to at least wish them Happy Christmas. Were you already
done?"

"Yep," said Harry tiredly. "Been everywhere but the Three Broomsticks. I was
hoping we'd go there next for a butterbeer, and then back to Hogwarts. Don’t want Sirius
waiting too long for us."

Hermione smiled at him. "Just a bit longer and then we'll go."

Gladrags and Scrivenshafts were done very quickly, and not for the first time, Harry was
immensely thankful Hermione was not one of those witches who took forever perusing each and every
item. They were in and out very fast, and found themselves nearing the post office within fifteen
minutes time.

The building sat at the very end of the long row of businesses that marked the main drag of
Hogsmeade. The outside was painted a dark blue, hard to see in the ever darkening twilight, and the
words "Wizard Post" were emblazoned with magically lighted white paint above the doorway.
A notice board loaded with fliers and notes that waved and snapped in the slight breeze, greeted
their eyes before entering.

Harry merely glanced at it as he prepared to lead the way inside, but Hermione caught his arm
suddenly with a gasp and pointed to a particularly large notice that seemed to have been hung there
for a while owing to its weather-beaten state. Next to another "Wanted" flier bearing
Sirius' face, (which was no shock to them), a young wizards face stared happily back, frozen in
time. It had apparently been Muggle photocopied as the image did not move, and Hermione swiped away
a tear as the image of Dennis Creevey, apparently done at Hogwarts since he was wearing his
Gryffindor robes, smiled down at them. The words underneath had apparently been scrawled with a
trembling hand.

"**Have you seen this boy?** **Dennis Alvador Creevey, fifteen years old. Disappeared
August 21st near Quality Quidditch Supplies, Diagon Alley, London, England.**

*Reward for any information leading to his location. Anonymous tips accepted, no questions
asked. Contact Auror Headquarters, Ministry of Magic, or Pembert and Alva Creevey,
parents*…"

An address and telephone number followed.

"*Great Merlin*," breathed Hermione, her face ashen with shame. "I'd
almost forgotten about poor Dennis. Hardly ever see Colin for a reminder…"

Harry nodded, feeling just as sad and ashamed. "Ron says he keeps to himself mostly. Said
he's come out a bit more lately, but he's still not like he used to be. He stays all quiet
and drawn up into himself. Can't blame him."

Hermione nodded her agreement and resolved with herself to have a talk with Colin when he
returned from holiday.

She and Harry moved indoors and quickly found a spot in a long, noisy queue of witches and
wizards burdened down with packages to send and letters to deliver. Behind a cluttered counter,
where an overweight, harried looking postmaster and his fidgety assistant stood receiving packages
and scrolls, a large set of shelves stood, each one painted a different colour and holding cages
with different sized owls. When each package or scroll was weighed and checked for it's
destination, an appropriate owl was chosen and sent, along with its delivery, to the back with
another post wizard to be set on its journey. When most of the crowd had thinned, Harry and
Hermione finally neared a cluttered counter with a large sign reading "**PRICE AND SWIFTNESS
OF DELIVERY** **DETERMINED BY COLOUR-CODED OWL FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE**."

The postmaster did not look up at them as he shuffled through incoming mail.

"Destination?" he asked in a thick Cockney accent.

"Number twenty one, Hyde Street, Winchester, Hampshire," said Hermione. "I've
written the address on the…"

"Type a' deliv'ry?"

"…envelope," finished Hermione a bit annoyed.

He finally glanced up at them and caught sight of Harry over Hermione's head, his eyes
quickly settling on the lightning bolt shaped scar above his right eyebrow. Harry frowned and
quickly ruffled his bangs to cover it.

The corners of the postmasters thick lips turned down a bit. "You 'Arry
Potter?"

Inwardly, Harry cringed. "Well…yeah."

The postmaster's frown deepened and bent down with a grunt to rummage beneath the counter,
mumbling audibly. "Well I'll be buggered…Dunno 'ow they knew you'd be comin'.
Sixth sense, I reckon…"

He re-emerged red-faced some moments later with a small rolled up parchment magically sealed.
"Came fer ya earlier t'day," said the man bewildered, as he handed the small note to
an equally befuddled Harry. Hermione looked on with interest.

"Ain' no return addy," continued the wizard. "Jus' th' name 'Arry
Potter' on its outside. Guess they reckoned we'd know ya when we seen ya. I mean, everyone
does, don' they?"

Harry eyed the roll and answered irritatedly. "I suppose…"

He pocketed the note intending to open it later, and noted the postmaster and assistant rock
back on their heels with looks of disappointment.

"Well, bang it up 'ere young miss," said the fat wizard. Hermione passed him the
card and he bobbed it up and down in his hand for a moment. " 'Course it don' weigh
much. 'Ere Smitty…"

He handed it to his assistant who immediately turned to choose a large ash-coloured owl.

"No, you ruddy nit!" scowled the postmaster at Smitty. "A card don' take no
Gian' Grey, them's fer packages an' th' like! Jus' sen' one a' them
lit'le Scop owls, it'll do!"

The assistant blushed deeply and reached higher up for one of the smaller owls, attaching the
letter securely to its tiny leg and taking it round to the back.

"Tha'll be five sickles," said the postmaster, turning back toward Harry and
Hermione.

Harry reached into his pouch to pay the man, and he and Hermione left, headed outside into the
now darker night toward the Three Broomsticks.

They sat toward the least crowded part of the dimly lighted pub, echoing with the noise of
bottles clinking and witches and wizards talking and laughing. They chose a small, secluded booth
away from most of the other patrons, and over mugs of steaming hot butterbeer, Harry pulled out the
small parchment and tried to open it. Whatever ward had been used to close the scroll was extremely
powerful as he soon found out, and it took Hermione remembering a seal breaking charm to finally
reveal its contents.

She pulled out her wand and pointed it.

"*Dilorico*!"

The note instantly unsealed and even unfurled itself to lay flat in Harry's hand. Hermione
scooted closer to him to read the few words inside.

"In two days time you shall receive the first."

Harry frowned and turned the note over as if looking for another part. "What the bloody
hell…"

"Do you recognise the handwriting?" asked Hermione, grimacing.

Harry shook his head, his thoughts immediately turning black. Who else would be so cryptic?
Voldemort loved playing games…could this be a sign something dark was about to rear it's ugly
head again? Without even realising it he snaked an arm round Hermione and pulled her closer to him,
a look of apprehension creasing his face.

Hermione's heart fluttered anxiously in her chest. "Harry, what is it?"

"I dunno," said Harry quietly, kissing the top of her head. "But I think we
should get back to the castle now."

Hermione nodded at him and let him take her hand, leading her out into the cold December
evening, where snow had begun to come swirling down once again.

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

*Dear Ginny,*

*I know I'll most likely see you round school but I wanted to tell you all this in a
letter as I don't think we'll be having much contact back there. I know you'd like
nothing more than to punch me right now. I honestly don't blame you. I wish on everything I own
I could explain my actions to you, but I can't. I'm just writing you because I want you to
know one thing. It's damn near impossible for me to tell you this as I don't normally go
round expressing my feelings, but what I felt for you was real. Just know that.*

*It never could've worked with us. I guess I could've told you that and spared your
feelings before all of this, but I'm a selfish son of a bitch as you well know. I enjoyed being
with you, even if it was only for a short time. You're the only beautiful, genuine person
I've ever known, and I hope to god you never lose that.*

*I just wanted you to know. I hate myself for hurting you. You're the first person I can
honestly say that about. Be happy, Red. You deserve it.*

*Yours, Draco*

Draco Malfoy watched the black owl take off into the dark night until it was unrecognisable
against the sky, his heart grown even heavier than it'd done when he'd been downstairs with
his father.

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

The next two days passed too quickly for Sirius as the time to face James drew nearer.

Christmas dawned grey, snowy and cold, and Harry and Hermione awoke to find him already awake,
dressed and seated in front of the common room fire, his face drawn tight with nerves. Harry
decided not to embarrass him by asking him how he felt, but rather followed Hermione's approach
of cheerfulness.

"Morning Sirius," yawned Hermione, plopping down on the couch beside him as Harry made
his way into the bathroom for a shower.

Sirius glanced over with a small smile at the sight of Hermione, whose hair was in low pigtails.
"Morning."

For a few moments they were content to listen to the crackling of the logs in the fire and the
muffled spattering of the shower until Sirius finally spoke up quietly.

"So, what'd you think of him?"

Hermione turned to look at him. "Of James? He seems very kind...and patient. He's a
great teacher. I can tell he loves Harry very much."

"He asked you to call him James?" said Sirius, another small smile smoothing some of
the lines from his face. "Always said he'd never allow anyone to call him 'mister'
or 'sir'. Sounded too old; too much like his father."

Hermione nodded. "I feel he's trying his best to make Harry comfortable round him.
Maybe he knew if I called him by his first name rather than Mr. Potter it might sound less awkward.
At least that's what I've thought, anyway."

"You might well be right," said Sirius thoughtfully. He paused for a few moments,
trying his best to think how to phrase his next question.

"So, how do he and Harry…get on together?"

Hermione eyed him for a moment. "You don't want to ask Harry these things?"

"I just don't want him feeling more uncomfortable than he already is," said
Sirius. "I don’t want him thinking he has to explain himself to me. I just want to know…I want
to know if things are getting better between them."

Hermione paused for a few moments to think through how Harry and his father's relationship
seemed to be progressing. "Well, it's certainly less strained than before. They're
able to talk about things now, important things. But by no means is Harry over everything yet.
I'm not sure he'll ever be."

Sirius grunted in understanding and sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound coming from
the popping logs and the sound of Harry whistling some nameless tune as he shut off the shower.

Very unexpectedly, Hermione suddenly placed a hand on his arm and spoke quietly. "And
Sirius…If you're wondering if James is somehow going to replace you in Harry's life…he
*isn't*. Harry relies on you and feels the same about you as before his father reappeared.
You can feel secure in that."

She gave him a small understanding smile before jumping up as Harry emerged from the bathroom,
his hair damp and tousled and a fresh pair of jeans on. Hermione pretended to ogle him like a randy
tart before passing him to take her turn for the shower. Harry grinned at her and rounded the couch
to sit near Sirius.

"Alright?" he asked cheerfully.

Sirius smiled at his godson and nodded, more light-hearted than he had been in days. "That
girlfriend of yours is a keeper, Harry. Smart as they come, isn't she?"

Harry gave him an odd sort of smile but agreed.

The castle seemed oddly empty and echoing without the sounds of hundreds of students tromping
its halls, talking with each other, and hundreds of cups, forks, and spoons clattering around
plates and bowls in the Great Hall. The ghosts and portraits kept the place from being completely
soundless. Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron were seen chatting amiably around hallways,
the Fat Friar was making gloomy noises over the missing Hufflepuff students and sulking that the
Grey Lady continued to haunt the castle in silence, choosing not to speak to anyone. Peeves
continued to reek havoc on any and every being who passed near him.

Breakfast in the Great Hall was a quiet affair. Harry, Hermione and Sirius joined Dumbledore,
McGonnagol, Snape and James at one long table set in the middle of the huge room as the others had
been cleared away for the holidays.

Sirius greeted them all in turn, even James, though it was a bit uncomfortable and forced.
However, James seemed to take it in stride and greeted him back serenely, hoping that his own calm
exterior would help Sirius feel more at ease. By the time the food had apparated to the middle of
the table, a great pile of eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, hot tea and pumpkin juice, his efforts
seemed to be working.

True, Sirius had not yet had to face him one on one, but James was hopeful that once they did,
having already shared breakfast together might make it a bit better.

While they ate, Snape passed looks of deep dislike from Sirius to James and stayed morosely to
himself, something which helped to bond the two friends together a bit more as they frequently
shared observant glances about it between them. Dumbledore talked mostly about the Ministry and how
they were still refusing to believe reports that Voldemort had returned. McGonnagol interjected her
opinion on the whereabouts of the missing Dementors, stating somewhat unnecessarily that she was
sure they'd gone to join Voldemort's ranks.

Lupin spoke up every now and then when he could, while at the same time filling Sirius in on the
dark happenings at Hogwarts since the beginning of the new school term. For proving his point, he
lifted up one long sleeve of his robes to show Sirius the long, angry, red scar that he now bore on
his left forearm.

Sirius seemed eager to help in defending the school, although with Dumbledore's strong
objections and reminders that he was still at large, some of the wind seemed to be taken from his
sails. But Harry knew when time for the final war reached his godfather's ears there would be
no stopping him from leaving Grimmauld Place and joining in the fight.

Time after breakfast until that evening was spent with Harry, Hermione and Sirius wrapping
packages and getting things ready for James arrival to their common room. Hermione set out the load
of food Dobby had made especially for them on a blanket in front of the hearth. Sirius was getting
noticeably more tense as time drew nearer for James to arrive, and he ended up having to rewrap
some of the packages as he was paying little attention to what he was doing .

A sharp rap on the portrait door around seven, followed by Sir Cadogen's tiny muffled voice,
(*"Halt! Who goes there!? You trespass on private lands, knave! Remove thyself or be forced
forthwith!")*, alerted them to the fact that James had finally arrived.

Hermione opened the portrait door, admonishing Cadogen and receiving James in with a kiss on the
cheek. As he entered, smiling first at the Christmas tree twinkling merrily in the corner, Harry
couldn't help but notice how nervous he looked as well. He and James greeted each other with a
handshake and after placing his presents under the tree, James joined the other three in front of
the hearth and loaded his plate.

After a long dinner, during which Hermione and Harry kept the conversation flowing as smoothly
as possible, Hermione handed out the presents, making sure to add bossily that each was to be
opened one at the time so everyone could see what the other had gotten.

Sirius had gotten Harry a very nice broom servicing kit, (*Bernard's Complete Broom
Servicing Kit: Official kit of the Salisbury Slayers*) complete with twig trimmers, a splinter
sander, and handle polish.

Hermione had gotten him a book, *So you want to be an Auror?: A Wizard's Guide to Making
the Grade* by Eamon Merriweather, which when he'd opened it and faked extreme surprise,
she'd scowled at him.

James had found him a book as well, but it worked more as an interactive teaching hologram. When
opened, *A Guide to Advanced Fencing* by Englehard Parry, showed two translucent characters
suddenly popping from its pages and standing in attack position. Harry only needed to touch the
written fencing move he wished to see with his wand, and the characters acted it out for him.

"Thought you'd advanced far enough to use this in your spare time," added James
with a smile as Harry thanked him.

But while Sirius gave the fencing book a once over, checking out different moves with a touch of
his wand, Hermione looking on, James slipped a small box with a card attached into Harry's
hand. Harry looked at him quizzically, but James merely gave him a small nod and mouthed to him to
pocket it and open it later.

Harry'd gotten Hermione a beautiful silver bracelet at the new jewellery shop in Hogsmeade,
Bernadette's Bangles and Bobs. He'd made sure to set a deep blue star charm on it to
similarly match the necklace he'd given her last year, and had enchanted it as well, but with a
spell that would act as a mood ring for her, and tell her Harry's mood when she wore it and
thought specifically of him. As she threw her arms round his neck, Sirius gave Harry a thumbs up
behind her back. Harry grinned.

Both James and Sirius had given her books, as neither of them could think of anything more
perfectly suited, and she of course, loved them.

James opened his presents as well, one from Harry and one from Hermione, and found, to his
immense relief, that Sirius had decided not to get him anything the same as he had done. The
situation was awkward enough, and both had apparently thought far enough ahead to consider how hard
it might be to open a gift from the other.

Sirius appeared equally relieved to have not received anything from James as he opened one of
his two gifts, the largest of them all. It was a Muggle television, charmed somewhat illegally by
Arthur Weasley earlier in the year to display every local channel it could get, and when turned to
channel "0" to sound with the WWN. The gift was from both Harry and Hermione for him to
take back to Grimmauld place so that he could stay aware of the goings on in the Muggle and
wizarding world, and also to entertain him when he was bored out of his skull. Sirius was immensely
grateful.

However, as he opened his second gift and realised what it was, he was left speechless. Harry
and Hermione had sat up all night a few weeks ago compiling as many old photos as they could find
in the school of the Marauders and placing them carefully in an album. They had, of course,
"scourgified" Peter Pettigrew from every picture making them a bit different than they
had been originally, but Harry was sure Sirius didn't mind.

The book had the desired effect. Harry saw James strain his neck far enough to see what Sirius
was holding, and saw his eyes widen and begin to water. The image of a young Remus Lupin, Sirius
Black, and mischievously grinning James Potter, who had just picked up a struggling, scowling Lily
Evans in his arms, yelled and waved silently at the camera. Lily finally succeeded in the next
picture to punch James in the chest hard enough for him to drop her. While James wheezed and the
others laughed, Lily smoothed her robes and hair and stood grinning and waving as well.

James saw Sirius beginning to grin at the image and sat on the couch near him. "Remember
that day, mate? Lily wouldn't speak to me for two days. Said I'd embarrassed her."

"You were doing that all the time, weren't you?" said Sirius flipping the page and
grinning at a picture Lupin had taken of he and James giving a low fly-by over his head during a
Quidditch match.

It had gotten late already, and Harry turned to Hermione who stood staring at the two with tears
in her eyes. He winked covertly to her and she nodded.

"We'll be right back," he said grabbing hold of Hermione's hand. "Just
need to get something from the room." James gave him a small wave to let him know they'd
heard him, his eyes still keenly focussed on the album.

Harry led Hermione to her room and shut the door, both knowing full well they weren't
planning to re-emerge until morning. He smiled and hugged Hermione to him in the dimly moonlit
room, his own tears threatening to spill out over his cheeks. Sirius and James had just been given
a way to finally open up to each other, although a bit underhandedly. He just hoped they would take
advantage of it.

Much later in the evening, when Hermione had fallen asleep on Harry's chest, he found
himself still unable to sleep, thinking about the two most important men in his life out in the
common room. He'd heard no yelling, no raising of voices, but perhaps that had more to do with
the thick oak doors his and Hermione's rooms were furnished with rather than the actual
conversation. He'd just been thinking to himself what a pleasant, uneventful holiday it'd
been when he heard the tap of something hard against the glass of Hermione's window behind
him.

Instantly, Harry shoved his glasses back onto his face, grabbing onto Hermione with one arm and
his wand with the other and pressing both of them as flat onto the bed as possible.

But as he turned to peer at the window from between the thick parted scarlet canopy, he saw only
a grey barn owl perched on the sill, its feathers puffed up from the cold, and a small scroll tied
to its leg.

"Harry," whispered Hermione sleepily as he made to rise from the bed. "What is
it?"

Harry replied quietly, pulling the thick quilt back over her shoulders. "Nothing love, just
a post owl. I'll be back."

Hermione nodded, a small frown creasing her face at the thought of a post owl delivery this
late, but she'd fallen back to sleep before the thought could fully register in her head.

Harry padded toward the window and opened it slowly, his wand still clutched in his hand. He
untied the note and watched as the owl flapped its way back out into the night. Again, the note was
powerfully sealed. Remembering the spell Hermione had used before, Harry pointed his wand at it,
keeping near the window to use the moonlight for illumination.

"*Dilorico*."

The note unfurled instantly, and words began to form in an eerie red blazing scrawl, one that
reminded him too well of the note he'd received last year concerning Hermione's abduction.
His heartbeat quickened and he gripped his wand tighter, glancing over to make sure she was still
safe in her bed.

"*Harry, you were warned*..." the first words etched themselves. And as the rest
began to form, Harry felt himself grow shaky with all of the repressed fear and anxiety he'd
been saving up, knowing that eventually, something else was to happen.

"*The time draws near to meet our fates.*

*The winds of change draw nigh.*

*No time, no hope its much too late.*

*The first are marked to die..."*

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

Snowflakes fell gently on top of the precisely manicured lawn outside, the moonlight against the
dark making them gleam as if sprinkled with glitter. But as Draco Malfoy sat sprawled in an
expensive easy chair in front of a large domed window, his eyes dully following their journey
toward the ground, he could find no beauty in it. His fathers house marred all that touched it.
Nothing on these grounds could ever be considered a thing of beauty.

"Master Malfoy," said a cowed voice from behind him, sounding a bit strange as if from
lack of use.

Draco sat up slowly and turned to see Marietta, the cook, eyeing him nervously as she wrung her
hands.

"Dinner is served…b..but, your father wishes you to meet him in his study for a moment. He
says he has your Christmas present." Marietta gave him a hopeful smile as if she'd just
informed Draco of his father trying to make a nice gesture, but he couldn't bring himself to be
fooled.

He nodded to her and she scurried away toward the kitchen to bring everything out to the
table.

Malfoy headed down the long marble hallway, somehow reminded of a death-row wizard taking his
final stroll toward the room where he was to be dispensed of. But Lucius wasn't about to kill
him…*yet*. He had too much for Draco to accomplish first, of that he was sure. *Sorry you
won't get the pleasure you trumped up pile of shit…*

He entered his father's study with his hands plunged deep into his robes. Lucius sat stiffly
in a large leather chair facing the lit fireplace, a look of deep satisfaction smoothing the usual
harsh lines in his face. Draco scanned the room and saw no wrapped boxes; nothing out of the
ordinary. He began to immediately grow wary and took an involuntary step backward.

"Be seated, Draco," said Lucius quietly, gesturing at an identical chair near him.

Draco sat himself down slowly, perched on the edge of the seat as if prepared for instant flight
if needed. "Marietta said you had something for me."

"Indeed I do," said Lucius, the hint of malevolent satisfaction making chills creep up
and down Draco's spine. He was just thinking to himself that he should've listened to his
instinct and escaped this dungeon last night when, with a wave of Lucius' wand, the door behind
him slammed shut and locked with a frighteningly secure click.

Malfoy turned his wide gaze from the door toward his father and gripped the arms of the chair so
hard his fingernails broke the soft leather.

"Father," his voice sounded cold even to him. "What's this about?"

"I told you last night some changes were in order," said Lucius softly with a small
smile. A hot log in the hearth gave a particularly loud crack and Draco fought the urge to jump at
the sudden noise.

"When I'd heard of your…*dealings*…with the Weasley witch from Nott, I knew my
decision was the correct one," continued Lucius. "I believe Dumbledore thinks he can draw
some sort of…misguided good…from you, thus your inclusion into the Advanced Defence Against the
Dark Arts class. Therefore, you could be one of the essential elements in his undoing, and
consequently in reinforcing the dark lord's new movement. Therefore, we can't have you
influenced by any of the bleeding-heart idiots at school who don't understand where the true
power lies."

Draco tensed. "Father, *I* *told you*…She meant nothing to me…just another
whore…"

Lucius stood. The look of intense determination in his father's eyes was what did it for
Draco. Lucius wasn't hearing him. Whatever he'd decided to do, he wasn't going to turn
from it, no matter what his son said.

There was no time for more thought or planning. In an instant Draco's fingers had curled
round his wand and he'd whipped it out toward his father.

"**Petrificus Totalus**!" The spell hit him directly in the chest.

Draco did not wait to watch the results, he whirled toward the door and bellowed
"**Alohomora**!" The door clicked open, but the second his hand reached the knob
something hit him from behind.

"**Immobulus**!"

Draco bashed into the door and fell with a limp thud to the hardwood floor, his eyes squinted
hard shut against the pain shooting through his head. He eyes were the only thing still able to
move.

Lucius Malfoy calmly strode over to his son and dragged him back up onto his chair.

"Ah Draco," he sneered, only a bit out of breath and holding his wand steadily on him.
"Did you *honestly* *think* I wouldn't prepare myself for just such an
eventuality? Shield charms are easy to conjure. I'd hoped you'd decided to continue in the
ways of our lord, but unfortunately, as you've now made it quite clear, you've already been
tainted by Dumbledore and those who believe in him. You've given me no choice but to
*force* loyalty upon you, I'm afraid. And I'd so hoped we could do this the easy way.
Ah well, such is life..."

Although his face was frozen, on the inside, Draco was screaming. *Bastard! Son of a bitch! Oh
god, he's going to do it…oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod…*

Lucius bent down and carefully, calmly rolled up the left sleeve of Draco's robe, watching
his sons eyes narrow hatefully as he spied his golden hand.

"After I'm done I must return to our master," he said almost conversationally.
"He's expecting me. Udolphus will take you back to King's Cross when it comes time for
your return to school."

*Oh god…ohmygod don't let this happen to me…*

"By way of explanation," continued Lucius as he straightened up once again and towered
over his son's prone form. "From now on, you will feel the master's draw. When he
calls, the mark will burn, as I’m sure you've already seen. Of course, you won't be
expected to give response until after you've done with school, at which time you will
immediately join in his service. With this mark, the dark lord has access to your feelings and
emotions. If he is focussing on you at the time, he will sense any feelings of betrayal, and mark
my words Draco, you will be found and dealt with accordingly."

*Son of a bitch…you great son of a bitch…I hope you rot in hell…*

Lucius raised his wand, ironically held by the huge golden hand. Draco determined not to show
fear in his eyes.

"Be cheered son," said Lucius, smiling coldly. "Receiving the mark is a great
honour. **Morsmordre**!"

Immediately after, Lucius disapparated with a loud **crack**.

And as the mark burned his skin, etching even down into his muscle the brand of Voldemort,
silent screams echoed through Draco's head, who now felt as if his soul had been branded as
well. *Unclean…unclean…*

Some half an hour later, when a shaking, white-faced Marietta had finally been allowed to remove
the curse and help him to the table, Draco sat completely alone at the end of it, surrounded by row
upon row of Christmas dishes. They steamed hot, all of his favourites, but his mouth was too dry to
eat. Even if he'd been able to force any of it down, Draco wasn't sure it would stay there.
The long opulent table screamed of emptiness as he stared down it, wondering what it might be like
to have others there with him. But even if he could at this moment, he would turn them away. He was
tainted. Dirty. He was now, truly a Malfoy.

"Happy Christmas Draco," he whispered to no one at all.

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

A/N: So sorry for the tremendously long wait, but it’s a really long chapter so I hope that
makes up for it some! Cheers! Bama



28. Chapter 28: Marked
----------------------



**Chapter 28: Marked**

Harry jerked awake next morning not quite sure when exactly it had been that he'd fallen
asleep. Hermione was moulded closely to him, her warm cheek pressed against his chest, chestnut
hair half concealing her face, and her arm thrown peacefully round his waist. He realised he
must've fallen asleep with his arms and legs wrapped tightly about her, and in waking, still
felt the urge to keep her securely against him, though the steady rise and fall of her breathing
seemed to calm him a bit.

After having received the threatening note last night, Harry had stood guard at the window for
some time, his wary gaze travelling back and forth from the sleeping form of Hermione to the
darkness and white-blanketed grounds outside. The moonlight filtering through the clouds and
shining down on the snow had made the otherwise black night almost luminescent, and he'd been
grateful for the advantage.

For two solid hours he had fought drowsiness and stood rigidly watching, and though he rarely
needed it anymore, he had kept his wand clutched tightly in hand, his eyes keenly searching the
grounds for any sign of movement. Though he knew Dumbledore had tripled the strong wards and
protections round the school, the memory of Hermione being swept right from Hogwarts' grounds
last year haunted his mind constantly.

In fact, it had been the sound of her crying out from another nightmare that had finally brought
him back to bed. He'd decided quickly to place a protective ward on the door and window, and
then had crawled back under the covers with her, gathering her to him and stroking her hair until
she finally fell back into a peaceful sleep.

For hours it seemed he'd lain awake holding her, adamantly willing his protection around her
and wishing for the life of him that he could protect all others Voldemort might harm as well. He
was anxious to figure out who the dark lord had marked to attack, and the thought of sending
warning owls first thing next morning was his last one as sleep finally dulled the sharp edges of
his mind and lulled him under. Once again that night, as so many times before, Harry dreamed of he,
Hermione and Ron dying at the hands of Voldemort and his followers.

The heavy scarlet drapes began charming themselves open as the sun hit them fully not more than
four hours later, and Harry, fully awake and once again lost in anxious thoughts, watched a bright
white beam spread over he and Hermione like another quilt. He felt Hermione begin to stir beside
him and tilted his gaze down toward her, deciding at once not to alarm her with news that he had
begun dreaming the same horrifying dream on a regular basis. Besides, it was bad enough what he
*did* have to tell her.

Hermione breathed a long sigh and opened her eyes with a squint from the sunlight, as completely
rested from a full night of sleep as Harry was not. She looked up with a smile at him, but
immediately noticed his grim expression.

"Harry…how long've you been awake? What's wrong?"

Harry hesitated a moment and then sat up running a hand down his face and back up through his
messy hair. Hermione noticed his bloodshot eyes and frowned concerned at him.

"You don't look as if you got any sleep. Did you?"

Harry sighed. "A bit. Listen, love…d'you remember the post owl that came last
night?"

Hermione eyed him. "Not exactly…"

" I don't wonder; you were half asleep," Harry replied wearily. He leaned over the
side of the bed to retrieve the note from the floor and handed it to her. "Here, read
it."

Her eyes flew over the short note and a look of horror quickly stole onto Hermione's face.
She turned her gaze back to Harry. "Oh no…oh my god, Harry…"

"The bastard's finally ready to attack and I can't do a bloody thing to stop
it," said Harry in angry frustration. "Only thing I know to do is send a post to everyone
we figure he might immediately target. It'll be someone close I think, someone who'll make
a first impact…on me especially." He sighed and again clawed a hand through his hair. "Of
course my first thought was to contact the Ministry, but it's not as if they'd take it
seriously what with them determined to stay ignorant about his return."

*(A/N: I started this story pre-OotP so in my story the fight at the Ministry, Sirius'
death, and Fudge finding out he was wrong all this time never took place.)*

"No they wouldn't." Hermione shook her head, her eyes again glued to the glowing
red words as if she might somehow glean more information from them. "They'd only make more
trouble for you and Professor Dumbledore. They won't believe Voldemort's back until
it's *proven* he's done something, I’m afraid. But I think you're right; we should
send warning owls."

Harry paused and turned more toward her, taking her by the arms and gazing gently at her,
dreading his next words. "Look…love, I don't mean to scare you, but…but I think we should
send one to your parents as well."

Stunned, Hermione shot a fearful gaze at Harry and quickly grabbed his hands. "My parents!?
Harry, you don't actually think he would attack *them*!? He *knows* the Ministry of
Magic and the Muggle government share information…if he was caught harming Muggles, law enforcement
would contact the Ministry immediately! And remember what Bellatrix Lestrange said to you? She
basically said Voldemort wouldn't risk having himself seen by the Ministry and give up the
cover they're ignorantly providing! He'd be out in the open; no longer able to move in
secret! There's no way he wants that!"

Harry put a gentle hand to her face and spoke in the most soothing voice he could manage.
"Things change, love. If he's moving toward a final war maybe he thinks it's time
everyone finally chose sides. Maybe now, it's *exactly* what he wants."

Panic began to pound Hermione's heart relentlessly hard against her chest. She was normally
a very calm witch, able to stay cool and think logically in times of stress. But if Voldemort was
trying to draw Harry out as his note would indicate, and he *did* decide to target Muggles,
the loss of his girlfriend's parents would be a sure way of affecting Harry.

"It's not certain who he'll target yet, love." Harry said as gently and
reassuring as he could. "As for him attacking Muggles, I dunno if he'd do it himself or
use Death Eaters…or possibly send Dementors again. Remember what happened to me fifth year in
Little Whinging? What if Umbridge *was* working for him like you, Ron and I think she was? And
if *Voldemort* *was* behind her sending Dementors after me, *in Muggle England*, I
don't see what would stop him doing something like it again. His goal has always been to purge
the wizarding world of half-bloods, but I'm certain now he's decided to broaden his
horizons. I think he's just mad enough to want run of the *whole* world, and that would
include ridding himself of Muggles as well. We want to be sure to warn everyone we can think of,
don't we? "

Harry felt a pang of regret run through his chest at the stricken look on Hermione's face. A
few warm tears rolled down her cheek and he reached a hand up to thumb them gently away, pulling
her to him.

"It's alright love," he whispered. "We'll just owl them straight away.
It's all we can do for now."

Hermione pulled away from him for a moment and gave him a determined look. "It's not
*all* we can do. Harry, I want you to listen to me for a moment…"

Harry frowned, slightly puzzled, but nodded for her to continue.

"We *need* to tell Dumbledore on this one," said Hermione firmly. "No
arguments, Harry. This goes far beyond your being too old for his advice. He *needs* *to
know* about this."

To Hermione's surprise, Harry agreed with her at once. "I know love, you're right.
It's not just my life we're dealing with anymore. I'm going to tell him this morning
after we've sent the posts and had breakfast. But I have a favour to ask of you."

Hermione gazed at him. "You know you can ask me anything."

Harry nodded. "I don't want Sirius knowing about this. He's still not safe with the
Ministry and I *know* he won't go back to Grimmauld Place if he finds out Voldemort's
about to strike. Especially if he knows I'm being sent *bloody* *notices*
beforehand."

"I understand," said Hermione. "But Harry, you yourself said once the war begins
there'll be no stopping him …"

"I know," said Harry grimly. "And I still believe that. But I don't want to
know something I did or let him in on got him sent back to Azkaban or… or *worse*. I
couldn't live with myself. I want him alive and safe as long as possible…Maybe that's
selfish, huh?"

It was Hermione's turn to gaze gently at him and she took his hand in hers, noting the
familiar worn look on his face. She knew how heavily the lives of everyone Harry knew and loved
weighed on him; knew the colossal burden he carried day after day, and knew he blamed himself for
the deaths that had already taken place, though he shouldn't. She also knew what an enormous
heart Harry had beating inside his chest, a heart she loved more than any other in the world.

She stood from the bed and began rummaging for clothes for the walk down to the Owlery. Harry
turned his back as she dressed and she did the same for him. She took his hand as they made to exit
her room and turned him to her for a moment more.

"You're a wonderful man Harry, and I love you. Never forget that."

As Harry kissed her and hugged her closely to him, the thought entered his mind that she might
feel a bit differently when even more began to die for the immense hatred Voldemort had for him. It
was inevitable; he knew they would. It was only a matter of who, and when.

So Harry lived for today…and today, Hermione Granger loved him.

He'd long before given up hoping for the future. Within the life of the boy-who-lived only
one black certainty stood out amongst all of the uncertain: Harry Potter was never promised
tomorrow.

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

*Aunt Petunia,*

*I'm sure this is a shock to you hearing from me*

*during school, but I've just got some bad news as of late and*

*thought I should warn you. Voldemort is on the move again.*

*I've addressed this to you Aunt Petunia as you know*

*what I'm on about when I mention him. He'll be looking to*

*strike at those he thinks I'm close to, or in your Case, one's*

*who provide me with any type of protection. I'm sure you*

*remember Professor Dumbledore chose to leave me with*

*you and Uncle Vernon because you're my mother's sister and*

*having the same blood, I'm protected with you in your house.*

*Come graduation, I'll be moving out and you won't have anything more to worry on, but
in the meantime, watch yourselves.*

*Harry*

Ron's letter was decidedly more warm, though Harry couldn't bring himself to feel
ashamed of it. He had done his duty in warning the Dursley's, but he had never felt anything
but profound dislike for them. He probably never would, he supposed, but then again, he was sure
the feeling was mutual.

*Ron,*

*How are you? Hope you're having a happy Christmas so far.*

*I hope Percy decided to show though I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't. I hope it
wasn't too hard on your Mum and Dad, though I expect they've got used to it, haven't
they? Tell Gred and Forge I can't wait to see their shop and I expect a good return on my
investment. (But for the love of Merlin don't say it in front of Molly.)*

*Mate, I hate to bring you bad news during holiday, but I needed to warn you and the rest of
the family. While Hermione and I were at Hogsmeade a few days ago I got a rather strange note. It
read: "in two days time you shall receive the first." I'm pretty sure it was
referring to the note I got last night round midnight at Hermione's window.*

*I've written it out for you:*

*"The time draws near to meet our fates.*

*The winds of change draw nigh.*

*No time, no hope its much too late.*

*The first are marked to die..."*

*I'm sure you know who it's from. There's no way to know who he's targeted
first, but I wanted you warned. I'm certain Voldemort would love to hurt anyone close to me.
Warn everyone to keep a close watch out, and please tell your dad to notify the Order, though
I'm sure as soon as we've gone to him, Dumbledore will do it as well. Also mate, please
make sure to tell your father not to let Sirius in on it. I think you know why.*

*You and Ginny keep watch for anything suspicious on your way back to the castle. I mean it
Ron, watch your back. Hermione and I will see you two in a week. Take care, mate.*

*Harry*

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

Though Harry's words had calmed Hermione somewhat, she still composed the letter to her
parents with a shaky hand. As she wrote, horror filled thoughts continued to assault her brain;
images of her parents laid out dead in their home, her house destroyed, even neighbours and their
children she'd grown up with flashed dead and mangled in her mind, their glassy, lifeless eyes
staring accusatorily through her. She shuddered and tried to shove the images away as she
continued.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I hope you're having a happy Christmas so far. Harry and I had a wonderful one with his
father and godfather. I think Harry's made real progress with his father, (as I explained
before) and it seems as if his godfather and James will be able to become friends again. At least,
Harry and I are hoping so. We left them last night talking and reminiscing on old times, and I hope
it'll get them thinking on what their friendship is all about.

Mum, Dad…It's hard for me to write this next bit in a letter, but as I have no other way of
talking to you right now, it's necessary. I've been honest with you for some time now about
Harry, on what happened to him when he was a baby, and on the dark wizard who's been after him.
For a while now we've not heard anything from him, but last night, Harry received a message
we're certain is from Voldemort or one of his followers. It basically stated that he's
targeted someone. Before you start worrying I want to let you know that on Hogwarts grounds, as
always, we're safe. But neither of you are. It makes sense Voldemort might decide to attack
those he hates most, and you being Muggles and my parents makes you a likely target.

I would like very much to know you're safe…perhaps for a while you could go stay with
Grandmother or leave on an extended vacation? Please find somewhere else to stay until I've let
you know the danger is over, and please try not to worry over me too much. And before you decide to
owl me back, know that I have no intentions of leaving Hogwarts, or Harry. I love him, but you know
that. I'm safe here and Harry watches me like a snitch; he never lets me out from his sight.
Please owl back a reply soon as you receive this. I won't be able to rest until I know
you're safe. 

All my love, Hermione


After having received the owl the night before, Harry had decided it

would be better if they sent any messages via the floo network since it seemed

pretty certain Voldemort would be watching the owl posts. So he and Hermione watched their
hearth as the green flames rushed each letter to its destination, their hearts hanging heavier than
they had done for a long time.

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

Unbeknownst to Harry and Hermione, they had not been the only ones so late the Friday night
before to receive mail.

On his bed in the Slytherin boy's dorms, Draco Malfoy sat rigidly staring into nothingness,
the curtains of his four poster shut tight around him both to ward off the early morning sunshine
and the prying eyes of any other awake dorm mates. His pale skin seemed even paler within the dimly
lit hideaway he'd fashioned for himself. Purple circles had smudged themselves under his steely
grey eyes as a way of reminding him he had not slept. The parchment he kept crushed in his fist had
the wrinkled, slightly grubby appearance of having been read and then re-crumpled over and over
again.

He should have expected it. Lucius had not given him the dark mark for no reason; he'd had
plans for him all along, even for the five or so short months he had left at Hogwarts.

Draco miserably lifted a hand to the mark his father had given him as a 'gift' over
Christmas and rubbed the still smarting area. Lucius had made it quite plain he and his damnable
'*master'* wanted Draco to act as a spy, and to use Ginny to better do it.

Voldemort would know if he didn't do what his father had instructed him to in the letter, he
knew… If only he were skilled at Occlumency like Professor Snape or even *Scarhead* for the
matter…

He didn't give a damn about Potter or any of his drooling fans, nor any more what his father
and Voldemort did, or did not find out about them. The one thing he did care about concerning
*anything* Gryffindor however, was Ginny Weasley. What he decided to divulge to Lucius, and
therefore Voldemort, could and would have direct consequence on her, and *that* above all was
the one thing that most plagued him.

For what seemed the tenth time since he'd received it, Draco again unrumpled the letter and
smoothed it out before him, reading the glowing red words as morosely as if they were a eulogy for
his own funeral.

To Draco himself, they might as well have been.


*Draco,*

*I trust by now you've made it back to Hogwarts.*

*I would have done before, but I am writing you now to give you instruction, having just now
received it for you from the dark lord.*

*As you are by now aware, our lord is no longer able to directly access Potter's thoughts
and emotions, nor is the blood traitor able to access his in turn, as he has effectively shut them
out.*

*Though he is still capable of reaching him through dreams, our lord wishes to know what
Potter is thinking and planning, as well as any thoughts or plans from Dumbledore. You are to watch
both of them carefully Draco; shadow Potter and Dumbledore as much as you are able. Listen to every
conversation you can; and though you are from a different house, stay as close as possible and
glean information. Although there is already at Hogwarts one a bit closer to Potter who is now
spying for us, our lord believes he cannot have too many of his loyal infiltrating our
enemies.*

*For this reason I have discussed with our lord your previous involvement with the young
Weasley witch. He feels, as I now do, that you will be of better assistance if you resume your
relationship with her. She will be able to unwittingly provide you with information concerning
Potter and his friends, as well as any dealings with Dumbledore she may have heard from them. Our
lord wishes you to accomplish this straight away. And, I shall add of my own accord Draco; you are
**not** to develop any type of emotion toward the whore. She is nothing more than a means to an
end and when the time comes, she will be destroyed along with the rest of our master's
enemies.*

*Lord Voldemort will very soon be fulfilling the warning Potter has just received from him,
and has many more plans to rid himself and those faithful to him of the mudbloods and Muggle filth
that taint our world.*

*Finally Draco, I will warn you yet again. If for any reason you decide to defy our lord and
master, he will sense it straight away, and you will be done away with. Neither he, nor myself,
have any tolerance for traitors.*

*Second in command to his majesty,*

*Lucius Malfoy*

*'Our lord'*… '*his majesty'*… **Bullshit***.*

Once again Draco crumpled the note in his fist. His face blotched scarlet with rage, while at
the same time his stomach gave a nauseating churn of fear. He would no sooner use Ginny and then
give her over to be killed than slice his own throat, and yet here Lucius was commanding him to do
just that.

Not for the first time in his young life, Draco was forced yet again to think desperately for a
way out from between a rock and the proverbial hard place.

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

Christmas holidays came and went more quickly than Harry or Hermione could have imagined, and
though the remainder of them were spent in a state of extreme unease, nothing was heard from the
Ministry of Magic or Muggle law enforcement that seemed to point toward Voldemort.

The morning of January first Sirius flooed himself back to Grimmauld Place, carrying back with
him a pocketful of shrunken presents and belongings. To Harry and Hermione's great surprise, he
hugged James goodbye as well as them although a bit awkwardly, and promised to keep in touch
through Dumbledore. The smile on James' face as his friend left told Harry far more than words
could have done how well his and Sirius' talk had gone over.

Far too soon, Harry and Hermione found themselves faced with the renewed prospect of N.E.W.T.
level classes and returning students pounding the silent halls of the school awake once again. In
fact, late next afternoon, it was as if the quiet had never been. Around five o'clock the great
double doors of the school slammed open, and hundreds of talking laughing students began pouring
inside carrying smaller bags and presents and leaving their trunks on the outside carriages to be
apparated in later by the house elves. Within school grounds only the house elves were able to
apparate anything, it seemed.

Ron met Harry and Hermione for dinner in the Great Hall an hour later, looking quite a bit less
carefree after holiday than he had done last year. He plopped himself down heavily opposite Harry
and Hermione and between Seamus Finnegan and Colin Creevey, who if possible, seemed paler and even
more withdrawn than he had done even before holiday. Ron made sure both Colin and Seamus were
engaged in other conversations before favouring his two best friends with a grim smile. His first
words to them upon returning were about the warning Harry had sent him, and Harry wasn't the
least bit surprised.

" 'Lo mates…any news yet?" He asked quietly as he grabbed two turkey legs and
heaped a pile of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

Harry shook his head dourly and filled his plate as well, plucking a roll from a basket nearby.
"Not a bit and it's frustrating as hell. Dumbledore's got Kingsley Shacklebolt among
the Ministry Aurors keeping an ear out for news, and of course he's got his regular connections
with the Muggle network."

Ron nodded. "Mum and Dad were in a right state when Ginny and I read them your letter.
Dad's already cast about three dozen protective charms over the Burrow but Bill and
Charlie'll be over until around January fifteenth, so Mum feels a bit safer, I think. But
she's *half nutters* over you, mate. Thinks you'll be safer with wizards than Muggles
when time comes to leave school, especially what with the Dementors attacking you a couple of years
ago. She said f Voldemort's still running about come graduation, she'll have you at the
Burrow than back with the Dursley's no matter *what* Dumbledore says. Besides she hates
them anyway, the *sods*…"

"I know she does," Harry smiled fondly. "But if that does happen, I'll be out
on my own by then, won't I? I'll be getting my own flat."

Harry missed Hermione suddenly shifting her eyes downward at the table at his words as he was
still focussed on Ron.

Ron goggled at him. "*Bloody hell*…I suppose you *will*…and so will *I* once
I get the money for it! I still can't believe it's our last year." He sat still for a
moment staring blankly through Lavender who was talking with Parvarti a few spaces down the table
until he remembered what he'd been just about to say. His gaze moved back to Harry and
Hermione.

"Dumbledore's already met with the Order and put them on triple alert. Has them set out
in different places all along Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and even undercover in some Muggle areas.
Did you know?"

"I'm not surprised," said Harry evenly looking toward Hermione. "He's
always right on top of things isn't he?"

"Yes he is," said Hermione quietly.

Ron angled closer to them and continued, but in a much quieter tone. He could've sworn
he'd seen Colin leaning into their conversation a bit over his plate of turkey. "And you
don't have to worry about Sirius, mate. Dumbledore's already warned the Order to keep quiet
near him. He's as worried about him getting involved and being seen as you are."

Harry nodded, feeling some of the heavy, invisible weight slip from his shoulders. "Well,
Sirius *is* helping in a way though he doesn't really know it, what with him now able to
watch Muggle news."

Ron quickly shot he and Hermione an incredulous look. "What'd you mean watch Muggle
news!?" He hissed out. "You mean he's out running about with them waiting to see if
something bloody happens!? Has he gone completely nutters!?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him until she remembered Ron had no idea about television. It had
been one of the few things Arthur Weasley had yet to get his hands on. She grabbed his arm before
he could begin to rant even louder and attract attention.

"No Ron, of course not. Harry and I gave him a television set for Christmas. It's a box
that transmits information to you much like the WWN does; only with pictures. He'll be able to
see if anything important happens; maybe even before the Ministry finds out depending on how
quickly the Muggles report it to them."

Harry nodded. "It's the one thing I'm afraid of. But Sirius wouldn't stay
ignorant forever; he'd find some way of getting information whether or not he had the
television. In any case, Muggle reporters are quick with their news."

"Bugger me…" Ron goggled at them, showing Hermione a mouthful of turkey and potatoes
before he swallowed. "Well I guess they are quick what with having those fellytones to
communicate with and such."

"Telephones," corrected Hermione.

"Tha's wha' I said," said Ron around a mouthful of roll.

"No you didn't Ron, you said…" began Hermione before a quick nudge and subtle
shake of Harry's head reminded her that it was useless to argue with him further.

Hermione sighed, disappointed. She felt somehow unfulfilled when she wasn't allowed to
correct a glaring mistake.

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

Ginny passed Hermione, Harry and Ron next afternoon on her way from a gruelling sixth year
potions, realising too late that the next class in line was seventh year double potions with the
Slytherin. She'd only had a moment to nod to Hermione who, right before entering Snape's
classroom had mouthed to her that she wanted to talk later, before she ran almost headfirst into
the brick wall visage of Vincent Crabbe, shadowed by the even larger, Gregory Goyle.

"Watch where you're going *Gryffinwhore*," Crabbe growled out menacingly.
Behind him, Goyle snickered dumbly.

"What'd you just call me!?" Ginny reddened, her breath coming in short furious
pants.

Theodore Nott, who'd just passed the group backed up with a gleeful expression and cackled.
"Listen at this, mates. She acts as if she hasn't heard it before… I know *I*
haven't banged her, but I’m willing to give it a go Weasley, if you're up for it. From what
I hear, you always are."

Ginny swept her hand guilefully under her robes and wrapped her fingers tightly round her wand,
her eyes blazing violently. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She was still a virgin
for Godric's sake and even if she wasn't, there was no way in bloody hell she'd give
herself to a *Slytherin*. *Well*…there'd only ever been one she'd considered
before, but that was apparently over. Ginny forced those thoughts away and smiled grimly. Crabbe,
Goyle and Nott had her beat as far as largeness was concerned, but she knew her skill with the wand
far surpassed theirs.

"Blow it out your shorts you *bloody mong*," she hissed at Nott whipping out her
wand too quickly for any of them to reply. "I don't know where you three get your
information, but I wouldn't sleep with you or any other Slytherin for the matter if you paid me
all the gold in Gringotts! Now I suggest we all get along to class before I decide to rearrange
your arses with your heads...assuming that hasn't already been done."

Nott and Goyle made a motion to move forward, but a sudden glance over the top of Ginny's
head quickly made them think otherwise and they slowly backed off. To save face, Nott merely
shrugged his shoulders disaffectedly and re-shouldered his books once again.

"Whatever you say Weasley. We've all heard how you like to rip up the sheets with any
bloke who'll have you. It's quite pathetic, really," he chuckled poisonously with a
sudden nasty glance behind her. Crabbe and Goyle laughed aloud. Ginny gaped at them but still made
no move to turn round and see what they were all staring at. Nott continued. "But I *have
heard* poorer witches can climb their way higher up the rich social ladder if they'll just
shag the right wizard. Guess you're just giving them all a good test run, aye? How 'bout it
*Gryffinwhore*…up for doing a train?"

Ginny inhaled sharply and made to scream out a reply but was given no chance to. Someone behind
her, a someone with a very familiar deep voice suddenly roared ferociously and charged past
her.

"**Son of a bitch!** **I'll rip you in half!**"

Draco Malfoy was a blur of blonde hair and black school robes as he threw down his books,
pounded past her, and launched himself at Nott. Both crashed hard to the floor. His fists began
pounding into him wherever they could, and Nott, severely startled at an attack coming from the
usually cool Malfoy, finally gained enough wits about him to begin to fight back. Ginny squealed in
fright and began to approach them yelling, before Draco shouted at her and shot a hand out to shove
her roughly back.

"**NO!** *Stay the **hell out of it**, Red*!"

Nott took that moment to land a hard punch to Malfoy's jaw. He immediately returned it,
along with an answering punch to the gut. The sounds of shouting and cursing quickly sent the whole
of seventh year potions racing excitedly out from the classroom and into the halls, yelling wildly
and punching fists in the air despite Professor Snape barking loudly for them to stay put while he
went to investigate. A good fight livened up any class, especially a dreadful N.E.W.T. level
Potions.

Snape shoved through the throng now surrounding Draco and Theodore, bulldozing students out of
the way and nearly knocking Harry to the ground. Harry snarled at him as he passed, and pushed
Hermione behind him to keep her from an errant flying limb or fist. She narrowly missed falling
into Colin Creevey. As always, he stood toward the back of the fray to garner the least amount of
attention, his face a picture of misery.

"Bloody hell," exhaled Ron loudly as he gaped at the two young men scrambling to beat
each other senseless. Draco gave another furious roar at something Nott said and hammered his fist
into Theodore's kidney, baring his teeth and bleeding from his nose and lip like a feral
animal. Beside Ron, Lavender gave him a poke in the ribs.

"Not now Lav. This's getting *good*," said Ron keeping his eyes glued to the
scuffle.

"*Ron*," hissed Lavender in an annoyed tone. "Look at your sister!"

Ron whirled to eye Lavender at once. "Ginny? Where!?"

Lavender rolled her eyes at him and pointed toward the very front of the crowd opposite him. Ron
strained to peer past Snape, who was now grabbing at both boys and trying without success to pry
them apart. Ginny stood dwarfed by a couple of cheering seventh year Gryffindor boys, pressing her
knuckles to her mouth. A few tears stole down her cheeks as she watched the fight.

"Wha…" began Ron, flabbergasted. "What the bloody hell is *she* *doing*
*here*!? She's supposed to be in Defence Against the Dark Arts!"

Lavender clucked her tongue impatiently at him. "Well I suppose you might find that out by
*going over and* *asking* *her* while Professor Snape is busy, mightn't
you?"

Ron merely nodded, his eyebrows drawn together in concern and threaded his way through the crowd
toward his sister. But as he neared her, it became quite clear from the look she shot him that she
was by no means in the mood for explaining herself.

"Ginny…why aren't you…"began Ron above the din.

"I don't want to talk about it," Ginny closed her eyes briefly and shot him a
warning look. "Just leave me alone, Ron…*please*."

Ron looked as if it was beyond his better judgement to do so, but having been on the receiving
end of Ginny's temper too many times before, he merely nodded at her, puzzled, and headed back
toward Harry and Hermione, who was looking Ginny's way with concern.



Snape finally realised he wasn't going to be able to yank the two fighting boys apart
physically. Furiously, he snatched his wand from his robes and bellowed out a spell.

"*Difflare*!"

Draco and Theodore were immediately shoved apart by an unseen hand and thrown opposite each
other to the floor, breathing heavily.

For his part, Draco seemed the less scathed of the two. His normally slick blonde hair fell
wildly abound his head, and a cut near his eye dribbled blood down his face, as well as a deeper
one on his lip, already beginning to swell. Harry could see a large reddened area on one cheek that
would likely be turning into a great purple bruise. His robes were dusty and ripped in places, one
sleeve almost completely torn off and his prefects badge now hanging from his tattered robes by
only a torn shred of material. The cut and nicked swollen knuckles of his right hand showed obvious
signs of recent hard use.

The most obvious place they'd been used was Nott's face. One already small brown eye was
already swollen shut, and his nose bled freely from both nostrils. When he turned to the side to
spit a mouthful of blood and saliva on the floor, much to Parvarti and Lavender's disgust,
Harry could swear he heard a tooth clatter to the floor along with it. His robes were equally
ripped, tattered and dirty from the castle floor. He seemed to be reeling a bit as well, no doubt
from some of the well placed blows to the head he had received from Malfoy, who was now standing as
still as a stone wall opposite him and glaring at him with a snarling face full of hatred.

Breathing heavily, Nott coughed and again spat a mixture of blood and saliva onto the floor,
glaring at Malfoy with a completely gobsmacked expression. "**What the bloody hell is wrong
with you, Draco!?** **She's a Gryffindor for Salazar's sake! I was only telling the
truth! I didn't deserve any of that shit!** **I didn't do anything wrong!**" 

"**NEITHER DID SHE!**" Draco bellowed in reply, swiping at his mouth with a torn
sleeve and beginning to stomp forward again. Harry quickly strode out from the crowd and snatched
Draco's left arm before Draco suddenly hissed in pain and yanked it furiously from his grasp.
Harry fixed him with a hard look of warning and shook his head slightly at him.

"Don't touch me, Potter." Malfoy glared at him rigidly, his gaze full of
hatred…and something else Harry couldn't define.

Puzzlement washed over Harry's features before he spoke up roughly. "Leave it.
You're in enough trouble as it is."

" 'Leave it'…*right*. You're one to talk," snorted Malfoy
spitefully.

"So," began Nott again with an ugly sneer. Snape was currently distracted snapping
loudly at students to return to the classroom. "You lied then…all to throw daddy off your
trail, no doubt. What would he do if he knew his son'd gone soft?"

Before he realised what he was doing, Draco absently raised a hand to touch his left bicep.
Nott's eyes flickered down to the hand and then back up in an instant; his jaw falling open
with sudden realisation. He spoke again in an awed whisper.

"What's he *already* done?"

A flash of alarm suddenly passed over Malfoy's face and he dropped the hand quickly. Harry
glanced at the two, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as if the answer to something he hadn't even
asked a question to was just out of his reach. But Malfoy was spared a reply by Snape, who suddenly
reappeared from his classroom to stomp between the two boys.

"**Silence!**" He hissed out furiously.

Most of the other students had already retreated from Snape's fury to the relative safety of
the classroom, including Crabbe and Goyle who'd slunk away earlier like a couple of fat, oily
snakes. Only Harry, Malfoy, Nott, and Ginny, who was still gazing at Malfoy with a mixture of hurt
and scepticism, remained behind.

Snape approached the four looking by all accounts like a greasy black panther stalking its prey.
He circled them menacingly until his eyes fell on Harry.

"*Potter*," he drawled, eyeing Harry through narrowed, hateful eyes. "What
do *you* have to do with all of this…"

Harry gaped at him. It was obvious he'd shown up same time everyone else had. "*Not
a* **thing**."

"You don't honestly think I believe you," Snape snarled. "You're
*far* too arrogant for your own good, as usual. You'll be serving detention this weekend
along with Malfoy and Nott."

"**What!?"** Harry bellowed furiously, his hands closing into fists. "I had
nothing to do with this and you ***know* *it***! I showed up same time as all the
others! Besides Gryffindor has a *game* on Saturday!"

Snape favoured him with a scheming smile. Malfoy glanced from one to the other, offering nothing
but blank detachment, but Ginny decided to speak up.

"Professor Snape I've been here the whole time…Harry had nothing to do with it; in fact
he stopped Malfoy attacking Nott again."

Snape smirked coldly and kept his eyes on Harry. "Then detention for *existing*,
Potter. Now get to class."

*Bloody hell*… Harry flushed, looked very much as if he would like to wrap his hands round
Snape's throat and squeeze until his eyeballs popped out. He shot the Professor a look of
purest loathing, which had a much greater effect on Snape than it had ever done before since Harry
was now almost taller than he. Snape wrapped his fingers round his wand, mentally begging Potter to
do *anything* to give him reason to blast him, but Harry merely scowled at him and entered the
classroom.

Looking thoroughly satisfied with himself, Snape turned his attention back toward the remaining
three, his gaze piercing them once again. He turned toward Ginny first. "Ms. Weasley…last I
checked you'd not graduated to seventh year potions; in fact, I'm most certain none of the
Weasleys will *ever* make it to a N.E.W.T. level class. Therefore I'm inclined to ask
*what* you think you are doing here."

Ginny alternated glaring from him to the others and opening and closing her mouth as she fished
for a plausible excuse.

"As I thought," sneered Snape. "I sugges*t* you *get out from my sight*
and to your next class."

Ginny wanted to have to explain the situation about as much as she wanted to be hexed with
boils, so with a last betrayed glance toward Draco, she mutely turned on her heel and headed down
the empty hallway. Draco watched her go, his expression carefully neutral. When she had turned the
corner out of sight, Snape turned his wrath on the final two students remaining in the hallway.

"I ***WILL** **NOT*** tolerate behaviour of this nature from my own house;
grappling about on the floor like some excitable, asinine *Gryffindor*…" he seethed
contemptuously. He narrowed his eyes angrily at Malfoy, "*Especially* from a
**Slytherin** **PREFECT**."

Again Malfoy stared at Snape, blankly unaffected. Nott opened his mouth to speak but Snape
whirled nastily toward him. "**NOT..A..WORD**. I don't want to know what started this
little melee; I couldn't care less. But be forewarned… If my class is ever interrupted as such
by either of you two ever again, Slytherin or not, I'll have you **expelled**."

He whirled from them, striding inside and obviously expecting them to follow. Nott shot Malfoy a
filthy look and made to head inside as well, but Malfoy stepped in front of him, piercing him with
steely grey eyes. When he spoke his voice was low and very even.

"If I hear you speak about Ginny Weasley like that **ever again**, I'll tear you
apart."

Nott wanted to point out that he'd got the rumour from reliable sources; that he'd got
Ginny's reputation from none other than Draco Malfoy's very own father; his son's words
passed on as a joke to Theodore's father during a Death Eaters meeting as a way of once again
insulting the Weasley family. But something in the way Malfoy looked at him kept him silent.

As Theodore stepped around him to head into the classroom, Malfoy following, it occurred to him
that Draco had finally chosen his side, and it most certainly did not seem to be the same Lucius
Malfoy or most of the other Slytherins had chose.

Nott smiled grimly as he dumped himself into a seat and licked another droplet of blood absently
from his lips. Draco might soon enough find out just how dangerous wrong choices could be; although
it seemed he might have already done just that…

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

Surprisingly enough for Harry, Hermione and Ron, double Potions class went just as it did any
other day that afternoon, with Snape either ignoring them as usual, or finding any excuse he could
to belittle a Gryffindor, no matter who it was. He had never been particularly fussy about his
victims unless it concerned Harry Potter.

As the three headed out from the classroom and towards Advanced DADA, surrounded by fifty or so
Slytherin and Gryffindor seventh years who couldn't stop talking on the row they'd seen
before class, Ron took the opportunity to cross-examine Harry over what Snape had said to him to
make him enter the classroom after them so angrily.

"*He did **WHAT***!?" shouted Ron, incensed.

"Gave me detention," answered Harry. "The whole weekend…with Nott and Malfoy, no
less."

Ron gripped his wand tighter in his hand, enraged. "*What for*!?"

" '*What for*!?' It's *obvious*, isn't it?" Harry shot at
him, pointedly. "For **absobloodylutely nothing**, that's what, the *grotty git*.
He's never needed a reason, has he?"

Hermione gazed up at him with concern. "But Harry don't you have a match against
Ravenclaw this wee…"

"We sure as hell do, and he *knows* it! *Greasy scrote*…" Ron interjected
furiously.

Hermione blushed scarlet. "**RON**!"

Ron ignored her. "Harry, *tell me* you're going to Dumbledore on this…"

Harry paused. "No, I don't think so."

"What…*Why not*!?" Ron yelled, throwing his hands into the air. "Are you
*mad*!? He'll overturn Snape for sure; he knows he's always shafting you! Anyway,
you're **Quidditch captain**, mate. You *have* to be there."

"Ron," began Hermione in the tone that usually drove him completely mad. "I think
Harry's taking this rather well. Whether or not Professor Snape was right in punishing him,
Harry's showing him how to be adult in all this. In the end I think it'll be Professor
Snape himself who'll feel ashamed."

Ron goggled at her as if she'd taken complete leave of her senses. Harry rather felt the
same, although he decided it would be in his best interests not to show it.

If there was one thing Snape was *not*, it was humble. He would never admit he'd been
wrong; in fact, when it came to punishing Harry, he had proven over and over he really didn't
care. But Harry had never been one to concede defeat where the greasy git was concerned; he had his
own agenda.

Ron turned his gobsmacked expression back to Harry. "So…You going to tell me *WHY*
you're just *going along* with this or do you want to leave me in suspense?"

"Something strange happened between Malfoy and Nott while Snape was making everyone get
back to the classroom," said Harry. "I want to find out what it was."

"What," smirked Ron. "Did they finally admit they were a couple of fairies and
start snogging?"

Hermione closed her eyes briefly. "*Ron*, *for* *the love of
Godric*…"

"No," Harry smirked back at him. "Actually it was more something Malfoy did. Nott
was banging on about Lucius opinion of his son now he's gone '*soft*' and Malfoy
sort of…rubbed at his arm, like something's happened. It's just a suspicion, but I'm
curious all the same."

Hermione gawped up at him as they entered Lupin's classroom. "Harry…you don't
think…"

"I dunno," said Harry more quietly as he nodded to his father and the three took seats
near the front. "But it's worth checking. When else will I get the chance?"

Ron conceded with a sigh and finally nodded. "Alright then. I can be Quidditch captain for
one game if you think it's important. Ginny'll have to play seeker again, I guess; she
wasn't half bad…Not **you**, though…"

"Thanks mate."

Hermione took a moment to glance over Malfoy's way and then turned back to gaze at Harry and
Ron. "Malfoy…a *Death Eater*? It sounds strange I know, but I've really never
believed once it came down to it he'd actually *take* the mark."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "I just thought he'd be too chickenshit to do it."

"**Harry**!" Hermione hissed with a scandalised glower. Harry smirked playfully at
her.

"Well if it's true I'm glad Ginny broke with the *bloody gump*," said
Ron. "I don't care if he *was* defending her over whatever Nott said… I won't
have him near her again."

He paused and glanced over to where Malfoy now sat at the back of the class, still battered but
perched stoically upright in his desk. He shot him a vicious glare, but when Malfoy caught his gaze
he merely sneered at him and looked away. Ron frowned. That was most certainly an un-Malfoy like
thing to do; it was unlike him not to go farther with it… Just what *had* happened to him?

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

Saturday came round much too quickly for Harry, and since he was currently spooned so warmly
with Hermione in his bed in the early morning grey-lighted room, he decided rather than leave to
start his punishment himself, that he would make Snape send for him.

The smell of Hermione's hair, even the fabric of her pyjamas against his bare chest relaxed
Harry into the familiar feeling of home. He wrapped an arm round her stomach and pushed his hand
under her top rubbing slow circles on her stomach until he felt her stir against him. He tried
backing his hips from her a bit as her movements began waking parts of his body he preferred to
stay asleep at the moment, until he saw a smile creep onto her face.

Harry growled down at her and although her eyes were still closed, her smile widened.

"Enjoying yourself?" he whispered down to her.

Hermione cracked one eye open. "Tormenting you? Always."

"You're evil, you know."

"I know."

Harry decided to do a little tormenting himself and, before she knew what was happening, he had
flipped her from her side onto her back, straddled her and pinned her arms beneath his knees.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh Harry, don't…"

"Don't what?" Harry asked innocently.

"Please, you know I can't stand it," begged Hermione desperately, squirming
beneath him.

Harry flushed and adjusted his position. "Stop that!"

"What?"

"Stop moving like that!" said Harry flushing slightly. Hermione found a blushing
barechested Harry cute as hell and couldn't resist moving again. Harry scowled down at her.

"Alright, you've done it. I was gonna be merciful but…"

Harry dug his fingers into her ribs and Hermione began laughing and wriggling even more until he
found it almost impossible to keep her pinned underneath him without a certain *part* of him
reacting. He rolled off her but still pulled her to him and attacked her sides.

Hermione screamed shrilly and tried wrapping her arms round her ribs but Harry simply attacked
the back of her knees. "**HARRY**! Stop *please*! Stop, I'm sorry!
**Please**!"

Harry grinned at her and grabbed an ankle, his fingernails running along the underside of her
foot. "Apologise…"

"**I DID**!" Hermione cried, jerking spasmodically. Harry narrowly missed a kick to
the face.

"I didn't hear it." Harry continued his torture.

"Yes you did, *you git*!" Hermione growled and then kicked and screamed again as
Harry's fingers made it to the back of her thighs and pinched her butt. "Oh Merlin
stop…**STOP**! **I'M SORRY! PLEASE***!*"

Harry paused for a moment and Hermione fell back against the bed, breathing raggedly.

"Hmmm…"

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. "Wh…what…"

"Tell me what a great wizard I am."

"You *stuck-up clot*," began Hermione, but Harry again raised claw-like hands and
put them to her sides to tickle her.

"*ALRIGHT*!" Hermione laughed. "You're a great wizard."

Harry pretended to search her face for honesty. "How great?"

"The greatest ever born," said Hermione, and then let her eyes drag down his body and
back up to his face and messy black hair appreciatively. "And the best looking, though I'm
certainly biased."

Harry pretended to be satisfied and twisted as if to hop from the bed but then turned back to
her. "Noooo…that won't do." He attacked her again.

Hermione laughed and screamed again as Harry wiggled his fingers into an armpit and then
squeezed the base of her neck, grinning evilly. He knew all of her spots…

"*HARRY*! *S..STOP IT RIGHT NOW, I M..MEAN IT*!"

Harry laughed out loud as he attacked the back of her legs and again gave her butt a pinch.
"Once more with feeling…"

"**STOP IT** *YOU BLOODY GIT!*"

Harry finally stopped his torture and fell back onto the bed laughing maniacally until Hermione
threw herself onto him and began a frenzied attack on his own ribs. She loved it when he thrashed
about and laughed high-pitched like a young boy…

The tickle torture soon grew into more passionate touching and before Hermione knew it, Harry
had rolled her beneath him and both were kissing desperately. Very soon, his tongue began moving
against hers in the same hot, slow, methodical way his hips were moving…

*No*… Hermione thought heatedly. *Most definitely **not** a young boy*…

He slid a hand down her side and hip and over to the inside of her thigh, feeling more than
hearing her pant into his mouth. *Damn her for moving like she was*…

Harry slid his mouth from hers and steadily kissed a burning trail down her neck, suckling on
her collarbone and lower. As he moved, his wild black hair tickled the side of her cheek and then
under her chin, and Hermione felt a thrill travel from her chest straight downward. She gripped at
his bare shoulders, marvelling to herself how *painfully erotic* such a small, normally
insignificant thing could be…

Harry's hands moved to rest on the lightly covered, soft rounded sides of her breasts, his
tongue and lips moving down the few open buttons of her nightshirt to lave its way between them.
Hermione sighed and dug her fingers into the firm muscles of his back, sliding them up over his
shoulders and down his defined chest to his nipples, bringing her mouth to his neck and suckling in
just the way she knew he liked. He was so hard against her… She breathed in his unique scent,
marvelling at how familiar she'd become with it…

Harry moved his mouth back to hers and felt her touch her tongue to his once again. *Gods*
she tasted good, like honey…like *Hermione*…

He rolled her on top of him, his hands travelling over her back and sweeping over her butt, to
pinch it again playfully. He felt her grin into his mouth and playfully dig a few fingers into his
ribs. She pulled back to ask when he had decided to keep his wand in his boxers, and Harry replied
with a naughty smirk that he had yet to use this particular '*magic wand'* on her but
was *heartily* looking forward to it.

He had just begun to describe the '*wood'* it was made from when Hermione gave a
scandalised huff and tackled him yet again.

They continued playing on for some time, snogging, laughing and tickling until both had rumpled
the bed covers into a completely wrecked state.

A knock on the portrait door followed by a tiny voice: "*Trespasser… Miscreant…Knave!
Have at thee!"* alerted them to the fact that playtime was over.

Harry let his head slam back to the pillow with a miserable muffled thud. "Time for
detention…"

Hermione frowned sympathetically.

"*Stand and fight! Beslubbering boar-pig! Coward!*" CLANG! Cadogen must've
fallen from his horse again…

"**Shut up** you little **nutter!**" Came a familiar muffled voice from the
other side. "Harry open up mate, it's Ron…"

Harry threw some jeans on, padded to the door, and caught the familiar tiny 'swish,
swish' of Cadogen's sword, followed by another clattering of armour. An evil grin spread
slowly across his face. "Ron? How'd I know it's really you?"

"…**What**!? '*Course* it's me! Who'd you *think* it is!?"
*Thwip*! A tiny arrow sounded, followed by several more…

Harry smirked. "I dunno, your voice is a bit high for Ron… Professor McGonnagol, is that
you?"

"*Thou art an ill-bred molewart*! *I shall storm thy castle and seize thy native
lands*! *A pox on thee!*"

Ron huffed angrily. "Harry, *you* *sod*… Open up or I'll slice the titchy
shortarse right from his portrait!"

Harry chuckled and swung the door open to reveal a scowling, greatly annoyed Ron gripping his
wand and dressed in full Quidditch gear.

"*Ho, ha ha! The coward flees the fight! The birds of prey shall feast on thine
entrails*!"

Ron stepped inside and slammed the portrait door shut behind him, punching Harry hard in the arm
right after. Outside, Cadogen raved on.

"*Bastard*. When are you and Hermione gonna switch him with a *SANE*
portrait!?"

"He grows on you." Harry shrugged noncommittally.

Ron narrowed his eyes at him. "*Right*."

"Well I'm glad it's you," Harry grinned as a fully dressed Hermione came out
from his room. "Wasn't quite ready for detention, you know."

"Well hold that thought mate," scowled Ron grumpily. "Snape met me as I was
headed out with the team to practice. Thought it'd be right hilarious to send *me* for
you, I guess. Says to be at his classroom in a half hour."

Harry's grin faded and he turned to see Hermione beaming approvingly at him. "I'm
not doing this to be a better man, 'Mione. It's just information I want."

Ron smirked down at her.

"I know!" said Hermione gruffly. "But it doesn't hurt Professor Snape might
see it that way, does it?"

Harry sighed.

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

Harry dragged his feet, his hands jammed around his robes into the pockets of his worn jeans,
and his damp hair, freshly washed from the shower he'd just taken, either sticking up all over
the place or laying in clumps against his forehead. The long trudge to Snape's office was not a
pleasant one, though Harry knew he could easily have told Dumbledore the situation and had the
Potion professor's detention thrown out. But Harry had no wish to appear a spoiled little boy
who tattled his abuse to the adoring Headmaster. The thought of it made him queasy. Besides if he
*had* gone that route Snape would loathe him more than he had ever before done, and there was
no reason to further fuel the Potion professors hatred of him.

As he walked, Harry's thoughts took a swift turn back to fifth year when he had been left
alone in Snape's office during an Occlumency lesson, and he had dared rather recklessly to take
a peek into the professor's pensieve left unguarded on his desk.

He remembered as he had seen into the misty silver depths, how his father's behaviour toward
Snape had sickened him, and how unfair the attack on him had seemed. James, it appeared, had been
arrogant and extremely fond of himself, and had decided in order to make himself appear better,
especially where Lily Evans was concerned, that he would torment more unpopular students; even
one's who seemed to have been minding their own business and did not deserve it. Harry's
high opinion of his father had plunged drastically as of that moment, but Sirius had later on
helped him realise he was only seeing Snape's biased memories in the pensieve, and what he had
seen was not necessarily how the event had actually occurred. From then on, Harry had learned to be
sceptical of the accuracy of *any* events seen in a pensieve as they could be skewed by the
person's point of view.

After this, Harry had decided to reserve his opinion of his father until he had found out more
from Sirius, and eventually, he did. Snape and James, much like Harry and Draco Malfoy, had been
bitter enemies in school from the start, and were constantly after each other in one way or the
other. James, it seemed, hated the dark arts, which Snape had been deeply involved with.
Consequently, James had also wanted Snape kept as far away from Lily as possible. He'd never
missed an opportunity to lessen Snape in her eyes, though most of the time, it only served to make
her angry with him and sympathetic toward Snape.

Snape on the other hand, had been as infatuated with Lily Evans as James Potter, and in his own
gruff, awkward way had unsuccessfully tried to woo her. He was also jealous of James and
Sirius' popularity in school, though he had tried to mask it by making as if he hated who they
were because of it.

Sirius' different point of view had served to make Harry think his father might have not
been such a bad wizard after all; just normal. This was definitely a good thing, as he would learn
two years later his father was still alive.

Harry paused outside the Potion master's classroom and closed his eyes for a few moments
before entering. Time free to let one's brain wander where it would was not always necessarily
a good thing. Today it had served only to remind Harry of the even more chaotic turn his life had
taken recently, and the fact that with Voldemort's now renewed threat, the madness was far, far
from over. He just hoped spending detention with Lucius Malfoy's son might give him some type
of information into Voldemort's dealings.

Harry rapped sharply on the classroom door, averting his eyes rather embarrassed as two fifth
year Ravenclaws passed by on their way to watch Gryffindor practice and gave him an odd look.

The door swung open and, much to Harry's non-surprise, Snape stood at the front along with a
sullen Malfoy and Nott looking in a particularly nasty, but satisfied mood.

"Good you could join us, Potter. You're *ten minutes* *late*."

Harry ignored him and ambled up to the front, avoiding Malfoy and Nott's gazes much as they
were avoiding his.

Snape waltzed round his desk and yanked out from behind it a large, black cauldron, slamming it
down on the first table he came upon. He then turned and gestured towards the huge bookshelf lining
the east wall of the classroom.

"I've acquired a great lot of specimens throughout my years as a Potion's master.
The top shelves consist of dried roots, plants and such, but the bottom shelves hold ingredients
which must be suspended in a preserving solution."

Harry eyed row upon row of slimed, sometimes scaly looking plants and creatures floating in jars
of murky yellowish fluid and felt his stomach give an odd churn. He could only imagine the stench
that must come from one of those opened jars. *That might explain Snape's particular*
*scent*, he thought with a smirk of satisfaction. Both Nott and Malfoy looked a bit sickened
as well.

To Harry's regret, Snape had been studying him.

"I'm glad you find this amusing *Potter*. We'll see if through the weekend you
can keep that smile." Snape narrowed his eyes at the three and pointed lazily at the cauldron
and then back at the bookshelf. "You three will be brewing a new vat of pickling potion to
re-preserve each and every one of these."

Nott blanched. "Professor Snape there's got to be at least two hundred jars
there!"

"And that's why I've been so gracious as to allow you the whole weekend to
accomplish it, Theodore." He smiled genuinely at the way all three faces suddenly fell and
whirled to stride toward a bookshelf across the room. After a moment of searching the shelves, he
plucked out a thick, dusty black volume and walked back over to toss it onto the desk with a loud
**bang**. *The Complete Primer of Preserving Potions* stared back at them in large gold
letters from the book's cover.

"I was quite dreading this task, I have to admit," continued Snape as he made lazily
for the classroom door. "Luckily for me you three fell into it. In that book will be all the
instruction you will need, along with every ingredient you'll need in the usual supply cabinet.
Certain of the items you may find will require a different potion. If I find upon my return this
evening you three were lazy in your research and have destroyed any of my specimens, the
consequences will be *most dire*. Good day."

The door shut behind him with a loud snap, and Harry, Draco and Theodore were left to scowl
nastily at one another.

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

Some three hours later, Harry took a moment from sweating over the steaming cauldron to glance
up at Snape's classroom clock. It was one in the afternoon, and as if in reply to Nott's
constant complaining about lunch, his stomach growled angrily at him. But as he continued to stir
the foul smelling concoction counter-clockwise, Harry was sure the Potion's master would not
suddenly decide to grow a conscience and offer them a break to eat. Apparently Malfoy had decided
the same.

"**Shut your gob** *Nott**,** for the* *love of Salazar*," snapped
Malfoy roughly as he used a gloved hand to pluck a slimy, dead creature from it's dirty
solution and plop it unceremoniously into a jar full of clean stuff. "We're not getting
lunch; *stop whining*."

"I never had breakfast either…"

"Neither did I," said Harry. "Get over it."

Nott growled as he dipped and filled another jar and sent it sliding dangerously toward Malfoy,
who grabbed it just before it went crashing to the floor. He slammed it down and turned to scowl
dangerously.

"Watch it, you *filthy smeg*! You want us in more trouble!?"

"Wouldn't have done in the first place if you'd kept your ruddy head about you, you
*stupid* *lombard*!" Nott dropped the dipping ladle and whirled furiously on Malfoy.
"*What's with you*, *anyway*!? Coming to the *Gryffinwhore's*
aid…"

Harry whitened with rage. "*WHAT THE* *BLOODY HELL*…"

But Malfoy roared furiously and lunged at Nott landing a few well-placed punches before Harry
could jump at them and finally throw them apart.

"*Don't touch me, **Scarhead***!" roared Draco taking a swing at him as
well. Harry threw up his arm and caught the punch on his tricep, shoving Malfoy back at the same
time.

"**GET OFF IT**!" Harry thundered at them. "You want Snape giving us
*another* weekend of detention!?"

Nott, breathing heavily and swiping at yet another bloody lip, spoke up sarcastically. "Oh
what…is *Potter the Great* coming to put an end to the madness again? Go on then, sort us
out."

But Harry merely glared furiously at him. "What's all this '*Gryffinwhore'
shit* you're banging on about!?"

Malfoy gritted his teeth, completely enraged, but Nott merely crossed his arms over his chest
and stared at Harry with a smirk. "Don’t tell me you haven't dipped your wick, Potter.
Ginny Weasley's drooled after you for years. Been having a bit of the afternoon delight,
aye?"

This time around, it was Malfoy who pulled Harry from Nott, but only after a few punches to the
face. Harry shoved him away angrily and stabbed a finger at Nott.

"You **bloody bastard**! I hear you say anything like that again and *I'll rip you
a new arsehole* unless Ron gets there *first*! **Ginny's like my**
**sister**!"

Nott stood shakily, holding his stomach and gesturing toward Malfoy. "Maybe," he
grunted. "But Malfoy might tell you different."

Malfoy straightened and lifted his chin reflexively, but Harry could swear he saw a bit of guilt
in his eyes.

Harry speared him with a dangerous glare. "You tell me what he's on about or *so help
me* I'll rip you both in two. Or worse, I'll let *Ron* at you."

Malfoy sneered at him. "You could *try*."

Harry took a step toward him. "Don't *tempt* me…"

Malfoy worked his jaw thoughtfully and stared from Nott to Harry, who looked ready to kill. He
made his decision quickly and pulled out his wand.

Harry raised a hand, prepared to counter-attack when Malfoy aimed it toward Nott, whose mouth
suddenly went slack.

"*Petrificus Totalus*."

Nott's body snapped together, suddenly rigid, and slammed backward to the floor with a loud
**thud**. His eyes, large with surprise, stared unseeing at the cobwebs waving from the
ceiling.

Harry glanced a bit confused from one to the other, and Malfoy watched as he slowly lowered his
hand.

"Forgot about the wandless magic," sneered Malfoy sarcastically, shoving his wand back
into his robes. "*Potter the Great* seems an appropriate name, doesn't it?"

"Slag off," said Harry testily. He turned toward the cauldron he'd forgotten and
scourgified the now thick green contents with a wave of his hand. The mess disappeared instantly,
and he turned back toward Malfoy who now sat perched lazily on the edge of a desk.

"I lied to my father," said Malfoy simply.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "*About*?"

"Ginny," Malfoy sighed.

Harry set his jaw angrily and glared at him. Draco seemed to honestly regret it, but Harry
couldn't bring himself to be fooled. He gritted his teeth in an attempt to keep calm. "And
she thought you really *cared* for her…"

"**I DO**!" bellowed Draco suddenly bolting upright.

"**THEN WHY!?**"

"Because father found out about us, *that's why*!" continued Draco, suddenly
beginning a frustrated pace about the room. "I tried to break with her before anyone could see
and let him in on it…"

"You mean any of the other *damn* *Slytherins*," said Harry with a
contemptuous sneer.

"Yeah Potter… the other *damn Slytherins*," Draco whirled on him with a hard
sarcasm to his voice and jabbed a finger toward the rigid prone form of Nott. "But that
**bastard** had already told his father, who let *mine* in on, you see?"

Harry stood. "They're both in the same *costume club*, I guess," he shot out
sarcastically. "Black hoods and slitted eyes, *right*?"

"You're *missing the point as usual*, Scarhead," seethed Malfoy.

*"Enlighten me*," Harry growled back.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at him and made a fist as if to punch something from frustration. "I
had to make father believe Ginny was just a…*distraction*."

"So you thought you'd take the easy way out, and now *half the school* thinks
Ginny's some sort of **slag**," Harry shot back.

"*Easy way out*…" Malfoy whirled back toward him, a look of utter hatred on his
face and took a step forward, but seemed to think better of it in an instant. For one brief moment
he'd raised a hand as if to touch his bicep again but caught himself in time and dropped it.
"You don't know *shit*, Potter."

But Harry hadn't missed the sudden movement, nor had he missed the expression that had
flitted over Malfoy's face when he'd realised what he'd almost given away. He leaned
against Professor Snape's desk, watching Malfoy carefully.

"You think you had it so *bloody awful* growing up," Malfoy continued, looking so
full of hate he seemed sick with it. "Having to live with Muggles; knowing your parents were
killed by some mental evil wizard who's out to get you now, aye? *Poor, sad
Potter*…that's what everyone thinks, don't they? D'you love all the sympathy you
get, *Scarhead*? D'you love being everyone's *bloody hero*? D'you stay awake
at night thinking on your dead parents; the ones who loved you *so..very..much*…"

"D'you wish your father was dead?" asked Harry quietly with a blank
expression.

"My father *is* dead, *Potter*. He's been dead to me for *years*…just
not quite dead *enough*." Malfoy stopped and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Harry.
"What the *hell* are you on about? As if your *fussed* over anything I want. And the
feeling is *wholly mutual*, you can be sure."

Harry had never seen someone as consumed with hatred, though he felt as if he sometimes bordered
on it when an image of Voldemort burned in his thoughts. The look of pure loathing burning in
Malfoy's eyes told Harry much more than what he needed to know. "So you want to kill him,
is that it?"

Draco fisted his hands and snarled at Harry. "D'you have a point *Scarhead* or
d'you actually think you're that *fascinating* to…"

"Is it because he gave you the dark mark?" said Harry finally.

And Malfoy suddenly stopped every motion he'd made, his face completely draining of
colour.

Harry watched him work his jaw, a thousand different conflicting emotions crossing his face as
if he were a theatre screen set on fast forward. He clenched and unclenched his fists reflexively,
his eyes darting from every corner of the room, to Nott now moving a bit on the floor, to the door
behind Harry as if possibly contemplating escape. He looked as if he had no where to run.

Nott sat up slowly, his eyes fixed on the two young men facing each other. But rather than the
look of confusion Harry and Malfoy had expected, Theodore's eyes were widened with triumph, and
since the spell was now fully worn off he stood, although slowly owing to the hard fall he'd
taken.

"You do know the petrifaction charm does *nothing* toward a person's
hearing," he breathed out, his face a mirror of excitement. He moved toward the other two
sneering, and gave a short scoffing laugh. "*Knew* it moment we fought in the hallway,
but until now I've had no proof. I saw you grab at your arm when I'd got hold of it,
Malfoy… Guess daddy wouldn't let his son embarrass *OR* betray him, would he?"

At the sudden murderous look on Malfoy's face, Harry knew he might be contemplating
something desperate and shifted a bit where he was, ready to take action if necessary. But Malfoy
and he were roughly the same build and height…

Malfoy stood, eyeing Nott with a very dangerous snarl. "You say a **WORD** to anyone on
**ANY** of this you *grotty little bastard* and…"

"*What*…" Nott chuckled derisively. "You try *anything* else and
you'll be chucked out of Hogwarts so fast you won't know until your arse hits the street.
And now you have nowhere to go, do you? *Poor little rich wizard*… There's *loads* of
people who'd **love** to hear this, I think…"

Malfoy moved toward him with fists raised, all thoughts of using his wand gone from his head as
his body throbbed with fury. But Nott whipped out his own wand and aimed it, cocking his head at
him. Draco stopped dead in his tracks.

"Scared I've got something on you now, Malfoy? You should be…I'm telling the first
load of Slytherins I come across…"

"*Obliviate*!"

Nott suddenly blinked, confused, and then took a few moments to stare blankly ahead. Malfoy
whirled around.

"No your not," said Harry simply, lowering his hand.

Malfoy stared at him with not a trace of appreciation and instead, scowled angrily. "I
don't need your help, *damn it*. I can take care of my own *bloody*
problems…"

"Bullshit," said Harry.

Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but next moment the door to the classroom banged open and both
boys jumped back, expecting an angry Snape to begin hexing them for their lack of anything to show
for hours spent 'working'.

Professor McGonnagol rushed in, her black teachers robes billowing behind her. With her nostrils
flaring, her lips set in a thin line, and her face white with fear, even Nott, who still looked as
if he wasn't sure where the last half hour had just gone, could tell something was drastically
wrong.

Harry opened his mouth to speak but she waved her hands frantically at him. "No time
Potter. Come with me, **NOW**."

"Professor, I'm in detention," said Harry. "If I leave, Snape'll have my
head…"

"Charlie, Bill and Arthur Weasley were just attacked," said McGonnagol briskly, her
voice cracking a bit. "Dumbledore wants to see you straight away."

Both Harry and Malfoy started with surprise, but for very different reasons, and Harry ran out
of the room after her, leaving Malfoy thinking more heavily than he had done even previously, on
Ginny.

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

A/N: Sorry this took soooooooooo long guys. I've been super busy. I know you want to hit me
in the head with a bludger now, but this is another long chapter so I hope that makes up for it.
Send howlers to the North Pole.



29. Chapter 29: First Victims
-----------------------------


**Chapter 29: First Victims**

Harry pounded quickly down the dimly lit hallways after Professor McGonnagol, whose face was
tightly drawn and very pale; and although he was now a good three inches taller than her, he was
surprised at the difficulty he was having keeping up with her pace.

*Charlie, Bill and Mr. Weasley attacked*… an image of their bodies, hopelessly mangled and
twisted almost beyond recognition, flashed in his mind as he ran. A cold shiver travelled through
Harry's body. *If they were dead*, *well*… he **knew** whose fault it would
be.

They came to an abrupt halt in front of the twin stone gargoyles that marked the entranceway to
Dumbledore's office. McGonnagol was completely breathless after running, and rightly so owing
to her age, so Harry barked out *'sherbet lemon'* for her.

The gargoyles leapt aside, and the stone staircase behind them suddenly groaned to life,
scraping and grinding its way upward. Harry and Professor McGonnagol hopped a step and were wound
swiftly upward toward Dumbledore's office, finally stopping on the warmly lit first floor.

Harry was not surprised to see Ron and Ginny already there waiting. The late afternoon sun
streamed orange and dark yellow through the great window behind Dumbledore's desk, illuminating
both of their equally stricken expressions as they paced trails into the scarlet carpet of the
room; both dressed in moderately soiled Quidditch gear. Ron glanced up from chewing on his nails to
see Harry and McGonnagol enter and dropped his hand to quickly stride over to Harry.

"You've heard?"

Harry nodded, noting with concern how Ron's face had paled to such a shade of white that his
brown freckles stood out sharply in contrast. Ginny's less dotted complexion was equally as
pale, though long wet trails now marred her pink cheeks.

"Professor, any news?" Ginny asked with dread as she strode toward Professor
McGonnagol.

"Not yet," said McGonnagol grimly, "but he's only just left, Ms. Weasley. We
must give the Headmaster time to meet with the rest of the Aurors to find out exactly what your
father and brothers were doing; and more importantly, *where they were* when attacked.
It'll be vital information for the Order's next move."

Ron whirled angrily on her and yelled. "But we don't even know if they're **dead
or alive**! He could at least come back and let us in on **that bit** before he just sends a
message our family's been attacked and runs off to investigate the whole *bloody*
*thing*!"

McGonnagol sighed in understanding. "Ronald, the note Professor Dumbledore received was
scrawled out so quickly; whoever wrote it obviously had no time to go into detail. The fact of the
matter is when the Headmaster portkeyed for St. Mungo's he himself knew nothing of their
states. As soon as he has word he'll let us in on straight away, I'm sure. He doesn't
want you left in agony any more than I do."

She eyed them sympathetically as they stood closely together looking by all accounts, lost.
"Try not to worry until we've got word… Please, won't you two have a seat…try to calm
down a bit?"

Ginny shook her head rapidly still staring at the carpet as she paced. For his part, Ron goggled
at the Professor with such disbelief that she felt forced to look away.

"So he's not even here?" said Harry, finally able to edge into the
conversation.

McGonnagol shook her head and made her way round Dumbledore's dark polished desk to plop
wearily into the wingback chair. "Fortunately I was here with him when he received the message
or you three wouldn't be here even now. He had just enough time to tell me to have you three
waiting in his office when he returned before he left straight to London for the
hospital."

No sooner had the words finished leaving her mouth than a huge, bright green fire erupted in the
grate of the fireplace with a loud whooshing sound, leaving after it a cloud of smoky ash, and a
rolled up piece of parchment.

Ron practically dove for it and grabbed it up, tearing at the small red tie holding it closed.
Ginny, Harry and Professor McGonnagol quickly gathered round, all peering anxiously down at it.

*Minerva,*

*Have Ronald and Virginia portkey to St. Mungo's*

*straight away. Molly Weasley will be in the lobby waiting*

*for them. Harry and Hermione may accompany them if*

*they wish it. I should return shortly; until that time*

*please act as Headmistress in my stead.*

*Albus Dumbledore, H.M.*

Ginny slapped her hands over her mouth and gave a sudden muffled sob. "*Oh gods*… If
they were alright he would've said in the note… he would've said, *I KNOW IT*! *Oh
gods* *Ron*… "

Ron looked very much as if he agreed with her and only had the energy at the moment to wrap a
hand about her trembling shoulders.

McGonnagol's eyes quickly swept the office for some suitable object to be used as a porkey,
when they finally landed on Dumbledore's purple and gold starred nightcap hanging limply near
his dressing gown on a coat rack in the corner. Finding it to be as good as anything else, she
grabbed it and headed towards the three teens standing and staring miserably at each other.

Ron's frightened gaze locked with Harry's as the professor approached. "I
guess…m..maybe *they* were the first targets."

Harry screwed up his face in an attempt to control himself, feeling very much as if he would
like nothing more than to melt down into the hardwood floor of Dumbledore's office and dissolve
until he was no more.

He desperately wanted to run to them before they vanished into disorientating swirls from the
portkey; to fall on his knees and beg forgiveness for allowing them and their family into his life,
and as a result, for dooming them to danger and possible death. But the shame that tightened his
throat, stung his eyes, and churned coldly in his stomach, only allowed him to stand and stare.

Ron swallowed and spoke hoarsely. "You'll be following us over, then?"

Harry paused quietly.

"If you want."

Ron frowned at him. "Wh… *'course* we do… And bring Hermione too, all right?"
He looked down at Ginny who stared ahead, terrified. "We'll be needing the both of you, I
think."

McGonnagol moved tentatively toward Ron and Ginny and handed him the nightcap. He held it limply
in his hands.

"Both of you grab onto it," she said in a strained voice, pulling out her wand and
aiming it at the cap. "Y…You'll arrive in the front lobby of the hospital, so…so no
worries…*Portus*!"

Ron and Ginny's forms appeared swirled and disfigured before Harry, until they both coiled
into nonexistence with a loud ***pop***.

As soon as the both of them had vanished, McGonnagol turned to Harry and placed a hand on his
shoulder. "You may go get Ms. Granger now, Mr. Potter. I'll still be here when you return.
You can leave straight away."

Harry nodded, feeling as if his head had been stuffed with cotton. Too many emotions fought for
control of his thoughts, but guilt and fear raged louder than the others in his mind. They pounded
in his head like a resounding deep drum, screaming accusations from the darkest recesses of his
mind like a jury that had always lurked there, just waiting to pass judgement. *His fault*…
*their lives were on his head*… *all his fault*…

As if in a dream, he moved heavily toward the stone archway that loomed over the downward
spiralling staircase, but stopped at a hand that gripped his shoulder.

"Something for you to think on as you go," said McGonnagol; her voice a mixture of
compassion and reason.

Harry froze in place, neither turning nor moving.

"Just you remember who did this, you hear me?" Harry nodded miserably once and moved
as if to continue on, but she gripped his sturdy shoulder again. "No, look at me, Potter…
**You..did..not..DO..this**. You are **NOT** to blame. You have no more control over
Voldemort's actions than you have over the sun and stars." Her nostrils flared angrily as
she continued. "He's held command of your life and emotions for too long, Harry. Don't
you give him any more, you hear me? **Don't you do it**."

Harry found that it had become almost impossibly hard to breathe. He barely heard her as he
gently pulled his shoulder from her grasp to jog down the moving staircase into the cold hallways
of the school, leaving her, and her empty well-meaning words behind.

As he ran toward the common room he shared with Hermione, Harry felt cold dread begin to trickle
down his spine. So it had begun. Voldemort's hatred and jealousy of him had finally begun to
catch up with those he loved. Who would be next? Another Weasley; Ron perhaps, his father, Sirius…
Hermione?

Harry's every nerve ending electrified with fear. He would NOT ALLOW IT. No matter what he
had to do or what he had to sacrifice, he would *NOT ALLOW IT*. They meant too much…*Great
Merlin*, **SHE** meant too much. Hermione was worth everything. She was priceless.

Harry passed several students as he jogged past, including Colin Creevey who miserably avoided
his gaze, as usual. He passed Snape as well, noting quickly how the Professor looked immediately
torn at the thought that his normally rotten behaviour toward Harry was for now, inappropriate. He
settled for cold impatience.

"Don't think you're out of detention now Potter," Snape called severely after
him. "Tomorrow morning I'll expect you in my classroom."

Harry suppressed the urge to tell him where he could go and decided on ignoring him.

He finally reached his and Hermione's rooms, calling out the password to Sir Cadogen quick
enough so as to avoid yet again being challenged to a duel. He could practically feel Cadogen's
disappointed frown from beneath his visor.

As he stepped inside, it took Harry only a quick glimpse of Hermione perched on the common room
couch to guess what she had been doing. Her wavy hair sat piled atop her head in a messy bun
secured by a spare quill, and opened books and parchments littered the area surrounding her. In a
lesser situation, Harry would have grinned fondly at her only seconds before tackling her to the
floor and snogging her breathless.

Now however, he found himself oddly distant.

Hermione frowned up at him as he approached. "Harry? Surely you've not done with
detention *already*…"

He opened his mouth to speak, but as he looked at her, he found that his throat was too tightly
constricted. She sat in front of the glowing fire, her smooth skin and large doe eyes lit with
orange and dancing with flame shadows…She was so beautiful, so *alive*… and he was so unworthy
of her…

Hermione noted the strained look on his face and her heart leapt to her throat. She was on her
feet and near him in an instant, grasping his hands. "*Harry*, what is it love…
What's happened*, tell me*…"

"Mr. Weasley," Harry choked out finally. "Bill and Charlie…They've been
attacked."

Hermione blanched. "*Oh my god*…*Oh god* are..are they…"

"Dunno," said Harry thickly. "I don't know how they are. Dumbledore's
already sent for Ron and Ginny. We're to meet them at St. Mungo's."

Hermione swallowed hard, tears now sliding down her cheeks. She moved to circle her arms about
him. "Oh Harry…"

But Harry pulled back from her as if her touch burned his skin. "*No*…no,
*don't*. Don't feel bad for me, Hermione. Save it for Ginny and Ron; they're the
ones who need you now, not me."

Hermione studied him carefully as he held her at arms length, avoiding her eyes. Somehow, it
terrified her. "But…the Weasley's are like *family* to you…"

Harry moved from her and grabbed up her cloak, helping her into it. He knew she was staring at
him, bewildered, and still he couldn't bring himself to look at her. As an afterthought, he
gently pulled the quill from her hair to allow it to tumble free once more. He knew she would
forget to take it out.

"*LIKE* family, Hermione," he said flatly. "But they're not really mine,
are they? I have no right to them."

Hermione stared at him and somehow, for some unknown reason, fear began to simmer within her,
like a warning signal zinging from every nerve.

Harry shook his head and moved toward the portrait door, his steady façade now built like a wall
around him. "Let's go; they'll be needing us."

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

It was strange to Harry, to suddenly appear in the busy reception area of St. Mungo's. The
last time he had been here along with the Order, they had walked along the bustling streets of
London before stopping in front of an old-fashioned, red brick department store known as Purge and
Dowse, Ltd. He had found himself then, staring into the eyes of a shabbily dressed female mannequin
that had seemed to have seen better days, before one of the Order had spoken to her. She had then,
to Harry's immense surprise, given them a slight nod and beckoned them forward to walk through
her glass window; a window that, as they had passed through it, felt to them like a sheet of icy
water.

They had come to see Mr. Weasley then too, although that time it had been *only* him,
wounded by Voldemort's incredibly large python, Nagini. At least that time circumstances had
turned out all right. Somehow though, Harry felt this time would not turn out the same.

Despite himself, Harry held tightly onto Hermione's hand as they wound their way through the
crowd of patients and healers clad in lime-green, to stand in queue behind a few others in front of
the reception desk.

A couple of spots in front of them stood a wizard with a small child who had obviously
contracted a bad case of dragon pox. He continually pushed her small hand away as she tried to
scratch at the scaly spots on her skin. Behind them a wizard, with the long, thin orange legs of a
chicken, and a witch, whose body had been mostly turned into a cow, were still bickering loudly
with one another. It didn't take many guesses to figure what their argument had been about.

Hermione had just enough time to goggle and point out a slightly red-faced teenaged wizard who
had yards of engorged tongue wrapped about one arm as he was led away (*Merlin, Harry…d'you
think…Fred and George?*) before it was their turn to approach the welcome witch.

She was a plump blonde witch dressed in the same lime-green uniform with a crossed bone and wand
badge resting on her ample bosom. Her expression was almost blank with boredom as she let her eyes
rake blandly over the young couple.

"Well… You two don't look injured. Here to see someone, then?"

Harry swallowed, once again trying to fight around the lump in his throat to speak.

"Arthur, Bill and Charlie Weasley," Hermione supplied quietly for him and squeezed his
hand. Harry looked gratefully at her.

The witch took her wand and waved it briefly over the large tattered, yellow ledger in front of
her, watching dully as it's pages began to flip by themselves. They stopped fluttering and
landed toward the back, and she began tracing down the page with her wand, muttering to herself.
Hermione held herself on tiptoe, curious to see how St. Mungo's patient tracking system worked,
though Harry had a good view of the book, and the welcome witches suddenly more serious
expression.

"Weas…oh. *Oh*! Oh, *Weasley*…I umm… This is… is your first time visiting the
Weasleys, I gather…"

Harry frowned suspiciously at her. "Yeah, 'course it is. They were only admitted a few
hours ago."

"Please, we'd like to see them now," said Hermione urgently.

But the witch only smiled comfortingly to her. "They're on the fourth floor, intensive
care unit. But just you let me call the Weasley's Healer first. It might be a good idea for him
to talk with you a bit before visiting, I think. If you'll just budge to the side for a moment…
that's the way," she waved to the right of her desk. "I'll page him now;
he'll be here shortly."

But Harry was having none of it. "What aren't you telling us? What's
happened?" A bit behind him, Hermione was beginning to pale.

"Healer Jabilo will be with you shortly," said the blonde witch almost desperately,
"*Please*, he'll explain everything if you'll just wait for him to
arrive…"

"*Wait* *my arse*," said Harry through gritted teeth. He turned to tell
Hermione he was going to head to the fourth floor and find them himself, but she was no longer
behind him.

He took a few steps forward, his eyes scanning the crowd when they finally fell on her familiar
brown head of curls standing near the lifts, though she was not alone. Harry's father now stood
beside her, where both were engaged in conversation. He lifted his head when Hermione pointed
Harry's way, and recognition sparked on his face. He waved him over, and Harry moved swiftly to
join them. He hadn't even known his father had been informed...

Upon reaching them, he could tell James had been crying. It scared the hell out of him.

"Dad?"

But Lupin merely took Harry by the shoulder. "Come with me, son. Ron's been waiting for
you."

He and Hermione entered the lift with him, and as the doors closed on them, Harry knew
instinctively that he would rather wait the few moments it took to get to the fourth floor before
hearing the bad news. At least for those few moments, they were blissfully unaware.

Upon reaching their desired floor, they walked on, passing numerous doors bearing the names of
witches and wizards who had been incorrectly or almost fatally jinxed or hexed with one irremovable
spell or another. However, all Harry could allow in his line of vision was the large orange door of
the magical intensive care unit looming larger and larger before them as they walked.

The intensive care unit was full of curtained off areas, with healers, their helpers, and
relatives of the sick or injured milling about, all looking hopeless and sad. As they passed the
warded off areas, they saw loads of patients, all hooked up to one intricate looking machine or
another; some awake, some not, and some looking as if they were only just grasping on to life.

Mrs. Weasley's swollen red eyes were the first Harry finally recognised amidst the crowd.
Past her, members of the Order stood morosely nearby, though Ginny and Ron were no where in
sight.

"Oh Harry," she sobbed, suddenly bustling toward him and squeezing him tightly to her.
"Harry, you came...and you too, Hermione. Thank you, thank you…"

Harry stood there woodenly and let her hug him, thinking to himself that she should rather want
to hurt him.

"Th...thank you James, I knew they'd probably be down there." She whispered to
Lupin, and then turned back to Harry and Hermione, her expression full of pain. "I would
rather have you told by myself or R..Ron o..or Ginny…"

Lupin patted Mrs. Weasleys arm, and Hermione looked from one to the other, her eyes brimming
with tears.

"I...I've seen it s..so *often* in my dreams, but somehow... somehow I j..just
never really saw it coming. And even after all of the w..wards and charms on the house, it made no
d..difference...my god...my god, why..."

Mrs. Weasley was rapidly coming apart, and Hermione suddenly grabbed her in a hug, and then held
her at arms length, watching her face twist in agony.

"Please Mrs. Weasley... Tell us what's happened…"

But she had already dissolved into tears and would have fallen to the floor had Harry and his
father not caught her in time. Lupin helped her to a seat, when Harry and Hermione saw Fred, and
then George walk slowly out from behind one of the curtains. Both faces were a picture of misery as
George saw them and waved them over, and the absence of that usual mischievous smirk somehow made
Harry sick. He'd never experienced George and Fred like this; it was almost as if he didn't
know them.

With Lupin left to console Molly, Harry and Hermione moved tentatively over toward the others.
Were it not for the presence of the Order, they would have felt like outsiders, intruding on a
family in mourning. But the twins immediately ushered them inside where Ginny and Ron sat closely
together in-between two beds, their backs turned. The absence of the third bed was immediately
noticed.

"They need you," said Fred quietly. He moved Harry and Hermione inside and let the
flap of the heavy sheet drop shut behind them.

Ron and Ginny turned, having heard the noise behind them, and Harry was shocked to see that not
only Ginny, but Ron had been crying so hard, his eyes and nose were swollen and red.

"Got them while they were headed out on w..watch... for the Order, you know."

Harry plunged his hands into the pockets of his cloak, turning his eyes upward, his face screwed
up in an attempt to keep himself from breaking. He had no right to it... *He had no right, they
weren't his*...

Ginny stood and stumbled toward Hermione, who immediately took her into her arms where both
girls began crying.

"Oh Ginny, I'm so sorry... *I'm* *so sorry*..."

"Bill always had the worst temper," said Ron as he held his father's hand from one
bed, and Charlie's from the other. Both laid still and pale, tubes and magical devices dripping
and beeping all around them. "If he hadn't taken the last one on, Dad would be dead. Was
just about to be killed when Bill took the bastard over. I...imagine he gave as good as he got you
know... B..before he died."

And Harry's heart sunk like a stone. He had hoped, prayed even, that Bill's absence only
meant he had been sent to some other ward; some ward to deal with spells not done here… But
somehow, he had known. Mrs. Weasley had lost a son; it had been evident on her face the moment they
had clapped eyes on her.

Ron looked up at Harry, and in that moment he looked by all accounts, completely lost.
"Thanks for coming, mate. I..we... need you here. You're family, after all."

Harry winced. *Family*… The word stabbed him as if it were a blade. He turned his gaze back
to Hermione and she met his eyes over Ginny's shoulder, her gaze red and watery.

And upon seeing her eyes, Harry broke. He could barely breathe past the painful lump in his
throat. His chest constricted and hitched over and over as hot tears splashed down his cheeks. He
shook his head as overwhelmed, he stared down at the tile floor. Bill had died because Voldemort
wanted to taunt Harry, plain and simple.

Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Sirius, James, the rest of the Weasleys…*Surely* they would all soon
come to realise how all along, he had been selfish in allowing them to love him. He should have
refused them when they insisted on being with him. Instead of thinking of his own needs, he should
have left them to live their lives in relative peace and safety. He had known all along that some
time, a time when he least expected it, his self-service would result in the harm of those he had
kept close to him. He had been too weak; he had broken. He had allowed people into his life, and as
a result, they were all now beginning to pay. And the price was too immeasurably high.

He tried to speak clearly, but his throat could only strangle out a whisper.
"Ron…"

"Don't Harry," said Ron quietly, beckoning a hand out to him. "Don't.
Just come sit with us."

Hermione led Ginny to a chair next to Harry and moved to Ron, where she leaned over and hugged
him from behind. Ron sagged into the hug gratefully.

Harry sat immobile as a statue staring at Mr. Weasley and Charlie, feeling the complete irony of
a situation totally reversed from his childhood. For once, he was surrounded by too many caring
souls.

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

*A/N: I know this was a short chapter, but it's all that belonged here. I'm sorry
readers but things are going to get worse… It's how I feel the real war will be.* **sobs
uncontrollably!* I hope you aren't too angry with me, but I feel for the story to be plausible,
I have to make it as real as possible, even though I hate it. The final war is fast
approaching…*



30. Chapter 30: An Island, Alone
--------------------------------


**Chapter 30: An Island, Alone**

*No Man Is an Island*

*Traditional / by Ingemar Olsson*

*" ...No man is an island, no man stands alone*

*Each man's joy is joy to me*

*Each man's grief is my own*

*We need one another, so I will defend*

*Each man as my brother*

*Each man as my friend."*

"Harry…" Hermione tried quietly.

But still he said nothing, a miserable, strained expression on his face, and moved determinedly
forward in the now torchlit halls of the school towards their quarters. Hermione swallowed
painfully. They had spent the remainder of the day in the intensive care ward of St. Mungo's
with the Weasleys until Mrs. Weasley had made them leave, only due to pure exhaustion. They had
protested, exclaiming over and over that they would rather stay for Ron, Ginny and the twins; to be
there when Mr. Weasley and Charlie came out from their unconscious states, but Mrs. Weasley had
been insistent. Tomorrow was Sunday, she had reminded them, and they were well in need of a day of
rest. She had promised Ron and Ginny would be back with them soon as for now they were staying
nights at the Burrow, and had even managed to choke out that she would floo Dumbledore information
for them on Bill's funeral arrangements before she had fallen completely apart again, supported
on either side by Fred and George.

They had portkeyed back to Dumbledore's office where he had been waiting for them, but the
wise Headmaster had decided with one swift glance over Harry, that he was in no shape to discuss
anything this night.

The day had been horrific enough without knowing Harry blamed himself for Bill's death. It
was too much to handle. And if it was too much for her, Hermione knew Harry must be in absolute
agony.

He had been distant and almost silent all day long, and though Hermione was not a skilled
Legilimense by any stretch of the imagination, she had known Harry for so long she could
practically read him inside and out. She could almost see the thoughts playing out on his face.

Their hands stayed clasped together as they walked, but Harry held hers loosely and far enough
away from his body so that when their arms swayed they would not brush against one another. Almost
as if human contact burned him; as if he was unworthy of it; as if he was sure now his company,
possibly even his very *touch* was a prelude to doom.

And the thought that Harry felt these things was so evident to Hermione that she felt sick with
it.

Harry even managed to enter their common room completely ignoring the insane antics of Sir
Cadogen as they brushed past him. He made to let go of Hermione's hand and began heading
immediately toward his room, but she would have none of it.

"Harry, stop."

"It's late Hermione; I'm tired…We can talk in the morning." He managed to
release her hand and turned to move toward his door.

Hermione stared at his back for a moment. "Whose room do you want to sleep in?"

Harry's posture went rigid then, and tears quickly stung Hermione's eyes. He turned
slowly to her, managing to avoid her gaze, and slouched as if under some heavy load, shoving his
hands in his pockets.

"I…maybe I should…We'll get more sleep if we…go it alone, I think."

He raised his eyes only slightly and gazed at her from under wet lashes until her face,
surrounded by orange firelight, began to crumble.

Acting on instinct he began to move quickly toward her, but then caught himself before he
gathered her to him, looking for a moment as if he was unsure what to do with his arms.

"Hermione, I don't...Please don't cry..."

She breathed in deeply. "It's not for me, Harry…"

Harry blinked. "I know today's been hard...I just thought, if we... separated ourselves
a bit, we could find some perspective..."

"I don't need perspective, I can see perfectly clear," said Hermione suddenly
quite certain as she raised wet eyes to him. She breathed in again to calm herself. "I
won't let you do this, Harry."

Harry backed away from her a few steps and hardened his expression, still avoiding her eyes.
"I don't know what you mean. It's been a long day, Hermione. We both need to
sleep."

Hermione grabbed his hand before he could get any further and pierced him with a gaze. "I
won't let you do it, Harry. I won't let you go."

"Hermione..."

"No," she said calmly. "Come sit with me."

"I don't want to!"

"What?"

"*Sit*!… I want to be alone!" He said finally, frantically, and then mumbled out
the rest quietly. "… I have to be alone."

Hermione shook her head. "No you don't."

"You don't understand…"

"I do," she said quietly. "More than you know. I know you, Harry."

Harry worked his jaw and then mumbled quietly. "You shouldn't."

Hermione peered at him. "What?"

"Nothing. Forget it," said Harry as he made to walk to his room again.

However, Hermione grabbed his hand again. "No, it's *not nothing*, Harry!
What'd you mean 'I shouldn't'? Shouldn't what?"

And Harry whirled on her and lost it. "*YOU SHOULDN'T **KNOW** ME*! I should
never have *ALLOWED* it! What will being close to me *get you*, Hermione? I mean be
honest; what has it ever got anyone!? It gets you closer to losing your life prematurely,
that's what! Every person I touch that **BASTARD** takes away! It's only a matter of
time before it's Sirius, my dad, Ron or another Weasley and *MY GOD* did you *SEE*
Molly today!? And Ron and Ginny and Fred and George…**I** did that Hermione…**I..DID..THAT**!
I *let them in*! D'you think he would've picked the Weasley's as a target if he
didn't know they're like family to me!? If he didn't know **I** ***love*
*them***!?" Harry's deep voice cracked with emotion and Hermione found that she
almost couldn't take the suffering in it. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she moved toward
Harry to hold him, but he backed quickly from her.

First it had been that Harry felt unworthy of love, and now, when he finally had it, after she
and Ron had spent years making him understand he *was* worthy of it, he felt the only way to
keep those around him safe was to deny himself of it. The irony of it nauseated her.

"Harry," said Hermione franticly, "Please try to understand…"

"And you…**gods** Hermione…if anything happened to *you*, I couldn't…"
Harry choked out. "***I wouldn't want to* *live***."

Those unclouded, crystal green eyes Hermione loved so deeply stared at her with such anguish.
His longing gaze travelled over her form and just then, Harry looked to her like the thirstiest man
in the desert, staring at an oasis on all sides surrounded by iron bars.

He took a moment to breathe deeply as he looked at her, and she immediately recognised the blank
look that finally washed over his face. He was trying to resign himself.

That hideous voice in the back of his head, the one that must sound conspicuously like Vernon
Dursley, shouting to him he should have *known* he was not worthy enough to keep anything good
or lovely, so why long for it? She'd seen it crawl like a dark shadow over him before. It was
as if he'd known all along that for him, nothing good could last.

*By god but she would **make*** *it…*

She grabbed him and pulled him to the couch with her, knowing full well he could easily escape
from her grasp but would never hurt her to do so, and planted her hands on either side of his face
forcing him to make eye contact with her.

"Harry, listen to me…"

He shook his head determinedly and made to stand but she moved quickly to straddle his legs so
that he was pinned there.

"No, you listen!" she said grabbing his face again. "You don't get all of the
say in this, you hear me? The Weasley's, Sirius, your dad and I, we love you because we
***want* *to***, not because you've somehow tricked us or lured us in! I love you
because I choose to, plain and simple, and nothing you do, no amount of pushing them **or me**
away will change that…"

Harry fiercely grabbed her arms. "I won't let him hurt you.".

"And **I** won't let you isolate yourself!" said Hermione, equally as fierce.
"And if you think Ron or the Weasley's will either, you're *bloody
wonkers*."

She sat silently for a moment, waiting for his protest. When it didn't come, she
continued.

"It won't matter how far you back from us. He already knows you love us. He'll know
why you've suddenly chosen to go it alone, and it won't make a bloody bit of difference in
the end. And Harry, you've got to know Bill didn't give his life just for you. He died
trying to protect his father and anyone else Voldemort might attack. We're all targets in one
way or the other; all of us. *Everyone*. You're not the sole deciding factor."

Harry sighed deeply, breath whooshing out from his lungs as if he were exhaling out some poison.
He felt in his heart she was right, but fear still lurked in the corners of his mind. Bill Weasley
was not the first of Voldemort's victims, and he certainly was not to be the last. How could he
live with himself knowing some were to be targeted simply because of their connection to him?
Moreover, what was Voldemort's reasoning behind whom he chose? Harry knew he hated him and
loved to cause him pain, but wouldn't drawing all of his enemies out for his final war be a
better use of the dark lord's time? Wasn't that his ultimate goal? Why all of the playing
round the issue first? Harry had never taken Voldemort to be a patient wizard no matter how much he
might love torturing the *boy-who-lived*. It simply didn't add up.

Hermione stared at Harry until she could take his silence no longer. "Harry what are you
thinking? Please tell me…"

Harry snapped back to the present and realised Hermione still had a hold of his face and was
peering anxiously at him. And despite all the dark thoughts running rampantly round in his head,
they dissolved away to be reformed later when his gaze met hers.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry for scaring you or…or *hurting* you. I don't want to
push you or the Weasley's away, it's just sometimes...I'm not sure what to do."
Hermione winced. She so often wished he didn't have to take the burden of everyone else's
safety upon his shoulders. It was enough what he *already* had to deal with. She let her gaze
sweep back over the familiar face she loved more than any other in the world. His desperate
expression frightened her.

"Sometimes I actually lie awake nights thinking on how to keep all of you safe," Harry
continued, now with an ironic twist to his lips. "Only thing I ever come up with is to somehow
go back seven years in time and keep myself from ever meeting any of you. I've wished so hard
for a time turner that could go back that far. Sometimes, you know…I dream on it. Finding a way to
travel back and right everything."

Hermione cried out and pulled Harry to her, hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder, taking
in his familiar scent with something akin to desperation. As if he might somehow, someway find a
way to go back and do just that. And Harry finally slumped free of the false hard wall he had built
round him and crushed her to him, his face buried in her thick hair, tears wetting the long
curls*. Gods* but without Hermione where would he be?

"I don't ever want that to happen Harry…*NEVER*. I love you so much. Please
don't ever wish it again. Please don't. *Merlin* I'd be so empty… Please don't
ever say that again."

Neither said anything more until hours later, they made their ways to Harry's room and
crawled under the thick golden quilts on his bed, curling up tightly together until they felt
secure enough to let their eyes drop closed on the horrific day.

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

Sunday morning came round unbidden and unwanted. Harry knew moments upon waking up with Hermione
snuggled close to his chest, he was still to serve detention in Snape's classroom with Malfoy
and Nott. And what with all of the drama he'd endured with them yesterday, and the even
*worse* drama that had followed, it depressed him to think he had to face another day of
it.

Thinking to himself that the quicker he got to it the sooner he could escape, Harry finally
untangled himself from Hermione's long smooth limbs and eased out of bed, snugly tucking the
golden quilt back around her.

Upon reaching their small common room he found to his surprise, a large breakfast still steaming
warm waiting on the coffee table. Eggs, sausage, bacon, toast and jam and a full carafe of pumpkin
juice, freshly squeezed as it still had pulp floating on top. He smiled to himself. News tended to
travel fast round Hogwarts halls, and he was sure Professor Dumbledore had alerted a certain
adoring house elf of Harry's punishment. He grabbed some of it up and stuffed it in his mouth,
feeling slightly better, if only for the moment, about the morning. Thank God for Dobby.

However, despite his full stomach, the long trek to the Potion's classroom was even more
unpleasant than it had been morning before, what with fresh thoughts of Mrs. Weasleys agonised face
and the rest of the Weasleys, minus Bill, looming sad and ghostly pale in his mind. He also
couldn't stop himself from frantically trying somehow to figure who would be the next victim to
warn them. There was no way of knowing, and yet he felt if he could just concentrate hard enough,
he might somehow be able to think as strategically and twisted as Voldemort did. Beyond all of that
he still had his talk with Dumbledore to not look forward to. Harry thought to himself he might not
be able to stomach the Professor gazing at him with his wise, kindly eyes, telling him he was
somehow not to worry or to blame himself, and to leave everything up to the Order. As if Voldemort
*was* *to be* left up to them in the end. Dumbledore knew Trelawny's old prophecy
even better than Harry did…

As he pushed open the large oak door, Harry was surprised to find only Malfoy and Nott staring
malevolently at one another at the front of the classroom, surrounded by the usual potions
paraphernalia. Malfoy turned to look at him, and Harry was surprised to see a tiny bit less of the
usual hatred for him in his eyes.

"Potter."

A very small, minute, almost microscopic bit less.

Draco turned immediately to the cauldron on the table before him and began adding dry and liquid
ingredients to the already bubbling mixture. Harry approached them, noting immediately how Nott
still had the slightly bewildered look of someone who couldn't quite remember something they
weren't sure had been important anyway. Harry glanced again at Malfoy, who this day had been
sure to wear a long sleeved shirt under his black Hogwarts robes. Harry wasn't quite sure why
he had decided to keep Malfoy's dark mark a secret, except for the fact that for some odd
reason, he truly believed the Slytherin had been forced to receive it.

"Where's Snape?" asked Harry.

"Left suddenly," said Nott in a most unfriendly voice. "Dunno why… Something
about dead Muggles needing to order something."

Harry stared at him. "*What*? What the *ruddy hell* does *that*
mean?"

"Glove up and shut it, Scarhead," said Malfoy irritated as he stirred the clear,
foul-smelling mixture clockwise. "It's obvious he only caught bits of the conversation.
That *freak werewolf* old friend of your father's came in ten minutes ago and whispered to
him for a few minutes. They bolted off, after."

"Professor Lupin?" said Harry quickly. What had his father wanted with Snape?

"You know any other mutated freaks round here?" asked Malfoy.

"I can think of a few," said Harry, eyeing him viciously.

Malfoy sent him a hateful glare but chose to ignore the comment. "We've switched jobs.
Nott's got the pickling; you'll be the jar filler."

Harry had too much on his mind to argue they had picked jobs without him, and pulled on a pair
of heavy plastic gloves, absently beginning to fill jars and send them Nott's way. After, Nott
plucked various slimy things from their old jars and plopped them unceremoniously into the new,
grumbling and complaining under his breath the entire time.

Around noon, and still under little to no supervision save a teacher popping their head in every
now and then, Nott announced rather forcefully he was taking a rest. Neither Harry nor Malfoy
seemed to think this a bad idea and all three put down what they were doing to retreat as far away
from one another as possible to different parts of the classroom.

With his feet propped up in front of him, Harry slouched down in a desk. After a few minutes he
noticed Malfoy taking surreptitious glances his way, with a look on his face that said he was
obviously fighting with something in his mind.

One side evidently won, and Nott's suspicious gaze followed Malfoy as he finally sauntered
over.

Harry had been chewing absently on his knuckles as random thoughts ran unsorted and unorganised
through his mind, but he couldn't keep from dropping his hand and raising one eyebrow at Malfoy
as he approached.

Draco sneered at him. "Don't piss yourself Potter, I'm not coming for an
*autograph*. I just want information."

Harry gazed impassively at him. "*About*?"

Malfoy thinned his lips and tightened his fingers into knuckles, once again looking as if he
were waging an inward battle. "About… About Re… Ginny. I want to know what happened
yesterday…with her family."

Harry blanched and shifted in his seat. Yesterday was the last thing he wanted to discuss; and
Malfoy was certainly one of the last people he wanted to discuss it with.

"She and Ron'll be back soon. You can ask her yourself."

Draco glared at him. "Ginny and I aren't exactly on speaking terms for the moment
*Scarhead*, in case it slipped your attention."

"Can't imagine why," Harry shot back.

Malfoy snarled at him. "Just tell me what happened *damn it*. Is she
alright?"

"Not really, no." said Harry. "Her father and brothers were attacked."

Malfoy glared at him. "I've heard *that* part Potter…"

"Bill Weasley's dead."

Malfoy froze and stared at Harry for a few moments, studying the hardened, almost dead look on
the other's face. He turned his back to him and ground his fists into the desk in front of him.
*Ginny*...

"*SHIT*."

"Yeah." Harry stared expressionless at him for a few moments before he spoke again.
"Three guesses who headed the whole thing."

Malfoy rounded angrily on him, and Harry noted his face was even paler than usual.

"I don't need you to remind me about Lucius, Potter," he growled furiously.
"I've had a token of his *shitsorry* affections burned into my *damn*
*arm,* if you'll recall." He glanced Nott's way and when he saw the other
wasn't paying attention for the moment, rubbed gently at his bicep and mumbled to himself.
"All last night bloody thing burned like hell."

Harry stiffened and sat up straight letting his feet slam to the floor.
"*What*!?"

"Yeah, well *it* *does that* from time to time," sneered Malfoy
scathingly.

Harry scowled at him. "If he's calling his Death Eaters together it means he's
planning something else!"

"You *think*?" Malfoy replied with a harsh look. "Trouble is no one
**but** the Death Eaters know where he'll strike next. There's nothing you or
Dumbledore's pathetic *secret* *Order* can do until it's done, is
there?"

The expression on Harry's face as he eyed Draco froze in shock. He slowly stood and took a
careful step forward. *What he'd just* *said*… He didn't know what he was going
to do but he knew however the ferret had found out… something had to be done…

"Where'd you hear about a *'secret Order'*…" said Harry in a
dangerously calm voice.

Malfoy smirked at him and lowered his voice as well. "*Please*, Potter. Whatever they
call themselves… The moment five or six of them burst in on you and yours frolicking round with the
Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries two years ago, Voldemort had them figured. He knew
Dumbledore would try building a resistance against him."

Harry's expression hardened. "I suppose *Daddy* filled you in on all this,
then…"

"*Lucius* did yes," said Malfoy without blinking.

"And where do you get they call themselves an '*Order*'," said Harry,
determined to give away nothing.

"Dead Muggles needing to 'order' something," said Malfoy flippantly, referring
to the snatch of conversation he and Nott had overheard earlier. "The conversation according
to *Nott*. Along with what I already know, it doesn't take a science wizard to figure it
out."

"So you eavesdropped," said Harry with a subtle raise of one eyebrow.

Malfoy reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of what appeared to be flesh coloured string.
"These helped a bit."

Harry snatched the stuff from his hand and looked it over. "*What the* *bloody*…
Where in the *hell* did you get these!?"

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes; Diagon Alley, Scarhead or haven't you heard?" said
Malfoy snatching the string back from Harry and stuffing it back into his pocket. "Extendable
Ears. Quite a clever invention for a couple of dirt poor mongs… Probably wouldn't have sold to
me directly; our history and all. But they'll sell to another Slytherin if the price is right,
won't they? It wasn't hard."

"But when did you…"

"Shopping for school supplies late August for *Salazar's sake*," said Malfoy
disparagingly. "Your little triad of do-gooders aren't the only ones round here interested
in the goings on."

Harry stared at him for a moment, a look of complete dislike on his face before he finally
spoke. "*Well*?"

Malfoy stared indifferently at him. "Well *what*…"

"*What did they say, dickhead*!?"

"Pots and kettles Potter," glared Malfoy with hatred in his voice. "Even if I
gave a damn whether you knew or not *and I don't*, it wouldn't matter. All I heard was
some *crap* about dead Muggles and the Order."

Harry growled in frustration and brushed past Malfoy to head back toward the mess of jars,
potions and slimy specimens, shortly trailed by Nott and then Malfoy, who was smirking to himself.
Although he was equally as angry at the lack of information, a frustrated Potter still never ceased
to lift his spirits.

The entire afternoon passed by Harry completely Snape free. As he glanced up at the magically
boiling cauldron clock above his head and watched it belch up a bubble from its inside reading four
o'clock, he thought to himself that under any other circumstances he would be rejoicing in the
fact he hadn't yet had to face the Professor. However this day, every time the classroom door
cracked open a bit he would lift his head hopefully, only to be disappointed by Professor Sprout or
some other teacher checking in on them. The snatch of conversation Malfoy had heard between his
father and Snape had been eating away at his mind, and he was desperate to find out what exactly
had happened to keep Snape away all afternoon.

The door to the classroom finally banged open right as five o'clock bubbled out from the
cauldron clock and popped with a wet squelching sound. Snape walked in, looking weary, but by no
accounts any less irritated or condescending.

He waltzed over to the three and glanced over their progress with disdain. "I see
you've managed to get them all, though I suppose I shouldn't have expected the job to look
any less sloppy or carelessly done." He turned his small dark eyes on Malfoy and Nott.
"You two may leave. Potter, you're to head to the Headmaster's office *straight
away*. He'd like a *word* with you."

Harry knew Snape had stressed the last part in an attempt to make him think he was in trouble
with Dumbledore, but he wasn't fooled. He knew it had something to do with the snatch of
conversation Malfoy and Nott had overheard, and without a word to Snape, he rushed out of the
classroom.

Malfoy, thinking to himself he would like a bit of information as well, shot him an unreadable
look as he ran past.

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

Immediately after Harry disappeared at a full run round the corner, Nott wasted no time engaging
Malfoy in an almost chest to chest staring contest.

"Decided to make friends with *Potter* as well?" said Theodore in a disgusted
voice. "*Oh dear*… Daddy'll be *so* disappointed."

"Though he is good for the occasional bit of information I never have and never will be
friends with Potter, *dipshit*." Malfoy regarded him with a haughty sneer. "And as
for what Lucius thinks, I really don't give a damn."

"*Right*," said Nott brusquely, stepping back from him a bit. "After school
you know what he expects of you. Your new '*fraternisations*' as of late, are really
making it seem as if you're thinking on betraying him and Voldemort; and believe me, I'm
not the only Slytherin who's noticed it…You *piss* *daddy* *off* any more and
come graduation you won't have a home or an inheritance."

*Or a life*… thought Malfoy darkly. Despite himself, he was grateful Potter had obliviated
Nott's memory of the 'dark mark' incident. It would have given the little arse-wipe
more to use against him.

"Because I'm feeling generous today," said Malfoy angrily. "I'll let you
in on a little something I don't think you've understood before I decide on again
*beating the shit out of you*. What I do or don't do, is none of your ruddy-arse concern,
so from now on, you can stay the hell out of it."

"*WRONG*," spat Nott flatly. "What you do is *most of Slytherin's
concern*, Draco. You're Lucius Malfoy's *SON* in case you've not noticed. For
years most, if not the whole of our house has looked up to you. You've been **THE** example
of what Slytherin is. We've waited to see what you would become after Hogwarts; how high you
would rise in Voldemort's ranks. We've known because of your father you were on the
strongest path, and most of our fathers are directly in line under yours for Voldemort's power.
In fact, Lucius Malfoy is the *very one* Voldemort listens to the most, the *only one*
Voldemort has allowed to recruit others for him. If Lucius' own son would betray him, if
he's seen as so weak that he loses respect from his own son, how d'you think Voldemort will
see **our fathers**, or their **successors**?! After that, d'you think he'd trust
Lucius or *anyone* linked to him? D'you think he'd trust their *sons* and
*daughters*? And I won't let you influence my friends or any of the others away from our
chance at *real power*!

See Draco… it *DOES* concern me what you do; it concerns *ALL* of our house loyal to
the dark lord. It could effect how the rest of us, and our entire house are seen, and I
**won't** let you ruin us."

*Sodding Salazar*… Draco had always prided himself on knowing everything going on round
him, but this revelation had come as a complete shock. So the Slytherin were watching him? Up until
this point, had he been making Voldemort **proud**? The thought nauseated him. He had no
dillusions of grandeur like Potter and his bootlicking entourage; to be good, honest and always
forthright or any of that other *shit*. However, to think all this time he had been looked
upon as the prototype of a future head Death Eater, *gods*… He'd always known what Lucius
had in store for him, he'd just never known how much it might affect those around him.

Nott had an almost mad gleam in his eye, and to a less ballsy wizard it would have been
unnerving. But Malfoy continued to stare blandly at him.

"You *are* a barking little gimp, aren't you?"

"As they say Malfoy, one shitty apple ruins the whole otherwise impeccable barrel,"
Nott unaffected, continued in a low voice. "I'd rather see that one exposed for what it is
and *chucked out*. What happens to you after is *your* problem."

And with that, despite the new revelation Nott had given him, Malfoy had finally had enough.

"Shining example or not, I've had *enough* of you shoving your *fat arse* in
my business," he snarled furiously, moving to grab a fistful of Nott's shirt and bring him
close to his face. "But if you want to dick around, *fine*. I've got time enough to
again *beat the hell* out of you."

Nott narrowed his eyes, but said nothing in reply. Although during their last match he had
landed a few well placed blows himself, he knew he had taken the brunt of the beating. Malfoy was a
bit more toned from Quidditch than he, Theodore, was.

Draco shoved Nott back from him, ready if need be to begin and finish another fight, but
Theodore backed away a bit as if beginning to head back toward the Slytherin part of the
castle.

"You just watch your *step*," he pointed menacingly as he made to turn on his
heel and stride away. "I'll be watching you. And Merlin knows you stray out of line, my
father will hear about it straight away; and then guess who'll be next to know?"

Nott left the question hanging as he left knowing there was no need to answer. However, as far
as Malfoy was concerned, his threats were ignored.

If he stepped out from line Lucius would not need to rely on Nott's father for information,
would he? Draco grimaced as he rubbed his still smarting left bicep… The moment he stepped out from
the protective confines of Hogwarts grounds, Voldemort would attend to him personally.

With that morbid thought playing havoc with his mind, Draco decided to himself he needed a
stroll in fresh air to clear his mind and turned to stride as stoically as possible the opposite
way down the hall.

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

Completely out of breath, Harry skidded to a halt in front of the ugly gargoyles guarding the
entrance to Dumbledore's office and barked the password. The thought that something else may
have happened to others he loved made his blood pump even faster in his veins, and as if he were in
a state of blind panic, he tore up the revolving staircase taking two steps at a time.

As he had expected he found the Headmaster sitting behind his desk in deep thought, his fingers
steepled beneath his chin, and worry lines creasing his face, belying his usual calm exterior. As
Harry approached he glanced up at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles.

"Harry, sit...please."

Harry kept his eyes glued to Dumbledore and threw himself into a chair. "Professor,
what's happened?"

Dumbledore pursed his lips and dropped his fingers from underneath his chin to clasp them
familiarly before him on the desk. When he spoke his voice was serious and even.
"Unfortunately Harry, one of the things we've feared most."

Harry stared at him. "*We*? Who d'you mean, *we*?"

"Your father, Sirius and I," said Dumbledore, sighing. "We've felt for some
time Voldemort might choose to target those who've had close association with you. Though his
first attacks *were* on Arthur, Charlie and Bill Weasley, it could have been seen as mere
coincidence that you're involved with their family. However, with this new round, we've
become more certain than ever that Tom is *not* choosing his targets randomly. I fear there
*is* method to his madness."

Harry pounded a fist angrily into the desk before him. "*DAMN IT*! Who is it?
What's he done…"

"Early this morning Sirius flooed me an urgent note on an item he'd just seen over the
Muggle news. Privet Drive in Little Whinging was attacked," said Dumbledore, with a regretful
look on his face that said he wished he could deliver the news in an easier way. Harry started in
surprise. "Your old house at number four, along with another house further down was destroyed.
Vernon Dursley was killed."

Harry stood up suddenly, almost knocking the chair beneath him to the floor. "No! It
can't… that doesn't make any sense! You've always said that house is safe what with my
mother's sacrifice being such a strong ward and Aunt Petunia sharing the same blood… You said
the magic protecting me was ancient and almost unbreakable!"

Dumbledore's head nodded down as if from under too much weight. "You are right, Harry.
And as long as *you* were there, the wards and protections that followed you made the
residence safe. However, the moment you leave it… Harry every September when you've come back
to school, the protection has left with you. Do you remember six years ago how Professor Quirrel,
possessed by Voldemort, was not able to touch you? The sacrifice Lily made placed that magical bond
over *you*, not the house. Although the bond your Aunt Petunia shares with you makes the magic
that much stronger when you're there, *you,* not the house itself, are what has made the
residence safe. I can only imagine Voldemort had specific reason for waiting to attack the Dursleys
now."

For a moment Harry, with a completely bewildered expression on his face, could only sit and
stare. *Uncle Vernon, dead*… He wasn't sure how to feel. He had very few relatives left in
the world, and he felt even after all the Dursleys had put him through over the years he should
feel, if not sadness, at least some type of remorse. However, all he felt was a glaring emptiness.
When he'd gathered himself enough to clear his mind, he asked the next obvious question.

"Aunt Petunia and Dudley... are they..."

"Alive," said Dumbledore quickly, "though quite shaken and a bit banged up for
it. Your Aunt was with your cousin in his room this morning it seems, something to do with a
nightmare he'd had from what I've understood. There was a loud explosion on the first
floor. Apparently your uncle made your aunt and cousin stay put and went downstairs to fight off
the intruders." Dumbledore shook his grizzled white head and sighed sadly.

"Though he did manage to get one of them, even *with* a shotgun a Muggle is no match
for three Death Eaters …"

Harry was cognisant enough to wonder quickly how Dumbledore knew about Muggle firearms before
his thoughts took him back to more pressing matters.

"And how did Aunt Petunia and Dudley escape?"

"Petunia heard what had happened and somehow found the presence of mind to take Dudley and
escape out of his window. They fled to one of the neighbours houses."

Harry dropped his hands from his face and sat upright. "From Dudley's window!? On the
second floor? How did they manage?"

"They jumped Harry," said Dumbledore with a bit of respect in his voice. "Your
Aunt Petunia suffered from a few sprains…unfortunately Dudley broke one of his ankles and wrists.
Had quite a bit more bulk for the fall, I imagine. Only moments later members of the Order showed
on the scene, but they were too late for your Uncle." Dumbledore gazed sadly at the younger
man sitting before him. "I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry merely thinned his lips and nodded. He hated himself for the little emotion he was feeling
over his uncle's death. Though the man had shown almost no kindness to him in the whole sixteen
years he'd been living with him, he was human, and family. The thought that he felt almost
nothing but regret that Voldemort had struck again made Harry's insides squirm with guilt.

"So… Aunt Petunia and Dudley… Where've they been taken?"

"Well, first let me say their injuries have been healed. Madame Pomfrey flooed straight
away to their new temporary place of residence to take care of it, though you can be sure she did
endure quite a bit of protest over the use of magic." And here, despite the situation, Harry
noticed Dumbledore almost couldn't hide the twinkle that suddenly lit his eyes.

"You must understand Harry, we couldn't very well leave them without protection in the
Muggle world. Of course, to stay at Hogwarts was never a possibility, and there are too many
untrustworthy wizards and witches at the ministry to let them in on, so the Endangered Muggle
Relocation Program is out of the question. We had to put them somewhere they would be protected;
somewhere completely hidden from sight… Your godfather has generously offered to share his estate
with them."

Harry sat bolt-upright in shock. "*Grimmauld Place*!? You've sent Aunt Petunia and
Dudley to *Grimmauld Place*!?"

He clawed a hand through his hair. Despite himself, an image of Aunt Petunia having a
simultaneous coronary/stroke over the bachelor-like, wizarding state of the house, and Dudley
hiding behind her, as pale and shaking with fright as her and again pressing a hand over his arse,
played through his mind. For a moment, Harry felt as if some sort of sick, inappropriate laughter
might suddenly come bursting out. Eloquent words left him as he stared open-mouthed at the
Headmaster.

"*Holy shit*."

Dumbledore favoured him with a wan smile and sighed. "Though I do wish I had no more bad
news for you Harry, unfortunately there is still the matter of the other destroyed house further
down from number four. It was Arabella Figg's residence, I am deeply saddened to say. She was
killed as well."

Harry's gaze snapped up to Dumbledore's once more. *Gods*, *Mrs. Figg*…
*Merlin, she'd done nothing but live quietly by herself; a lonely old woman with too many
cats for company. Nevertheless, for probably as many years as he had lived at number four she had
been keeping watch over him and reporting his welfare to Dumbledore. Voldemort must have somehow
found out about her... **No**. Not somehow. The dementors two years ago... directly following
their attack could they have seen Mrs. Figg running toward him? Upon retrospect, it was almost
certain they were working for Voldemort, then and now. It was probably also how Voldemort knew to
find the Dursleys...*

Harry found he had very little to say he wanted Dumbledore to hear. Here again was another
person who had lost her life simply because she knew him. And the real *bitch* of it all, was
there was nothing Harry could do to stop it. Whatever sick headgame Voldemort was playing with him,
he was giving him no out. If he was trying to draw Harry out, why the *bloody hell* wasn't
he giving him somewhere to meet him and end everything? What other reason was there except simply
to torture him? Perhaps for all of it, the torture aspect was strictly the only reason. If it were
true, that would make Tom Riddle an even sicker *bastard* than previously thought.

"Though members of the Order have informed Muggle authorities of the reality of the
situation, they've officially reported what happened at number four and ten as related gas main
explosions to prevent panic," said Dumbledore. He studied Harry carefully for a few moments
before he next spoke.

"Now, not only wizarding officials, but Muggle ones as well have been made known of
Voldemort's renewed threat. We can only conclude he now wants his presence known throughout the
entirety of England."

"*England*…" Harry had been bowed low in his chair with his face in his hands,
but he now sat up and eyed Dumbledore.

"Purging *just England* of half bloods and Muggles won't satisfy that
*mental* *son of a bitch*," he said bluntly. "He won't rest until he's
done the world Professor, mark my words."

Dumbledore eyed him and nodded slowly before his clasped hands. "You are right, Harry.
England and our part of Scotland is just the beginning for Tom. It is for this reason even now,
several Aurors, Hit Wizards and members of Magical Law Enforcement not deceived by the
Ministry's lack of belief in Voldemort's return, and loyal to our cause, are in extra
training with the Order of the Phoenix. Some others are being sent to recruit as many creatures of
our world we feel might be sympathetic to our cause."

"*Recruit*…" Harry's gaze flew back to Dumbledore once more. "Which
creatures? *Who*?"

"Whomever in the end will stand with those on our side and fight. Centaurs, giants,
goblins, even freed house elves… Voldemort is almost certainly recruiting his own army even as we
speak," said Dumbledore wearily. "We've always believed the discord and division in
our world would cause a rift that would one day culminate in war. That time is now fast
approaching, it seems."

Harry nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed with the overflow of information he was receiving,
and impatient to share it with Hermione. "And the Aurors and Ministry Wizards… where are they
being trained?"

"Inverness, Scotland at a secure location. They've been apparating weekly for extra
training, if and when final war is made reality," said Dumbledore, leaning forward to clasp
his long-fingered hands in front of him and once again peering seriously at Harry over his glasses.
"Our situation is dire, indeed Harry. Between our factions, more than ever before the threat
of war is most imminent. You've known for some time the final battle with Voldemort himself was
to be in your hands. It is for this reason I ask you to begin training with James at the sword, and
using your abilities with wandless magic, harder than ever you have before."

Harry stared at him for a moment and then spoke. "I've been in training with dad since
the beginning of the year. Our last class of the day is with him. He and I spend an hour extra on
the sword, and I *do* regularly use wandless magic."

Dumbledore nodded but fixed Harry with a grave look. "I am aware. James has kept me
informed of your progress. He's stated many times you're a natural at the sword and that
your wandless use of magic is improving. However, I want you to understand something, Harry. The
*real* situation will be *far removed* from the quiet, twofold environment you share in
James' classroom. You must be capable of concentration amidst a chaos of commotion and sound.
You must be able to **focus** your magic; at times, even centralising on two tasks at once while
confusion and disorder surge round you. When the final conflict takes place, I would be sorely
remiss in allowing you to be ill prepared. I could never stand for it, especially for a member
of…" Having said this, Dumbledore paused and for a moment seemed heavily burdened by
something. When he next spoke, his voice was melancholy and more subdued than Harry had ever heard
it.

"I could *never* forgive myself for it, Harry."

With the sudden unexpected show of emotion Dumbledore had just done, Harry felt for a moment
oddly out of sorts. He scrutinised the Headmaster carefully for a moment, but when it became
obvious he was going to get no explanation for it, Harry leaned uneasily back against his chair,
keenly observing him.

"Alright Professor. It makes sense what you're saying, of course. I'll train harder
and longer with my father."

Dumbledore nodded briefly, and for a moment, seemed to be examining Harry just as closely as
Harry had done to him.

Believing their conversation was over, Harry stood as if to make his way out from the office
until Dumbledore's kind, softly rasping voice called to him once more.

"Harry a moment more, please." He fixed him with a compassionate look, and upon seeing
it, Harry immediately found he was sure he did not want to hear what else the Headmaster had to
say.

"I understand you've heard this before and from my own mouth no less," began
Dumbledore quietly, "but you mustn't blame yourself for all that has happened. Whether or
not Voldemort has been choosing his victims based on their relationships with you, he, and only he
is to be condemned. **He chose you** as his enemy, not the other way round. You've had no
choice in any of this."

*I've had choices*... *Every person I've let into my life I've chosen,*
thought Harry darkly, and the jury in his mind began screaming accusations at him once again.

As if Dumbledore could read his thoughts, he continued. "I wonder Harry, if you've ever
heard the expression, '*no man is an island, but every one a piece of the continent*.'
It was written long ago by a quite insightful Muggle named John Donne. Not only does this statement
make us realise we need others with us to travel life's journey, but also that what happens to
one, happens to all."

Harry felt that to look into Dumbledore's face would reveal what he was thinking and
feeling, so he continued to avoid the professor's eyes. That wise, penetrating gaze that seemed
always able to search out his innermost workings, and that kind old face, the one that every time
he saw it, seemed to be almost etched in understanding of him; these were things he couldn't
bear to accept tonight. *Bill Weasley, Uncle Dursley, Arabella Figg*… three people, innocent,
yet executed… and their only crimes had been knowing him.

If he had been looking though, Harry would have seen the Professors face lined with more than
understanding. As he continued, he also peered at him with concern.

"You're father has spoken with me on this 'renewed covenant' you've
recently made with Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, and on the strange occurrences following. I
believe as they, your father, and *you* do that your meeting those two was by no means chance.
I believe it was meant to be. Why Sibyl's prediction with you and Voldemort having to kill the
other came first, before her most recent ones, we'll never know. However, it is certain *she
is correct* in that you, Ms. Granger, and Mr. Weasley are somehow bound on more levels than
simple friendship. Your entire careers at Hogwarts are living proof of it. Except for a few glaring
instances, you three have always faced challenges together. As much as Ronald and Hermione need you
to fight against the evil that is threatening our world, you need them. Don't turn your back on
them, Harry. Don't try facing these challenges on your own. Don’t try fighting the pain on your
own. As much as you fail to accept it, this war involves all of us. Whether or not Voldemort's
victims have had some connection with you, the fact *is* *certain*, there would have been
victims. If not Bill, Arabella and your Uncle Dursley, it would have inevitably been others. Know
this, Harry. You are neither the cause, nor the blame. But where Voldemort is concerned, you will
in the end be the deciding factor."

Dumbledore then looked gently and sincerely at him. "And if I were able, I would take your
place."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and found himself staring into the Headmaster's eyes
in slight confusion. Why would *anyone* wish *his* place on themselves? However, the
answer he found staring back at him, more than the question left him confused and feeling slightly
uneasy, as if something else were being hidden from him…

He stood quickly. "I need... I've got to go. I need to talk with… with
someone."

Dumbledore nodded and watched him sadly as he left, letting the solid oak door concealing the
revolving staircase click shut behind him.

"Go talk with her Harry," he whispered.

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

Draco pushed open the gigantic oak doors of Hogwarts and stalked out into a late January
evening. He had had only a few minutes before the house elves automatically apparated away the
remains of supper to bolt down a bit of it, and had taken a moment to survey the bewitched ceiling
of the Great Hall for the weather.

It was no surprise then, when he stepped out into a drizzling, depressing dark blue and black
evening lit only by the moon, with a scattering of grey clouds just for adding a bit of drab
colour.

He pulled his heavy wool cloak tighter about him and shoved his hands into his pockets to ward
off the cold and icy drizzle. Without even having to think much, he knew where he was headed.
Besides the large tree growing just outside the Quidditch pitch, to him there was no better area
for thinking at night than by the lake. He began walking towards the area where the thickest brush
and plants grew. In case someone else had decided on an evening walk as well, he would be well
hidden sitting there, away from intruding eyes and mouths.

*Gods...* he had problems enough to work through and worry on without Nott poking his
*bastarding* nose in. The letter from Lucius practically ordered him to begin using Ginny and
any other means necessary in order to gain information on what Dumbledore's resistance was next
planning. How he was supposed to just happen upon such information, being in the right place at the
right time, was beyond him. He wondered just who it was at Hogwarts Voldemort already had working
for him and gleaning information.

Malfoy had no desire to see Voldemort win the war, even if it meant Potter had to win to fix it.
And it was just thoughts like these he knew Voldemort might catch him on if and when he decided at
any given moment to focus his uncanny mind on him. He tried keeping his thoughts well hidden, but
at times they would slip past when his defences were down. It would only take one lapsing moment
while Voldemort was centred on him to doom him.

These thoughts hammered at his mind as he stepped round a large clump of bushes, and found
himself coming to an abrupt halt, staring at the back of quite possibly the last person he needed
to see at the moment. Right then, Malfoy came to think it was a distinct possibility he was
cursed.

Ginny sat with her back toward Hogwarts and her knees drawn up toward her chest, watching the
lake ripple thousands of multiplying rings with each tiny drop of rain. The moon shone as a huge
lump of gold towards the back of the water, sending a great golden beam of light beginning large
and ending small towards the shore. The end of it seemed to land on her head, making her damp red
hair shine.

*Damn*.

She must have just got back from the hospital. As he wrestled with himself on what to do,
indecision clenched at his stomach. He shouldn't get close to her again; it was exactly what
his father and the dark bastard wanted, yet if he didn't, he was taking a dangerous risk.
Nott's threat darkened his thoughts as well. Besides the glaring notion that he might very well
not anymore have a home or inheritance to live on after school, these were the least of his
worries. His life ending prematurely had decidedly landed the top of the list.

If he was stealthy enough, he might be able to back away before she saw or heard him. It was for
the best.

He began moving backward slowly, his feet making no noise on the damp ground, until without
turning or even indicating she'd heard him approach, Ginny's bitter voice shattered the
quiet, sounding rather odd and echoless in the openness of the grounds.

"You're not leaving on *my* account… Don't think for one minute I care what
you do."

Malfoy's heart gave an odd jump at her voice, and he gritted his teeth for it. *Damn it to
hell*.

"How the bloody hell…"

"The lake, Draco. Acts as a sort of mirror at times; reflects things. Amazing, I
know."

"I was just... I didn't know you were out here, Red."

"Obviously," she said blandly.

Malfoy thinned his lips in anger, but he would find later, it was more at himself than at her.
"I hate to disappoint you, but I can walk anyplace I damn well please. Last I checked, this
wasn't private property."

To his surprise, Ginny hardly reacted to his statement and turned her face to the side.
"Seems the week is just full of surprises then. Last **I** checked, I was still a
*virgin*."

Malfoy grimaced. He'd known the time for this conversation would be soon, but he felt now
was definitely *not* the time.

"I'm sorry for that... really. Look, I'll just go and leave you to it,
alright?"

However, as he moved to walk away, Ginny stood to her feet abruptly, turned, and glared at him.
Her nose and eyes were reddened, and he could see wet trails running the length of her cheeks.
*Gods*… he'd never known what to do with a crying female. *Bloody hell*.

"Running away are we?" said Ginny harshly, but the shakiness in her voice belied her
in control exterior. "I've just got one question… What in the bloody hell possessed
you?"

Draco found himself getting instantly defensive, just as he always did when confronted by
someone. Old habits died hard. "What d'you…"

"I mean I might understand you wanting to brag to your entire house about shagging the
poor, gullible Weasley witch had we actually **done it**..."

"I don't brag *shit* to *any* of my housemates Red," said Malfoy.

"**Oh no!?**" barked Ginny. "Then every one of them just simultaneously came
up with the idea on their *own*, I suppose?"

Draco thinned his lips and shook his head. "That bastard Nott started spreading round our
house you were easy."

"And you had nothing to do with it, I suppose…"

"Not with that no," said Malfoy, with his hands balled frustratedly in his pockets.
"I told father I was just shagging you to throw him off our trail. I never expected him to
brag it to anyone…"

"What was it then?" Ginny cut him off in a hard voice.

Draco blinked at her. "Wha... I don't know what you're... "

"Was ruining mine and my family's reputation not enough for you? Did you and your
father have a nice sit together to plan his attack on my dad and brothers!?"

"*What the hell're you*..." began Draco, completely confounded. "I had
nothing to do with that!"

"Oh *right*," cried Ginny, taking a step back from him. "You've always
hated my family! What was it you've always called us? Blood traitors? An embarrassment to
pureblood wizards? I'll bet you threw a *right large celebration* once you'd heard my
brother was killed!"

"Your talking about **Lucius** Red," stated Draco in a hard tone. "**Not**
**me**."

"I'm talking about **ALL** of the Malfoy's!" yelled Ginny, choking on her
sobs and pointing an accusing finger at him. "It **WAS** your father who murdered Bill,
they've found, did you know!? Charlie woke earlier this afternoon and told us everything. Very
early in the morning he, father and Bill were headed some thirty yards behind our house to portkey
to their guard positions. *Your father* and two of his *son of a bitch underlings* jumped
them from behind!"

Draco sighed and shifted his feet. He wasn't sure what to do or how to react. It was obvious
Ginny was hurting and simply taking it out on him and yet, he was completely unequipped to handle
it.

"I'm sorry... but I had **nothing** to do with... "

"My mum found them in the field behind our house a couple of hours later when she headed
out to do some gardening," spat Ginny hoarsely, "did you know!? My **own mum** found
them!"

"*Gods*… I’m sorry Red. Really…"

Ginny made a snorting sound and began to walk round him to head back toward the castle.
"Don't lie! You've always hated my family! I should've listened to Ron… He told me
you were just using me… He told me not to fool myself into thinking you really cared for
me…"

"I ***do**, damn it*!…"

Ginny whirled round to glare at him. "Sure… sure you do. Well save yourself some time and
effort and don't bother! I don't need the Malfoy type of caring, do I!? I'd rather
**keep** the rest of my family!"

Draco growled angrily in the back of his throat. "I'm sorry for what's happened to
you Red, I really am. But I had nothing to do with it for **shitsake**!"

However, Ginny only narrowed wet, swollen eyes at him and hissed quietly. "Just you stay
away from me."

She turned on her heel to stride back up to the castle, but Draco grabbed her arm and spun her
to him. She stared back at him with a startled look mixed with, to Malfoy's surprise, a bit of
fear. He recoiled instantly and dropped her arm. She really must now equate him with his father.
But no matter. If it kept her away from him, and accordingly, his instructions from his father, it
did the job.

"I will," Draco seethed through his teeth in almost a whisper, though he felt as if he
were dying inside. "But you remember something. It's **my father**, and his
instructions from **Voldemort** that's done this, and it's *not over*. I would
never hurt you or your family, whatever you may think of me… But Voldemort won't stop until
everyone who stands against him is done in. He has loads of people on his side. Even now he has
some spy in the castle working to get information on Dumbledore and Potter. He's a **mental
son of a bitch**, Ginny. Don't at any time think you're safe. Don't ever stop looking
over your shoulder, and **don't** think he's done with your family. As long as any of
you breathe he won't be through, you hear me?… Anyone who isn't *for* him is
*against* him, pureblood or not. And whether or not you believe it, by the end he'll want
me dead as well."

Ginny stared up at him, watching conflicting emotions flit across his face just as steadily as
they did over hers. She found herself unable to say anything else, so she simply nodded brusquely
at him and turned to walk back to the castle, sensing his eyes on her the entire way.

Malfoy sighed as he watched her go, feeling as if he had been wrung dry, and left for dead.
There was no one left, now. He truly was alone, but by now, he'd got used to it. He'd
always been alone, really. But at least it had taught him to be resourceful. He had never had
anyone else to help him through much of anything, and he had known all along his time with Ginny
had been nothing more than a breath; a short sigh of reprieve. However, he hardened his jaw with an
iron-like resolve as he began to walk round the lake. Draco Malfoy was nothing if not a
survivor.

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

Harry swung Sir Cadogen's portrait open with only a wave of his hand, startling the knight
so much he fell from his backwards perch on his horse to land to the ground with a loud
**clang**.

As he entered, knowing for certain he would find Hermione on their common room couch incessantly
cramming for N.E.W.T.s, he had his mouth already open to blurt out to her what Dumbledore had just
divulged to him, but the sight before him made him shut it with a quick snap.

Hermione was there just as he had predicted, surrounded by parchments and opened books and
quills with her knees drawn up to her chest, but Ron sat beside her, with Lavender Brown on his
other side holding his hand. His whole form was slumped on the couch and bent with a type of heavy
depression Harry had never seen on him, and his eyes and nose were still red and swollen from a
recent bout of crying. Harry could see Hermione and Lavender had been crying with him.

Without looking up, Ron spoke quietly, sounding congested. " 'Lo mate."

Harry stood staring for a few seconds not sure what to do, until Hermione beckoned silently to
him with her hand to come sit with them. He approached slowly and sat himself down carefully next
to Hermione, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to peer at Ron.

"Ron… something else happen?" He asked dreading the answer.

"No… nothing like you think. Mum's just set the funeral date for Bill." Ron sighed
and pulled himself up a bit straighter. "March first. He'll be buried in the field behind
the Burrow where he was found. Mum says it's fitting…also said she wanted him near, you know…
so she can visit him often."

"I'm sorry mate." Harry's throat began to ache. "Where's
Ginny?"

"Wouldn't come here with me," said Ron. "I told her it would do her good to
be with friends, but she said she'd rather be alone. Can't blame her, I suppose. She's
always been that way."

Harry sighed. "Yeah she has… though I wish she wasn't."

Ron simply nodded and clawed a hand through his shorter red hair. "Charlie's awake,
too."

Harry looked at him quickly. "That's good mate… has he said anything?"

Ron paused for a few moments, staring at his hands, which he began gripping and ungripping
before Lavender grabbed one of them back from him again and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"He's still a bit out of it," said Ron quietly, his voice suddenly turning
bitterly cold. "But he did manage a few details… like who *attacked* them."

The change did not slip Harry's notice.

"I've had an idea…who did he name?"

"**Lucius Malfoy**," said Ron in a dangerously icy, numb voice. "Charlie's
also said one of the others might've been Bellatrix Lestrange, he thinks. Said before she
cursed him he yanked her mask and caught a bit of her face. Thought he recognised her from the
photos in the Prophet."

Harry let his back slap against the couch and scowled through his teeth. "I don't doubt
it."

Silence ruled for a while, and Hermione continued to glance from Ron, who was being consoled and
whispered to by Lavender, to Harry, giving him worried glances and grabbing onto his hand. Harry
understood what she was conveying to him. Ron looked almost murderous. He must feel now, some of
the same emotions toward Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eaters that Harry himself had carried
round in his heart toward Voldemort. He now knew how it felt to have a family member murdered. The
change in Ron was evident, and Harry hoped the cold, dead feeling would stay surface enough not to
drain down into his soul. He'd had enough experience with it himself, and it was a diseased,
festering thing; almost impossible to cut away from oneself once it took root.

Harry decided then, that it was time he told Hermione and Ron of what Dumbledore had just
revealed to him. Though he loathed throwing more anxiety into the mix, if he didn't tell them
now, he was certain he would never. A constant wall seemed to continue building itself around his
insides, brick after brick, layer upon layer. He could almost feel its effort to reach the top.
Bill is dead… a cemented brick slapped onto another. *Clink*… Charlie and Mr. Weasley injured…
*Clink*… Vernon Dursley and Mrs. Figg, dead… *Clink*… Murdered. All to get at me.
*Clink*.

Harry forced the darkness away. Now was not the time. "I've got more bad news, I'm
afraid."

Instinctively, Hermione scooted closer to him and grabbing at his arm in an effort to prepare
herself. Lavender sat up suddenly, and Ron for his part, glanced at him with an almost
anaesthetised look on his face, as if his head were trapped in a fog.

"Go on. It can't get much worse."

*It can Ron. It will.* "This morning, Sirius flooed Dumbledore. Last night Death
Eaters attacked Little Whinging and my Uncle Vernon and Arabella Figg were attacked… they're
dead."

Lavender gasped and bolted to her feet. "B..but they were Muggles, weren't
they!?"

"Mrs. Figg was a squib, so she might as well have been," said Harry quietly.
"They never had a chance."

"*Oh my god*," Lavender sat again and spoke breathlessly to Ron. "Ron
I've… I've got to go. I've got to owl and see that my parents are all right and that
they've heard… We live near Surrey… *please* understand… I'll be back soon."

Ron nodded and kissed her cheek. " 'Course. Go on."

Lavender stood and nodded to Harry and Hermione before sprinting toward the portrait door and
throwing it open, letting it slam shut behind her.

Silence fell in the room so heavily, it seemed almost alive and breathing. That was until, Ron
spoke quietly.

"I'll kill them, you know."

Both Harry and Hermione suddenly turned to look at him. It was the first time he'd finally
looked both of them full in the face since Harry had entered the common room earlier, and the
expression on his face was full of determined hatred.

"Ron…" began Hermione, her voice shaking a bit.

"*Don't say it, 'Mione*," said Ron with a deadly quiet, his body
completely still. "I don't care what you think on this… you either, Harry. When time
comes, when Voldemort finally sends for you mate, I'll be right there. I'm going to make
sure they're *both* done in; the third *bastard* as well when I find him out. All of
them, mark my words."

Harry knew it was useless to try talking to him on it. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he
would say to him if he could. He wanted just as badly to kill Voldemort; for the deaths of his
parents, for Hermione's kidnap and torture only last year, and for the ones he had killed and
undoubtedly *would* kill in the near future.

He knew that kind of hatred, the kind that ran too deep… the kind that flooded wide and high,
utterly filling. With practice you could keep it from completely drowning you, though Harry knew
Ron had had little experience. Harry found he again didn't have the words to help Ron or anyone
else. It was like a drained pitcher trying to fill another, almost empty other than a few
drips.

"Ron… I know how you feel. I'm sorry. It's all I've got." Harry put his
arm round Hermione, who grabbed Ron's hand, and his and held tight. "I know he's not
done though, mate. There'll be others..."

"Soon, I know." Ron nodded almost blankly and settled back against the couch again.
"It's clear, isn't it? He's baiting you until he's ready."

As soon as he had said it though, Ron knew how Harry must feel upon hearing his own worst
thoughts spoken aloud, and he knew him enough to know what he must feel.

"But we don't blame you Harry," said Ron clearly, piercing him with a serious
look. "You can't claim fault for that *sick bastard*."

Harry nodded in agreement but Hermione caught the faltering in his eyes and squeezed his hand.
He turned to her and she leaned forward, placing her forehead on his.

"He's right," she whispered. "Listen to him."

At the absurdity of hearing Hermione entreat him to listen to Ron's opinion, which she
normally held in a bit of low regard, Harry began to smile. His first smile of the day, and it
suddenly occurred to him that those facial muscles had been sadly long, underused.

The insanity and utter derangement of it all played havoc with his emotions. He felt suddenly as
if he would like nothing more than to scream aloud until his voice gave way, or punch something, to
pound and pound it until it was left as nothing but a splintered pile of rubbish, to laugh
hysterically until it ultimately ended in sobbing… to jump out from his skin and take someone
else's.

However, if he had known what was to come in comparison, the complete underwhelming of what had
already occurred would have shocked him into silence.

A tapping came to the window, and all three turned to see a large brown barn owl with a scroll
tied to its leg banging its beak against the window, the cold drizzle on its feathers illuminated
by the moon.

Harry's heart sank as if weighted. Owl post never came this late unless it was…

Hermione stood to approach the window, but Harry quickly grabbed her hand and pushed her back to
the couch, shaking his head sternly at her and placing a hand quickly to her face.

"I'll go."

Pulling out his wand even though he rarely needed it somehow made him feel more armed, and Harry
neared the window slowly, throwing it open quickly and stepping back with his wand arm
outstretched. The sudden action startled the owl into flying backward from his perch for a moment,
but he had been well trained. He returned instantly, and stuck his leg out.

Harry hesitated and then quickly untied the letter from her leg, watching her again as she flew
off into the wet darkness of the sky.

He sat himself on the couch and Hermione and Ron surrounded him instantly as he charmed the
letter to unroll.

*The chosen first are not the last*

*Peaceful reprieve is now elapsed.*

*A short delaying of the hour*

*Then hard and swift a heavy power.*

*A mighty fist and sweep of hand*

*A cleansing reckoning at command*

*Grieve and bow with bent soul hollow*

*Tell me, who is next to follow?*

Harry, Hermione and Ron sat slowly back against the couch together, one after the other,
feeling, on anything still dependable in their lives, more shaken than ever before; because at any
time, in any still, unassuming moment, it might be ripped away.

As for Harry, just as he felt himself closer, crawling back to the ones he loved, he encountered
the accusing jury inside his mind; the one that screamed his blame, and the one that held him
accountable for everything.

And part of it, he knew was true.

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

A/N: I know, I know. I'm extremely slow with the updates, and I'm truly sorry, everyone.
But I'm happy with this chapter, and I hope you are too. I know a lot of you are unhappy with
how long it takes me to update and I'm really really sorry! But I do it to make sure you get
quality reading and a bit of mystery, and not just a boring, contrived story.

Believe me, more death and destruction is coming, but don't despair! In the end, I promise
I'll leave the characters with peace and happiness and hopefully, you'll be sighing with
relief and maybe grinning!!! *****wrings hands hopefully* I love you all and thank you so much
for your patience. Believe me everything in here has a reason and I'm not just stalling, so I
hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!



31. Chapter 31: A Funeral and an Army
-------------------------------------


**Chapter 31: A Funeral and an Army**

The morning of Bill's funeral shone bright and clear, though the suns rays did little to
warm the crisp chill to the air. Mr. Weasley and Charlie had been let out from the hospital a few
days prior, and were standing to one side somewhat weakly with a distraught Molly. Fred and
Angelina Johnson, stood to their right, along with George and Alicia Spinnet, Ginny, Ron and
Lavender, and Percy, who had shown for the proceedings but had so far spoken very little. Members
of the Order and close friends of the family stood toward the left.

Harry stood amongst them all holding tight to Hermione's hand as the priest conducting the
proceedings in the field some ways behind the Burrow where Bill, Charlie, and Arthur had been
found. The group surrounded a simple oak hewn casket in a tight circle.

The dark dress the crowd of wizards and witches wore as they listened to the priest give his
eulogy proved sharp contrast to the snow lathering most of the ground. Patches of green peeked
through the white, confirming spring had begun her thaw. Trees bowed and gleamed under melting
blankets of frost and dripping curtains of icicles. Brilliant sunlight illuminated the ground
making it sparkle as with a web of diamonds, but seemed to hold little shame over allowing its
cheerful beams to spread inappropriately over the casket as well. It all seemed somehow unfit; as
if even the weather should honour this day of mourning and come across properly black and dreary;
perhaps with a drizzling freeze.

As Harry squinted his eyes at the gleaming casket and listened to the pastor sum up his speech,
it occurred to him that it was possible for nature to be cruelly beautiful.

"…was a brave, responsible wizard, yet free in mind and soul. He was a member of an
organisation whose sole purpose has been the defence of our world against all manner of evil, old
and new. Before, having worked as a curse breaker for Gringotts bank in Egypt, he'd even
devoted himself to sending his family a portion of his salary every month to help support them.

However, Bill's life cannot be summed by simple acknowledgements. Above all, he was the
firstborn son of Arthur and Molly Weasley, the eldest sibling in a group of six brothers and one
sister, and a beloved friend and colleague to many who stand here. In the end, Bill took upon
himself a killing curse that in all likelihood may have been intended for his father, and
selflessly gave his life for him. His sacrifice is as deeply etched into our hearts as it is now
carved into his tombstone, and I believe this, above all, will tell the tale of Bill Weasley's
life and character *far longer* than we who stand here today will ever live to speak of
it."

The casket was lowered into the ground, and the tombstone set into place over the still open
grave.

*WILLIAM ARTHUR WEASLEY*

1972-1997

Beloved son, brother, and friend.

Killed in the line of duty defending his family*.*

He died as he lived: **with honour***.*

Ginny held to Ron's arm, with Lavender holding the other. Fred and George stood near Charlie
studying the ground with hands deep in their pockets, though Angelina and Alicia held to them for
support. George draped an arm round Charlie's shoulder, and the others head drooped. He'd
been closer to Bill than any of his brothers and sisters, since he had been closest in age.

Percy, managing to seem grieved and distant at the same time, stood to one side and slightly
away from his family as if to reinforce his alienation from them. Arthur held Molly as she cried,
but no one was fooled by his staunchness. Inside, he was dying as slow a death as she, and it would
be a long time before he quit blaming himself for what he considered weakness in the face of
danger.

Harry watched them all with an almost deadened expression. He had done his sorrow and almost
memorised his self-blame so much so that now the odd feeling of it not being necessary anymore had
grabbed hold of him, as if necessity ever brought grief on in the first place. It was as if the
purpose of expressing it was to remind oneself of it, and he certainly had no need of that. His
whole being was carved with it.

However, as Hermione wrapped her arms round his chest and glanced up at his stony face she knew
better than to think Harry felt nothing. The truth was exactly opposite, in fact. Something else
had begun to take hold in the couple of weeks before Bill's funeral… A something that had begun
to make him rise mornings and take runs round the lake; to fight the sword with his father until
his arms and legs felt like rubber and his shirt was soaked with sweat; to stay up until late hours
of the night practising difficult pairspells with Hermione, and at least once a week, to stalk to
the room of requirement where an assortment of weights and punching bags awaited his assault. That
something was a boiling, rapidly compounding *fury*.

Voldemort's letters were being sent merely to taunt him, to keep him anxiously awaiting the
next murder until he was utterly frantic and worn. After hours of lying awake at night cradling
Hermione in his arms and pretending sleep, Harry had come to the conclusion Voldemort wanted him
completely undone. So much the better for taking on one's enemy, to have him desperate; to have
him broken before you.

Hermione wasn't sure when exactly he had come to his conclusions, but she was acutely aware
of the change in him. He seemed almost dark with determination to be stronger, more powerful; to
show Voldemort when time finally came that he had sorely underestimated him, and serious
*regret* was at hand.

In a way it frightened her. For Harry to turn from being lost in sorrow, only to be lost in
revenge was not her wish. However, she had always been aware the anger was there, just simmering
below the surface. All she could do was be there to constantly remind him there was not just the
fight, but what the fight was for, and to show him that living for the latter was endlessly
better.

She gave him a quick squeeze and Harry's expression immediately softened. He wrapped his
arms about her and planted a kiss on the top of her hair as the priest finished with tears in his
eyes, but a warm smile on his face.

"Bill was a wizard full of life and laughter. He brought a joy to all those round him, and
as he looks down on us today, I can only imagine he wants us thinking on him as having lived life
happily and to the fullest, the way he ultimately did, and not filled with sadness."

The priest put one arm round Molly, and the other round Arthur. "He'll always be with
you. He'll always be watching over you… *know* that."

Molly and Arthur nodded through their tears and thanked him.

After all was done the group moved back to the Burrow. Percy said a few sympathetic words to his
family and briefly expressed his own grief before apparating back to the Ministry. Since becoming
senior under-secretary to Minister Fudge, with Dolores Umbridge now taking the title of Deputy
Prime Minister (much to the horror of many Ministry employees), it was as close and warm nowadays
as he ever seemed to get. However, Charlie whispered to Fred and George that despite the fact Percy
had not chosen to stay a bit after and visit, for their Mum and Dad's sakes he was at least
glad he had shown for the funeral. It was more than they had expected.

Well-meaning friends and neighbours had given so much food that that afternoon, even the twins,
Charlie, Ron and Harry couldn't make a sizeable dent in it, though they heartily tried. It was
more for Molly's benefit than the fact they were hungry as keeping busy seemed to make her feel
better, especially when she felt she was feeding the masses.

The day passed by with friends and close living relatives coming and going, and with an almost
endless procession of post owls delivering cards and letters. By the time evening approached, Errol
was so done in that he was seen lying on his side panting over his water dish while Ginny stroked
his feathers.

Towards evening, when all visitors save Harry, Hermione, Angelina, Alicia, and Lavender had
left, Fred and George gathered everyone round Arthur and Molly and were doing their best to lighten
spirits by telling stories of life working Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It did Harry's heart
good to see Arthur and Molly smile, and to hear the Burrow echo once again with a bit of laughter.
Though when the twins began to get so excited they were hauling out trunks of new inventions much
to Alicia and Angelina's exasperation, Molly quickly put a stop to it lest they let off some
horrifying new firework or eat some sickness inducing candy.

However later, when Harry and Hermione finally made to leave by Portkey, Fred slipped Harry a
handful of Snotflow Sours and whispered with a wink he had added enough dehydrated acridsap to turn
any wizard's nose into a weeping faucet. For proof he pointed out Ron, who was currently
shoving tissues up each nostril and shooting George murderous glances while Lavender soothed him
and Ginny chuckled silently.

Hermione smiled at the twins antics, thinking to herself Fred and George were perhaps the best
medicine for the Weasleys.

As for Harry, he had his first laugh of the day.

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

Lucius Malfoy, apparated into the dark heart of the forest of Kavan with a loud ***crack***,
and took a moment to allow his vision to adjust to his now darker surroundings.

Massive dead trees bent and twisted their ways claw-like towards the grey-clouded moonlit sky.
Snow still covered the ground in patches, but in places where the new green growth of an
approaching spring might have peeked through, there was none; only the decaying of long dead
vegetation.

Lucius observed it detachedly. *Voldemort's presence always did seem to stunt new growth
or life...*

Here and there the melancholy whistling of cold wind lifted dampened leaves into an eerie
circling dance, and made long dead branches creak and groan above him. The area was only partly
illuminated, but with such a dim glow that it almost felt as if the moon itself was dispirited by
what it beheld.

For anyone else the darkness, peculiar sounds, and obvious lack of life might have lent the
place a frightful, ghostly feel, but Lucius welcomed it with a smile. These things meant Voldemort
was near, and where the dark lord was power followed, however dark.

He pulled his black hooded cloak tighter about his frame as his eyes swept round him. Behind him
and some ways off in the distance, he finally spotted what he had been looking for in the dull
square orange-yellow lights from Voldemort's cabin windows, and the brightly flickering fires
of camp.

Knowing the fondness the two giants who stood guard had for killing first and asking questions
later, he reached for his wand as he made his approach. He quickly realised upon reaching the
cleared wide-open maw of camp, he had made the right decision.

Upon hearing the crunch of leaves under Lucius' boots, and in the dark catching sight of his
shadow, one giant around twenty feet tall, dressed in a huge filthy brown tunic, with a huge
bulbous nose and long dark dirty hair that covered most of his face, made a sudden loud roar and
swiped a massive hand downward.

Wind whipped just past his body indicating to Lucius how close the great hand had come to
hitting its mark. He quickly aimed his wand.

"*Acrimordeo*!"

The giant let out a ferocious howl as he grabbed his leg and began hopping up and down, the
sound and earthquake-like vibrations of which suddenly woke the camp into a flurry of commotion.
Men jumped up from their seats around fires and hundreds of tents and quickly constructed living
quarters opened with their occupants stumbling forth, wands aimed outward. Centaurs with bows taut
with drawn arrows, leapt from the surrounding foliage and galloped forward. Goblins jumped to their
feet with various weapons in hand. Dementors glided forth from nowhere, rattling and sucking on the
damp night air, their blackened faces searching for victims. (*Lucius was eternally glad for the
'Reprimo Effectus' charm Voldemort had cast round the camp, otherwise the dementors
presence would have turned the night cold, unlit and empty*). Trolls, a bit shorter than giants,
shook their massive heads dumbly and emerged from the trees like large green lumps with fists
raised.

Lucius stormed into the middle of the camp and shoved one Death Eater out of his way, causing
him to fall to the ground with a loud thud and pointed his wand at the others.

"Is *this* the way you serve our lord!? Leaving **one** giant to keep watch!?
Allowing **one** armed man in the dead of night to sneak you up!?"

One Death Eater named Jugson made his way boldly forward amidst the crowd of sheepish looking
humans, creatures and vacuous Dementors and bowed. "Forgive me Commander Malfoy, but no one
save those loyal to Voldemort much dare to even enter Kavan. And there *are* *two*
giants, one toward the front entrance and one for the back."

"*Neither* of which kept me from *infiltrating the camp*," snarled Malfoy,
but he clipped his words short as he felt the tip of a wand press into the back of his neck.

"But one of which alerted us to the fact we had an intruder," sounded the sneering
Bulgarian voice of none other than Igor Karkaroff. "One wizard against hundreds... you'd
not have got much further."

Lucius turned round with an expression of steel and hooked a golden finger round Karkaroff's
wand, yanking it down. He eyed the tall thin man and the white curled goatee covering his weak chin
with something akin to disgust. "You *are* second in command to me, Karkaroff, but do not
think for one moment I wouldn't kill you if given half a reason."

"My, we are uptight this evening," said Karkaroff in an unctuous tone as he smiled.
"Perhaps a visit with our master will uplift your spirits. He should be joining us
momentarily."

"Which is why I'm here, idiot," said Malfoy with a harsh sarcasm as he watched the
other hundred or so followers of Voldemort gather near the door to his cabin. He turned once again
to Karkaroff. "Make no mistake though, Igor. Our lord may have decided to put his trust in you
once more, but **I** am *not* so inclined to forgive. Once a coward, *always* a
coward."

Karkaroff narrowed his eyes hatefully. "I've **never** run from the dark lord's
service."

"Of course not," sneered Malfoy. "I suppose the small delay you took three years
ago in returning to duty for our lord was merely a vacation… Pity you '*forgot*' to
inform him you would not be returning straight away."

Karkaroff glared back at Malfoy. "I had no choice. Dumbledore watched me carefully while I
was at Hogwarts, and an Auror caught me. I had to be extremely careful after, *in case you
forgot*; to bide my time until I could return."

"Since it was *you* who sold some in the dark lord's service out to keep your own
arse from Azkaban, *they* might be the ones unable to forget I think," said Malfoy glibly
as he made to move, as second in command, to the head of the group. "And even after so many of
our lord's followers were sent off, leaving him in dire need of those who were left, it still
took you almost two years to return…"

Karkaroff opened and closed his mouth for a moment, unable to come up with a suitable excuse.
The fact was, he *had been* afraid. The Potter boy *had* been illegally thrown into the
Tri-Wizard competition back in his fourth year as Igor had been instructed, and thus portkeyed to
Voldemort to be dealt with, but the boy had escaped before he could be killed. Igor had been afraid
to return to his master after, afraid Voldemort's wrath would be taken out on him.
Nevertheless, fact was he *had* returned, with a bit of help from one of Voldemort's
faithful, and had sworn his undying allegiance from then on.

"Curious," said Malfoy with a subtle raise of one eyebrow. He then turned his back
with distinct superiority and marched away toward the crowd.

Karkaroff was left to seethe over what Lucius had meant as he watched Voldemort's followers
make a wide path for him to trek through toward the front. *Sodding Salazar how he hated Lucius
Malfoy... **the bastarding prick***.

A few moments later the door to the cabin opened and Voldemort, tall and much stronger it
seemed, with his unmistakable ghostly pale skeletal face and glowing red eyes, stepped out to a
long cheer from his army. He let it go on as was his due, and finally shushed the crowd of humans
and creatures with a lordly sweep of his hand. He obviously had spent time amongst his troops,
sizing them up and overseeing their progress in training and recruiting, as none of the humans or
creatures seemed overly-awed by his presence, but merely grew quiet as he had ordered.

Voldemort first acknowledged his second in command with a nod of his head, and all eyes turned
toward Malfoy. "Lucius…I gather the recruitment on your end has been successful?"

Lucius bowed deeply. "Yes my lord. I've managed to gather a few more Ministry officials
to our cause. They should be getting their affairs in order and arriving within the next few
days."

"Excellent," said Voldemort. "And your son... has he sent information regarding
Potter?"

Lucius grimaced. "Only that the boy is quite... *disheartened* by the recent deaths my
lord, nothing more. Draco's letters indicate his relationship with the Weasley witch is not
going according to plan, despite all of his efforts. Thus, he says, information has been hard to
obtain."

Voldemort studied Lucius for a moment, making the latter feel uneasy, until he spoke in a
dangerously quiet undertone. "And do you believe him?"

Lucius tilted his chin and lowered his eyes for a moment. Truth was, he wasn't sure whether
or not to believe his son. Draco's attitude as of late would certainly lead him to believe he
was not choosing to follow the same path, and he was easily devious enough to lie about his
leanings.

"I can't be certain my lord. It would seem with your distinguished powers that you,
*far* more than I, are adept at judging the conscience."

The dark lord studied Lucius as if reading his soul for a moment more, and then favoured him
with a cold sneer. "Then perhaps it is time for me to focus on the boy and determine his
intent."

Lucius bowed. "Yes master."

Voldemort scrutinised him for a moment more. "Make no mistake Lucius. If I sense the boy
has turned against us, as soon as opportunity arises he will be executed. Traitors merit **no
mercy**."

"Yes my lord, of course," said Lucius without hesitation, still averting his eyes.

Satisfied for now (much to Malfoy's relief), the dark lord switched his glowing, unnerving
gaze to a stubby old goblin with a large quantity of white hair growing from his ears standing near
the front, and his interpreter, a Death Eater named Mulciber who was fluent in Gobbledegook.

"Ragnok, have you approached your colleagues…"

Mulciber related the question to the goblin, who began speaking in a high-pitched, gravely
voice, leaving periodic pauses for the Death Eater to translate.

"I spoke again with the goblins who as yet have not chosen sides. Most were unwilling to
leave Gringotts and wanted to stay neutral, but when I reminded them of the Tri-Wizard tournament
and Ludo Bagman's betrayal and theft of their gold, I believe it reminded some of them the
Ministry and those affiliated with it are not to be trusted. They've expressed to me their
desire for promises of equal rights and riches should you take control. I informed them I had
already discussed the matter with your lordship, and as such, I generously conceded."

"Good," said Voldemort with a casual smirk. With the mixed group (including Ragnok and
his fellows, trolls, centaurs and giants) round him, he wouldn't openly express what he felt
with Ragnok's words, though his thoughts remained the same. *Promise them whatever you
wish... in the end you will all join the rest of the inferior*.

Voldemort again switched his focus.

"Bane… report."

The wild-looking centaur, with black hair and the black body of a horse pawed at the ground for
a moment before he spoke in a barely restrained voice.

"As you are aware, we centaurs are loathe to join in *any* war, especially one
involving a species who frequently value themselves as *superior* to all others… However, I
have spoken to my brothers and consulted the stars. As per your assurance that the forest will be
ours after to exclusively rule, I and some of my tribe have agreed for a time to join you. Our
ancestors would be pleased at the return and open recognition of the land they once owned. Still,
we want it expressly known we fight for *land* that is *rightfully ours*, and not to
resolve any petty power dispute."

Voldemort angrily narrowed his eyes at Bane's impudence, but held himself in check. Centaurs
were all alike, the *foul half-breeds*. They were only interested in themselves and what they
considered theirs, and oblivious to the fact that whether or not they chose to recognise it, they
**were** and **would be** ruled.

However he would, if only for a time, yield a bit of his supreme command if it meant deceiving
more to join his side. The more forces he had to fight Dumbledore, Potter and those loyal to them,
the better.

Voldemort nodded his head, but fixed Bane with an expression of stone. "I concede our
battle is not your own, and my pledge to your kind stays founded. However in joining my forces,
*you* *will* *follow my command*. An army is victorious only as its company observe
**rank** and **order**."

Bane held his head proudly, but gave a slight nod.

"Excellent," replied the dark lord smoothly as he now loudly addressed the whole
assembly. "The last tribe of remaining giants have travelled from England and Scotland to the
mountainous south end of France, as Dolohov has informed me. Trolls sightings are rare as well, it
seems. Because of this, these are of no importance to us. They will serve neither our army nor
those opposed to us. Our forces, it seems, are established… That is all. Dismissed."

A rumbling of dialects and strange languages sounded throughout the crowd of humans and
creatures as it dispersed, with most, as was natural for them, joining their own to one side of the
camp. However, as usual, the closest to Voldemort, his Death Eaters, remained behind for another
meeting… the **real** one.

Voldemort's mouth curved downward into a cold, disgusted sneer as he observed one fourth of
his army move away. *Filthy, bastarding mongrels*… *worse than mudbloods*…*even the
common Muggle*. Unfit to breathe the same air. The first thing after the war he would attend to
would be their disposal. After would be the Muggles; country by country, continent by continent; as
long as it took… recruiting and purging. Then finally one day, the world would be as it was meant
to be… *clean*.

The dark lord's abrupt, irate change of mood did not come as a surprise to the group of
about eighty wizards standing round him. Using the group of non-wizards for his own purposes and
then eliminating them after made him feel neither guilty nor innocent. After all, they were
non-entities as far as he was concerned…mudbloods and sub-wizards; of no consequence.

Each time Voldemort felt it necessary to check the progress of the non-human sect of his army,
he came away feeling slightly dirty and in need of a good wash.

The Death Eaters were not immune to the effects themselves.

Voldemort growled at the group, stabbing them with a glare and made to move back inside his
cabin.

"**With me**."

The large procession followed their master dutifully, knowing the *true* debriefing was
indeed about to begin.

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

Harry held to Hermione's hand as they made their ways down the torchlit, shadowy halls of
Hogwarts and back to their rooms. They had portkeyed to Dumbledore's office from the Burrow,
and had spoken to the Headmaster only briefly before asking to be dismissed for the night. Ron and
Ginny were to be back at school next day, and both found those two were the only ones at the moment
they could bear seeing, so they hurried fast as they could past students and teachers, taking
little time to stop and speak.

As they walked the corridors they passed more students heading outside for early evening
Quidditch in the pre-spring night air, or moving in the direction of the library, or simply hanging
about here and there, destinations unknown. Seamus and Dean who were playing Exploding Snap with
several others tried to make them join saying bets were up to two galleons a winner, but all Harry
and Hermione could manage was a brief smile and a few words before hurrying even faster down the
hallways. Both had the same desperate feeling running almost frantically through their veins…
*escape*. From all well-wishers, friends, teachers, studies, even the dank halls that
surrounded them; all they wanted was to shut themselves away from everything, make it to their
couch, lie down close together, and hold on hard.

Colin Creevey with his head hung downward as usual, skulked along towards Gryffindor tower from
wherever he'd been. He stopped the two briefly to offer quiet condolences for Bill.

"Would've done for Ron and Ginny but I haven't seen them in a while…"

Harry nodded. "They've mostly been at St. Mungo's with their father and brother,
but they're a bit better now. The funeral was today. They'll be back round tomorrow morning
for school, I expect. You can pass it along to them then, I'm sure they'd appreciate
it."

Colin bit at his lips, obviously torn about something, and then nodded and began to make his way
back down the corridor.

Hermione squeezed Harry's arm and told him she'd be back in a moment before jogging down
the corridor to stop Colin.

"Colin, wait…"

She could see Colin's thin shoulders shrug stiffly up against his neck as he stopped and
slowly turned round, and Hermione took his response as his tendency to desire, since his
brother's disappearance, being left alone.

Hermione, panting slightly, reached out to touch his arm, but Colin recoiled a bit.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, drawing back. "Ron, Ginny Harry and
I…we've been so caught up in Ron's brother's death among…other things… we've been a
bit blind to everyone else. We haven't meant to be."

Colin averted his eyes and shrugged, his hands jammed into the pockets of his robes.
"I..it's all right Hermione… I've rather..felt like being alone you know…"

"I know you have," said Hermione gently. "But it's not healthy Colin. Harry
can certainly relate to you, he's lost quite a few people himself you know…he's often said
he wanted to talk to you about it. And as I'm always reminding *him*, you've got
friends here Colin; students *and* teachers who care about you. Don't push them away. You
can't deal with all of this on your own. You *need* them."

Colin raised his eyes to Hermione's and nodded, swallowing. "Well... er.. thanks
Hermione. I'll remember that. I've got to be getting on now…"

He turned to leave, but Hermione placed her hand on his shoulder once again. "Wait,
please."

He stopped in his tracks before he turned once again, his eyes closing briefly with a bit of
impatience. *Why couldn't everyone just leave him be? Especially Hermione and Harry. He
almost couldn't bear their compassion…*

"I'm sorry, I'll let you alone. Just one thing more," said Hermione gently.
Her eyes filled a bit with tears, and Colin quickly turned from her gaze to study the wall.
"All this…hiding out and separating yourself from everyone; do you think your brother would
want that for you? He'd want you to be happy; to go on living."

As if he'd been stung Colin, with a strangely pale expression, suddenly swung his gaze back
to Hermione.

"I'm not hiding!"

Hermione blinked at him with a bit of confusion. "No…n.. *of course* *not*… I
just meant… hiding yourself away from everyone. Keeping your feelings all trapped inside. It
won't bring Dennis back, Colin."

Colin suddenly looked desperate and grabbed hard onto Hermione's shoulders, peering intently
at her. Hermione tensed, her eyes widening a bit. From down the hallway, Harry had seen the motion.
He frowned and began moving swiftly toward them.

"What if…what if something *could*, Hermione…"

Hermione pulled against his grasp for a moment, but he just gripped tighter. He wasn't
really hurting her, but the odd emotions flitting across his face were a bit frightening.

"What'd you mean?"

Colin gazed hard at her. "What if you'd lost someone, someone *close*... if you
found you might bring them back somehow, *would you do it*? Would you do *anything* for
it?"

Hermione's mouth fell open as she gazed at him. She didn't think Colin had gone round
the twist, but something in the stressed, almost maniacal way he was gripping her shoulders made
her feel uneasy.

He shook her desperately. "*Would you*?"

"I... I don't... " began Hermione shakily.

"Hi Colin," said Harry's deeper voice from behind him. With his hands shoved
casually in his pockets, he moved very near Colin's side and towered above him. A crackling of
intense sapphire energy surrounded his body as he glanced at the grip Creevey had on Hermione, and
with a violent flash of warning in his green eyes, he pierced him with a threatening glare.

"**You can** **let go of her** **now**."

Colin dropped his hands from Hermione's arms as if they'd just suddenly received a
shock. "I'm…sorry, I didn't mean to..."

*"*It was only a *mistake,* I'm sure." Harry said in a dangerously calm
voice, glaring hard at him.

"*Harry*…" said Hermione quietly.

"Honestly, I didn't mean to hurt...," said Colin abashed, backing away a bit.
"*I'm* *so sorry*, *Hermione*."

Harry continued to watch him.

"Not at all. I'm fine," said Hermione sympathetically, eyeing him. "Are you
all right?"

"Fine," said Colin backing up to walk back down the corridor. The blue energy had
winked out, but he eyed Harry nervously. "I'm fine. I’m sorry Harry, really I was
just…would *never*... I didn't mean to… I've got to go. I'm sorry,
*really*."

Harry placed his hands almost possessively on Hermione's shoulders as they watched Colin
move hastily down the hall and disappear round a corner. As soon as he had gone from sight, Harry
turned Hermione round to him and looked searchingly down into her face, stroking her upper arms
with his thumbs.

"Did he hurt you?"

Hermione sighed. "No, of course not. He wouldn't Harry… But something is quite...
strange with him."

"Something's *been* quite strange with him," said Harry without grudge.
"But I suppose after what's happened to him and his family he's entitled to it.
He's never before had anything quite like this to deal with."

Hermione sighed and peered back toward the corner Colin had disappeared round as if to glean
information from it. "I dunno... it was something else, something he said."

Harry hesitated for a moment and then gave in to his worn impulses. He pulled her to him and
placed a kiss on the top of her head before resting his forehead there.

"Can we forget about it for a while?" He sighed into her hair, and his words came out
slightly muffled. "I just want to hold you for a bit."

Hermione smiled up at him, and then placed her head under his chin to bury her face in the top
of his chest. "Me too... I need it."

Harry nodded against her hair and took her hand, leading her back down the corridor toward their
rooms.

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

Voldemort allowed the Death Eaters to conjure chairs for themselves and be seated before he
addressed them. The cabin was almost as empty and common as it had been last year. With the amount
of servants the dark lord had now, the fact his temporary 'home' lacked the lordly
qualities he could have demanded for himself was surprising, indeed. However, when one's mind
is completely full of, and bent with nothing but revenge, little room is left for thoughts of
imperialism. The Death Eaters provided him with food; a small thing other than unicorn blood, he
had not needed when still devoid of his body, and provided him with whatever creature comforts his
whim desired. But they were few. His appetites usually focussed on one thing only. To have his army
more powerful than any one Dumbledore could conjure. Kingly amenities would come after.

Lucius bowed his head low. "We are ready my lord."

Voldemort nodded and turned to regard the magically enlarged room full of his old, and newly
chosen Death Eaters. Some puffed up ridiculously with importance as his glowing eyes fell
critically on them. He smiled shrewdly. From the crowd, he could even now easily pick out the ones
he would allow to live after the war was won. For now, he would keep that bit of information to
himself.

"Failed recruitment of more giants notwithstanding," said Voldemort by way of a
beginning, "our army is established. Though it would have been helpful to have more of the
*stupid bastarding animals* on our side as their tough hides make it impossible to take them
down with one simple spell. Ah well, as with all who refuse me, they have met their
fates."

Bellatrix Lestrange lifted her sneering hollowed pale face in surprise from the middle of the
group and waited until Voldemort nodded to her before she spoke.

"Met their fates, my lord? Forgive your servant… my ears deceived me into thinking you told
the creatures they had fled from here."

Voldemort regarded her as if she were a simpleton. "You were not deceived Bellatrix. Yet
had I not falsified what really happened, our large army might have greatly diminished." He
shifted his red gaze to another. "Dolohov, I will allow you to explain…
*Proceed*."

To assure his lord would not think he was attempting to appear important, Dolohov kept his head
bowed as he recited.

"With our master's instruction, I, along with ten others among us, found the remaining
giant's encampment in the northern mountainous region surrounding the Forbidden
Forest..."

"So close?" Spoke a newly recruited Death Eater.

The room became stock still, and Voldemort turned his burning gaze on the young man, surveying
him silently for a moment.

"Godolphin... you are *new*?"

The young Death Eater nervously eyed the crowd round him, who did not return his gaze and kept
their heads lowered. He began to stutter.

"Yes m..my lord. If I've spoken out of t..turn I apologi…"

" **Never** speak unless called upon…" he snarled. "Yet you *are* new, so
I will spare your life."

The Death Eater shuddered out a sigh of relief. "Thank you for your *mercy*,
master…"

"However," said Voldemort conversationally, tapping his wand on his chin. "As is
normal for the flawed, lessons tend to be forgotten…mistakes repeated; and that *would* be
unfortunate."

He paced for a moment, a small smile quirking his thin white lips as the young man began to
sweat, his eyes passing from one fellow to the other, only to meet bowed heads and averted
eyes.

"How to ensure this does not happen again… *ah*, I have it."

The dark lord whirled and aimed his wand. The Death Eater stiffened, wide-eyed.

"*Crucio*!"

With a high-pitched, wailing scream, the young man fell from his chair and began to thrash
about; his limbs seizing and twitching. The others sitting round him winced.

Voldemort gave another careless wave of his wand, and suddenly all was quiet, although the young
man continued in his torture, flailing about with mouth stretched wide; floorboards sounding as his
heels cracked them, knees and elbows hammering the wood, silent screams continuing.

For a moment, the dark lord watched with mild curiosity as the young man continued in his agony.
*Such subtle differences in the way each victim reacts... quite interesting*.

"Better. Now, he shall never worry on losing his life with the same mistake. I should think
after, he will wish to thank me."

He lifted the spell with a flick of his bone-like wrist and the young man fell limp on the
floor, panting. He paid him no further attention.

"Dolohov… *continue*," he ordered.

A sheen of sweat covering his face, Dolohov continued reciting as well, hoping fervently he
himself could keep from doing anything this night to further provoke his master's
ill-humour.

"We... found where the giants were camped... The rest must have either retreated or killed
one another, more like; the *great* *brutes* don't get on in large numbers. I
approached the Gurg and offered him gifts with the promise of more, along with the assurance should
the victory fall to our side, they would be allowed the entire northern mountainous region to rule.
He refused. We had ten Death Eaters to their number of fifteen, but being much quicker and
stealthier, we eventually did them all in. The Gurg himself took on five killing spells before he
fell."

Voldemort, now peering at the unearthly red fire blazing in his hearth, raised his hand and
Dolohov immediately silenced.

"*Enough*... we have a visitor."

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

Like a comfortable, secure quilt, the darkness and silence of Harry's room provided for the
two young people cuddled together on the bed, a sort of hideaway from the outside world.

Harry's heart was full to bursting. Hermione snuggled so tightly with him that every part of
his body was comforted and yet restless with burning need. At the moment, it seemed, these were the
only emotions he wanted to know. More often than not, he sought nowadays to feel almost
nothing.

Hermione sighed into his mouth as he moved his lips over hers; her hands sliding down his back
to come back up with the hem of his shirt. He stopped kissing her long enough to let her drag it
over his head and pluck the glasses from his face. He made to move back over her but she put her
hands on his bare chest and held him there, her eyes roaming him languidly.

Harry rested his head on his elbow and gazed down at her.

"What're you thinking?"

"Just how much you sometimes still remind me of the little boy I met on the train seven
years ago," she smiled. "Same lovely glass-green eyes, same messy hair..."

Harry poked her ribs until she began squirming and slapping at his chest. He laughed aloud.

"Same *cheeky* grin," she giggled, panting.

He grabbed her and rolled her beneath him until she was completely trapped, his smile fading to
an intense gaze, and all teasing instantly fell away. The hard planes of his body pressed into
hers, causing her own to shiver with a seductive downward-crawling heat. In her abdomen, small
pinpricks of desire began to excite her breathing, and she was helpless to stop her mind from
imagining how losing control with him would be... how his touch would burn, his hands explore, his
movements unravel her...

His heated gaze was so passionate, his fingers searing trails down the soft curves and dips of
her body. It felt so deliciously right, and not for the first time Hermione felt herself responding
in ways she had never known she could before him… before *this*.

"I hope I've changed in all the ways that count," Harry whispered in a low voice,
his lips distracting against the soft shell of her ear.

Hermione didn't answer straight away, she was too busy tangling slim fingers into his hair,
fingernails running along his scalp the way she knew he liked.

"Oh, I think so."

Her hands roamed down the carved plains of his back, to sweep over his tight bum, ...*Thank
Merlin for Quidditch clenched brooms*... back around a tapered waist to slide down the hard
ridges of his abdomen and around slim hips... He trembled at her touch; hot breath against her
neck, and she smiled at the hard bulge pressed against her inner thigh. At least she effected him
just as strongly. Small, soft hands smoothed upward, over light olive skin, over well-muscled chest
and arms, back over strong shoulders to the face now centimetres from hers... Absurdly long lashes
over eyes greener than the sea, straight nose, full lips, wicked smile, *sexier than hell*
messy black hair... Hermione had never before considered the term 'beautiful' befitting for
a man, but to her Harry embodied it whole.

Harry had been studying her just as actively, letting his hands wander her body until every
allowed area was well mapped and memorised. Although she was more than a head shorter than him, her
limbs were long and lean, with lightly tanned, soft skin... the kind he swore gleamed like
moonlight. Long corkscrew curls fell like waves about her face, a delicate oval one, with soft full
lips, a slightly upturned feminine nose and large doe eyes framed with thick long fans of lashes...
*bloody* *perfect*. He kissed each area as he examined it, making sure his lips and
tongue mapped the skin just as thoroughly as his fingers had... branding it with his mouth, making
her his own. *Great Merlin but he wanted more...he wanted ALL of her...*

Need took over, and control began to slip. She was panting beneath him, his mouth came down
hungrily on hers and she grabbed him to her, fitting her body so tightly with his that bolts of
desire zinged straight down his own. They rolled, Harry's hands travelling under her nightshirt
to caress the smooth skin on her back, his fingers moving to brush the soft side-swells of her
breasts as they pressed against him. She moaned and pressed against him even harder, the sensation
causing a jerk of his hips he hadn't expected. *Sweet Merlin*...

He groaned into her mouth and rolled her hard beneath him, his hips now grinding intimately
against hers, his hands and mouth touching and sweeping and rubbing and teasing and moving and
feeling... just feeling...

"*Oh god, Harry*..."

Her voice was higher-pitched than usual, pleasure tightening her throat, tightening her abdomen,
tightening everything...

"*We have to st...OH M..Merlin..."* she gasped, her body arching beneath him.
"*Have to stop*..."

"*I know*..." he rasped in a deep voice. "*I know*."

Ignoring the uncomfortable throbbing of his body he settled himself a few inches away from her
on the bed, panting as much as she was, and just as wholly frustrated. *Bloody Godric*… A few
moments more, and Harry felt he mightn't have noticed an earthquake hit. The desperate look in
Hermione's gaze told him she felt the same.

When they felt they could lay closely together and not get into further trouble, Hermione eased
back over to him and lay with one leg and arm draped over him, and her head on his shoulder. He
pulled her nearer him and wrapped his arms about her, resting his cheek on her hair and breathing
in her scent.

"I love you," said Harry quietly.

"I love you too," Hermione raised her head briefly and smiled at him.

After a bit her breathing slowed, and Harry could tell she had fallen asleep. He smoothed a few
errant curls from her face and with one arm, attempted to pull a bit of his rumpled bed coverings
over them. He gave up after a few half-hearted tries rather than wake her.

"*Soon*," he sighed, and then gave himself up to the night.

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

The flames in the hearth turned a neon shade of green. A quickly revolving head soon slowed
itself enough to peer quite frightfully at the dark lord, and the owner of the eyes instantly
averted them. Voldemort's mouth twisted into a cruel smile as he studied the face.

"Ah, the turncoat."

Colin blinked heavily. "To my shame."

"To your *benefit*," said the dark lord with narrowed eyes. "Or have you
forgotten our agreement? It would well suit you to remember."

Had he not been facing Voldemort through the floo, Creevey would not be so bold as to show his
disgust, but as fortune had it, he was.

"I haven't forgotten," he rasped angrily. He hated his own actions… hated
Voldemort and everything he stood for, and more than everything else combined… *completely
loathed* himself.

Voldemort favoured him with a nod. "Have you done as I instructed you?"

"I cast the *subausculto* spell on the knight in Harry's portrait; he acts the
same...doesn't even know he's been tampered with. He's been listening to their
conversations though he hasn't really overheard much of worth."

Voldemort sneered and glided closer to the hearth. "**I** will judge what information
*is* or *is not* *valuable*, you insignificant bit of **filth**. If you wish to
see your brother again, you'll tell me what you've learned."

Colin felt his chest constrict with fear but checked himself before he let it show. From his
very short time being in contact with Voldemort, he'd discerned one trait of his that so far
had proved valuable knowledge. The dark lord abhorred **any** sign of weakness. He had no doubt
should anything he did or said aggravate the dark lord enough, he would have no qualms at killing
Dennis simply for the pleasure of it… information be damned.

Voldemort raised an impatient eyebrow at the boy obviously trying to control his emotions. He
was sure Potter's greatest admirer would never help him if he knew his brother had been killed
long ago, though that bit of information would stay secret only for as long as the *little
bastard* was needed. After, he would let it be known, and sit back comfortably to watch the
show.

"Potter's training harder than ever... Running in the mornings, fighting the sword with
his father, he's astounding with wandless magic. And Dumbledore's getting an army of his
own," said Colin steadily. "He's begun recruiting and training as many as will fight
with them somewhere here in Scotland. Cadogen didn't catch where."

"Hardly surprising," snarled Voldemort thoughtfully, his eyes surveying the Death
Eaters still bowed before him. "Have you learned any locations he's sent his own
team?"

"He doesn't tell Harry," said Colin. "Only tells him they're guarding
different areas in our world as well as with the Muggles. He's got them in Diagon Alley and all
over Hogsmeade."

"And the Black traitor?" said Voldemort. "I know he keeps in contact with him.
His death would be invaluable."

Colin's heart leapt painfully in his chest. Harry had lost enough of those close to him.
Thankfully, Colin himself had heard little on Sirius to try lying to Voldemort about it, though
that point was a moot one. There was no lying to the dark lord, anyway.

"Harry's never mentioned aloud where he stays, though wherever it is, apparently his
cousin and aunt are there as well and not at all happy with it."

Voldemort seemed to be storing the new information meticulously away in his brain. It wasn't
much, but it was more than he would have known.

He turned abruptly back to face his informant. "What else?"

"Th..that's all I have," stuttered Colin. "They really don't openly
discuss much. I only got that bit from the portrait. They don't even whisper on it much over
meals, and that's really the only time I have much excuse to sit nearer them without looking
suspicious."

"And yet," said Voldemort with distinct threat in his voice, "If you want your
family whole again you'll continue to **try**, *won't you*?"

Colin grimaced, his mouth as dry as if it was stuffed with cotton. "Please... please could
I just... *see* him a moment? Just to see he's alright..."

Voldemort scrutinised the young man with such cold intimidation in his glowing eyes that he
could practically feel the squirming from the other side of the floo connect.

"Your reward comes when your task is complete, and **not** before."

Colin gritted his teeth desperately and blurted. "How do I know he's still alive then?
It's not as if I can *trust you*, can I?"

"You seem to have forgotten you have ***no choice**,*" Voldemort raised his
voice angrily. "Need I **remind** you?"

"**No!**" shouted Colin wildly. "No I don't... I'm *clear* on it.
I'm sorry."

Voldemort waved a hand dismissively at him. "Leave me. I expect your report next week, and
with something considerably more substantial, am **I** clear?"

"Y..yes," stammered Colin, and he disappeared from the flames, their colour changing
from green back to ruby glowing red once more.

When he had turned his gaze back to his Death Eaters, he saw one glance at him from beneath the
hood of his robe; the signal he wished to speak.

"*Crabbe*…" said Voldemort impassively.

"My lord," the fat Death Eater shifted nervously in his seat. "I wonder wh..why
we do not send for Potter… It would seem he is already desperate for the killing to stop. Would he
not now hand himself over in exchange for the sparing of others?"

"I underestimated him once, I won't do it again," said Voldemort, his new muscles
now tensed and his bone-white jaw clenched. "I want him desperate and broken, completely rash
and unthinking. His greatest power lies in the..*relationships*..he's forged at that
*bloody* school. I want him sure he's going to lose them all, his friends, his girlfriend,
his godfather... his *father*. Before I'm through with Potter, he'll be reckless
enough to rush headlong into the fight, help or none. I'll crush his body... and his
spirit."

Lucius raised his head and favoured his master with a triumphant smile. "I'm sure you
will, my lord."

Voldemort observed him briefly as if he were little more than an insect and ignored the comment.
He dismissed the large group with admonitions that they were to continue assigned tasks and report
periodically, and that reckoning was soon at hand.

As he watched the group file out, a cruel smile twisted the already horrific features of the
dark lord's face. *Life really was like a cracking game of chess*, he thought in
retrospect. *Pawns to their places; knights, rooks and castles prepared to fight for the king…
and in the end, the most cunning finished the victor*.

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

A late night rapping on their portrait along with the sudden mad ravings of Sir Cadogen made
Harry suddenly bolt upright in bed, his hand instinctively still clutching for his wand. Hermione
sat up too, her eyes widened and as alert as one could be round four in the morning.

"*Harry*..."

"I'll go."

"I'll come too..." she said grabbing up her wand.

Harry grimaced and turned to her. "Hermione, I don't..."

"Don't bother *arguing*, it could be one of the Weasleys. I'm
*coming*."

He shook his head, pulled on a pair of jeans, shoved his glasses onto his face and moved
suspiciously toward the door, holding Hermione's hand and forcing her behind him. Surprise lit
his face as his eyes met only a large, familiar abdomen.

"*Hagrid*?"

Hermione's eyes met Harry's with surprise. Knowing the half-giant was too large to fit
through the portrait hole, both stepped out into dank torchlit halls, squinting against the assault
of light against their eyes.

"I'm so s..sorry ta bother you 'Arry, 'Ermione... but you was close to 'im
too, after all... knew him 'bout as long as I did..."

Hagrid's voice was hoarse with grief, large tears trickling into his beard and splashing
onto the floor in front of them. Harry squinted up at him in confusion and Hermione moved to his
side quickly, taking his large hand with her much smaller one.

"Hagrid, what is it, what's happened!?" asked Hermione fearfully as she peered up
at his face. She had never seen him quite as upset as he was now, and as she had always held a soft
spot for him, his grief pained her.

"Who were we close to?" asked Harry gently.

"*It's* *Grawpie*," sobbed Hagrid, balling his free hand into a ham
sized fist. "E's *dead*. *'Im* an' his *whole tribe*."




32. Chapter 32: Fudge and his Greatest Regret
---------------------------------------------


**Chapter 32: Fudge's Greatest Regret**

*One asked of regret,*

*And I made reply:*

*To have held the bird,*

*And let it fly;*

*To have seen the star*

*For a moment nigh,*

*And lost it*

*Through a slothful eye;*

*To have plucked the flower*

*And cast it by;*

*To have one only hope-*

*To die.*

*Richard Le Gallienne. 1866-1947*

Harry and Hermione stared shocked up at Hagrid, who was currently using a great brown
handkerchief to blow his nose. The sound echoed like a deep trumpet through the dim hallway.

"*Grawp*!?" exclaimed Harry, quickly glancing Hermione's way. "When
did... Hagrid, how'd you *know*?"

"I been up th' mountains to 'is camp 'bout once a month fer a visit," said
Hagrid with a sorrowful hiccup to his voice. He swiped hard at his eyes. "Even when 'e
decided on returnin' to the others I still wanted ta look out fer 'im... make sure 'e
was alrigh'... Could'n leave 'im to 'imself, could I? We *was*
*fam'ly* after all."

Hermione tightened her grip on Hagrid's hand, and Harry placed a consoling hand on his other
arm.

"On'y fam'ly in th' world I had lef'," said Hagrid dully, sounding
congested.

Hermione instantly tugged on his massive hand in reproof. "Hagrid, that's not true! You
have a great family right here at Hogwarts! Professor Dumbledore really cares for you, and you know
Harry, Ron and I love you!"

Harry nodded up at him. "She's right."

For a moment, Hagrid simply stared down at them until he let out a blaring, hoarse wail that
startled Hermione a bit.

"Oh 'Ermione, *thank you* fer sayin' so! I dunno wha' I'd do
withou' you an' 'Arry, there. An' if you don' min' my sayin' so,
Grawpie felt th' very same abou' you two, I think. I know he ne'er *regalarly*
said as much, but he did... you c'n be *sure*."

Harry resisted the impulse to point out that Grawp had never regularly '*said*'
much of anything save some grunting and incoherent phrases, and instead focused on the next obvious
question.

"I'm sorry about your brother, Hagrid, really… But do you suspect who might've done
it?"

Hagrid paused and sniffled for a moment before eyeing Harry with world-weary eyes. "You
know the answer ta tha' one already, I think."

Hermione glanced Harry's way with less surprise than would have been normal in lesser
circumstances, and then back up at Hagrid. Harry hung his head.

"You think Voldemort sent his servants," she stated quietly.

Hagrid shoved the huge brown handkerchief back into his pocket more forcefully than needed.
"Ain' no thinkin' necess'ry. I **know** they done it."

"How can you be sure..." said Harry in little more than a whisper. Hermione glanced at
him with concern.

"Was wand soot all o'er th' bodies," stated Hagrid sounding slightly
nauseated. "Magic jes' cracklin' in th' air... Y'know, spell residue. No one
*decen*' or in their *righ' minds* woulda gone to such trouble to try
convincin' *gian's* ta join their side... it ain' as if it's a big secre'
gian's don' like magic or the lot who use it. I'm guessin' the Gurg did'
wan' no part of it."

"You think Voldemort was trying to bribe the giants over to his side?" Harry more
stated than asked, a bit incredulously. "No matter how much I'd like to think it, he's
not stupid. I can't imagine he'd think they would actually *join*."

"Mebbe he did, mebbe he din't," said Hagrid with a bitter edge to his voice.
"Fact is he *DID* kill 'em. Weren' no skin off his nose if they refused, was it?
He'd jes' as soon have 'em dead as livin' anyways."

Hermione nodded. "I suppose so."

After Hagrid took a moment to squash down his anger and compose himself, he glanced down at a
weary and upset Harry, currently leaning against the stone wall of the hallway.

He'd always felt very tenderly toward Harry, truthfully ever since the last day of the
boy's first year, when he had given Hagrid a hug and made known to those round him he felt his
real home was Hogwarts. The hug had been the first bit of physical affection Hagrid had ever
received from anyone, and he felt sure later, once he had found out more about Harry's life
prior to school, it had been one of the first signs of affection Harry *himself* had ever
felt. Since that day, and even now that he had grown into a much taller, capable young man, Hagrid
had always felt very protective of Harry. As he looked down now on the moppet of black hair bowed
low, he realised informing Harry about Grawp's death might have served to make him feel even
guiltier than he already did. Mentally, Hagrid kicked himself. Adding more to Harry's heavy
pile of burdens was the last thing on earth he ever wanted to do. He cleared his throat with an
emotional grunt.

"My tellin' you it ain' yer fault won' make a bit of differ'nce to ya, I
s'pose," he said in a mildly gruff voice.

Harry squinted up at him with a wan smile, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans.
"Not likely."

Hermione frowned.

"Well I'm... ah... I'm sorry fer tha' 'Arry," said Hagrid, retrieving
his handkerchief to blast his nose in it once more. "Weren' never my intention
y'know... I jes' though' you'n 'Ermione oughtta know wha'
happened..."

Harry held up a hand. "I know Hagrid, it's alright. Somewhere inside I know none of
this is my fault, really..."

Hermione choked somewhere in the back of her throat, and a look of utter relief washed over her
face.

"Still, sometimes... I *know* what he's doing, I just... I just *can't
stand* the thought of people being killed to get at me..." Harry clawed a hand through his
hair, rumpling it even further.

"I dunno s'much as it was to get a' *you*," said Hagrid with a grimace.
"Grawp was *my* brother, wasn' 'e?"

"Exactly," said Harry. "*You're* brother. He hurts you, he hurts me...
and he knows it."

"And yet it could've been that he simply hates giants Harry," admonished Hermione
quietly. "He hates *all* wizarding creatures, anything or anyone that isn't
pure-blood wizard."

Harry nodded, frustrated. "You're right, of course. I just wish he'd just tell me
where he is so I could finally meet him and end all this…"

Fear suddenly coiled itself tightly inside Hermione's abdomen, and her gaze shot up to meet
his.

"**NO!**"

Startled at her outburst, both Hagrid and Harry stared down at her in slight bewilderment.

Harry spoke quietly. "It's going to happen some day, 'Mione. You Ron and I've
all been having the same dream for some time now… We know how it ends; or at least how he
*wants* it to end. Voldemort knows his powers will return if he kills me. He knows he needs
them to make his psychotic dream of a *bloody 'perfect' world* come true..."

"He's been *bating* us Harry!" Hermione exclaimed frantically. "I know
you can see that!"

" 'Course I can! But what other choice will I have if it comes down to it?" Harry
shouted back agitatedly. "What would you have me do, lie back and let him kill until
Dumbledore's army is ready!? If I show, he'll stop! I just need to know where he
is…"

"In the dream we were *ALL* killed," Hermione breathed out desperately. She moved
from Hagrid's side to clutch Harry's hand in hers and stared up into his eyes. "Maybe
it'll take *all* of us being done in for Voldemort to get what he wants, not just you! In
any case, we know now we're all three supposed to fight *together*! Something more
powerful happens when it's the three of us and you'll **need it** when facing
him!"

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Hermione vehemently shook her head at him.

"*Promise me* you'll **never** go off for him on your own… *Promise me*,
*Harry*!"

Hermione had reached her hands up to either side of his face, tears streaming down her cheeks,
and Harry was utterly still as he stared down at her.

He knew if Voldemort sent him a proposition and a place to meet to end the killing;
*whatever* demand was made, he would have no choice but to meet it.

Somewhere past the Hermione-focussed part of his brain he knew Hagrid was still standing there,
probably shifting nervously and feeling embarrassed to be witnessing such a private
conversation.

Yet, all Harry could concentrate on was Hermione's face; the look of pleading and absolute
desperation in her eyes as she begged him to reassure her he would never go off alone. And because
he knew what a *sick bastard* Voldemort was, he could promise nothing of the sort.

Harry swallowed, trying to stop his stoic expression from crumbling. He stared down at the
person he loved more than any other and watched an painful foreboding cross her face; her eyes
bright with fear as she stared into his own, examining him.

***Damn it to hell, WHY** does she have to see through me so well!?…* Harry tried
gritting his teeth to keep the tears at bay, but his heart rebelled against it. He almost
couldn't stand watching her face crumble, her raw, discerning eyes locked onto his own.

Once again he opened his mouth to speak, but the voice they heard next was not his own.

"You'd do well to listen to her, son."

Harry, Hermione and Hagrid jumped for a moment before whirling around to see Professor Lupin
emerge from the dark shadows of the hallway.

Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat and sighed wearily. "Dad, what're
you..."

However, as he saw his father's haunted expression he paused, and his voice turned
stony.

"**What's happened**..."

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

( A few hours before…)

Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, sat pompous and disdainful behind his desk as he narrowed
his small eyes at the subdued *Daily Prophet* reporter before him. It was half past eight in
the evening, and the offices of the Ministry had long since emptied of tired, passive workers all
bent on apparating or flooing home as soon as possible. The only two he had insisted on staying
were his Deputy Prime Minister, Delores Umbridge, and his Senior Undersecretary, Percival
Weasley.

Umbridge, standing squat and toad-like behind him and wearing a broad, sharp-toothed grin, had
been invaluable in helping him understand that the possibility the dark lord had returned was
unlikely. It was far more plausible, as she smoothly put it, that some other wizard bent on taking
the dark lord's place, and using isolated acts of violence to try doing so, was attempting to
stir up fear in their community; possibly one hired by Dumbledore for that *very*
*reason*. After all, hadn't Dumbledore always been after his, Fudge's, position? What
better way to win it than to frighten the wizarding world into thinking their greatest enemy had
returned with a vengeance, and that the current minister was ill-equipped to handle it? Would not
the Wizengamot reinstate Dumbledore as Supreme Mugwump should they come to believe his and the
Potter boy's tales? Would not they desire someone as powerful as Dumbledore seemed to be to
take over in such an event?

Fact was that the Ministry needed to take control of what news was being released to the
Wizarding community. It simply *would not do* to allow Dumbledore and Harry *bloody*
Potter to influence the press, and therefore undermine Fudge's seat of power.

Moreover, even if all this were not the case, Fudge simply could not wrap his mind round the
idea You-Know-Who had returned. It had been so long, and why had the dark lord waited until just
now? How very conveniently it all would work out for the Headmaster. Of the fact that the dark
lord's return was a ploy to regain Dumbledore's standing in the community, Fudge had no
doubt. Especially after the wild-eyed, crazed spectacle back some three years ago at the
Tri-Wizarding Tournament Harry Potter had put on, reappearing as he did, and clutching the body of
a dead boy.

*No*…if the mental lad *really* *had* faced You-Know-Who he would most certainly
be dead; there was no way he could have returned alive from it. However, the boy certainly had a
flair for frightening people, that was for *sure*. Dramatics and falsities, indeed.

Most likely, this deception in itself had been the start of Dumbledore's plan to rid Fudge
of his office, using the delusions of the *boy-who-lived* to do so. Umbridge was right… the
whole lot of them were mad and power-hungry, and **by** **Merlin**, he would **NOT** allow
their influence over anything… including the *Daily Prophet*.

"And that is **all** you'll be reporting?" asked Fudge in a nasally demanding
voice as he stared down the thin reporter called Edmund Pillings.

Pillings nodded, extremely intimidated at being stared down by the Minister of Magic and his
successor. To Fudge's right, Percy Weasley sat straight-backed and pompous, eyeing the reporter
as if he himself had authority over him as well. Every now and then during the conversation Weasley
dipped his head rather importantly to scratch notes onto a large wooden clipboard, the sound of
which made Edmund want to force said *clipboard* up said Senior Undersecretary's
*rectum*.

Pillings closed his eyes for a brief moment and contained himself. It wouldn't do to get
snarky with the Minister of Magic or his underlings. Fudge could have him fired from his job in a
matter of minutes.

"If you please Minister Fudge," he began. "I simply can't fathom *why*
you don't want it reported that an entire Muggle building full of people, a mall they call it,
was blown to bits yesterday! And accounts of smaller incidents are being reported now all over
*our* world as well! Killings in Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley…all half-wizards and Muggle borns.
Just since last week there's been six new ones… *six*! Witnesses are saying the men are
dressed like… like You-Know-Who's **Death Eaters** used to dress! And your own law
enforcement have been seeing to them…"

"Yes well I'm not going to allow crimes to go uninvestigated or unpunished, am I?"
said Fudge with distinct irritation. "It's just too bad the felons have been so swift to
flee after they've done."

Pillings lowered his eyebrows aggrivatedly. "Well, its news that needs reporting if you ask
me…"

Delores Umbridge spoke up in a sweetly poisonous voice. "I don't believe anyone
*did* ask you though, *did they*?"

Pillings heaved a sigh in frustration. "But our front pages have been cut down to nothing
but meaningless *sensation* *stories* with the *real* news being shoved in tiny
paragraphs toward the *back*! I just believe we're owed some explanation…"

"You're owed nothing of the sort!" Fudge's face flushed angrily. He placed fat
clenched fists on the polished wood of the desk in front of him and leaned forward. "If I want
you reporting on *bloody garden gnomes* *and their* *impact on the common
household*, you'll *ruddy well* be taking *notes*!"

Pilling's nostrils flared rather angrily, but he kept himself tight-lipped. It was the same
for every damn issue of the *Prophet*, anyway. Fudge sent for the reporter designated to write
the top stories for that week, and after being briefed on what had been going on amongst the
community, the reporter was then told what stories were or were not permitted to run. Pillings
snorted derisively to himself. That way, he figured, Fudge couldn’t be accused of not allowing
important issues to be reported. Though even the ones he actually *allowed* were moved toward
the back of the paper in a less popular section... a place where they were least likely to be
read.

"But Minister Fudge," tried Pillings again, doing his best to keep his voice steady
and respectful. "Our editors are getting suspicious. I've heard them talking. They say it
looks dodgy, as if you're trying to hide something incriminating about yourself, and that
can't be good for you or your position. Can't you at least give me something to tell
them?"

Behind Fudge, Umbridge frowned. Wagging tongues and sinking public opinion of the Minister was
definitely **NOT** what she wanted. As long as Fudge was in power she was able to easily direct
the goings on at the Ministry, though by all accounts that would soon be a moot point. Even so,
having the Daily Prophet think Fudge was hiding something was not good. After all, ever since
Umbridge had proved herself smart and capable enough to try turning things round two years ago at
Hogwarts, although her position had not worked out, Cornelius had come to implicitly trust her and
her judgement... *the* *ignorant clot*. Dolores smiled as an image of Voldemort flashed
through her mind. Master had rewarded her quite well for gaining Fudge's trust, and she
certainly did not want public opinion of the Minister to diminish.

Umbridge plastered a wise, innocent smile on her face and leaned down, though she hadn't far
to lean, to whisper conspiratorially into Fudge's ear.

"Perhaps in a way, he is *right*, Minister. After all, *you and* *I* may
understand the mind games Dumbledore is trying to employ, but as Pillings has said, it must seem a
bit.. shall we say.. *clandestine* to others. Perhaps we should explain the situation, at
least to those advertising wizards at the *Prophet*."

Fudge grimaced and turned his head a bit to catch the side of her flabby face. "And once
they hear our theories on Dumbledore and his mad plots, you don't think they'll believe
**I’m** the nutter?"

"Remember earlier through your brilliant direction, how they came to recognise the Potter
boy's dodgy antics and lies," simpered Umbridge quietly. Beside them, Percy nodded
sanctimoniously. "If made to understand the situation by someone as keen and distinguished as
yourself, surely they will take a different tack. After all, it simply would not do to have public
opinion swayed Dumbledore's way, would it?"

"But Dumbledore still has many supporters who would believe his *lies* over the
*truth*," hissed Fudge. "I can't risk alienating those who follow him
either!"

"Then you shall simply leave out his name," whispered Umbridge. "One need not
know the name of the conspirator to understand the conspiracy. It will be enough for the Prophet to
understand the public is trying to be fooled without pointing out the perpetrator. Nevertheless
*you*, of course, are Minister, Cornelius. I sincerely hope it *remains* that way... I
should miss working with you."

She straightened once again with a particularly satisfied smile, and watched Fudge's face
flush a deep red. Pillings eyed them dubiously.

Fudge nervously cleared his throat. "Well… alright, then. I'll tell you what's been
going on. However, I want it understood this information is to stay **STRICTLY** within the
walls of the Daily Prophet, am I understood?"

"*Clearly*," said Edmund Pillings with a relieved look on his face.

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

Some time later, after doing his level best to convince Edmund Pillings of the unknown
conspirator's power-hungry, wicked plots to take control of the Ministry, and being solidly
agreed with at every turn by Umbridge and a very haughty Percy Weasley, Fudge still had not quite
gained the trust of the reporter. He seemed keen on understanding just who it was Fudge suspected;
so much so that eventually, the Minister gave in and began explaining fully his theories on Albus
Dumbledore.

Far from being upset by this however, Umbridge smiled. She had planned for just such an
eventuality, knowing a reporter was never satisfied until the entirety of a tale had become known,
and had urged Fudge to tell the story fully aware of this. Truth was, most of her 'work'
tonight was being done merely for the *Daily* *Prophet's* sake, as much of what Fudge
believed would soon no longer matter.

Though the idea that Voldemort was still gone from their world would very soon be reversed,
perhaps the media might come to believe Dumbledore had an alliance with the dark lord. It
didn't hurt to have them doubting the Headmaster, did it? One small seed of distrust planted
might grow to wreak havoc later on.

Fudge ended his rant and sat back in his chair, huffing and thoroughly red in the face. However,
the expression he saw on Pillings' face was quite the opposite of what he had hoped for, and it
set his nerves on edge.

The reporter leaned back in his chair and stared at him. "Albus Dumbledore, you
say…"

"Yes," Fudge stated shortly, huffing.

"Using the Potter boy to deceive the public…" stated Pillings colourlessly, narrowing
his eyes.

"*Yes*."

"And sending false Death Eaters to kill and pillage in order to have the Wizengamot
reinstate him…"

"Along with eventually taking over *my seat* as Minister of Magic, **YES**!"
snapped Fudge. The veins in his bulbous nose, a result of too much ale, rose up dark blue with
anger. Behind him, Umbridge hid a small, crafty smile.

Pillings again sat perfectly still and thought to himself; the silence so deafening in the room
that Fudge could hear the maddening, repetitive sounds of the reporter's steady breathing… in
and out…in and out…

Finally, Pillings spoke. "Impossible."

"*What*!?" Fudge's eyes flashed with insult, and he smashed a fist down hard
on his desk with a loud ***thump***. "Do you mean to call me a *liar*!?"

"Not at all," Pillings replied.

"Then exactly *what* do you *mean* by it!?"

"Only that perhaps you're... *mistaken*," stated Pillings calmly. "I
simply can't fathom it. Albus Dumbledore has never shown any indication he holds anything for
the dark arts other than the deepest loathing. And I can't believe he's the sort that would
kill innocent witches and wizards simply to gain power. He's never done the likes before, and I
can't believe he'd resort to it now. Besides, he's always said he's happy with
where he is… He's never tried to take over the Ministry before, has he?"

Delores Umbridge cleared her throat with an irritatingly high-pitched (*hem, hem*), and
three sets of eyes turned her way. She smiled sweetly. "I don't believe the Minister must
be *in error,* as you imply, simply because Dumbledore has never before been *perceived*
a certain way. Perhaps he has simply tired of being Headmaster... Perhaps, in his latter years, he
wishes now to take on authorities and powers he has never before done. And it *is* *true*
when things do not seem to be going his way, as with the Potter boy's trial two years ago, that
he tends to *force* himself in; acting with much more authority and command than he should, is
it not?"

As Fudge thought on it, the reaccounting of how Dumbledore had embarrassed him in front of the
full Ministry court some two years ago further inflamed his anger.

"**Right you are**!" he shouted in a blustery voice. "The man has
**always** given himself more power than should be allowed!"

Pillings scoffed at him. "But that still doesn't prove he's been behind the
*killings*! Those in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, even Muggle England... There's no
*proof* of it! It's all *speculation*!"

Fudge leaned forward on his desk to fix Pillings with a death-like glare and spoke next in a
dangerously calm voice. "And yet, if you value your job, it's speculation you'll
**accept**, isn't it? You *are* right that we do not yet have solid proof, but it will
come with time, of that I'm **certain**… Just as certain in fact, as I am that
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is *NOT* back from the dead."

"But what if he never really died!?" exclaimed Pillings. "You can't deny
it's a *possibility*!"

"If he had never died, I don't think he would've waited sixteen years to finally
make his move, do you!? The mere mention of it is utterly *ridiculous*, and I am **done**
talking with you. You will report what I've told you to your editors and to your employer, and
the Daily Prophet will continue to write only what is Ministry approved or *so help me*,
I'll have the whole paper *shut down*. Have I made myself *clear*?"

Pillings eyed the Minister with an angry, sour scowl before replying.
"**Crystal**."

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

Eight o'clock had turned into nine forty five with such a fast revolution of the clocks
hands that as Fudge caught a glimpse of his own office clock, he almost felt as if he'd used a
time turner.

Umbridge still sat beside him on a plush, green chair, one that made her appear she was perched
on a giant toadstool.

Fudge rubbed his temples. The annoying reporter for the Prophet had finally taken his leave,
*thank Merlin*. The Minister paused in his recitation of notes to Percy, which caused the
latter to look up from his scratching.

"Minister Fudge are you alright? Might I get you something?"

"No... I'm fine Wilkins, perfectly fine, thank you."

Percy scowled inwardly. Two and a half years working for Cornelius Fudge, and the Minister had
yet to get his name right. *Ah well*, thought Percy with a sniff, *it doesn't really
matter, after all*. After Umbridge, he was next in line to take the position of Minister of
Magic, and he was not going to let something as trivial as being named incorrectly hurt his
chances, was he?

Fudge sighed. "Albus Dumbledore won't rest until he has brainwashed the entirety of the
Wizarding community! He sits at that *damnable* school, day after day, with nothing to do but
hatch horrible plans to take over the very heart of our government, using that *devious*,
*mental* Potter lad to do it! The very thought sickens me."

Percy nodded vigorously. "I agree with you one hundred percent, Minister. Potter *is*
delusional... *I've* known it for a long time. However, he *is* *quite good* at
passing off his fantasies as reality. I'm sure soon as Dumbledore recognised the opportunity to
fool the public he seized on it. He might be old, but he is certainly as cunning as ever."

Delores Umbridge smiled slyly, her beady eyes moving from Percy to the Minister and back as if
watching a particularly entertaining cricket match.

"Too true, Williams, too true," stated Fudge grudgingly, now looking up from staring
at his highly polished desk. "And it *is* late, isn't it? This report must be
finished up, but soon as we're done with it, we'll call it a night. I'm feeling the
need for a long rest."

Umbridge shifted a bit in her seat and eyed him. "Oh, I'm sure you'll get it soon
enough."

"Let us hope so," Fudge grunted, and then opened his mouth to begin reciting to Percy,
who had his quill poised and ready, once again. However, Umbridge spoke up again.

"Oh you need not *hope* on it," she grinned sweetly. "You do so much for the
Wizarding world. You deserve a nice long rest... I'm sure it will be coming any minute
now."

Both Fudge and Percy shifted a bit to glance confusedly at her, but Umbridge's only reply
was a calm glance at the Ministry's wall clock. The scroll and wand hands clicked over, and the
muffled gonging of the tenth evening hour began. However, along with it, came several other
events.

Three loud cracking noises sounded directly behind them. Fudge and Percy jumped out of their
chairs with small yelps of surprise, and turned to find the sources. Having heard the sounds of
apparating so often right after his brothers, Fred and George, received their licenses, Percy
recognised the sounds immediately and began fumbling straight away for his wand. However, as it
turned out, the figures behind him were prepared for just such an eventuality.

"*Expelliarmus*!" yelled one figure cloaked all in black. The eyes behind the
slits in his hood, crinkling at the corners, were the only thing that alerted them to the fact the
Death Eater was smiling.

Percy's wand was instantly snatched from him and soared across the room to land into the
hooded man's outstretched hand. However, it was the sight of who, or what, was standing
*behind* the two Death Eaters that filled both Percy and Fudge with a most desperate, utter
horror.

Both fell back a bit, completely terrified, though Fudge stumbled back so quickly, he tripped
over his chair and landed unceremoniously hard on his arse.

Umbridge grinned.

"There is no need for such an *important* man as yourself to bow," said Voldemort
sarcastically, standing tall, and managing to seem both skeletal and powerful at the same time. The
two Death Eaters before him chuckled.

Fudge opened his mouth, but nothing came out save a string of incoherent, wheezing phrases.
"Y..y..*you*… H..h..*how*… Not *p*..*possib*..*ble*…
**C**..**can't** **be**… N..not *r*..*real*…"

"Oh I assure you I am *very* real," said Voldemort with a smile, coming out from
behind his Death Eaters to stand before a cowering Fudge.

Percy opened and closed his mouth like an oxygen-starved fish, his eyes wide and staring, and
his freckled face completely drained of colour. Beside him, Umbridge stood calmly, her face
stretched into an impossibly wide grin.

Fudge turned his jerky gaze her way, the veins standing out so far on his face that they
appeared web-like. "*D*..*dream*..*m*…?"

Umbridge shook her head, her grin still plastered in place. "Oh no Cornelius, it is
*hardly* a dream though I can imagine it all must seem quite *unreal* to you. You've
been so easy to manipulate these few years, it's hardly seemed a chore at all... I *must*
thank you before you go."

She gazed at him indulgently. Beside her, Percy promptly fainted. If Voldemort had possessed
something more than a glowing red aura for eyes, he would have rolled them with disgust.

"Move the coward to the side," he said, gesturing lazily at Percy's slumped body.
The Death Eaters moved forward, seized Percy by the arms, and dragged him across the room to dump
him into a corner.

Fudge watched with watery eyes and turned his quivering gaze back onto Voldemort. Fear shot like
lightening through his every nerve ending. The dark lord's cold gaze was completely unmoved by
Cornelius' obvious terror; a fact that made the Minister's heart beat with anxiety so
impossibly fast that it seemed as if the muscle was seizing within his chest.

Voldemort neared him and folded his arms, peering almost conversationally down at him.

"My servant has been reporting your thoughts and actions to me for some time now," he
said calmly. "I must say she is not lying. She *has* come to regard you rather fondly,
quite as one would a pet hyppogriff. Nevertheless, as with all things, this too must come to an
end. I must say though Minister Fudge, it has most certainly been a pleasure. There is no one who
has served me quite so well, I think."

"I d..d..don't unders..st..tand," stuttered Fudge pathetically.
"*H*..*how*…"

"Oh it is *quite* simple," said Voldemort, slipping his wand out of the pocket of
his robes and tapping it thoughtfully on one thin white hand. "With my servant Malfoy lining
your pockets with gold, you have successfully changed many a law to suit our purposes. And your
complete refusal for years on end to believe in my survival or return has provided me with enough
time and cover to become thoroughly equipped for taking over. Not only have I re-formed my body,
but under full concealment of the Ministry I have had enough time to fully attain an army. One
that, Salazar willing, will prove the end of the *loathsome infiltration* of Muggles and
mudbloods in our world."

Voldemort smiled a ruthless icy grin. " I have you to thank for that Fudge. Do not think
simply because I must kill you now, that I will not be eternally grateful."

"B..but… *P*..*P*..*Potter*…**l**..**lying!**" snivelled Fudge,
his hands now clasped pathetically in front of him in a pleading gesture. His next words spilled
out impossibly fast. "He h..had to have b..been! *How* could the boy still be
**al..live** after all this time!?"

Voldemort growled furiously, and the look on his pale face was so horrific that Fudge cringed
back; the back of his hand against his mouth.

"*Potter...*," breathed Voldemort dangerously. The hand not holding his wand
clenched into a tight fist. "I will take *every.. last.. person* he loves, and *tear
them to* *shreds*. Then I'll take his *life*."

Umbridge's eyes widened with twisted expectation upon hearing Voldemort's words. "I
should very much like to *see* that my lord."

Voldemort nodded once to her, and she grinned maniacally.

Fudge dropped his head, tears of regret now streaming down his face. "*Gods*… oh
**g**..**gods**! How could I have been so *ruddy blind*..." He looked up again into
the unrelenting face of Voldemort. "You've had the power to replace m..me with one of your
own for some time n..now, I gather. Why haven't you done…"

"Before?" Voldemort cut him off, only too happy to answer the Minister's pointless
questions. "Your own refusal to believe I had returned served me well enough, did it not? Why
remove one who has done so well on his own? Moreover, my servant needed time within the Ministry to
advance her position, and win your trust. These made her indispensable… However, now that she
*has* done, has planted the seeds of doubt concerning Dumbledore within the *Daily
Prophet*, and is next in line for your office, I see no reason any longer to delay the
inevitable, do you?"

Fudge's head drooped to his chest in surrender. He knew there was no escaping, and worst of
all, knew his own determination to be oblivious to the truth had led him to the position he was now
in.

In the corner of the elaborate office Percy had begun to moan. Voldemort waved a careless hand
in the direction of his Death Eaters, and they moved at once to drag the half-conscious redhead
back over beside Fudge and drop him in a heap.

"Revive him," Voldemort ordered tonelessly.

One Death Eaters stepped forward and pointed his wand. "*Rescusito*!"

Percy opened his eyes, coughing, spluttering and instantly aware, though the sight of Voldemort
looming above him did little to calm his nerves. He gave a pathetic sort of shriek upon gazing up
at dark evil figure, and Voldemort bared his teeth in annoyance.

"**Silence idiot**! *How* you can be related to the rest of the Weasley clan is
*astounding* to me. They may be poor, filthy blood-traitors, but **cowards** they are
not."

Percy immediately fell silent, though his body continued to shake uncontrollably.
Voldemort's lip curled in a disgusted sort of sneer.

"To your fortune Weasley, I wish you to live. Though I *will*, of course, be
obliviating certain information from your mind, *you* will be the final means to my unveiling.
You will watch your employer's death and carry back to the wizarding world the fact that
Voldemort has returned."

He smiled widely. "The panic will be widespread. The whole of our world will fall into
panicked chaos... until it finally dawns that there must be some sense made of all the confusion.
Which is when my servant, as new head of the Ministry, will be called upon to return sanity and
order to the people, *along* with every law and alteration that will benefit our
movement."

"But will the people not turn to Dumbledore, as **I** had feared? They have done
before," said Fudge in hopes that Voldemort might see things as he did.

"Oh no," said Voldemort with a satisfied sort of smirk. "They may already be
filled with doubt on where his loyalties really lie, and he will be much too busy with what
**I** have planned... Even Dumbledore cannot handle two such large things at once. Make no
mistake, the people *will* turn to the Ministry, and using their confusion, my servant will
lead them toward my *new order*."

Umbridge smiled up at Voldemort. "I live to serve you, master."

"Indeed you do," said Voldemort evenly, raising his wand lazily to point directly
between the eyes of a shuddering Cornelius Fudge.

He smiled coldly at him. "It has been a pleasure, Minister… *Avada Kedavra*!"

Fudge's terrified gaze immediately relaxed and he slumped almost gracefully into a heap
beside Percy. Weasley cried out in fear, turning his shocked gaze from the dead Minister back up to
Voldemort.

"You shall live as promised," stated Voldemort with an exasperated sigh. "But
there are some things you've witnessed today that must remain hidden, are there not?"

He turned for the last time toward Umbridge. "Your duties are evident, I gather?"

"*Oh* *yes* my lord," said Umbridge gleefully.

Voldemort nodded to her and to his Death Eaters, and in his mind, focussed on what he did not
want Weasley remembering… Delores Umbridge's ties to him, and her attempts to sway public
opinion on Dumbledore. He pointed his wand at Percy's head.

"*Obliviate*!"

No sooner had the spell been cast than Voldemort and his servants disapparated with three loud
simultaneous ***cracks***.

Umbridge sighed contentedly and glanced at Percy's expression of mingled terror and
confusion as he began blabbering about the dark lord. She ignored him and sat down comfortably in
her new office chair to begin composing a long owl post. It was one which she would copy and send
to the *Daily* *Prophet* and to each department head of the Ministry, about the awful,
unforeseeable return of Voldemort (with hints of Dumbledore's real loyalties thrown in for good
measure), and the tragedy that had just befallen Cornelius Fudge.

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

Harry and Hermione left Hagrid, knowing he could never fit inside any school quarters, and
followed Harry's father; both noting silently to themselves how his quick stride made it seem
as if something bad must have happened.

Down further on the seventh floor, they caught Ron and Lavender having a snog behind a suit of
armour standing with its hands on its hips in an utterly disapproving manner. Harry made quick
apologies to Lavender and grabbed Ron's arm, dragging him along.

"**Oy**, **Harry**!" barked Ron angrily; his hair rumpled and his sweater
bunched up round his waist. He wrenched his arm from Harry's grasp. "Are you completely
**mad**!? What'd you do *that* for!?"

"Something's happened," Hermione answered breathlessly for him.

"Well, what is.."

"Dunno yet," said Harry, "Following Dad to his room. I expect he'll explain
there."

As they entered Lupin's quarters, they immediately noticed Dumbledore dressed in his royal
purple dressing gown, and perched on one of the armchairs in front of the hearth. He seemed to be
conversing with someone in the glowing green fire, and upon coming closer, they immediately
recognised the shaggy head.

"Sirius!" said Harry with a wide grin, despite the situation.

"Nice to see you too, Harry." Sirius said, smiling.

Lupin turned away from them toward his dining table to pull up three more chairs for Harry,
Hermione, and Ron, but Dumbledore tutted at him.

"No need James, no need…" He waved his wand in a complicated sort of way and three
extra plush armchairs appeared beside Lupin's.

The four sat, and Sirius eyed them gravely. "You've figured out why you're here, I
suppose."

Harry grimaced. "What's happened…"

"Albus and I've been discussing it," said Sirius. He went on to describe in detail
the most recent murders done in Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and in Muggle England, Surrey. Hermione
gave a horrified jump when he described yesterday morning's news of an explosion at a mall,
which Muggle authorities were investigating as some sort of terrorist act.

"*Bloody hell*," breathed Ron, his eyes wide. "What's a mall, then? Were
there a lot of Muggles killed?"

"It's one huge building full of shops," stated Hermione miserably. Harry reached
over and grabbed her hand. "Thank Merlin mum and dad are with Gran in Edinburgh…"

"That's good news at least," said Lupin.

"A mall doesn't sound very important though, does it?" stated Ron. "Wonder
why Voldemort would want to attack it?"

"For no other reason than to strike fear into our world and into the Muggles," said
Dumbledore with an anger that seemed oddly out of sorts on his usually amiable face. "And the
fact he's chosen such a large group of targets at once to attack is a very bad sign, I'm
afraid."

Harry gazed over at him and spoke quietly. "Why's that?"

"Because it means he's getting ready to make himself known," answered Sirius
ominously.

"But to the Muggles as *well*!?" blurted Hermione. "If he did, what
*then*? It'd give him a lot more enemies at once to fight, wouldn't it? I can't
believe he would be so daft."

"Nor can I," said Dumbledore. "Which is why I believe he's choosing to attack
Muggle *civilians*. To attack those in government would bring about a whole different sort of
investigation. He'll save that until he's ready to completely take over Muggle England...
No... these attacks were simply to spread fear and panic in both our world and theirs."

"And yet he's attacked *our* government," said Sirius angrily, "which is
what we were just discussing. And taking into account what you just said Albus, we can only assume
he's at least ready to try taking over *our* side."

"Confusion and disorder are clever tactics when planning a war," said Lupin.

Harry stiffened. "Wh…*hang on*… What'd you mean he's attacked **our**
government!?"

"We were getting to that," sighed Lupin tiredly, glancing at the clock on his mantle
reading six a.m. Upon looking out the window, he realised with a bit of shock that the pink, orange
and dusky purple of early sunrise had already begun painting the mountain peaks beyond the
school.

Dumbledore spoke up. "Round midnight I received an owl from one of my loyal contacts at the
*Prophet*. It was a copy of a letter from the Ministry, detailing the murder of Cornelius
Fudge by Voldemort some two hours earlier, and making hints at my own 'true
loyalties'."

"No one will believe that rubbish," scowled Sirius.

But Harry, Hermione and Ron gasped aloud.

"**Voldemort killed Minister Fudge**!?" cried Hermione. "But how was he able
to get into the building!? There are anti-apparition wards, and Ron's dad said after working
hours they shut down all the floos!"

"Never stopped him before, did it?" Ron said angrily. "But after what happened
two years ago you would **think** the Ministry would bodge up their *bloody defences*
better!"

But Harry's eyes narrowed. "And now that Fudge is gone, who's acting Minister in
his stead?" he asked Dumbledore.

"Delores Umbridge was next in line," Dumbledore answered, with distinct suspicion in
his voice. "It was also she who wrote the letter."

Harry swore furiously, thumping a fist on the arm of his chair. "*Son of a bitch*…
There's your answer, Hermione. She must've lifted the wards to allow him access."

"Of that I have no doubt, Harry." Dumbledore said, and then shifted his focus on Ron.
"Ronald, your brother Percy witnessed the attack on Fudge."

Ron's face paled, and several emotions tore through his body at once. **Fear** for his
brother, although he still wholeheartedly considered him a *bastard* for turning his back on
his own family, Harry and Dumbledore; **relief** that he had finally seen the truth with his own
eyes, and immense **satisfaction** that the *arsehole* finally knew he had been wrong all
along. However, in the end, fear won out above all others.

"Is he alright?"

"He's alive," said Dumbledore. "Although I dare say he's a bit shaken up
for it. Molly sent word…he's at the Burrow as we speak."

"***The* *Burrow***!?" exclaimed Ron. His expression was one of mingled
shock and awe. "*Bloody hell*... Only time he's been back in two years was for
Bill's funeral."

"I imagine he's had a change of heart," Sirius said drolly, with a subtle raise of
one eyebrow.

"No doubt," said Lupin. "Coming face to face with Voldemort must've woken him
right up."

Harry continued to stare moodily out into the now dawning morning, with Hermione glancing
worriedly at him.

Dumbledore spoke up into the quiet. "I'm certain it was Fudge restraining the Prophet
from overly reporting the recent killings."

"*Overly reporting*?" scoffed Harry. "If you hadn't just told us
what's been happening, we wouldn't have known. I've not seen *anything* on
them!"

"Oh the articles are there," said Sirius, whose head was still wavering among the
green tinted flames of Lupin's hearth. "Though you practically have to bang out a
*magnifying glass* to see them as they're so small and hidden in the least likely areas of
the paper. I found the article on Florean Fortescue's attack hidden near an advertisement for
jewellery at Bernadette's Bangles and Bobs. Got her after closing as she was counting her till.
She's half-Muggle, you know."

"Is… Is she *dead*?" Ron asked, horrified.

"Oh yeah," said Sirius flatly. "And I would expect nothing less. Even emptied the
till, though I'm sure that was to make it seem like some sort of bungled robbery. But
that's all *bullocks*, isn't it? Even before this letter half the wizarding world was
already *sure* he was back, no matter how much the Ministry tried denying it."

"*Or covering it up*," Harry said in a forced sort of calm.

"I *do* believe Cornelius simply could not bear to believe the truth, Harry,"
stated Dumbledore quietly. "And now, with him gone, and Umbridge in control of the Ministry,
I'm certain she will begin changing things round to Voldemort's advantage. Just as certain
as I am, that the fact that Voldemort has now ended the life of one who has been so valuable in
concealing the reality of his return can only mean one thing."

Lupin spoke up quietly. "He's ready for war."

Dumbledore nodded. "Most certainly. It is now only a matter of time until he makes his
demands known, or, as I'm sure he knows of our resistance, tries attacking us." He nodded
toward Harry, Hermione and Ron. "I'm sorry I sent for you three so early in the morning,
but I wanted you warned. Ronald, you and Hermione will be invaluable to Harry's success when
the final battle with Voldemort comes about, but you both know that. You three have some sort of
extra power when you're together, and you mustn't abandon it... at **any**
**cost**."

The Headmaster sent a quick, significant glance Harry's way as if sending him a mental
warning. *He knows your death is the key to regaining his powers… He'll send for you, and
he'll want you **alone**…Be prepared, Harry… He'll send for you…*

Nevertheless, Harry already knew, and didn't need a meaningful look from Dumbledore to begin
his thoughts swirling in an ever maddeningly, anxiety filled rush. After all, he already looked for
the owl to come every night. **THE** owl. The one that would make him choose between the deaths
of countless others, or a one on one face-off between himself and the dark lord. He knew it was
coming… it was only a matter of time…

"Well I imagine the death of the Minister of Magic ought to make the front page of the
Prophet, as well as a few well-placed insinuations about you Albus," said Lupin gravely,
standing. "Breakfast should be quite the affair this morning."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, standing as well. He turned to look at Sirius, who had
turned his head to speak to someone beyond what they could see.

"I **know** that, Petunia, and Dudley will be fed, rest assured… Because my refrigerator
is self-filling! It replenishes itself when it's low… **NO**, it won't hurt
you!"

He turned his haggard face back toward Lupin's quarters, and received mixed looks of pity
and wry smiles all round.

"How are you handling it?" asked Harry, his hands shoved in his pockets, and the
corners of his mouth twitching suspiciously. Hermione glowered disapprovingly at him and Ron.

Sirius glared at him and muttered. "As well as *you* did, I reckon. They **are**…
somewhat *demanding*, aren't they?"

Harry finally gave up and grinned. "*Demanding*? I could think of stronger words for
it."

Sirius turned his head for a moment as if checking that all was clear, and turned back round,
grimacing. "All right, you *sod*. They're right *pains in the arse*, that's
what. Petunia feeds me a steady diet of nagging when she's not found something to clean, which
is a trial within itself, at times. She found a nest of chizpurfle last week in a pile of old rags
Kreacher must've bundled long ago for an extra bed in Buckbeak's old room. Still
haven't found every *foul* *thing* he scattered about… anyway… She almost
*fainted*…started *shouting* at me as if it was *my* fault… took her a week to try
cleaning again. And Dudley... **Merlin's beard**... *thank Godric* Hagrid took Buckbeak
someplace else last year or I’m afraid I might've woken up one day to a pile of nothing but
hippogriff bones. I don't know if it's boredom or what… but when the boy's not whining
and complaining, he's eating everything *in sight*! My cooler almost can't keep up
with him. I think it's becoming resentful. It tried to chomp my hand off last night when I
reached in for a butterbeer."

"Oh Sirius," Hermione cooed sympathetically.

"**HA**! Now you see what Harry's lived with for so long!" Ron guffawed so loud
that Hermione pinched him hard on the arm.

"Minus Vernon, of course," said Harry.

Lupin glanced apologetically Harry's way, regretting to the very day leaving his son with
such people, but saw he had only a grin on his face.

"Sorry you're having to put up with them," Harry smiled. "I can only hope it
won't be much longer, but…"

Sirius shook his head. "Ah well… no worries, Harry. I must say having them round is better
than no company at all. And each night after the evening news, they both seem a bit more grateful
for their protection here. I've been teaching them to understand what bits of the news might be
Voldemort's doing. They're usually far more settled after."

"I can imagine," said Lupin.

Sirius spoke a few words more and then vanished himself from the fire, leaving Dumbledore,
Lupin, Harry, Hermione and Ron alone in the room.

After a moment's silence, Ron sighed. "I should go see Percy, I suppose... Not that the
git deserves any pity, mind you."

Dumbledore favoured him with a wan smile. "You can floo home from my office if you like.
I'm giving you three the day off from school as I can't imagine you'll be able to
concentrate on only a few hours sleep…"

Hermione immediately spoke up in a fast, panicky sort of voice. "No! Professor Dumbledore
we can't afford to take any time off… N.E.W.T.s are only a few months away and we're
already behind on studying as it is…"

Dumbledore held up a hand and fought the wry smile that threatened to take over his expression.
"As you wish, Ms. Granger, as you wish. I'm only giving you the option."

"I'll take you up on it," said Ron as he stood and yawned. "I should probably
go home to see the prat's alright."

Hermione scowled. "Yes well, I imagine a long night's worth of snogging must be
*quite* exhausting," she said scornfully as she stood.

"How's that?" asked Lupin, frowning.

Ron eyed her with disbelief and grabbed her arm, pulling her to one side. He rasped out a reply
through clenched teeth. " 'Mione... I thought we were *mates*…"

"You shouldn't be let off from school because you were out late in the halls with
Lavender!" Hermione scolded quietly. "It's our *seventh year* in case you've
forgot, Ron! We can't afford to *sod about* anymore!"

Harry paid them no attention. "I'll take it too, Professor Dumbledore."

Hermione whirled around. "*Harry*! Not you too…"

"I've got a lot to think on," he said firmly. "You can go to classes if you
want... I'll go back tomorrow, no worries."

Hermione sagged, looking thoroughly disappointed.

Lupin smiled fondly at Hermione. "Let's at least all have breakfast first. I imagine
Dobby can have something for us this early, can't he?"

Dumbledore nodded, and all left Lupin's quarters together to head to the Great Hall, each
with expectations of the Daily Prophet's newest headline emblazoned in their thoughts.

(A/N: Hey guys… please don't flame me for taking so long with this next chappie, but as you
can see, it's filled with lots of information you needed to know before the final war comes,
and it's coming soon!!!!! Don't worry, Draco/Ginny fans, there will be more of them in the
next chapter, followed by more Harry/Hermione and more action. The next few chapters will be even
rougher to write as the war **IS FAST** approaching. Please please please, leave me some
reviews. It's what writers LIVE FOR! I've been so disappointed in the small amount I've
been getting lately, and I **really** want to know what you guys think, which I know will be
littered with lots of anger for taking so long! But I've been super busy with a new job these
past weeks and have only been able to write a very little bit at a time. Please review and let me
know what you think! I love you all! Cheers! Bama.)



33. Chapter 33: The Beginning of the End
----------------------------------------


**Chapter 33: The Beginning of the End**

Ron caught Ginny already awake and wandering the halls early, and informed her about their
meeting with Dumbledore and Sirius, and of Percy's sudden change of heart. He was surprised at
how stoically she took it all in. With a simple grimace and nod and a promise to accompany him back
to the Burrow later that morning, she continued to pace, brooding to herself, despite
Hermione's best efforts to have her come with them to the Great Hall. However unhappy it made
him Ron had no choice but to leave Ginny to herself, though nowadays she seemed to prefer it that
way.

Breakfast in the Great Hall *began*, at least, as a common affair. Dumbledore, Lupin,
Harry, Hermione and Ron slumped into the huge room round half past six, and moved to the front to
eat together at the large teacher's table. All felt the strange emptiness the huge, otherwise
deserted room carried when not full of the rest of Hogwarts inhabitants; even though they were
fewer this year than ever before.

Not long after they had finished eating however, hundreds of students began making their ways
through the great double doors with a great cacophony of sleepy voices and shuffling feet; all
somehow managing to find their ways to their usual seats.

Harry Ron and Hermione quickly moved down to their normal spots at the Gryffindor table, each
deciding that though they had already eaten, they wanted to be there when the morning edition of
the *Daily Prophet* arrived.

Teachers filed in the side doors and sat down; none curious as to why Dumbledore and Lupin were
there before them with empty breakfast platters considering that the evening prior, the Headmaster
had woken and informed them all on what had just happened at the Ministry. However, although they
had been given a whole night to think on it, the professors still passed edgy looks between them,
and kept shooting quick glances toward the ceiling as if willing the owl post faster with the
morning paper.

They hadn't long to wait.

With a blustery rush and the sudden sounds of hooting and whipping wings, the owl post arrived
in the Great Hall. The wide open space above and toward the huge sky-like ceiling was filled with
multicoloured birds, and each long house table, already groaning under the weight of food, soon
bore letter scrolls, packages from home, and morning editions of the news.

With grimaces, the teachers and staff at Hogwarts snatched their copies of the Prophet and began
at once to read, all readying themselves for the inevitable upset of fearful voices they were sure
would soon begin.

For a few blissful moments, the familiar crinkling and crackling of unrolling newspapers,
letters, and ripped packages, and the easy rumbling of voices were the only sounds heard round the
Great Hall. Too soon though, the relative comfort of the morning was replaced with sudden outbursts
of shock. Voices erupted in fear, and bodies twitched in their seats, turning to others for
confirmation of what they'd just read. Amidst the fearful disorder, conspiratorial whispering
over the article turned to accusing stares, aimed mainly at Dumbledore, and some at Harry.

The noise became almost deafening within only a few moments time and looking on, Dumbledore
quickly decided that if not taken care of at once, the Great Hall might soon turn into one great
upheaval. He sighed heavily and stood with arms outstretched.

"**SILENCE**! *Silence,* **all** *of you*!" he bellowed, though not
unkindly.

With his commanding presence Dumbledore was able rather quickly to bring the Great Hall to a
relatively hushed state.

"I realise what you are all reading and discussing amongst yourselves must come as quite a
shock, though I must *assure* you it is *quite* *true*. Voldemort *is* back,
and has been for some time now."

Frightful cries erupted again. Some even visibly shook.

"Having said that," Dumbledore spoke again, raising his voice above the din, "I
also want to assure you that within the walls of this school and on these grounds, you are
*perfectly safe*. You are in fact, better protected *here* than you might be anywhere
else. "

The Headmaster paused then, thinking to himself how absurd it was to believe any speech he might
deliver would put to rest fears that were now very real; ones that had been pounded into the
students before him for most, if not all of their young lives. The story of Voldemort's rise to
power, and his defeat by an otherwise normal baby boy had for many throughout the long years since,
turned into the stuff of legend. How many of these children had, through years of no other news,
come to believe the story of Voldemort and Harry Potter to be a finished one? The shock on their
systems, and surely on those all across the wizarding world who, at this same moment, were now
having to face hard truth must be devastating. What chaos must be erupting right now outside the
protective walls of Hogwarts? What repercussions from this new shock might he, Harry and the school
now expect to face? The harsh reality, Dumbledore knew, was that they had no way to predict what
was coming. The inevitable waves of panic and accusation would no doubt soon swell up to roll over
them, and they could only hope amidst it all to tread high above the tide and continue
breathing.

For Dumbledore though, the worst part over all was having to look out into the throng of
students before him and see the face that, even when not actively trying, he noticed above all
others. Harry Potter would endure as much criticism and personal attacks as he, Dumbledore, would.
Even now, having not yet read what the *Daily Prophet* had to imply concerning them, he saw
distrust darkening the gazes of many students.

The Headmaster continued speaking with a distinctly weary sigh. "I understand that many out
there would wish to place blame and suspicion upon myself, and upon the one amongst you who has for
his *entire life* been fighting *against* the dark lord. Accusations might soon arise
concerning the allegiance of some that sit before you here today. I won't insult your
intelligence by pointing out that it should now be obvious you were told the *absolute truth*
this entire time on Voldemort's recent actions, and on his return. *However*, should
certain loyalties *still* be in doubt, I ask you all to think back*.* Think *hard*
on your years here, and ask yourselves if the ones you question have *EVER* shown *any*
*reason* for you to be suspicious of their intentions, or of their hatred of the dark
arts."

Upon hearing Dumbledore's words some hung their heads in shame, while others continued to
peer still a bit suspiciously at either the Headmaster or Harry. Dumbledore though had said all he
intended to say that morning, and surrounded on all sides by the approving nods of his teachers, he
lowered himself back into his seat.

Most of the students continued to stare at each other in stunned silence. Harry understood the
feeling; it was one he'd come to know well. Thick shock and overloads of information must even
now be smothering their systems like some sort of thick blanket. Eventually though, the fear would
begin spreading thinner until, mercifully or not, it became a thin membrane of what would always
remain a haunting apprehension; one so familiar to Harry himself that it seemed part of his very
body.

Despite himself, Harry began to feel strangely displaced by the awareness now shared with the
rest of Hogwarts. For too long, the nightmare of Voldemort's return had been only his,
Ron's and Hermione's to bear; one around which they had built a strong bond. However, with
the school's blinders finally removed, it now felt as if a few hundred had expanded their
fortress against the world.

Harry grabbed onto Hermione's hand; the overwhelming urge to hold something dear and
familiar close to him overshadowing even the stares of the students surrounding him.

Hermione gazed up at him, and somehow, Harry knew she understood exactly how he felt without
needing to convey it. It was a powerful comfort.

"Mind how quiet it's got," Ron sombrely whispered from across the table.
"It's downright *eerie*."

However, as news this horrifying simply could not be kept inside to brood upon, the silence was
not to last. The beginnings of hushed murmuring soon turned into conversations which, if not for
the palpable heaviness of anxiety throughout every word, might've sounded quite common and
familiar.

Further down the table, a still mute, terrified Lavender hopped up and moved down toward Ron,
shoving herself in the seat between him and Colin and grabbing onto his hand. Ginny, who had been
seated beside her, looked on with an almost bitter expression on her face. She glanced down at the
plate of eggs she had been aimlessly stabbing at ever since breakfast began, but still could not
manage to bring a single bite to her mouth.

*Wonderful news, the Minister's death*... thought Ginny caustically. *And now
Umbridge the Bitch is head of the Ministry... Smashing*. Every day since Bill's death had
seemed to bring about a fresh wave of misery.

On a whim, she turned her head and glanced toward the part of the Slytherin table where Draco
Malfoy usually sat. He was there, as usual, though he had a look on his face that showed distinct
lack of surprise and quite a bit of revulsion at the news he had just read. It appeared he was
quite obviously lost in thought, as unbeknownst to him, he continued over and over to rub his
forearm.

Ginny was torn. No matter how much she wanted to distrust him, to hate him with every fibre of
her being, she simply didn't. There was too much of a nagging something in his eyes, a
something that spoke of an authenticity she didn't want to believe in. Might he have actually
turned away from his father's beliefs? Had he pushed her away from him because he knew what was
coming? Along with everything else, it was too much to think on, and a something that seemed
trifling in the face of what was now happening.

Yet, even in the middle of it all she still felt drawn to him, and had the feeling he felt the
same about her.

She had quite forgotten where she had been looking since her thoughts had overtaken her once
again, and as she drifted back to reality, found her eyes locked with a pair of steel grey ones
across the room. Ones that seemed equally lost and lonely, with a gaze that wished to draw her
in.

*Damn*. She flushed bright red and acted as if she had been staring at something else
before quickly turning away.

At the Slytherin table, sitting a bit removed from everyone else in his house, Draco flinched
back almost painfully.

Hermione, sitting beside Harry and across from Ron, realised with a start that she had not even
glanced at the *Daily Prophet* amidst the uproar, and quickly unrolled the newspaper and
smoothed it flat, looking daggers at the headline gracing the front page.

Beside Lavender, Colin Creevey leaned toward them.

"Mind if I look on?" he said with a disarming look. "Seems to be a lot of
excitement going round about it."

The three looked at each other until Ron spoke up. "Uh, normally it'd be fine Colin,
but… today we sort of need to discuss a few things in private."

I'll give it over to you moment we're through…" Hermione said, glancing
apologetically at him. "You understand, right?"

Strangely, something bordering on relief washed over Colin's face though he covered quickly.
"Oh of…of *course*. No worries, then."

He leaned away and turned back to his omelette and a conversation with a very fidgety Parvarti
Patil, who kept asking him what he thought would happen next. Although Ron and Hermione gave it not
a second thought and turned away, Harry continued to watch him closely.

"*Oh*..." Lavender looked at Ron and spoke quietly, sounding a bit wounded.
"I guess you'll be needing me to move as well."

"Only for a bit," answered Ron quickly. He peered anxiously at her.
"*Please* understand Lav... There's some things we have to discuss privately, the
three of us."

She sighed. "I know, but... once you're through might I come back over?"

Ron widened his eyes at her. " 'Course you can! I *want* you to."

This seemed to hearten her a bit, and she got up to move back down to her seat near Ginny.

Once Lavender had gone, Hermione opened her mouth to read the *Prophet's* headlines
aloud, but paused as she saw Harry leaning forward on his elbows, peering distrustfully at
Colin.

Ron frowned at him. "What's up?"

Harry shook his head darkly, still peering at Colin, although for his part Creevey didn't
seem to notice.

"Something's not right with him," said Harry quietly.

"How'd you mean?" Ron whispered. "Something's *been* not right with
him ever since Dennis, mate."

"*No*, it's something *else*," Harry replied a bit impatiently.
"Something I can't put my finger on..."

Hermione sighed and leaned toward him. "Harry, if this is about what happened with him and
I in the hall, he's already apologised for it."

"It's not…"

"*What*?" Ron jerked a bit in surprise. "What happened in the hall with you
two? What'd he *do*?"

Hermione bit her lip and whispered. "He... grabbed my arms a bit too tight, but he
didn't really mean anything by..."

"*WHAT*?" Ron snapped, beginning to rise a bit from his seat and tower over
Colin. "When did... I'll *murder* the little berk..."

Hermione's eyes widened in alarm and she reached across the table to grab his arm.
"*No you* *won't*, *Ron*! Harry's already done him *enough*
without *you* adding to it!"

"Good, he's had his turn then, hasn't he!?" Ron growled as he eyed Colin
malevolently. "Now it's *mine*."

Harry grabbed Ron's arm as well and shook his head. "He won't do it again. But that
wasn't what I meant… It's just… something about him *feels* wrong… a *familiar*
sort of wrong."

Hermione peered concerned at him, but Ron, though still angry, looked unconvinced.

"You don't think it's simply because he's been so choked over losing his
brother? I've been *cracked* over Bill's death, and he wasn't even my only brother
like Dennis was with Colin, was he?"

Harry frowned. "No... I guess he wasn't."

Hermione watched Colin thoughtfully for a moment as he absently picked at his food. "We
should give him the benefit of the doubt for now, I think. He *has* been through a lot...
Anyway, let's read. I'm dying to see what lies Umbridge had the *Prophet* mix with the
truth."

Harry and Ron nodded; Harry forcing the still niggling sensation of something amiss to the back
of his mind as Hermione smoothed out the paper once more and began to read.

**MINISTER OF MAGIC CORNELIUS FUDGE MURDERED: YOU-KNOW-WHO TO BLAME, SAYS DELORES
UMBRIDGE**

*By Edmund Pillings*

*Late yesterday evening, while in his office finishing reports of the day's work, Minister
of Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge was attacked and murdered. Deputy Prime Minister Delores Jane
Umbridge and Senior Undersecretary Percival Ignatius Weasley were also present, and were witnesses
to the entire incident.*

*"We were working overtime as usual, going over and recording daily affairs. Next moment
the **dark lord**, as alive and well as I sit here today, apparated into his office!"
recites Umbridge, who is crying and clearly upset by the tragedy…"*

"Upset my *arse*," growled Ron angrily. "…Likely threw a *bloody party*
once he was dead..."

"Ron, let me finish." Hermione said, continuing on with the article.

*"We hardly had time to react. Weasley and I jumped back at once, but You-Know-Who gave
Cornelius the killing curse. He never spoke a word… just killed the Minister in cold blood. I tried
reaching for my wand before he disapparated but wasn't quick enough."*

"Reached for her *wand*, did she!?" Ron irately interrupted once again.
"Only to *help* I'm sure..."

"Ron*,* stop cutting *in*!" snapped Hermione, continuing.

*Percival Weasley concurs.*

*"Much of it is a blur as I must've blacked out after. However, I do remember
Minister Fudge dying. The dark lord seemed really focused on getting him specifically, which would
indicate he had real reason for choosing to kill the Minister. Since he's attacked our
government, it would appear You-Know-who is attempting to cause disorder and confusion. I can only
imagine he wants our world in chaos before he tries taking over."*

"You *think*?" Ron growled sarcastically. "Bloody worthless
*git*..."

Hermione made a sound like a growling cat. "If you don't stop cutting in I'll
*hex* you! Let me *finish*!"

"Well it's just *too damn much*!" Ron hissed furiously through clenched
teeth. "Umbridge acting as if she gives an *elf's arse* whether Fudge lived or died!
And being frightened of Voldemort as if they aren't on the **same side**... it's
flippin' *horseshit*!"

"Right mate," replied Harry. "But I *bloody well* want to hear the rest,
don't *you*?"

Ron finally conceded although quite grumpily, and Hermione, giving him one last warning glance,
continued on.

*"The Ministry," says Umbridge, "has for as long as the wizarding world, been
under the impression the dark lord was defeated by Harry Potter sixteen years ago. Now that we
understand this to be wholly untrue, the community, during this renewed time of danger and fear,
must wholeheartedly lean on the Ministry for leadership. We must turn for guidance to the
institution of law and order that has for hundreds of years stood against those who would seek to
harm, and those who would ally with such dark creatures."*

*While speaking of alliances with our new Minister, it has recently come to attention that
some within the Ministry, including the late Cornelius Fudge, had obvious doubts as to the
loyalties of certain upstanding members of our community. A viewpoint that Delores Umbridge seems
to share.*

*"Just before he died, Cornelius had decided to disclose to the Daily Prophet the names
of some he's suspected all along might have secret leanings toward the dark lord. I find it
highly suspicious that, only hours after finally vocalising those beliefs, he was murdered. It
stands to reason then, that Fudge might've hit on a few truths; a few in fact the ones named
mightn't have wanted made public knowledge. Perhaps one of these, in a seat of considerable
importance, decided to entreat their Master to permanently quiet the Minister before more damage to
his name was done. While I'm only speculating, I've always held Cornelius Fudge's
opinion of others in high regard; as I do now, even after his death."*

*Percival Weasley who sat close on hand listening, was unwilling to comment…*

Harry shook his head. "*Son of a bitch*."

Grimacing, Hermione plowed on.

*Umbridge continues. "After Cornelius died, I asked myself who might be angry enough with
the Ministry to turn so far against us. Who from the outside might be powerful enough to lift
anti-apparition wards?* *It would have to be one familiar with the Ministry and it's
workings; perhaps one who not long ago had been dismissed on bad terms from a seat of high power.
One or more who, it seems, are almost always suspiciously near whenever dark activities
occur.*

*I, as Fudge did, do feel that the dark lord has servants in our world working for him; ones
who have evaded detection by being clever enough to appear to fight against him, while perhaps in
reality, even aiding him. Therefore, we must be on guard for those who have in the past been
conveniently near during dark attacks; those whose actions might, under a clearer light, now be
deemed as questionable. Under my new direction, the Ministry will seek harder than ever before to
weed those individuals out."*

*Minister Fudge's funeral will be held at Waterford Cemetery in two days time. As Deputy
Prime Minister to Fudge, Umbridge is now slated to take over as Minister, and will be inaugurated
as such in front of the full court on Monday, March eighth.*

*WWP-Wizarding World Press*

Hermione growled ominously as she re-rolled the newspaper. "The old *hag*..."

Ron shoved a few bangers into his mouth, followed them with a long swig of pumpkin juice, and
attempted to speak. "Well a'leas she din' name names..."

"She didn't *have* to," answered Harry, angrily buttering a scone to nothing
but crumbs. "She all but scrawled it in herself between every line."

Ron shook his head and swallowed with effort. "Could've been talking about anyone,
mate. *We* know who she meant, but she was pretty vague, wasn't she?"

Hermione looked at him incredulously. "*Vague*? There's not a wizard or witch who
doesn't know how Fudge felt about Professor Dumbledore! *Who* did he hate and blame for
most anything he could? *Who*, as Umbridge suggested, would be one of a very few powerful
enough to break anti-apparition wards? *Who* was dismissed as Supreme Mugwump of the
Wizengamot, giving him motive and access to the inner workings of the Ministry? *Dumbledore*!
And on *where and who*, before the obvious recent activities, has Voldemort seemed to focus
the most when attacking? *Hogwarts and Harry*, leading back to *Dumbledore*!"

"She's making as if his whole attitude toward the dark arts is a lie," said Harry.
"As if Dumbledore actually *works* for Voldemort and has been giving him access all along
to attack Hogwarts."

" 'We must be on guard for ones who have *in the past* been *conveniently*
*near* during dark attacks," quoted Hermione, seething with rage. 'Ones whose actions
might, under a **clearer** light, now be deemed as *questionable*.' "

Ron thumped a fist on the table and gazed at Harry. "That describes you too,
mate."

" *'Course* *it does*," shot Harry resentfully. "Just look round at
how everyone keeps glancing over at me... as if they think now I'm some sort of *bastarding
disciple* for Voldemort."

"…'Ones who have evaded detection by being clever enough to *appear* to fight
against him, while perhaps *in reality*, even *aiding* him,' " Hermione read
again, her breath hitching irately. She slapped the paper down. "I simply can't fathom
anyone could believe such a great load of *RUBBISH*!"

"Doesn't take much in the state they're in, I suppose," Harry stated flatly.
"Get the public in a panic and they'll start accusing anyone."

"But you and Dumbledore were the ones trying hardest to warn everyone he was back!"
exclaimed Ron.

"Which makes them look even more suspicious if you see it the way *Umbridge* wants you
to," fumed Hermione tartly. "I mean, what better way for Harry and Professor Dumbledore
to throw everyone off their trail while secretly '*aiding Voldemort*', than to act as
if they're the ones who hate him most? It's what she's implied anyway."

Ron mused for a few moments while looking over Dumbledore's way, where the Headmaster sat
calmly conversing with McGonnagol.

"Gods, she's a *bitch*," he said shortly.

Hermione turned wide eyes to him. "*What*!?"

"Umbridge," said Ron. "What, you don't agree?"

"Oh *her*…"

"Just now coming to that conclusion, are you?" Harry shot sarcastically at Ron. Covert
gazes continued to flicker past and then settle back on him at every glance he made about the room,
the maddening frequency of which was beginning to set his nerves on edge.

"No, '*course* not," Ron bristled, eyeing him. "You're in a
*corking* mood."

"Oh, well shouldn't I be now everyone in school thinks I *snog*
*Voldemort's* *arse*?" Harry seethed acidly. "How in the **hell** do I
get stuck being the one who has to **fight** him, **and** being the one everyone suspects is
in **league** with him? What in the **hell** are they thinking!?"

"Exactly what Umbridge wants them to," Hermione broke in reasonably. "But Harry,
Ron and I are with you no matter *what* anyone *else* thinks. You *know* that.
Don't take it out on us."

Harry dropped his gaze and stood, sighing. "I'm…sorry, really... I'm just
**tired** of... I've got to get out of here for a while."

Hermione looked up at him with concern and touched his hand. "Harry?"

"I'm fine..." He replied irritably. "Just need to get away from all the
stares. I'll see you two later."

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

It was funny how, since they had discovered the Room of Requirement two years ago, Harry found
he *required* it more and more. However, since for the past few months the room been adjusting
to suit his mood, it now more resembled an area for bashing things senseless than for practising
dark counter-spells.

How the place knew exactly what you needed was still a mystery, though each time Harry stepped
into it and found a large area filled with punching bags, weapons, and human shaped targets; some
charmed to fight back, he couldn't bring himself to try figuring it out.

It felt good to let out some of his aggressions; to, in his mind, replace the faceless hanging
sandbags with visages of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and either practice running them through
with the sword, blasting them with wandless spells, or physically beating the *sod* from
them.

By the time noon had rolled round, the room had already needed to replace all fifteen targets,
some twice; a few of which were lying in smoky heaps of sand and burlap, having been mutilated by
one or another particularly nasty spell.

Surrounded on all sides by mock carnage, Harry stood in the middle of the room panting and
swiping at his brow; his button down shirt now off and tied loosely round his waist, and one hand
still gripping the handle of a sword. He was just about to begin again, staring malevolently at a
few fake opponents who had again begun raising swords or sandbag arms as if to throw out new
spells, when the door to the room opened, and all activity stopped.

Draco Malfoy sauntered in with an air of general entitlement and looking round, raised a jeering
eyebrow at the mess.

Harry snarled. In his rush to let loose his frustrations, he had forgot to seal it.

"***Ah hell*…**" he growled savagely as he tossed his sword to the floor.

Malfoy crossed his arms and leaned casually against the far wall. "*Manners* Potter.
Got some anger issues, have you? What'd these poor blokes ever do to you?"

"What **the hell** do you want?" replied Harry viciously. "In case it got past
you, the room's *occupied* at the moment. You'll just have to be a good little
*ferret* and wait your turn. And aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"It's lunch *Scarhead*, get a watch," sneered Malfoy. "And I
'*required*' a conversation with **you** believe it or not. Nice of you not to seal
the door."

Harry kicked at a smouldering pile of sand and muttered a nasty expletive. Malfoy blew a low
taunting whistle.

"You seem irritated."

"*Up yours*," Harry snarled again in a flat voice. "Enough with the clever
banter. Just get on with it."

Malfoy regarded him in a self-satisfied manner and shoved his hands into his pockets. However,
although he was trying to appear cool, Harry could see as Draco shifted from one foot to the other
that whatever it was he wanted to talk with him about was anything but trivial.

Finally, he spoke. "You saw the paper."

Harry started. A look of hostile realisation suddenly dawned on his face.

"If you're here to **slag off** me being Voldemort's number one fan you can
***get* *out*** of it."

Malfoy scoffed, and rolled his eyes. "Lighten up Potter, for *god's sake.* Not
everyone round here is soft in the head."

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "So you **don't** believe the
*Prophet*…"

" *'Course* not. *Hell*, you're not the type, are you? *Good
Gryffindor* that you are."

Harry glowered at him. "Then what *is* it…"

Again Malfoy hesitated before speaking, as if he was grappling hard with something in his mind.
He jammed his hands even deeper into his pockets and exhaled.

"He's building an army you know."

A derisive snort followed. "No *shit*, Sherlock…"

"I don't want to join."

In the quick silence that fell the two young men stood eyeing one another, hints of mistrust
playing over both of their features.

For his part, Harry was sceptical. Malfoy's contempt for the dark mark that Lucius had
forced on his arm had made it rather obvious the thought of joining Voldemort's ranks did not
particularly appeal to him, though the reason behind it was questionable at best. However, Harry
couldn't fathom why he was sharing his change of heart with *him*. He couldn't think
of two people who disliked each other more, with the obvious exception of Malfoy and
*Ron*.

"Why tell *me*…" Harry finally asked, watching him closely.

Malfoy set his mouth in a thin, annoyed line. "*Skiving Salazar,* *Potter*… as if
you don't know you're head of the *moral army* round here."

"You mean *Dumbledore*," replied Harry flatly. "I'm just the
mascot…"

"And future destroyer of all things mean and evil, epitome of righteousness, saviour of the
moral and upright, etcetera, *ad nauseum*." Malfoy recited drolly. "It doesn't
take a genius to figure out if you're not on one side you're on the other… This is me
telling you I've chosen *this* one, *god* *help me*."

Harry smiled humourlessly. "And here I always took you for a middle-grounder… You know, the
*pansies* who'd rather wait to see who wins?"

Malfoy glared hard at him. Potter's words hit a bit too close to home and he knew it.
However, situations had changed.

"There is no 'middle ground' for me, *Scarhead*," he shot back acidly.
"By now both Voldemort and Lucius *know* I don't plan to join them. Moment I step
foot from these grounds I'm done for. I don't have a **choice**."

"So you only want to join us because Voldemort wants you dead, and you'll be
defenceless if you don't, is that it?" Harry sneered scornfully. "*Knew* it had
to be something like that."

Malfoy flushed an angry red. "What'd you care *why* I want to join
**dickhead**?! It's not enough I **want** to, for *god's sake*!?"

"**No it's not**!" barked Harry. "How do we know moment you're needed
you won't have *slithered away* unnoticed like some friggin' *coward*!?"

"I'm no **coward**," Malfoy stated in a hard, even voice.

"How can we be sure you won't change sides should the fight start going in
*Voldemort's* favour!?"

"Haven't I proved yet I **hate** him!? *Gods*, what else do I have to
**do**…"

"You don't **believe** in anything Malfoy," Harry interjected harshly.
"Trying to save your own **bloody** **arse** isn't reason enough to keep you loyal,
you *understand*? We couldn't *trust* you because you don't *believe* in any
of this…"

"There's one thing I **do** believe in."

Harry paused suddenly, observing him, though the look on his face was one of wry doubt. He
crossed his arms over his chest and silently waited.

Draco worked his jaw. His insides raged with indecision. *Malfoy's aren't noble
bleeding hearts; Malfoy's aren't weak do-gooders; Malfoy's don't let themselves
become susceptible to emotion; Malfoy's don't feel for others, feelings make one
**weak**. Malfoy's are cold, hard and impenetrable…* Yet, he *had* been penetrated,
hadn't he? And in the place he would have least suspected; one he had thought long dead...

"I believe in Ginny," he heaved out finally. "I believe in how I feel for
her."

Harry stood as motionless as a stone wall, staring at him. In seven years of knowing the ferret
he had never quite heard him speak the way he was; as if something or someone had broken past that
hard, thick barrier and actually affected him. He couldn't help feeling sceptical, knowing that
any moment the real Malfoy might suddenly emerge and take the mickey out of him for believing in
sentimental rot. It left him feeling unnerved and not sure how to respond, though he was certain of
one thing.

Even if Malfoy *did* care for Ginny how he said, it did **not** make him
trustworthy.

"So you like Ginny," Harry shrugged. "Doesn't mean you suddenly believe in
what we're fighting for…"

"Oh for *god's sake*, Potter!" Malfoy suddenly exclaimed angrily; the cool
façade gone. "It's the best you'll **get** from me! I'm not some naïve freedom
fighting *do-gooder*! I don't believe fighting for the '*right*' side will
suddenly result in some pansy-peaceful utopia world or any of that **shit**! I didn't grow
up that way; no one ever *worshipped* me or plastered the word '*hero*' across my
forehead, alright!?… Only thing I know is this: Ginny taught me what it is to actually *care*
for someone. I've never had that before. I never thought it was *real*. So when I say I
believe in her, **I** **DO**. And if **SHE** feels that strongly about your *cause*
or whatever the **bloody hell** it is, then I've got to think there's something to
it."

Harry remained stoic, but something inside him, a something that before he might have promptly
dismissed as impossible, shifted as he studied him. He still couldn't lump the arrogant little
*berk*, but something told him he was being honest.

"Alright then… talk to Dumbledore. Let him know you've made up your mind."

Draco nodded curtly to him and turned to leave, but after pausing Harry called to him once more
before he closed the door behind him.

"Oy, Draco…"

He glanced back at Harry, whose expression had turned hard as stone.

"I find you're flamming me, I'll pitch your arse to Voldemort myself."

Malfoy chuckled and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

As he stared after him though, Harry's expression remained deadly serious.

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

Dumbledore sat behind his desk with fingers steepled contemplatively beneath his long hook nose,
and as if drawing out Malfoy's very thoughts, aimed a hard penetrating stare at the blonde
Slytherin before him.

Despite knowing he had told the full truth to the Headmaster, Malfoy still felt unnerved by his
sharp gaze. Surely Dumbledore knew that, had Lucius and Voldemort not made it impossible for him to
do so, Draco's first instinct would have been to avoid the entire war. He *must* know
joining his and Potter's side would afford Malfoy with protection. Did the Headmaster believe
him when he said he wanted to join? If so, would he trust him? Did he think him a coward? Perhaps
he did... But *damn* if Draco wasn't put in Slytherin for a reason. The term
'coward' was played a bit fast and loose as far as he was concerned. It was a tag
*Gryffindor* *arseholes* had placed on their house; Gryffindor's who were too
'brave' and 'pure' to be cunning; who stupidly ran toward the fight rather than
trying to think their way out first; who had absolutely no instinct for self-preservation… the
*thick-headed mongs*.

Yet, here he was about to join them. Well…not completely by choice. What was the alternative? If
he didn't join Dumbledore's and Potter's side, he would die by Voldemort's own
hand. If he ran, he would be hunted down and killed. Moreover, if neither of **those** two did
the job, the war would most likely get him. No matter how he swung it, he was doomed. Might as well
go out with a bang…

Dumbledore blinked and leaned back more casually before speaking in his usual quiet rumbling
voice.

"Your father has always believed Voldemort to possess the right beliefs when it comes to
the wizarding race and those who are fit to belong in it… You yourself have, on numerous past
occasions, seemed to be of the same opinion. You'll understand then, won't you, the reason
I really must ask what has so drastically changed your mind."

Malfoy paused and fingered the edge of his robes to put off answering straight away. Without
realising it, he pulled himself up more erect in his chair and studied his hands, his brain working
overtime to formulate an acceptable answer.

"I've never had a choice other than to think how Lucius did. Growing up I learned
bloody fast to agree with him… it was either that or have the *sodding hell* beaten out of me.
Few days without food or water never hurt my belief system either." There was no way to
disguise the bitterness in his voice, a fact Dumbledore did not overlook.

Malfoy gave an odd, hollow sort of laugh as he continued. "Doesn't matter a shit what I
think **now** though, does it? There's no getting out of it; I'm dead no matter
*what* I believe. Voldemort and Lucius have probably thrown a bloody party by now planning out
exactly how to do me in. Might as well die for a noble cause as any, aye?"

Dumbledore hummed his agreement as he studied him, a shrewd gleam in his eyes. "Then you do
think the war to be a good cause…"

"Not bloody likely to change much, but everyone's got the right to live, I
reckon," Malfoy shrugged noncommittally. "Being powerful shouldn't give one the right
to decide who should exist and who shouldn't; although by Lucius' standards, along with
being pure-blooded it's the means by which *everyone* is measured."

"At one time it was the means by which *you* measured others as well," stated
Dumbledore matter-of-factly, his fingers now clasped before him. "That the pure-blooded are
smarter, more capable…and thus more powerful…"

Malfoy eyed him warily. The Headmaster seemed determined to draw out his own innermost workings
and spread them before him like some sort of map to his mind. It must be obvious to him that
Draco's thoughts and feelings would not somehow change overnight. He might be old and given to
eccentrics, but there was no bullshitting Albus Dumbledore.

Draco paused and leaned back in his chair, observing the Headmaster in a calculating way.
"I suppose I haven't changed much on how I view others."

Dumbledore nodded and leaned back in his chintz armchair as well, looking by all accounts
comfortable and fully knowledgeable of all that surrounded him.

"I am aware," he answered simply.

For a few moments the two sat frankly observing one another. The only noises in the office were
the slow whirring and tinking of unknown silver objects lying here and there on their highly
polished wooden tables, the bogus snoring of portraits, and the clicking of Fawkes' beak as he
perched serenely on his stand near the winding staircase leading to the second floor of the office,
preening himself. The Headmaster contented himself with gazing admiringly at the bird for a while
and left Malfoy to his own thoughts.

Only a few minutes passed, but Draco had never been known for his patience. Finally, he could no
longer take the silence. *Damn Dumbledore for being so bloody steady…*

"Are you going to let me in or **not**!?" he finally blurted out, angrily.

Dumbledore turned his serene gaze back to him as if he had been waiting all along for the other
to speak. "Tell me… why *did* you turn from your father's beliefs?"

Draco blinked at him, somewhat befuddled at the Headmaster's compulsion to know things he
considered frankly unnecessary. It was irritating as *hell*. "I… don't know. I just
felt differently… What the hell does it *matter*!? Surely you could use all the help you can
*get*, what with…"

"It would have been much easier for you to simply agree with him, would it have not?"
The Headmaster interjected in mildly interested tone. "I realise now you must feel you have no
choice but to join us to be afforded some sort of protection, but all could have been simply
avoided by choosing Voldemort's side."

The mere mention of his joining with the dark lord made Malfoy's skin crawl. He answered in
a voice that managed to sound both fierce and nauseated.

"I could *never* join him."

"And your inheritance? You must have no doubts you'll lose it… "

"I've never quite been up to *scratch* as a Malfoy," growled Draco
resentfully. "He would've found some other way to take it from me…"

"Your entire family will disown you," Dumbledore pointed out objectively. "Your
name will be stricken from their records much like Sirius Black's was. Many of the remaining
purebloods agree with Voldemort's views. You'll be alone…"

"I've *always* been alone!" snapped Malfoy bluntly, becoming increasingly
irritated.

"Think of the power," Dumbledore insisted almost conversationally. "The acclaim
you would receive as the son of Voldemort's second in command. He would surely set you high in
his ranks…"

"I don't give a *damn* about his ranks!" Malfoy shouted angrily, his thoughts
now completely confounded. "You think my life's ambition is to be significant to
**Voldemort**!?"

"He is powerful," said Dumbledore. "He has many admirers, many followers,… many
who would die to see his vision of a 'pure' world played out…"

"**I would die to see it brought down**!" Malfoy finally bellowed, enraged. He
stood rigidly to his feet; his face flushed and his hands curled into tight fists. "He's a
*twisted* *bastard* who thinks he should be allowed to decide who lives or dies like some
sort of *god*! He kills people for *pleasure*! He killed Ginny's brother just to
torture Potter for *Merlin's sake*! Just what the **hell** sort of *bastard* do
you think I *am*!? Yeah, I might think there are some who are better bred than others but
I'd never want to rid the world of the '*rest*' like that **sick** *son of a
bitch*!"

Draco stood in front of Dumbledore's desk heaving furiously, his hands clenched tight, his
blonde hair uncharacteristically wild and out of place, and the now dreadful, icy feeling that he
had just signed his own death warrant. He must be very different from what the Headmaster was
looking for, he knew. He was no believer in the belief that everyone was 'born equal'. But
at least for once in his life, he had been totally honest.

The Headmaster did not move an inch, but simply gazed at the young man before him, a very faint
smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"You may join."

The acceptance dawned slowly on Malfoy, and his hard expression and rigid stance soon gave way
to slumped surprise.

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

Around eight o'clock that evening Ron and Ginny, having just returned from visiting the
Burrow, made their ways purposefully down Hogwarts' dim hallways and headed straight for the
Head boy and girl's quarters.

Neither were in a mood to deal with a certain gormless knight, although as usual, Sir Cadogen
sat waiting for them in full armour astride his trusty steed; this time with a long jousting spear
in hand.

"*Halt*!"

"*God's*… Ron, just *curse* him," growled Ginny moodily.

"I shall *NOT* be cursed, knave!" yelled Sir Cadogen in a small voice made tinny
by the visor over his face. "I am sworn to *protect* this land…"

Ron did not hesitate, but raised his wand. "*Mutus*!"

The tiny knight continued to gesticulate wildly, but suddenly, no sound made its way from his
portrait. He stopped flailing and lowered his spear in defeat, allowing Ron to knock on the
picture's wood frame.

A masculine voice sounded out the password and then called out to them.

"It’s open."

Though Ginny and Ron pulled open the portrait and stepped inside, letting it bang shut behind
them, Cadogen did not move an inch. He continued to sit eerily quiet upon his horse in the painting
of the green open field; straining forward as if preparing to eavesdrop.

Ron and Ginny walked in to find Harry, sans glasses, shirt, and shoes, clad only in a pair of
loose worn jeans, and his hair damp from a recent shower, lying on their common room couch with his
head in Hermione's lap. She was already in her pyjamas, and sat with her legs folded under her,
scraping her fingernails soothingly along his scalp from his forehead back, making his hair stand
on end even more wildly than usual.

It quickly became obvious to Ron and Ginny they were intruding on a private moment.

"*Oh*…" Ginny murmured quietly, blushing.

Ron turned his head a bit out of courtesy. "Sorry mates… just wanted to let you know
we're back… We'll see you at classes tomorrow though, I reckon."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry beat her to it.

"What?… *No*, don't be stupid. Come sit down. Besides, I've got things to tell
you."

With a grunt he raised his long form from his reclining position on the couch and sat up,
casting his arm about Hermione and scooting closer to her to make room.

Immediately at ease, Ron dropped onto the end of the couch leaving room for Ginny in the middle,
though she opted to sit in an armchair nearest the fire and keep her eyes fixed anywhere but on
Harry. Ron and Hermione might be used to seeing a half-naked Harry Potter, but Ginny most certainly
was *not*. She felt a distinct fluttering in her stomach and knew that, were she to look at
him, she would blush three shades of the deepest red. After all, one did not have to be in love
with a wizard to appreciate his body, did they?

And despite her best efforts, this thought alone made her flush.

"You saw Percy, then?" asked Hermione.

Ron scowled and leaned forward on his knees to regard her. "Yeah, we saw him. *Worthless
git*… D'you know he acted as if he'd suspected for a *while* Voldemort was back,
but didn’t speak up so as not to embarrass the Minister!? *Bloody codswallop*!… Didn't
even act half sorry he'd **turned his back** on the family for so long."

Harry frowned. "What about your mum and dad?"

"They're just glad he's decided to come back," Ginny replied, staring
resolutely at Hermione as she spoke. "They've already lost Bill, I don't suppose now
they want to disown Percy, though he **is** a lying *wart*. Anyway, at least he’s finally
owned up to the fact Dumbledore and Harry were telling the truth all along."

Harry raised one eyebrow. "*Has* he…"

Ron nodded. "Even apologised in a *half-arsed* sort of way. I suppose it's the
best we can expect of him; he's always been a fat-headed prick, hasn't he?"

Wisely, neither Harry nor Hermione answered, though Ginny nodded her head in a sharp, agreeable
way.

After a few moments, Hermione cleared her throat and shot a concerned look through her lashes at
Ginny before speaking.

"Well… Harry's got news."

Harry looked at her.

"*Malfoy*," Hermione mouthed to him, with raised eyebrows.

Ginny saw her and started, sitting up ramrod straight. "What *about* him?"

Harry grimaced a bit reproachfully at Hermione’s timing, but decided the truth would be out
eventually. He sighed. "He's decided to join us."

"**What!?**" Ron's jaw dropped open in astonishment. "You're having us
on…"

"Nope." Harry shook his head. "He burst in on me this afternoon while I was in
the Room of Requirement… Told me he'd made up his mind and decided to join our side."

Ron watched him incredulously. "And you *believe* him?"

Harry paused for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on his lip. "I'm still a bit leery. He
*seemed* genuine, but that doesn't mean a hell of a lot, does it? I sent him to talk to
Dumbledore."

"I never took him for the sort who might actually *care* about something," said
Ron, rubbing at his ears as if not sure what he had just heard was real.

"Remember when his father gave him the dark mark how he reacted, though?" Hermione
pointed out. "He wasn't exactly chuffed with it, was he? Maybe there was a reason for
it…"

Ron snorted bitterly. " ‘*Course* there was. He realised now he wouldn't be able
to *run and hide* anymore."

"Ron, you don't know that for *certain*," she admonished him. "Maybe
he's got other reasons for wanting to join… I mean along with the protection he'll get from
it…"

"I figured that was **one** reason," Harry added snidely.

"*Along* with it," Hermione emphasised sternly, eyeing Harry and Ron, "Maybe
he actually *does* hate what Voldemort stands for. Maybe there's more to him than what we
thought."

Ginny had not spoken a word during the entire following conversation and, sparing a glance over
at her, Hermione saw her staring troubled into the fire, flame shadows flickering across her face.
She frowned. She wondered how this latest news might affect Ginny's relationship with Malfoy,
if indeed there was one *left* to affect.

Ginny suddenly stood and looked at the three, now not paying any mind whatsoever to the fact
that Harry still sat there clad in only a pair of worn jeans.

"Well, I'm off… Got loads of classwork to catch up on, I'm sure. Michelle Garroty
promised she'd take notes…"

With no more explanation she rushed toward the portrait door and yanked it open leaving as
unexpectedly as she'd come in.

Hermione turned Ron's way and saw his whole body tensing; his face flushing an angry
red.

"*Ron*…" she began in a warning voice.

"She's not gone off to *study*," he forced out through gritted teeth.
"She's gone to find the damn **ferret**…"

Harry sighed. "We know."

"And it's all the same to *you*, **isn't** **it**!?" Ron exclaimed,
flashing Harry an impatient glare. "Nevermind someone you've looked on as a sister for
seven years is out to *do herself in*…trusting her heart to a no good **piece of shit**
like *Malfoy*…"

"We can't control what she does, Ron!" Harry shouted back. "She's too old
for you **or** me to go about trying to tell her who she can or can't love!"

Ron narrowed his eyes dangerously. "She does **NOT** love him."

Hermione stood, throwing up her arms in exasperation. "*Whatever* it is she feels,
it's none of your business; **either** of you. And if Malfoy's turning out to actually
care for what we're fighting for, maybe he's not such a git after all. Anyway, Harry's
right, Ron. You can't control Ginny."

Ron exploded. "She's my **sister** for *Godric's sake*! What would you have
me do, lie back and watch her fall for some wizard I **KNOW** in the end will hurt her!? What
kind of brother would I **be** to do that!?"

"A *normal* one," said Hermione calmly. "You've told her how you feel,
Ron. Now you've got to hope she takes to mind what you've said. And if she
doesn't…"

"She'll have her heart smashed to **bits**," Ron blurted violently. "And
I'll be forced to **beat the shit** out of the one who did it to her…"

"You'll be there to pick up the pieces, Ron," Harry said sagely, "**and**
beat the shit out of him. It's what a brother does."

Ron looked over at him, and his face grew a bit less hard. "No offence mate, really. But
how would *you* know what a brother does?"

Harry eyed him, unoffended. "*You* taught me.. didn't you?"

Ron stared at him, dumbfounded. He had never thought in his whole time of knowing him, that he
had the stuff to teach Harry Potter *anything*. And yet, Harry sat there staring guilelessly
at him, as if he honestly thought of Ron as his brother. He supposed he and the rest of the Weasley
clan really *had* been the closest thing to a family Harry had ever experienced, but he had
never really thought Harry truly felt himself one of them.

Ron felt as if some warm, genuine feeling had just trickled into him and gone down to pool in
the pit of his stomach. He leaned forward on his knees and raked a hand through his bright red
hair.

"Wow mate,… I.. never really thought you felt… I mean, I'm *glad*! I just.. I mean
mum and dad *already* think of you as their seventh son… and Fred and George of course..
wouldn’t take the mickey from you if they didn’t.. and well, *I*.. of course, I've
*always*… um.. always thought of you…like… I mean as part of our… as my…"

After a few moments of agonised floundering, Harry decided to spare Ron the pain of trying to
voice his emotions.

Truth be told, it was rapidly turning painful for him as well.

"*Merlin* Ron, don't start getting all girlie on me. **Gods**, I couldn't
take it."

After a moment of surprised silence, Ron visibly relaxed and laughed, sounding relieved.
"I'm not half the woman you are, Potter. No use in denying it, I've seen your
*other* wardrobe. You know, the one you keep back for *special* occasions?"

Harry scowled at him and reached over to punch him in the arm, which started a scuffle. Soon
both were thrashing about on the floor, trading punches and guffawing aloud.

Hermione's tearful, fond expression quickly faded to one of annoyance.

"**Ron**!" she shouted exasperatedly, her arms crossed. "**Harry**, must
you thrash about on the floor like a couple of *bloody idiots*!?… **Stop**! You're
going to **break** something!… Go **outside** to fight, will you!?… *Merlin*, I swear
you two aren't any better behaved than **children**! …"

Harry found it unbearably cute when she scolded like a mother hen. He grabbed her mid-rant about
the waist and forced her down to the floor with them; both he and Ron relentlessly tickling her
ribs until she squealed and begged for mercy.

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

Ginny marched determinedly down the dusky stone hallways now lit with torches for the early
evening, and with a clear destination in mind, headed toward the great oak double doors that served
as entrance to the school. She had seen the expression on her brother's face as she had left
Harry and Hermione's quarters, and held no illusions that she had fooled any of them. However,
at this particular point, she could not bring herself to care. Too many thoughts and questions
bombarded her mind; ones she had decided weeks ago were no longer relevant to her life to waste
thinking on.

And yet, just when she had finally begun to file what she deemed **'the great
mistake'** back into the recesses of her mind; deciding to reopen it only to serve as warning
against future **bad** decisions on dating; here she was, thinking on Draco
Malfoy…**again**.

Angry with herself but still moving forward, she flung open the great doors and stomped out into
the breezy, cool dimness of Scotland's early Spring evening. As she went along, it occurred to
her that the previously stated fact was decidedly pissing her off.

She rounded the corner of the east wing of the building and saw ahead of her the distinct
outline of six huge, staggered poles against the sky; three at each end of a field surrounded by
high stadium seating that outlined the Quidditch pitch. It was deserted, thank Merlin.

Upon coming closer, she found she had been correct on where he would be hiding. The back half of
a platinum blonde head and one raised knee peeked out from behind the largest of a clump of trees
just outside the pitch. In one long-fingered elegant hand, Draco had plucked a very long blade of
grass, and was twirling it lazily between his fingers.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. She was unsure why the sight of him sitting there so calmly annoyed
her, but decided to draw courage from the aggravation and use it to fortify her nerves.

The fact she was shaking as she approached served to vex her even further. She stopped for a
moment and took a deep calming breath before rounding the tree. Upon seeing him before her, leaning
rather lazily against the trunk, she adopted a hostile stance.

Malfoy gazed up at her, his expression practised and blank. The only motion he made was to still
the fingers twiddling the grass blade.

Ginny swiped her long hair behind her ear and placed her hands on her hips, huffing.

"*Well*."

Malfoy stared at her before subtly raising one eyebrow. "Well *what*…"

"**You**," Ginny said crisply. "*Knew* I'd find you here."

"Congratulations Red, you win the house cup."

"Don't get *snarky* with me," Ginny retorted. She glanced him over for a
moment and then resentfully plopped down opposite him. "You know, it's funny. In the span
of just a few hours, the most *astounding* changes can sneak you up. I never knew one's
perspective could switch *overnight*."

Malfoy shut his eyes and tapped his head back against the trunk, his jaw rigidly set.

"**Bloody sodding hell**… *Alright*. *Go* *on* then Red, get it all out
of your system. Nott's already wished he could nick his father's Muggle pistol to blow a
hole in my head… More painful than a curse, he says." He laughed hollowly. "Actually
believes by telling his father I'm 'defecting' he's going to be the one breaking
the news to Lucius and Voldemort; as if they don't already know, the dumb *prick*. Fifth
through seventh year Slytherin's side with him… They've all merrily wished me a one-way
ticket to hell. Even Crabbe and Goyle won't speak to me… **Gods**, the day I'm actually
craving *their* company…"

Ginny looked taken aback but stood her ground. "So you actually *have* joined
us…"

Malfoy sneered at her in reply. "That hard to believe, is it?… I once thought at least
*you* felt I had some decency in me."

"You aren't *feeling sorry* for yourself, are you?" Ginny scathingly replied.
"Last I checked **I** was the one who'd lost a family member."

"I don't have any left to *lose*," Malfoy countered. "None who'll
claim me, anyway. I suppose I should count myself lucky."

They stared at each other for a moment, at an impasse. Ginny felt herself falling into that cool
grey gaze once again and decided immediately to snap herself out from it. She shook her head.

"Look, I didn't come out here to play 'who's got it worse' with
you…"

"Why *did* you come out here, then…" Malfoy cut in bluntly, narrowing his
eyes.

Ginny held his gaze, but soon found herself staring at the ground.

"I dunno, really… To see if it was true, I suppose."

Draco began twirling the grass blade between his fingers again. "It is."

"And to ask you *why*."

Abruptly, he stiffened and finally dropped the weed from his hand.

"*Why*…"

"Why did you decide to go against Voldemort?"

Draco growled aloud and balled his hands into tight fists. "**Gods** **Red**, you of
**ALL** people should know **I hate** **him**!"

"**I know**!" Ginny answered sharply. "But with all the trouble it's
causing you why didn't you just opt to run!?"

"I **can't** run. Voldemort has ways of finding you; especially when you've got
his brand seared into your ***bloody* *arm***." Malfoy shoved the sleeve of his
jumper up his arm to show off the mark on his bicep, which for some time had been glowing and
throbbing an angry red. "I join Dumbledore and Potter, at least I'm afforded with a bit of
protection, however *small*. I join no one, I'm on my own. Might as well curse
*myself* to death and call an end to it."

Ginny did not react to his last remark but merely glanced at the dark mark on his arm and
continued to regard him carefully.

"That's not all of it."

"Actually, it about sums it up," Malfoy replied off-handily as he yanked his sleeve
back down again.

"You **could** run."

He gazed at her as if she was mad. "Do you have *plugs* in your ears? Have you heard a
*bloody* *word* I've said!?"

Ginny smirked. "I've heard every word you've *ever* said to me Draco…
Including when you described all the hideaways the Malfoy's collected over the years in case
certain *'illegal activities'* were ever found out… Ones in several different
countries; ones prepared to keep you fed, clothed and generally cared for; ones equipped with heavy
*anti-apparition*, *anti-track* and *imperturbable charms*… charms any wizard or
witch knows are very hard to sense another through."

"It isn't just *any* wizard or witch we're talking about in case you've
forgot," Malfoy remarked dryly.

"Even *HE* won't have the power being so far away to sense a body through all of
*that*," Ginny replied. "It would take him standing directly in front of the place
to be able to lift the charms; and he'd have to find it first, wouldn't he?"

Malfoy continued to stare at her and did not reply; his expression giving away absolutely
nothing. He merely picked another blade of long grass and began wrapping it idly around his
fingers, his eyes now looking past her into the rapidly darkening sky; the colours of pink, burnt
orange and dusky purple now painting the horizon over the mountains.

Ginny watched him for a brief time. He was hiding something, she was sure of it. She wasn't
certain what it was, but **damn** if she wasn't going to find out…

"So what aren't you telling me?" She finally asked.

He let his gaze drift lazily back to hers. "Are you subscribing to some sort of bloody spy
magazine, or am I just *that* interesting?"

Ginny smirked. "Don't try to distract me, it won't work. I've just proved
you're story about having nowhere to hide is a lie. I'm waiting for the *real*
answer."

"Super sleuth it is," Malfoy snorted. He regarded her evenly. "Really Red,
it's not that complicated. Voldemort is a bastard. So is my father. End of story."

"And that's it…" Ginny stated sceptically. "I don't think so."

The wind had blown her thick red hair about her shoulders. The fading pastel-coloured sky behind
her outlined her in a sort of unearthly fragile glow. Her skirt had risen up to a few inches above
her knees, and her jumper was just snug enough that it gently highlighted her curves. Her eyes
sparkled with a mixture of curiosity, defiance… and something *else*.

He supposed later it was the '*something* *else*' that drove him to it, or
perhaps it was simply that she actually cared enough about the *real* Draco Malfoy to search
him out, or that she seemed to know him so well…

Whatever it was, without any warning, and even coming as a complete surprise to himself as the
act was quite impulsive, Draco suddenly bent forward, grabbed a fistful of that fiery red hair, and
crushed her mouth to his.

She stiffened, but the immediate downward-coursing zing of excitement in her chest caused her to
yank him closer, grabbing fistfuls of the back of his jumper. *Gods*, but it felt good to be
kissing him again, touching him... Her first thought, formed from pure shock, had been to push him
away from her, but she quickly found she didn't possess the inner strength to do it. She
supposed he had become an addiction. She'd had none of this type of closeness to *miss*
before him, and now… The month or more without him had seemed like hell on earth.

Every sensation came rushing back. The way he tasted and felt, his scent, his touch, the way
thrills of desire twisted and coiled tight in her abdomen as he moved over her… all five senses
felt as if they were on the verge of overload.

It was he that finally fully grabbed her and took her to the ground with him, but had he not
done it, Ginny was sure she would have. He was pressing too closely against her, his hands branding
her skin, his hips grinding in a most intimate way… It was rapidly becoming too much, and she felt
her brain turning to mush as if she was losing herself; a thing she had only ever known with him.
There was no name to describe the experience, she supposed the only word to come close would simply
be 'Draco'. And 'Draco' was overtaking her, *again*.

When he finally stopped snogging her senseless, their positions were such that he had rolled her
over, and was now pressed firmly on top of her, staring down into her face. He was so close she
could see the faint red stains on his cheeks, the way his grey eyes glazed over with desire, the
way his blonde hair fell over his forehead, the way his gaze scorched her with such a heat she felt
she might stop breathing…

He finally spoke, and in such a husky, low voice she had trouble making herself focus on his
words and not on…*other*…things.

"You want to know why?"

Ginny dragged her gaze drunkenly from his lips back up to his eyes and blinked.

"*Wh*..*why*?"

Being a Malfoy, he couldn't keep himself from giving her a smug leer.

"Distracted, are we?"

"*NO*, *I’m **not** you git*," Ginny growled emphatically.

He flashed her an amused smirk, though the expression soon turned serious.

"It's because of you."

Ginny frowned. "*Me*… what'd you mean? I've talked to you about our side;
about what we're fighting for, but you’ve just always changed the subject… I figured you wanted
no part of it."

"I didn't, but my son of a bitch father gave me no choice, did he?" Draco replied
stonily.

He paused for a few moments, sifting his thoughts through carefully and eyeing her as if still
unsure he wanted to let her close again. However, there was no point in that line of reasoning. She
had gone and taken the decision right from his hands. He had known as soon as she had materialised
in front of him tonight there was no more hiding from it, whether or not she rejected him in the
end.

He sighed. "That wasn’t the only reason though."

Ginny wisely decided to wait for him to continue. Harsh as he appeared on the outside, she knew
his inside as well, and knew he preferred to keep it well hidden from others, even her. He had
grown up with the hard knowledge that any sign of vulnerability was seen as weakness and that
ultimately, it left one scorned and shamed. Old abuses were hard forgotten.

He rolled off of her and sat up on his haunches, raking a hand nervously through his hair not
unlike a certain enemy of his.

"When your brother was killed, something… switched. I dunno... I just... I couldn’t be
distant from it anymore. I *wanted* to be... *hell*, I laid awake nights trying to trick
myself into it, but… I saw how Voldemort had practically tortured you and your family and...
**gods**. I..I really..*care*.. for you. There wasn’t anyone or anything before you I could
say that about. There was **no one** I would’ve considered fighting for... much less dying for.
I hated everyone. I hated the *world*." He paused then, and snorted at his own thoughts.
"I suppose the feeling was mutual…"

"**That’s not true**!" Ginny exclaimed vehemently, reaching out for his hand and
grabbing his wrist instead. "No one’s *hated* you. Well, Ron and Harry have certainly..
well.. had their differences... um... But, they just haven’t *understood* you, I
think..."

"I don’t blame them," Malfoy cut in with a careless wave of one hand. Ginny watched
his defences rise as he continued on in detached tones.

"I never cared; still don’t much, I reckon. I never wanted anyone close to me. That way, if
they burned me in some way… I guess it wouldn’t leave a scar, you know?"

Ginny leaned forward, her face a mask of compassion, but saw Draco begin to stiffen when he saw
it. He recoiled from even the appearance of pity, so she quickly hid it.

"No one can stay that hard, though," Ginny said in a carefully neutral tone. "And
I imagine you *have* been hurt, haven’t you? No matter how much you’ve fought against
it…"

"*Doesn’t matter*." Malfoy announced stonily. He set his mouth into a thin,
annoyed line. "It’s not what this is about anyway and we’re getting off track. I.. I just
wanted you to know... even if I hadn’t been forced into choosing sides I would’ve decided to fight
against him... For you."

Ginny’s eyes welled with tears. A large stinging lump swelled and ached in her throat, making it
difficult to breathe. He was willing to make such a **huge** sacrifice for her; he had made such
an admission of deep feeling... It must’ve taken every nerve he owned to break open that carefully
walled-off heart and hope he wouldn’t be rejected.

How could she respond to *that*? *Gods*, coming from him it was so much more than just
passing fancy or idle words. Draco Malfoy was not one to go about expressing much of anything, much
less his *deep feelings* for someone.

In retrospect, much later, Ginny would wonder to herself if what she had said in reply, and the
timing she had chosen to confess it, had not exactly been well considered. But at the present
moment, she decided to herself timing wasn’t important. All that mattered was that he had given her
opportunity to say it; one that rarely, if ever, might have come along again. So, she decided to
take her own advice; the same she had given Hermione some months ago prior to the All Hallows Eve
bash.

She did her best to stop her trembling hands, took a deep calming breath, and seized the
day.

"…I…love you, too."

Her voice was shaky, scared and full of emotion. Draco’s gaze shot up to meet hers, the words
slowly sinking in; his body suddenly, strangely filling to the brim with a kind of shock,
wonderment, ..*pulsing **fear***.. such as he had never before *ever* felt.

Her words flipped a switch in him, quite startling, not unlike the sudden erratic surge of
blaring music from a radio. It was comparable to mad, rhythmical, violently chiming bells… The kind
that woke one up from a sort of lifetime nightmarish dreamstate; the kind that signified freedom;…
the kind that reminded him he was alive…

He peered at her suspiciously, his overly cautious heart telling him she might be less than
sincere, but saw only a genuine gaze staring back at him.

And suddenly, miraculously, he **existed**.

In the world held by Ginevra Weasley’s eyes he, Draco Malfoy…was **loved**.

A mixture of exhilaration and anxiety rushed through him and, articulate as he had always been,
Draco found himself at a complete loss for words. He wanted to tell her he loved her back. He
*ached* for it. He wanted to tell her she had shown him a side to life he had thought was all
a lie; that she had opened him up to new possibilities and revelations; that everything he had just
told her was a grander, considerably safer version of ‘I love you’ for his heart to relate.

Those three words had avoided, and *been* avoided by him all his life. He had learned early
on to run from them.

*But Ginny*…

He knew what he meant; knew how he felt, but his long withdrawn heart refused him
those..three..words.

He sat for a few moments opening and closing his mouth, irritating himself to no end until Ginny
relieved him.

"It’s alright. You don’t have to say anything."

Malfoy gritted his teeth in frustration. "**No**! I don’t… I’ve just never… *Damn it
to hell* Red, I’m no good at this…"

"I know." She smiled at him. "I know you. It’s alright."

For a few moments all he could do was sit and stare, but eventually baser instincts took over
and he reached out to crush her to him once more, feeling somehow more alive than ever he had done
before. If it took fighting a war just to own this one moment, he felt he might live to fight a
hundred.

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

Weeks passed. A month. A balmy May replaced a rainy April and blew in on warm breezes. School
went on as usual; students taking more to the outside to study as the weather grew even warmer,
though the promise of upcoming N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s lent the school atmosphere a gloomy air.

Elsewhere, each day since Delores Umbridge's election into the role of Minister of Magic
seemed to bring about new unsolved murders in the wizarding and Muggle worlds, and the passing of
controversial, somewhat suspicious laws and decrees. She had recently decided to once again allow
the Prophet to place important articles on the front page, a move that served to further inflame
the fears of the wizarding world to newer, even greater heights; allowing her an easier time
setting her new plans into motion. She had promised "protection" for those in the
wizarding world falling under the category of Muggle born or half-wizard. The protection she was
giving however, had begun to give some, namely Dumbledore and the Order, shivers of trepidation.
Something just seemed off about it.

It had started with a decree that all wizards from Diagon Alley onto Hogsmeade Village fitting
the category of Muggle born or half-wizard be moved close together to better ensure their safety.
After all, it was much easier to guard one very large area, rather than hundreds of small ones, was
it not? Her first large decree had been to build comfortable communes; small villages and
communities, all paid for by the Ministry, to house those most directly threatened by the recently
arisen dark lord. When some began to protest having to move from their homes, Umbridge decided, to
make it seem less like a demand and more like a caring suggestion, to make the move optional. Only
those who truly felt threatened and, (she implied during one community-inclusive meeting) who
*truly cared* for their wives and children's safety, should feel motivated to move. After
all, who was she to force anyone out from where they wanted to stay, however dangerous?

After, many opted to move to the commune, set right outside the village of Hogsmeade and
constantly surrounded by Ministry loyal law enforcers and Aurors. However, those who held
suspicions or concerns about the new decree, and who still held fast to the opinion that Dumbledore
was not in league with the dark lord, had turned to him for his opinion. He had been cautious at
first, deciding it was in the school's best interest for him not to *completely* alienate
himself from the Ministry, but to simply give firm disapproval to Umbridge's plan. But the more
non pure-blooded wizards and witches that died, despite the new Minister's 'safety
plan', the more outspoken against the Ministry he became.

It had been the beginning of the large split between those loyal to the Ministry, and those
siding with Dumbledore.

Because of the threat to those wizards not pure-blooded, or even those whose parents were just
simply frightened of their children being caught in crosshairs while they were not around to
protect them, some had opted to immediately remove their children from school. The already dwindled
student population became even smaller. Where at least there had been three hundred or more
students still attending, there was now less than one hundred and fifty, and their numbers
decreased every day.

The dubious laws and decrees did not stop. Though Dumbledore and those with him suspected
Umbridge had less than pure motives in mind, without real evidence it was impossible to try proving
it. She was extremely clever in making her decisions sound as if they were really good for those
witches and wizards most directly targeted. And, if some still died in the process, well, it was
simply time to shore up securities even more, even though her methods had begun to be questioned.
While in the beginning they came off sounding logical; later on, (to those who paid close
attention), they seemed to include ulterior motives, with a tiny bit of the sinister thrown in.

Toward the end of May, Percy Weasley received first hand account of just such an instance. An
instance which would start what those who survived later labelled "the beginning of the
end".

He had arrived home late from work a week ago and announced to his family that after some true
soul searching, he had decided to quit his job as new Prime Minister of Magic.

Arthur Weasley, who had been one of the ones suspicious and had been thinking of doing the same
thing, approved. Molly, although she approved as well, was stunned. Percy's ambition had always
been to reach as high into the Ministry as he could; to climb as high up the wizarding
government's ladder as he could go. But he had brought something home with him from the office
that evening. A very disturbing conversation he had had with Umbridge as she had sat earlier in the
day, having her newest "safety law" furiously scribbled out before her.

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

(The Ministry of Magic one week ago, night of Percy's resignation, evening of May
21st.)

Umbridge sat at her highly polished desk, plump fingers crossed before her and a satisfied,
almost sadistic little smile upon her face.

Percy sat opposite her, watching as to his right, the new Senior Undersecretary to the Minister,
a small, balding, elderly wizard with a nervous twitch, charmed his quill to take down her
words.

"Our community is still suffering," Umbridge simpered out loud, speaking in tones that
suggested she had memorised her speech long ago. "Our friends; our neighbours are still
suffering under the brutal, unforeseeable attacks of the dark lord. As such is the case, I have met
with my colleagues and have formed a newer plan, one which I hope will provide our part of the
wizarding world, for as long as the threat of the dark lord remains, with the best protection we
can provide against his evil. Scouts for the Ministry have found a large, very secretive location
some two hundred miles from here in the Grampian Mountains; very hard to detect. The peak we have
chosen is a Munro, standing at three thousand five hundred forty two feet."

(*A/N: A 'Munro' peak is a Scottish mountainous peak that rises above 3000 feet, so
named after Sir Hugh T. Munro who surveyed and produced tables of 236 peaks as the highest
mountains in Scotland in 1891. The Grampian Mountain range is an actual range in Scotland.*)

"Therefore it would take quite a bit of doing to not only make it up such a mountain, but
to break through the barrier wards we've placed round the new encampments. It will be ready
within a months time, May tenth; I've got every available construction labourer working on it
night and day…"

Percy, clearly surprised, cleared his throat.

Umbridge stopped reciting and eyed him in annoyance.

"Ah… Minister Umbridge, I wasn't informed of this decision… In fact I was never even
informed of a *meeting* about this, I'm quite certain…"

Umbridge shut her eyes briefly in what was supposed to be a scarcely tolerant manner. "Did
you not receive my memo, Weasley? I sent yours along with the rest this past Monday."

"I never got anything," said Percy slowly, a small echo of doubt now beginning to
resound in his mind.

"Well it is not up to me to see that you do or do not check your messages," she said
pompously. "The committee, having understood the urgency has voted positively, and the matter
has been settled. Now if you will allow me to finish…"

Percy said nothing, but continued to stare at her as she finished reciting. Something felt
wrong; a nagging, suspicious sensation tingled at the base of his spine. Already the building of a
commune outside of Hogsmeade had seemed a bit leery to him; after all, the dark lord only needed
one good strike to rid Diagon Alley and wizarding Scotland of a fair amount of its Muggle borns and
half-wizards, now they were all rounded up in one spot. Now, here she was executing a new plan, one
that not only rounded them together again, but shipped them off to some sort of faraway, out of
sight encampment for their 'protection'. It all reminded him of something he had studied
back in Hogwarts, something that had historically ended up very dark and sinister…

"…obviously can't use the Hogwarts Express as it will be too close to end of school and
will be needed for the students. Instead, we will be using the Hogsmeade Transport. It is the
largest train we have available, and will comfortably carry up to at least four hundred witches and
wizards…"

Senior Undersecretary Vetustus Elrod abruptly stopped writing and stared at the Minister.
Umbridge immediately noticed the quiet absence of quill scratchings and looked up at him.

"Minister Umbridge... the Hogsmeade Transport is a *freight* train. Moreover, it's
been retired for more than thirty years now… The great fire of sixty-five, remember?" He
smiled trustingly at her. "You've simply misspoken, I trust..."

"There has been no mistake," Umbridge interrupted coldly, her eyes dangerously
narrowed. "It is being brought *out* of retirement. It is the largest train in Hogsmeade.
We'll have need of it for such great numbers."

"B..But it was labelled unfit for use after the fire, Minister!" Elrod stuttered,
shocked. "Surely you don't mean to place all of those people in danger…"

"It will be overhauled and repaired before its use, *of course*," Umbridge stated
matter-of-factly. "Once again, I must impress on you the severity of our situation, Vetustus.
We must use every resource we have to keep our community safe until the danger has passed, do you
not agree? And the farther away and hidden from the dark lord they are, the safer they will
be."

Elrod sat stammering before her, with Percy looking on warily. She sent the elder wizard a
shrewd, cold stare.

"I am not so oblivious as to misinterpret the dire situation we are in, Elrod. I had
thought *you* to be of the same mind. Obviously I was mistaken." She sent him a
humourless smile. "Keeping the wizarding community safe at all costs is our first priority. If
you are of the opinion there are greater things to be going on about, I believe it might be time to
replace you. After all we must all work together... for the good of the wizarding world."

Something in her expression and the ungodly glint in her eyes made Percy shudder. He had a
feeling Umbridge was interested in more than simply the 'good of the wizarding world'. He
was soon to find out just how correct he was.

Elrod finished taking his notes and left muttering to himself. The door clicked shut behind him,
and Percy turned to find Umbridge smiling to herself and fondly eyeing a familiar looking book.
Funny he hadn't noticed it lying on her desk before. The author's name, glinting gold on
the spine, sparked some sort of recognition, but hard as he tried Percy could not determine where
he had seen it.

"*Philetus Harold*," he murmured aloud, unaware he had done so.

Umbridge snapped briskly out from her thoughts and eyed him.

"You've heard of him?"

"Somewhere," Percy answered, frowning. "Can't quite grasp it,
though."

As he watched Umbridge visibly relax, he narrowed his eyes.

"He was one of the greatest wizards of our time," she said quietly. "Pure-blooded
wizard. However, to better further his cause he decided to live as a Muggle… a *powerful* one
at that. Switched his own name… his life. Pity he lived and died so long ago…"

Again, something imperceptible made Percy shiver. Unconsciously he wrapped his arms about
himself, staring at the book and it's title.

*The Muggle Project: My Life and Cause*, by Philetus Harold.

*What was it about that* **name**… *It was in Muggle studies he had heard*
*it*… *yes*… *But why had it been so significant*…

"He had such *dreams*; such *visions*…" Umbridge whispered almost
reverently. It seemed to Percy she now barely registered he was still in the office with her.

"He was a genius… But his intelligence was what ultimately did him in. Even the wizarding
brain is susceptible to the madness caused by an over-brilliant mind. He went mental with it, ended
up dying with only a spare part of the project finished. It was to be so much larger and more
expansive than what little he accomplished. When he died, he left his extraordinary views of a
better world to die with him…"

*Something was clicking into place for him… a someone in Muggle history who seemed befitting
of the person Umbridge's words had conjured. The image of a man Percy had found to be
absolutely beyond horrifying…*

He turned wide eyes to Umbridge, forcing himself to be calm. "It… it *is* late,
isn't it Minister?"

Umbridge, brought back from her thoughts, watched him carefully for a few moments and then
simply nodded.

Percy paused.

"…Have you read that book the whole way through?"

She nodded. "Several times."

He took a deep breath, composing himself. "You've gone on about it so fascinatingly. I
wonder… if I might borrow it to read myself."

Every inch of Umbridge froze in place. She seemed to be staring through him, such was the
intensity of her gaze. And for the second time in this very office, Percy Weasley was
terrified.

"Oh I don't *think* so," she replied slowly, her eyes still glued to his.
"It's not mine, you see. I've borrowed it from.. someone.. I greatly admire. He
wouldn't be happy to know I'd loaned it out, I think. It's the only one of its
kind."

"There were never any copies made?" asked Percy.

Umbridge shook her head. "Only the Muggle copy, and it leaves so much out. It goes by a
different name."

The way she was scrutinising him, Percy decided not to push his luck by asking her for the
title. She seemed on the verge of an outburst, and a mad one at that. Whatever secrets the book
held, he would have to find them out for himself.

"Oh well, it's alright then," he answered nonchalantly. "I'll head out
then, I think. I want to beat the floo traffic."

Umbridge nodded, her eyes boring into Percy's back as he made his way easily from the office
and out into the torchlit halls of the Ministry, where he finally broke out into a full run.

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

Some hours later Percy Weasley sat in a squashy old armchair in front of the Burrow's
hearth, facing his parents who sat on the couch opposite him. He had related his story to them, but
as only Arthur had taken Muggle studies in school, and had forgot most of what did not relate to
his job in 'Misuse of Muggle Artifacts' as it had been so long, neither knew the name
Philetus Harold.

Then as if struck by lightning, a thought occurred to Percy. Umbridge had said Philetus had
switched his name to a more Muggle one. Not that he had *changed* his name or taken on a new
one… but that he had *switched* it.

Could it really be that simple? Of course to anyone who *hadn't* heard Harry
Potter's story of meeting a younger version of Voldemort in the Chamber of Secrets some five
years ago, the puzzle might not be nearly as solvable. And yet… was the answer to his question
staring him right in the face? Could Voldemort have chosen the very same puzzle for himself?

Percy took the bit of parchment bearing the author's name and laid it out flat on the table.
He grabbed out his wand and pointed it.

Arthur Weasley frowned. "Percy, what are you doing?"

"You aren't about to blast a gauge in my *coffee table*!" Molly Weasley
exclaimed, her face beginning to redden with anger. "It's more like Fred and George to go
about something like *that*!"

Percy ignored them for the moment, his mind centred on what he was about to do.

"*Primus Nomino*!"

The letters lifted themselves off of the parchment, glowing orange, to float up and hover above
the heads of the three Weasleys below. The room was thrown into an undulating orange glow not
unlike how it was when the hearth was lit.

The name 'Philetus Harold' floated above their heads.

"What spell have you done, son?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"We'll find out soon enough," said Percy. He waved his wand in the direction the
floating letters.

"*Acclaro*!"

As Percy had suspected all along, the letters began to rearrange themselves.

Molly gasped aloud with recognition. With a burning horror, Arthur Weasley now recalled the name
of the wizard turned Muggle who had haunted some of his dreams in school. The name had been burned
into the minds of Muggles some sixty years ago, and remained to this day a bane that conjured up
the worst possible visions in the minds of people everywhere, Muggle or wizard.

"*My god*…" Arthur breathed out.

"Minister Umbridge admires *him*?" Molly squeaked, grabbing onto Arthur's arm
with such force that he felt sure he would come away with bruises.

Percy however, merely stared. It was as he had suspected from the moment she had begun to talk
about him. The name had a few more letters in it than how it had been shown in Muggle history, but
he suspected the man had shortened it to make it sound more Muggle. And now Delores Umbridge,
Minister of Magic, was planning on mimicking some of his very worst deeds.

The name *'Adolphus Hitler'* shone bright orange and hovering in the air for a few
moments more before Arthur, roaring out loud, 'scourgified' it from his home.

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

(two weeks later)

The early June sky above Hogwarts’ grounds had darkened to inky shades of blue and black,
smattered with grey-edged clouds. A light sprinkling of stars and a new moon, half hidden by
clouds, were the only things that lit the night.

Harry and Hermione made their way slowly round the lake to an area most open and lit by the
moon, and sat side by side to watch light ripple away on the water.

Harry was content to have her by his side for a few moments, but eventually the need to have her
as close as possible won out. After beckoning her closer with one of his most engaging looks, which
he needn’t have worried about using, she moved onto his lap and allowed him to tuck her securely to
him and circle his arms about her. She snuggled down enough to allow his chin to rest atop her head
and waited for him to tell her what was on his mind, though she had a feeling she already knew. It
was the same thing that had been on his mind, hers, and every other witch and wizard, no matter how
young or old that lived on Hogwarts' grounds.

News of Dumbledore's suspicions, further heightened by what Percy had discovered, had not
only leaked out all over school, but had made it's way all across Scotland, and wizarding
England. It was no secret now the Ministry and Dumbledore were in a full out war, of sorts, with
each other. Most every witch and wizard could now be divided into two categories: those who sided
with the Ministry, and those who sided with Dumbledore. As predicted, the wizarding world had gone
completely mad.

It was the last thing the Headmaster had wanted. The upcoming war with Voldemort and his army
was imminent, but rather than having a fair many at the Ministry to count on for support, he had
many who now not only looked at him as a possible *supporter* of Voldemort, but *also* as
an opponent of the Ministry's "wonderful" efforts to keep the wizarding world safe.
So many were so blind…

To Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and even Draco Malfoy, all of whom had been informed by Hermione
of Philetus Harold's evil plots to make purifying a race seem agreeable by starting off slow
with Muggle Jews, and eventually working his way up to the purification of the whole
*wizarding* race, it seemed incredible that anyone who had heard Umbridge owned such a book
would not at least question her motives toward Muggle mixed wizards and witches.

To Harry, it seemed like an omen of worse things to come. And it wasn't as if he needed
one.

He hadn't shared his suspicions with Hermione that Voldemort might decide to start the war
by sending Harry a final owl demanding he come to meet him alone. It would be the logical thing for
the dark lord to do; to try killing Harry and therefore regain all of his full powers before the
war really began.

Then again, Harry knew he didn't need to tell Hermione his thoughts for her to suspect the
same thing. She wasn't called the smartest witch in school for nothing.

The threat loomed between them like something alive. In their common room, every unexpected
sound made Hermione jump and whip round toward the window. With every sword and wandless magic
practice Harry had with his father, he left it having worked harder and faster that day than he had
the previous. At breakfast when the owl post came, both immediately tensed until any letters Harry
might have received had been opened and inspected, leaving Ron to wonder exactly what they were
thinking.

The two had an unspoken pact with one another that they did not talk about it, though the point
of that was useless. It was too painful, and ignored about as successfully as a large pink elephant
standing in the middle of the common room.

Now here they were on Harry’s request, sitting near the lake in silent companionship, his hands
gently rubbing Hermione's arms as his own encircled her, keeping her warm against the night
air’s slightly damp chill. But Hermione, impatient as she was, felt if he did not soon decide to
tell her what was on his mind, she might perform the Legilimens spell on him just to see if she
could manage it.

"Harry…" she finally whispered, unable to stand it any longer.

He had buried his nose in her hair, allowing the familiar scent to calm him. He hummed out an
absent reply.

"Hmm?"

She shifted her face toward him and placed on hand on his cheek. "Will you please tell me
what's bothering you? You've been so quiet today."

"It's nothing, love." He sighed quietly. "I just want to sit here with you in
peace while we still can."

But the quiet usually brought about the desperation that lately always came with it. Hermione
could only stand a few moments of being so close to Harry before she wanted more. At night she
often woke up abruptly, sweating and jerking from some horrific nightmare about Harry's death.
It was at these times they seemed to have more trouble than ever keeping themselves from going to
far, because Harry felt the same way.

Their bodies were reacting to their mind's desperation to stay together, for him to never
have to leave, but even Hermione as analytical as she usually was, could not bring herself to care
about the reasons. Tonight, all she knew was that she wanted to bring him so close to her own body
that he might somehow become part of her and never be able to leave. Tonight she wanted him to have
all of her, and her to have all of him, and damn any promises…

She turned around in his embrace, straddling his lap and moving her lips so close to his he felt
her breath dampen his own.

The move left him startled… for a very ..*brief*.. moment.

"*Harry*…"

She breathed out his name so quietly, and with so much need…

She began slowly grinding herself down on his lap with little circular motions, her eyes dark
and large and staring into his; her lips brushing his own and her tongue sweeping out to touch his.
Harry felt himself hardening; helplessly jerking upward with his hips to meet her, his hands aching
to reach higher and touch her breasts…

" 'Mione… *please*, I can't just do this and not ..*ah, Merlin*.. not
want to…"

She widened her eyes innocently at him. "Not want to what?"

It was a move Harry found so sexy he almost lost his control.

His crystal green gaze burned with desire. His hands came up to grab her waist, pulling her down
even harder against his lap, making her movements match his own…Didn't she realise what she was
doing to him? *Gods*, it was hard enough every single night to lie in bed with her and
not…not…

"*Oh* *shit*…*gods, Hermione*…I'm not gonna be able to just do this
and…and stop…"

She said nothing for a moment. Her legs were spread wide over his, skirt riding up to her upper
thighs, hips still moving in tiny circles, her core pressing and rubbing against his crotch, her
breasts pressed and moving against the hard plains of his chest, mouth open and panting… She angled
her head and moved her mouth to suck slowly on his neck, dragging her soft lips over to his ear,
taking the sensitive lobe between her teeth, nipping it, suckling on it, her breath against it
sending tingles of desire shooting outward and downward…

Harry felt himself straining so hard against his jeans he thought he might die from the need to
take her… to spread her wide and plunge into her…to make love to her so slowly that she
screamed…

Hermione sighed into his ear. "Why *should* we…"

And with those words, all the blood left Harry's brain.

With little effort he picked her up and laid her on her back in front of him on the grass,
ripped his glasses from his face and tossed them aside, covered her with his body, and began to
devour her mouth with his.

He was aware of the desperation; aware of the fact they were afraid of losing each other; even
aware they were close to breaking promises they had made to each other that were very real. But
none of it seemed to matter at that moment.

Her legs had snaked up to wrap round his hips, making her skirt ride up even higher. Harry's
hand found its way from under her jumper and moved to cover the calf behind him, smoothing its way
up the long soft limb to her upper thigh… moving up even further and taking the hem of the skirt
with it…

Shaking but unable to stop himself, Harry moved the same hand under her thigh and up caress her
arse, marvelling at the sensation of the soft cotton nickers against the pads of his fingers; the
feel of the smooth skin as those same fingers slipped beneath the elastic and moved against the
softness of those pliable rounded muscles, fingernails digging in ever so slightly…

She gasped into his mouth and plunged her hands into his hair, crushing fistfuls of it and
tangling it between her fingers. She let go and allowed her fingers to make quick work of the
buttons on his shirt; her hands finally, greedily pushing it open, smoothing their way up the hard
muscles to his tight shoulders, kneading the flesh there and smoothing back downward over the taut
muscles of his abdomen and to the waistband of his jeans. The muscles spasmed as he felt her slip
her hand beneath the waistband and move lower to grab him.

He gasped into her mouth and stiffened. "*Oh bloody hell*…"

She felt his hand smooth over even further and down to sweep the fingertips between the crack of
her arse, moving lower, and lower, and lower, pausing as the tips pressed gently into her wet
opening…

She tore her mouth from his and cried out softly, her hips bucking up to press herself into his
hand. "*Oh god*! Harry, please.. *please*..."

He was hyperaware that they had never quite gone this far before, and knew she was as well. A
sheen of sweat covered them both. She moved her hand to unbutton and unzip his jeans, her hand
snaking back in to stroke him once more, but this time, beneath the boxers.

Harry's eyes flew shut, his teeth ground together so tightly he could barely strain out a
sentence.

"Oh my god*, Hermione*…"

His thumb brushed against her clit and she arched upward, panting open-mouthed, her body begging
him for more, her legs parting wider... He allowed one, then two fingers to slip inside her and
began to gently thrust them in time with the jerks of her hand against him.

It quickly became too much.

Hermione gasped, her breath hitching in her chest. "*Please Harry*... I want you
*inside* of me... I want *all* of you, please... I want you to make love to
me..."

And all the promises, the love he felt for her, the way he would never ever hurt her, and the
way he wanted to ensure that if he didn't make it back from his confrontation with Voldemort,
she would be free to move on, all came rushing back to his mind with the full force of a wrecking
ball.

And it was these things alone that allowed him to finally get hold of himself… for her.

"Hermione..." He moved his hand from her and sighed, his chin dropping to his chest.
"We can't."

She stared up at him. "I *want* to… I **want you**, Harry! I want to be with
you."

"I want to be with you too," Harry whispered, putting a hand to her face. "So
much you won't believe it… But we promised to wait."

"**Damn** the promise!" Hermione cried out suddenly, grabbing his face between her
hands, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. "What if there's no **later** for us,
Harry!? What if… what if something h..happens!?"

Harry's jaw stiffened and his face screwed up in an attempt not to cry. " 'Mione, I
don't want you t..to have given yourself to me if something *does* happen... I want you to
be able to..to move on..."

"You think it'll be easier that way!?" she cried almost hysterically. "You
think because we haven't *done* *it* I'll be able to go on living!? It won't
be that way, Harry! It won't..."

"But we'll be closer than ever then, don't you see!?" Harry exclaimed, not
caring now that tears ran down his cheeks. "I can't do that to you, Hermione... I
won't."

Her face crumpled, and her shoulders began to shake with sobs. Harry felt a little bit of his
insides die, and wisely decided the time for words was over. He grabbed her to him and held her
tight, rocking her. And not for the first time in his life, he wished he was anyone else in the
world but Harry *bloody* Potter.

(A/N: Hey guys! My hard drive crashed a while ago and I've just now got it back up so here
you go! Next chapter… Harry's finally contacted and the war begins! Lots of drama, more
romance, and as much heart-pounding action as you can take… Please leave me some reviews guys… I
need the encouragement, K? Love you all! Bama.)



34. Chapter 34: Final Contact
-----------------------------


**Chapter 34: Final Contact**

The deadline for having all mixed blood and Muggle-born wizards and witches
'*safely*' shipped off had finally arrived. Umbridge, feeling she ought to publicly
support her own decision, had come to the train station on a warm breezy Saturday morning and stood
out of the way and to one side to personally watch the goings on.

Things were going along smoothly. The Hogsmeade Transport had been restored to its original
glory and, as it had originally been a freight train, was now outfitted to provide its passengers
with minimal comforts on the long trek to the Grampian Mountains.

The train station was packed with hundreds upon hundreds of witches and wizards milling about;
some exchanging trunks with the luggage handlers, some running after mischievous children, some
searching for friends and relatives, and others generally herding their families together in one
area so as not to get separated.

At the doors to each open car, Ministry officials checked wizarding ID for security and to
verify bloodlines. All wands for the duration of the trip were to be confiscated. At times,
Ministry law enforcement were called on to run off cowardly pure-blooded wizards and witches who
were trying to gain false access to the train to make it to the commune themselves.

As she watched the 'mudbloods' and 'Muggle-born filth' wind and twist their ways
like lost ants round each other and move toward their appointed train cars, Umbridge smirked
covertly to herself. With each successive boarding she could feel the knot of disgust in her
abdomen loosening more and more. Each dirty-blooded family that disappeared through those doors,
blissfully ignorant as to their real fates, brought her a little thrill of joy.

How proud must Voldemort be at this moment? Even now he must be sitting in his cabin, awaiting
Delores' report that all had gone smoothly, and that the filth and trash that littered their
world was slowly being bundled together and herded toward the bin.

Oh and how grand his plans were for them! For the duration of the war they were to be treated as
less than common prisoners. All worldly goods were to be stripped from them and set aside for the
remaining purebloods after the war. They were to be set to work making weapons caches and all other
necessary amenities Voldemort and his army might need for the dark lord's impending world
purge. Enough food would be provided to keep them alive and working, and if some died, well, they
were not strong enough to be of use at any rate. Should any who remained refuse to work, they would
be tortured and killed.

And after all was done with Potter and Dumbledore; Voldemort, his army, and the Dementors would
gather up the defeated enemy, carry them to the commune in the mountains, and in a brilliant
display of power, dispatch of them and those already there who had survived.

A delicious thrill of excitement shivered its way down Umbridge's spine. Oh what a glorious
day it would be! And, along with Lucius Malfoy; both of them having been the most integral ones in
bringing to fruition the dark lord's plans; she would be the one standing closest to the dark
lord's side when it all came about...

However, as her small, narrow eyes swept the train station, Delores Umbridge spotted a few flies
in her otherwise unpolluted ointment.

Dumbledore, Minerva McGonnagol, the werewolf Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid, Arthur and Percival
Weasley, (her former Prime Minister of Magic), and Harry Potter and his two friends, the blood
traitor and the mudblood, stood along one side of the station watching the proceedings with mixed
emotions of sadness and anger on their faces.

Umbridge watched Potter and his friends occasionally leave Dumbledore and his group to approach
mudblood children who until recently had attended school with them, and who were waiting to board
the train. She was sure they were attempting to persuade them and their families of the underlying
sinister plot surrounding the Ministry's decision to take them away.

As Potter and his friends were turned away one right after the other and sent trudging
sorrowfully back to their group of nay-sayers, watching as others from their group attempted the
same strategy with adult witches and wizards that passed by, Umbridge could not help the triumphant
little smirk that twisted her flat, slack face. The Ministry, along with Voldemort's Death
Eaters, had done too convincing a job in plunging fear into the heart of the community. It was
clear very few would refuse an opportunity to escape such danger, especially with some believing
Dumbledore and Potter were in on the dark lord's plots and secretly aiding his cause. All who
were going to listen to the Headmaster and the boy-wizard wonder had already done so, and it
appeared no others were going to join them. Umbridge smiled. And it was all the more better for
her.

As she continued to watch them, curiosity made her wonder whether Dumbledore and his entourage
really understood what she had in mind for the Muggle tainted wizards and witches boarding her
death train. But she was *sure* of one thing. If Voldemort had anything to say about it, and
he most certainly *did*, Dumbledore, Potter and the rest would eventually be joining those
traitors gathered together at the commune after the war, and would be done away with just as
efficiently.

With narrowed eyes she watched the pretty mudblood, Hermione Granger, leave her group and move
determinedly forward to speak with another student standing in line with her family for the
train.

Umbridge recalled what hell the little swot had given her at Hogwarts with her incessant
questioning and know-it-all, I'm-more-knowledgeable-than-the-professor attitude. And along with
the equally as infuriating Potter lad, it had been she who had led her into the Forbidden Forest
two years ago on the guise there was a hidden weapon stored there, and had allowed fate and a bunch
of mongrel centaurs to decide whether she lived or died.

Umbridge's eyes flashed with something unholy, her nostrils flared, and her mouth set into a
thin line. What an opportunity fate had handed her this day! Oh payback could be a bitch. And
*that alone* would be Hermione Granger's final lesson.

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

After some debate, much pleading, and assurances that former Hogwarts students might better
listen to their peers rather than their professors, Dumbledore had allowed Hermione, Harry and Ron
to come along with him and some of the other teachers as they attempted to persuade others to their
side. Hermione was eternally grateful for the chance.

She wended her way through the crowd, swallowing back tears and wishing she could save everyone
she passed. However, she knew that was impossible. She had to choose with whom she was going to
argue reason, and she was choosing those she recognised.

She kept her eyes determinedly fixed far ahead in line on the long black glossy hair of her
target as she weaved and bobbed her way along the station; her eyes searching for more she
recognised who were further away from boarding the train. These she would approach next if Harry
and Ron didn't get them first; but one at a time. Cho Chang and her family were closer in line
to being whisked away to Merlin knew where, and despite she and Cho's less than friendly
history in school, she was damned if she wouldn't try reasoning with her.

"*Cho*!" Hermione shouted, jogging as fast as she could toward her.

Cho turned her head to the side for a moment as if sure she had heard her name called, but then
turned back to her mother, a pretty Asian woman who looked very much like her.

Hermione swore under her breath, a thing she rarely did. Her path was being blocked by trunks,
baggage trolleys, wizarding families shooting her half- nervous, half-annoyed glances, and all
other manner of blockages. And the line beside her was moving ever forward. Finally she was close
to reaching her.

"*Cho*!" she yelled out breathlessly, dodging one small boy clutching his
father's hand. "Cho, it's *Hermione*!"

As she skidded to a halt in front of her, Cho finally turned and fixed Hermione with a look of
mild surprise. Granger's hair was wild around her face, falling in messy ringlets, and her
expression looked equally as wild and full of urgency. She took Hermione's arm and led her to
one side out of her family's hearing.

"Hermione," she said in carefully pleasant tones. "Um... hello. Are you waiting
in line with your family?"

Hermione forcefully shook her head. "**No**! *No*, it's what I've come to
talk with you about... *Please* don't go on this train, there's a really strong
suspicion you're being taken somewhere to be *harmed*."

Cho frowned at her and glanced behind at her mother who was watching the two closely.

"Hermione... that's just guff. The Ministry's been trying all along to keep us
*safe*, and Mum and Dad wouldn't have pulled me out from my first year at University of
Sorcery if they didn't believe the dark lord might harm us..."

"But that's just it!" Hermione interrupted aloud, her eyes filled with begging as
she wrenched her arm from the older girl's grasp. "We've got reason to believe
Umbridge might be *working with* Voldemort to..."

"*Don't say his name, are you **mad***!?" Cho hissed, her eyes widened
with fright.

"*Oh just shut up and **listen** to me*!" Hermione shouted frantically.
"*Please* hear me out, alright? D'you remember Percy Weasley?"

Cho snorted. "Percy Weasley the Gryffindor Prefect, or Percy Weasley the recently fired
Prime Minister of Magic?"

Hermione started and stared at her. "He wasn't fired, he *resigned*!"

"Not what Minister Umbridge says," said Cho curtly. "She said he didn't care
enough about the welfare of non pure-blooded witches and wizards; that he felt there were better,
more important things to be going on about. She let him go, after. It's what the *Daily
Prophet* said, anyway. Don't you get the paper at school anymore?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, but as I don't put much faith in it, I've not been
reading it much. The *Prophet's* controlled by the Ministry as well, isn't it?
Anything printed in there's going to be tainted by *Umbridge*. Anyway, we're getting
off subject. Since Percy *WAS* Prime Minister, you'd think he had access to loads of
inside information the rest of us didn't, wouldn't you?"

Cho watched her warily. "Yeah, so?"

"Cho, Percy found a book Umbridge has been studying. It's all about the atrocities
Philetus Harold did to those innocent Muggles sixty years ago when he changed his name to Adolphus
Hitler, disguised himself as one of them and killed almost the whole lot," Hermione babbled
out, the words coming out so fast they jumbled together almost incoherently. "Think back on
your Muggle studies... A lot of the strategies he used on the Muggles are awfully similar to what
Umbridge is doing now... herding you all together, the train ride to a
'commune'..."

Cho gave Hermione an impatient sigh. "If you're implying what I think you
are..."

"It makes sense!" Hermione said in a pleading voice, grabbing Cho's arm.
"Think on what she was like in your sixth year! Wasn't she always insulting giants and
unicorns and all other manner of creatures who weren't human!? Didn't she always favour
Slytherin over all the other houses? And which house has always only taken pure-blooded wizards and
witches!?"

"That doesn't prove anything," said Cho with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"She might've been a poor professor, but that doesn't mean she's out to kill all
the Muggle borns. Fact is, You-Know-Who has targeted us, and if we're hidden until he's
gone, he won't be able to find us to do us any more harm."

Hermione couldn't help the tears that sprang to her eyes. "But Cho… what if we're
*right*?"

Cho's expression hardened. "By '*we*', do you mean you and
*Harry*?"

Hermione sighed inwardly. Merlin, she really hadn't wanted to get into this with Cho...

She answered cautiously. "He's one... along with Dumbledore and a load of
others."

Then the thought occurred to her to mention the defence association Harry had headed and Cho had
been part of some two years ago. Perhaps if she knew most of *them* believed, it might
persuade *her* to believe as well…

"And most, if not all of the former DA believes," said Hermione, almost breathless
with the hope Cho might now change her mind. "We understood even *then* how Umbridge was
up to no good... You remember being part of that, I know... "

"I remember having to fight to get Harry's attention whenever *you* were around.
You never *were* happy when other girls caught his eye, now I think on it."

Exasperated, Hermione closed her eyes for a brief moment, and then opened them. "Cho, once
again and for the last time, even though I thought *school* was the last time... I *DID
NOT* steal Harry from you."

And to Hermione's horror, she began to tear up. Cho turned to see Harry's tall form a
bit further down the station, dressed casually in a white T-shirt, faded jeans and trainers, and
talking animatedly to Castor Eustance, a Muggle-born Ravenclaw. She swallowed hard and rasped out a
whispered reply.

"I needed him more than you... I still do."

"See but that's the difference," said Hermione, trying even in her annoyance to be
tactful. "I don't just *need* Harry. I *love* him."

"I loved him too!" Cho shouted, upset. "But you just couldn't have that,
could you!? Every time we started to get a bit closer, there you were to put a stop to
it!"

"I never put a stop to anything! What Harry did, he did on his own!" said Hermione,
her exasperation now fully showing on her face. "Cho you never even *knew* Harry... not
really. I just... I... I know who he is on the outside, *and* on the inside. I know when
he's trying to act the person everyone wants him to be, and when he's being himself, which
he's **far** better at, *believe* me. No matter how he tries to hide it, I know when
he's tired of the world and ready to give up and I can know in an instant what made him that
way because I know the right questions to ask and *how* and *when* to ask them to make
him open up to me. I know when to be silent with him and when to make him talk, because I can feel
what's going to make him shut himself off inside. I know what irritates him, what hurts him,
what makes him angry and what makes him happy. I know **every last one** of his insecurities and
his strengths, his ups and downs... and I *still love him for them*! And **because** I know
him so well, I know **how** to love him. And, **I know** everything I've just said is the
same he feels for *me*. Can you honestly say the same?"

Cho just stared at her; the expression frozen on her face, the tears dried. She turned her head
once more to look at Harry, and saw him now standing alone and looking downtrodden, his hands
shoved miserably into his pockets. Apparently he hadn't been able to convince Castor Eustance
to stay off the train anymore than Hermione had been able to convince her. And though she did not
believe either of them, in that instance, if put in Hermione's shoes, she knew she would have
no idea what to say to comfort Harry about it.

She turned her gaze back to Hermione and gave her a feeble smile.

"I... I hope one day *I* find that."

Hermione smiled at her. "You will, Cho. But please... we've gone off-track and this is
really important. *Please* try to see what danger you're in..."

Cho shook her head. "Hermione, you aren't going to convince me staying out in the open
is safer than going to some hidden camp far away from You-Know-Who's reach."

Hermione looked about ready to cry. "**Please**, Cho..."

"No," Cho answered firmly. "And you'd do well to put yourself right on that
train with us. You're fully Muggle-born. You'll be one of the first targeted."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, to try convincing Cho until there was no breath left in her
lungs, but a hand grabbed round her wrist and something sharp jabbed into her back, cutting her
words short.

"Miss Chang has a very good point, I think," said Delores Umbridge pleasantly, pushing
the tip of her wand hard into Hermione's lower back and simultaneously slipping Hermione's
wand from the back of her jeans. "You would do well to be far away from the dark lord and his
followers; and as you've no wizarding relatives who really understand the threat and can try
convincing you to save yourself, I must take it upon myself to help along your decision. After all,
if one of my students were to fall to an attack, and I had not done everything I possibly could to
prevent it, I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

Cho gazed at the both of them quizzically and Hermione opened her mouth to speak out, but felt
Umbridge shove the wand even further into her back. She let out a small hiss of pain and hoped,
pleaded with all deities that were listening that Cho could see what was happening. However, after
a moment, it became clear she could not see Umbridge's wand.

"She's right Hermione, you'll see. We've never really been friends, I know, but
I... I'd really hate to hear something had happened to you."

Hermione stared at the other girl, her eyes wide and pleading, begging her to see something
very, very wrong was happening, but Cho merely gave a firm little nod as if something that had been
slightly off was being put right, and watched as Umbridge began to march Hermione toward the head
of the line for the train.

"No worries Miss Granger," Umbridge hissed happily in her ear as she prodded her
along. "You'll be with the rest of your kind, safe and sound against the dark lord,
won't you? You'll want to thank me once all this is over, I should think."

Hermione growled aloud. "*Thank you*!? I'd gladly *murder* you if given half
a chance..."

Umbridge jabbed her hard in the spine as they walked, causing the girl to cry out a bit.

"*Careful*," the Minister snarled through gritted teeth. "I could finish you
off with one spell and no one here would think *twice* on it. I could make it look as if
you'd tried to harm me. Assaulting the Minister of Magic would call for serious measures, would
it *not*?"

Hermione turned her head as far as she could to see if she could spot Harry, but he was no where
to be seen; lost amongst the crowd. Dumbledore, Ron, and the rest were all dispersed here and there
as well, and none were looking her way.

Inside, she began to despair. Hot tears stung at her eyes. Her heart began beating at the speed
of a snitch. Small beads of sweat rolled down the back of her neck. Gods, was she going to be
forced onto that death train? She would be inside, locked in a compartment and gone before anyone
could find what had happened to her...

*Oh my god, Harry please see me…*

"Almost there," Umbridge whispered, keeping a smile plastered on her face and nodding
pleasantly to everyone who looked her way. A few more yards and they would be at the front. No one
would question the girl being brought ahead of them to board, after all, it *was* the Minister
of Magic escorting her…

*Someone help me, oh gods please, please, please…*

Umbridge gave an ominous little chuckle. "Just a bit closer and you'll be on your way
to safety. Just think... no more worrying on the war until it's over..."

"**Save your lies**," Hermione choked out, her face now white with rage and her
voice cracking with panic and fear. "You and I *both* know your plans for all of these
have nothing to do with safety."

Umbridge shrugged. "As you wish."

As they passed by a few witches and wizards stared, but seemed to think nothing of Umbridge
escorting her to the front of the train. Hermione's heart sank even further. For the love of
Merlin could they not see the expression on her face? If she yelled out, if she screamed, she had
no doubt Umbridge would kill her on the spot and make it seem like self-defence.

*Oh god, oh god, oh god...*

They had reached one open car. Hermione looked up into the face of the wizard guiding people on
board and felt as if she were staring at her executioner. Here was the Ministry appointed official
who would be escorting her to her death... Strange how normal he appeared; not a trace of hostility
in his features...

She decided to take a chance and turned round to face Umbridge one last time.

"Just let me go, *please* Minister. Moment they find me missing Harry and Professor
Dumbledore will suspect you. And it isn't as if we've stood tall and screamed out to
everyone what you're planning..."

"And you don't think I know the only reason you *haven't* is because too many
already suspect Dumbledore and Potter of *supporting* the dark lord, and because the moment
you did you'd be *arrested*?" Umbridge favoured Hermione with a condescending little
smirk. "Oh *no*, Miss Granger. You'll be getting on this train. This goes much
further back than just today. I've never got to pay you back for the torment you caused me at
Hogwarts. I'll take my revenge today, I think."

Something jabbed the Minister sharply in the back, causing her to gasp sharply.

"**I don't think so**," a deep, deadly voice sounded quietly behind her.

Umbridge watched the colour return to Granger's face; the girl's eyes closing briefly in
relief before opening to gaze gratefully into eyes that must be a good two feet above the
Minister's own head. Though the voice behind her sounded deeper and more mature, there was no
guessing needed to tell who it was. She made a move to turn round but the wand stabbed even further
into the fat lining her ribs.

"Don't turn."

"*Potter*," Umbridge snarled angrily.

"**Shut the hell up**," Harry whispered angrily through gritted teeth. "Now...
you tell that porter you're just stepping to the side to have a word, and you'll be back in
a moment."

"*Damn you to hell*, *you little **bastard***..."

"***You* *do* *it***, or years on they'll *still* be finding
bits of you along these tracks," Harry growled out in a sort of deadly calm voice that chilled
not only Umbridge, but Hermione to the bone.

"*Try* it," Umbridge persisted hatefully. "You'll be in thrown in
Azkaban so quickly you won't have time to whine for your dead parents."

Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously. "*You **bitch***..."

"Hermione, *don't*." Harry said quickly over Umbridge's head as Hermione
made to move forward. The fact Umbridge had shrunk back against him from the sight of his
girlfriend's rage made him feel like glowing with pride. He bent down to whisper menacingly in
the Minister's ear.

"You think threatening me with Azkaban will work? I know what you tried to do to Hermione.
I **hope** you make a move. Go on, *give me a* *reason*."

A familiar harsh voice behind Potter suddenly sounded out as well. "And if he misses
I'm next for a go."

Umbridge realised she had no choice. The porter standing in the doorway above her was oblivious
to the details of the conversation going on below him, and only looked on with the sort of bored
impatience one might have when working a particularly dull job.

"If you please Minister, the line's being held up," the porter finally said with a
sigh.

Umbridge smiled feebly up at him, giving a little 'oomph' of discomfort as Harry jabbed
her impatiently with his wand.

"I'll just be moving to the side for a while then," she simpered her voice
wavering. "Bit of unfinished business to attend to. Please continue."

The porter merely nodded and waved the person behind Hermione, Harry, Ron and Umbridge on
board.

The four moved to the side away from any listening ears, and Umbridge whirled round swiftly to
eye the three teens with a look that could have set fire to the entire train station.

"*You* **bastarding** *little **blood traitors***... *Filthy little
**mudblood bitch***!" She heaved out furiously.

At her words, Harry had to physically hold himself in check, his eyes blazing with hatred.

"Just you **wait** until it's all ended," Umbridge continued in a crazed sort
of frenzy. "Should you survive, I'll *personally* ask my lord to murder you three
**first!**"

"Oh, I think we're already tops on his schedule," Ron answered, giving his wand a
lazy toss and catching it effortlessly.

Umbridge scowled at him with pure loathing, but upon glancing down, noticed Harry was the only
one minus his wand.

She smiled rigidly. "Frightened to show you're armed, Potter? You *should* be.
Threatening the Minister of Magic is a serious offence. And since I’m head of the Ministry,
I'll leave your punishment up to *myself*, I think."

"You won't be punishing *anyone*," said Hermione stonily, glaring daggers at
her. "You tried *forcing* me onto that train. The decree is clear about the trip being
**voluntary**. You say anything and I'll keep you in court for months, tied up with
injustice hearings."

"You think a jury will ***believe* *you*** over **me**!?" Umbridge
spouted in disbelief. She laughed mockingly at her. "You're a mudblood **and** a
nutter, aren't you!?"

"**Don't call her that**!" Harry suddenly yelled aloud, his whole body
bristling and his eyes glowing a furious Slytherin-hued green such as Umbridge had never ever
witnessed before.

The Minister took a step back in fright; her body shaking uncontrollably and, as she stared, her
eyes watering from the intense glow. As she watched the brilliant light finally recede from the
younger man's eyes a sudden thought occurred to her. She glanced down at Harry's wandless
hand.

"You... you never even *had* a wand, did you..."

Harry merely stared at her and smirked unpleasantly.

"And what would you have done *Potter,*" she hissed contemptuously, "if
I'd suddenly decided to call your bluff?"

Harry shrugged. "Call it *now* if you want. I don't need a wand any
more."

Umbridge stared at him, her face suddenly draining of all colour.

"Y.. you little *liar*..." she sputtered hatefully, although her lips shook with
fear as she spoke. "You *filthy little* **liar**!"

Harry turned his back on the tirade to look at Hermione.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes full of a wretched guilt as he gazed down at
her.

"I'm sorry... Love, I'm **so sorry** I didn't see you sooner,
**gods**..."

"It's alright, Harry," said Hermione, pulling him into a hug and sagging
gratefully into his embrace. "You came in time. It's alright."

For a moment he leaned his forehead against her own; relief that he had seen her before it was
too late washing over him so powerfully it left him weak. He released her and nodded to Ron, who
began walking with her back toward Dumbledore and the rest.

Harry however, turned slowly back round to face Umbridge once again; his eyes blazing and his
expression set with such ferocity and wrath she felt sure he might strike her down, impending
prison sentence or no.

He took a step closer and glared down at her speaking in a deep, hostile tone. "I'll be
watching for you when it all comes to a head. *Count on it*."

Though shaking from the fierceness in his voice, Umbridge affected a superior air.

"I'll be watching for you *as well*, Potter. In the end, when he's finally
ready to rid himself of you, the dark lord has promised me front row viewing." She smiled
triumphantly up at him. "And I **know** you're a liar *as well* as a blood
traitor. Even my master uses a wand, and he's infinitely more powerful than an arrogant
*little bastard* like you."

"I don't give a shit what you think you '*know*'," said Harry
flippantly. "Though, now I think on it, there is *one* wand I still have use
for."

With that, he pulled a hand lazily out of his pocket and flipped her off.

Umbridge flushed almost purple with rage.

Harry grinned nastily at her; a look of immense satisfaction on his face. He shoved the
offensive 'wand' back in his pocket and turned to make his way back down the train station
as well.

Some standing directly near saw the exchange, but either murmured amongst themselves or
continued to move forward toward the train. Confrontations between the Ministry and its opposing
factions were common occurrences these days, though the fact it had been the Boy-Who-Lived having a
nasty exchange with the Minister of Magic was something to gossip on, to say the least.

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

Three days of solemnity passed for the wizarding world, and for Hogwarts. The school seemed as
if it had been stripped down to bare bones and felt intensely empty and even lonely from lack of so
many students. Curiously, it had been Slytherin house that had lost the most. While most others had
been removed from the school for being Muggle mixed or just from having extremely frightened
parents, Slytherin was known for being the only house carrying the strictly pure-blooded.

It came across as particularly odd to Harry, Hermione and Ron that so many of them had left
school.

Even amidst the unsettled chaos Dumbledore made certain that regular school activities
continued, and began a newer regiment at school to try alleviating the even more intense separation
the school houses now felt from one another. At each mealtime he had everyone, no matter what house
they belonged to, sit together along two tables. It was all the school needed any more since
holding such fewer students. Classes were also changed to allow a mixture of same year students
from all houses. The Headmaster was determined now more than ever to heed the Sorting Hat's
song and pull everyone together before Hogwarts ended up, as the hat had warned, 'crumbling
from within'.

He had good reason to worry on it.

The students had begun warring with each other much like the rest of the wizarding world had.
There were those who stood with the Ministry's 'safety' plans and who also suspected
Dumbledore and Harry of having an alliance with Voldemort; and those who supported Dumbledore's
dark theories on Delores Umbridge, and who knew beyond any doubt neither the Headmaster nor Harry
Potter would ever join with the dark lord.

Both sides went at each other constantly, and hardly a day went by when a professor wasn't
called on to break up one or more fights. No room in the castle was immune. Madame Pince had nearly
gone mental over one battle in the library that had toppled two bookshelves. During Care of Magical
Creatures, an argument broke out between sixth year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors that, before he
could end it, left Hagrid's new patch of cabbages in ruins. Professor McGonnagol was given no
choice but to hex one Ravenclaw, one Slytherin and two Gryffindors for starting a scuffle in the
middle of Transfiguration that she could not break apart despite her yelling from the top of her
lungs.

However, Draco Malfoy by far had it the worst. He was constantly put on the defence from the few
remaining members of Slytherin, and it seemed every day brought about a new brawl between him and
some other house mate; though Ginny Weasley stood staunchly by him.

To Harry, Hermione and Ron, it seemed the entire world had gone completely mad. Everyone's
nerves seemed stretched to their ultimate limits, what with the stress and anxiety of impending
war, and every day school activities that still needed to be gone on about. It was one week until
final testing for the entire school, and the strain of everything combined put on professors,
students and staff alike had really begun to take it's toll.

For Harry however, on the day **'*IT*'** finally happened, everything progressed
so quickly and in such unbroken order, that he felt as if he moved through it in some false
dream-like state.

The morning had brought about little drama, although since the Daily Prophet had begun giving
small status reports on the well-being of the Muggle-mixed who had been recently whisked away to
safety, (whereabouts not stated for 'safety reasons'), Hermione had decided to once again
read the newspaper. The articles promised every witch, wizard, and child were being well taken care
of, though since these reports were being fed to the Prophet by none other than the Minister of
Magic herself, the only one privy to such information, no one loyal to Dumbledore put much faith in
it's truthfulness.

It was now June tenth, three days until N.E.W.T.s and end of the school year O.W.L.s. Graduation
had been set for June sixteenth, and since classes were officially over and the days remaining had
been set aside strictly for study, students were seen all over the castle and its grounds
surrounded by books, wands, cauldrons, quill and parchment, and all other manner of magical study
implements.

The general atmosphere round school was one of barely controlled frenzy. House elves had been
asked politely by Professor Dumbledore if they would not mind for a while being on constant call
should any student need a snack break or a particularly strong caffeinated brew.

Professors were sent to each area of study to make certain no new fights broke out, and to keep
extra watch on students who had decided to study outside. Dumbledore and Professor McGonnagol were
busy contacting Professor Marchbanks and her colleagues to schedule the exact time of their
arrival, and any staff who at this particular time in the school year would not normally be loaded
with duties were sent round the outer edges of Hogwart's grounds to ensure security wards were
still strong and in place.

Near the castle and standing in the shade one gigantic wall provided, Professor Snape stood
rigidly watching over the outside students; his greasy hair covering most of what was an extremely
sour expression. Pulling guard duty, it seemed, was the last thing he wanted to have to do.

The late Saturday afternoon was much like any other, if one didn't count the obvious lesser
number of students, the now shared knowledge that Voldemort was indeed back, and the palpable
feeling of dread that permeated the atmosphere. All were trying to go about business as usual, but
although they knew Hogwart’s grounds were perfectly safe, the constant fear of what might happen to
the world outside their small fortress weighed heavily on their minds.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were trying their dead best to go on with regular activities as well,
but as the threat of Voldemort and the war was to them so much more real, they had a harder time
pretending. On the outside they were sure they appeared like the rest, but on the inside, they were
filled with dread on what was to come.

The June air was warm, clean, and filled with the scent of mountain breezes. Each ripple on the
lake caught some beam of the late afternoon’s rose- coloured sun and turned to threads of pinkish
gold along the water. Students lolled about on green grass, under lazily waving trees, or near the
lake; some alone, some in pairs and others in large groups. Although most were studying, there was
much less of the lightness or laughter that usually accompanied such a beautiful weekend. Most were
solemn.

Ron glanced up from studying *The N.E.W.T.s Abbreviated: A Summary for Seventh Years, by
Marceo Angustus* and once again set his eye on his sister and Draco Malfoy who were sitting some
distance away near the lake, and getting on entirely too well for his liking. From the corner of
his eye, he caught Hermione again peer disapprovingly over her Ancient Runes textbook at the volume
in his hand. She sighed in a conspicuous manner and turned her eyes back to her studies, making it
quite obvious she wanted herself heard.

Ron set his jaw in a mulish way, rolled his eyes, and resigned himself to the inevitable.

"*What*, Hermione? Go on and lecture me. Get it all out of your system, why don’t
you…"

She narrowed her eyes reproachfully at him, but lowered her book to scold him anyway.

He had known she would.

"I simply can’t believe you’re studying that *rubbish* instead of your school
books!" She finally admonished. "Ron, you aren’t going to pass N.E.W.T.s with some set of
wizarding cliff’s notes! Where you got the idea anyway is *beyond* me."

Harry glanced up from his seventh year Transfiguration primer and smirked, clearly amused.

Hermione sent him a disapproving look as well, but he merely winked at her.

Ron grinned craftily. "Where I got the idea is closely guarded upon penalty of
death."

Harry chuckled.

"As for not passing, there’s where you’re *wrong*," Ron continued in a
conspiratorial manner. "This isn’t just some outline, ‘Mione. It’s an actual copy of recent
past N.E.W.T.s. And everyone knows from year to year the tests don’t actually change much. All I’ve
got to do is study the basics of this little book and I’m all set."

He thumped the back of the thin volume and leaned back against the elm tree with a satisfied
smile on his face.

"And *who* told you the tests don’t change from year to year?" asked
Hermione.

"Andrew Kirke," said Ron, yawning lazily. "His brother dates Professor
Marchbanks' sister’s granddaughter’s best friend."

"*How’s* *that*?" asked Harry sarcastically, leaning back on his elbows

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Anyhow she told Andrew’s brother her friend told her that Professor Marchbanks and the
rest go by a standard test so they don’t have to think up a new one each year," said Ron
smirking triumphantly. "Andrew’s brother gave him this little book he found at Flourish and
Blotts *his* last year at Hogwarts. Said all he used was this and he got an E in practically
every area."

"Yeah, but Ron you don’t think Marchbanks and the rest *would* change the test every
year just for that reason?" asked Harry. "If they kept it the same she’d know some of us
would try nicking the plans for it or something. There’d be a right little black market going
on…"

Ron was hardly listening. His face was full of meditative glee. "Fred and George’ll *piss
themselves* once they see Mum falling all over me for getting all E’s. ‘Course they didn’t
actually take the N.E.W.T.s, did they? But it won’t matter. They’ll be sickened all the same. Gods,
I can’t *wait* to see their faces…"

"*Ron*," said Hermione, now thoroughly exasperated. "I know for a
*fact* the test is changed every year."

Ron rolled his eyes over her way and sighed. "Yeah? And how is that?"

"I *asked* her."

Ron frowned and sat up straight. "Asked who?"

"Professor Marchbanks!" Hermione blurted out, annoyed. "I asked her last year
during O.W.L.s."

Harry looked on, wholly entertained, as Ron went from disbelief to confusion to alarm in a
matter of seconds.

"Wh..what’d you *mean*…"

"I mean I asked her Ron, as in I walked up and posed a question." Hermione repeated,
scooping up her Ancient Runes textbook once again and lifting it in front of her face to read.
"I wanted to know."

Ron blustered aloud and held the little book of cliff’s notes in front of him. "Well then
*what the hell* is…"

"Did you pay for it?" Harry broke in with a smile.

Ron scowled, annoyed at him. "*Everyone* has. You think Andrew’d ***give*
*away*** something like this? He’s made a killing."

Harry waited for the inevitable, staring at Ron until a look of horror finally dawned on his
friend’s face.

Ron clenched his fists and stood. "I’ll *murder* him. I’m gonna reach down his throat
and pull out his *small intestines*…"

"It actually never crossed your mind he might be snowballing you?" Harry grinned,
still leaning comfortably back on his elbows.

"Well he's sold it to *everyone*, hasn't he?" Ron blustered defensively.
"I'm not the *only* one who fell for it!"

He turned his back on Harry, who seemed to be enjoying Ron’s own tribulations far too much for
his liking and, muttering expletives, began to stomp back toward the castle to deal with a certain
fellow Gryffindor.

However, just then and completely unforeseen, the light atmosphere of an otherwise ordinary day
was suddenly and inexplicably drenched with darkness.

Harry would later say what happened next literally began the day from hell.

An ear-splitting, wrenching explosion like the firing of hundreds of cannons all at once
suddenly split the calm early evening. The ground shook violently, the vibrations throwing students
off their feet and causing a once calm lake to begin lapping and crashing with shock waves, each
one larger than the next.

In a matter of seconds, an eruption of blind, stampeding panic took over the grounds.

Terrified, Hermione screamed and crawled toward Harry who, having had his elbows knocked from
under him, had hit his head hard on the ground.

He brought himself painfully to a sitting position on the still trembling earth, thoroughly
shaken and startled, and turned wide eyes toward the general direction of the blast.

An impossibly large, thundering pillar of fire had erupted some four miles away, lighting the
once dusky purple sky beyond forests of trees with flames of bizarre reddish light. It roared
upward with such raging force that it left a great, dark mushroom-shaped cloud billowing larger and
larger in it's wake.

Hermione turned wildly in Harry's arms, watching in disbelief as screaming students began to
make their ways toward the school, stumbling along and being pushed unceremoniously toward the
great double doors by a screaming and thoroughly unsettled Professor Snape.

"*Get inside* **NOW**!" He yelled, pushing and shoving students toward the
castle. *"All of you, to the Great Hall and **DO NOT MOVE** from there, you
understand*!? **GO**!"

Ron scrambled back toward Harry and Hermione and threw himself on the ground beside them.

"*Are you alright*!?"

"Yeah," said Harry breathlessly, his eyes transfixed on the sky as it turned grey with
smoke. The blast had been so powerful, the sky now began raining black ash all along Hogwarts
grounds. "How about you?"

"Been better," Ron panted excitedly, rubbing his back and ruffling ash out from his
hair. "Threw me to the ground. But we've got to get inside, mates. Snape's forcing
everyone to the Great Hall. Dumbledore's just made it outside..."

Harry turned to see Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonnagol at the bottom of the great
stone steps leading inside the castle, each looking startled and out of breath from running.
McGonnagol put a hand to her mouth as she regarded the now greyish smoke-filled sky and her eyes
flitted over the grounds to land on Harry, Hermione and Ron, still huddled under the elm tree.

"**Great Merlin's Ghost**! Potter, Granger, Weasley... get your arses in here
**NOW**!"

Harry stood to his feet and pulled Hermione up with him. He regarded Ron apprehensively over the
top of her head as the three moved quickly toward the castle.

"That was *Hogsmeade*, Ron. *He blew up Hogsmeade*..."

"I *know*, mate."

Hermione swiped at the tears tickling her cheeks and accepted Dumbledore's hand as he helped
her up the steps into the castle.

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

Hogwarts' remaining students huddled together in a frightened mass near the front of the
Great Hall, talking so fast and all at once with each other that not much could be determined from
the madness, save extreme fear. The remaining professors and staff had already made it down to the
Great Hall, and were currently doing their best to calm frantic, hysterical students, despite being
more than frightened themselves. More than a few students’ voices were heard quite clearly above
the din exclaiming they now wished they had taken the Hogsmeade Express and gone away with the rest
to safety. Many others began arguing with them, and it took very little time amidst the chaos for
fighting to begin once again.

It was one of the things that maddened Harry most as he, Hermione and Ron were ushered into the
Great Hall by Professors McGonnagol and Dumbledore, the latter of whom swept in looking by all
accounts, more solemn, majestic, and authoritative than ever he had done before.

He did not look at any one student, but left most gaping and swarming in his wake as he moved to
the front behind his school podium and raised his arms.

"**SILENCE**!"

He thundered the word so loudly that it echoed off the walls and left everyone utterly
speechless. All quarrelling stopped, and every eye turned toward the Headmaster.

"We will not panic! We will not succumb to terror! And once and for all, *WE WILL NOT
FIGHT AMONGST OURSELVES* for **NOTHING** will be accomplished by it!"

Those who had been involved in the arguments still had enough sense about themselves to look
ashamed and immediately moved away from one another.

But separation was the last thing Dumbledore wanted.

"If any amongst you are injured, I ask you to stand if you are able and move toward the
back of the hall, where Madame Pomfrey and Hermione Granger will see to you."

A bit startled, Hermione turned a surprised look to Ron and Harry, and gave Harry’s hand a
squeeze before moving back through the crowd toward where a nervous Madame Pomfrey stood, looking a
bit out of sorts, but completely ready to handle any situation.

Harry watched them consort with one another and then turned his attention back toward the
front.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, trying his best to speak with a voice that sounded
completely in control of the situation. "Professor McGonnagol and I will be leaving you in
capable hands as we leave to find exactly what has happened. While we are gone, I want the rest of
you to sit down at these tables *together*. I want you to think on all the tragedy that has
recently transpired. Remember the song the sorting hat has sung to you for the past two years.
Remember how it has continually warned us that should we continue to divide amongst ourselves, our
school will crumble from within."

Dumbledore’s face seemed even more impossibly lined as he studied the young wizards and witches
before him; his very manner pleading with them to open their ears and minds and listen to him. The
students began to make their ways slowly toward the two long tables that remained in the hall

"What we have most feared has finally befallen us," Dumbledore continued, "and
yet, while most on the outside has fallen apart, our institution *still stands*. We must fight
to *keep* it standing. If we are to be strong enough to defeat what might soon come our way we
must *come together*, not as different houses within a school, but as four parts of a whole.
As Professor Trelawny has correctly divined, the four parts of our circle must join."

Harry and Ron stared at each other, jaws gaping open. It was the same conclusion they and
Hermione had come upon some months back after the Divination teacher’s prediction. And here it was,
being confirmed for them in front of their very eyes.

However, Dumbledore’s next words were not what they had expected.

"As such," he continued gravely, "Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff
as they stand today are **NO MORE**. We will no longer be divided and sorted by our
personalities, attributes and strong points."

Instant outcries and murmurings erupted at his words. Even some of the Professors looked taken
aback.

The Headmaster held up his hands for silence and looked sternly out into the crowd.

"You will still be allowed to live in your same houses, but the name by which you are
called, will no longer separate you from one another, or summarise who you are. For too long our
school has been divided with competitions, discord and rivalry. It has caused us to separate from
amongst ourselves, and at a time when our world is in most danger, there is no more room for
division of any sort. You may still be called brave Gryffindor, intelligent Ravenclaw, gracious
Hufflepuff and shrewd Slytherin, but as we are all well aware, no one witch or wizard can be summed
with one quality or characteristic. Every one of us, with every one of our strongest traits, will
be needed when facing such evil. We are *all* parts of a whole, if we will allow it. Divided,
we can do nothing, but together, we stand strong. We *will* bond together, and we will oppose
this evil **together**… or we will fall with the rest."

He had spoken with such eloquence and truth, that no one dared disagree.

The sound of silence was deafening as Dumbledore and McGonnagol swept from the Great Hall as
abruptly as they had come in. Very soon though, the students began talking amongst each other once
more, all conspiring on what had been targeted outside the school, and what exactly had given off
such a strong explosion.

It was odd to look up and see the enchanted ceiling continue to depict the outside sky, with ash
floating down like great grey snowflakes, and smoke clouds floating lazily overhead. It seemed like
an omen of worse things to come, and no one, even those who had not yet been personally affected by
Voldemort’s actions, was daft enough to think there weren’t more horrid days ahead.

After Hermione and Madame Pomfrey finished taking care of the few wounded, Hermione wended her
way back through the crowd to sit with Harry and opposite Ron once again.

An odd feeling of dread that had nothing to do with what had just happened had begun coursing
through her the moment Dumbledore had finished his speech. She had never put any stock in
Divination, ESP or any art form associated with such rubbish and yet, she felt if she did not move
as close to Harry as possible once she was able, he might somehow disappear like mist before her
very eyes. Something worse was coming. Something that was going to rip her heart to shreds. She
knew it, and she feared it so wholly that she snaked her arms round his waist and held on as if her
life depended on it.

Hermione was not a clingy witch by any stretch, so Harry knew something beyond the obvious was
wrong as she sat near him, trembling and grasping fistfuls of his shirt so that he could hardly
move.

He put his arms about her for comfort and leaned down to whisper to her, staring into a face
that had gone pale.

"Hermione… love, what is it…"

But she merely shook her head and stared straight ahead, her hands clenched so tightly in his
shirt that her slim knuckles had gone white.

Ron looked curiously from Hermione to Harry, but Harry had no answering look to give him.
Whatever was wrong she was unwilling to say, so he would be content to hold her and hope she would
tell him later.

Dumbledore and McGonnagol re-entered the Great Hall an hour later; their whole beings carved
with such grimness that the area felt electrified with apprehension once more.

"It is as we feared," said Dumbledore gravely, standing before them all once again.
"The Ministry has informed me that Hogsmeade and those who decided to remain there have been
attacked, and most of the village destroyed. We do not yet know how many lives were lost, but as we
are the closest establishment near the village and have an infirmary here, those who are too
injured to be transported safely to St. Mungo's will be brought here for treatment. As I have
said before, Hogwarts and it's grounds are heavily charmed with protections. We will extend
those protections and our resources to those who are now in need of them."

He turned his attention briefly to Madame Pomfrey as she looked absolutely overwhelmed at the
potential prospect of so many being brought to her for care.

"Poppy, healers and medi-wizards not immediately needed at St. Mungo's will be flooing
here to assist you, so no worries… you will be properly staffed. As for the rest of you," he
said, eyeing the students who sat round the two tables, and who all looked as if they had no idea
what to do with themselves, "You will all immediately move back to your houses for the night.
I understand it is not near curfew, but given the events of this evening, it is imperative we know
where each one of you are, and I have no doubt we are all in need of a good rest. Our head boy and
girl, and your house prefects will now begin leading you to your dorms. I will see you all tomorrow
morning at breakfast... Dismissed."

With a weary sigh Dumbledore watched Harry, Hermione and the house prefects round up the
students and shuffle them out into the hallways.

The Hall was left once again in relative silence and, looking upward, Dumbledore regarded the
charmed ceiling much as the rest had done earlier. The outside sky was clearing, and ash only fell
here and there now upon the ground. He was sure the outside looked littered with some odd form of
freshly fallen grey snow, and wondered to himself just how many more witches and wizards had been
murdered this night.

He turned his eyes back to the remaining teachers and staff who all stood round the Great Hall,
and noticed how, now all the students had left, most pretence of courage and control had been
dropped. The adults staring at him for some sign of what to do next seemed equally as lost and
without comfort as the young ones had. And truth be told, Dumbledore felt the same.

What was there to do next but wait? With no idea where Voldemort and his forces were located,
despite efforts from his Aurors to find them, all that could be done was to wait for the dark lord
to show himself. Then would begin the greatest, most significant war the wizarding world had ever
known.

As the Headmaster motioned the teachers and staff to the two long student tables to conference
with them, somehow he had a deep suspicion that the time for it was undeniably near.

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

**TONIGHT THE COLD** - *E.D.*

"…*This is the most silent of nights.*

*Inside my head the noise, the panic, the rushing.*

*Outside, the sky suffocates the stars, which are less than before. More will die before the
morning. None will be born, on this night, or shine too bright, of all nights.*

*Cold and the window open and the stars the only movement, and from them the cold
comes…*"

The night had turned cool, black and starless. Greyish clouds hid the moon, not the least of
which Harry was sure were still mixed with smoke from the explosion.

Cold as the night air had become, it was incomparable to the icy dread that clutched its fingers
round his heart.

He and Hermione had long since turned in for the night. Moment they had slipped into his bed
Hermione had snuggled closely to him, tangled her arms and legs with his, and wrapped so bodily
round him that even when sleep had finally come she had not let go. He held to her just as tightly,
his chin resting atop her head and his arms wrapped round her, pressing her face into his neck and
chest, with the rest of her body flush against his. It was more than instinct that made him
understand her need for security this night, and he knew he needed it just as desperately.

Harry had finally given up on sleeping, himself. Anxiety wrapped round his thoughts and
continued to coil downward to pit into his chest and stomach, twisting his insides and tightening
round his nerves like twine.

Hours passed.

The Muggle clock over his bureau read two fifteen a.m. The only time he allowed his eyes to stop
searching the darkness outside his window was to read the time. He had begun dreading the nights,
though for obvious reasons, this one in particular made his heart thrum even faster in his
chest.

Even before the explosion, most of Hogsmeade’s inhabitants had already left. Though there were
still a few stubborn witches and wizards who had refused to go, there had been no apparent reason
to destroy over half of it, save one Harry could think of. Hogsmeade was close enough to Hogwarts
for its destruction to serve as warning to the school, or more particularly, someone *within*
the school.

Was this the sign he had been waiting for? Was Voldemort even now standing amongst some vast
army giving instructions, examining fighting skills, or going over strategies while he waited for
his final note to reach his enemy?

It was why Harry could not take his eyes from the window. Why even now, his mind tricked him
over and over into seeing some shadow, some outline of the ominous against the blackness of the
sky. He blinked his eyes once, twice, and upon opening them, still found nothing there.

He rubbed at his tired eyes with the heel of one free hand, and craned his neck to kiss the top
of Hermione’s sleeping head.

And still his gaze returned to the window. This was the night. He was sure of it.

And finally, as if his certainty had somehow made it so, a soft tapping came from the
window.

He jolted against Hermione, causing her to stir a bit. Inwardly, he raged at himself. For her to
wake was the last thing he wanted. If he was to have to leave her, it would be much less painful if
she were not awake to try talking him out of it.

Slowly he untangled himself from her limbs; many times sure he was going to startle her awake.
Blessedly though, she slept on.

He stood as slowly as he could from the bed, careful not to make the sudden shift of weight
noticeable.

He snatched his glasses from off the night stand and shoved them onto his face, suddenly aware
of the dark fuzzy outline of a post owl perched impatiently on the sill of his window.

And Harry’s heart felt as if it suddenly froze mid-beat and sank into his stomach like a lead
weight.

Not needing his wand, he held a hand out in front of him as he crept slowly and cautiously
forward.

The owl was well trained and simply stared at him with yellow, lantern-like eyes as he
approached. Noiselessly, Harry slid the window open. It stuck out its leg for him as if midnight
post was a regular occurrence and, with shaking hands, he untied the small scroll from its leg.

Soon as he had done the owl hooted once and, with a gentle whooshing of long black wings, took
off into the night. Harry closed the window softly and moved back toward where he had carelessly
thrown his tee shirt and jeans the night before. After dressing he turned one last time to let his
eyes sweep over Hermione’s form, sleeping so peacefully in his bed, and moved quietly out into the
common room.

Because of the unusually cold night, before retreating to his bed they had lit a fire in the
hearth and sat in front of it on the couch, cuddling. As Harry stood before it now, restless
shadows dancing across the dark wooden walls, orange flames reflected in his lenses and, clutched
in his hand, what he knew was his final note from the dark *bastard*, all he saw in the
dancing fire was Hermione’s face. The way she had kept glancing at him as if he might disappear as
they sat silently in front of the hearth, holding one another; the way her soft skin, warm like
liquid velvet had felt against his hands; how the firelight had spun copper-gold into her long
curls; how, when she had glanced at him with those doe-brown eyes, he was sure she didn't know
the flames had done little to hide her tears.

They had both known, but said nothing. It had gone well beyond suspicion that tonight was to be
the night Voldemort would contact him. Somehow, in some way beyond reach, Harry knew Ron had felt
it as well.

He opened his fist to regard the small scroll crushed in his hand and decided stalling would
change nothing. He sat on the couch and unrolled it, his eyes quickly scanning words once again
appearing before him in a glowing blood red.

*Potter,*

*It is time. No more games. No more rhyming notes.*

*By now you are aware of my power, and of the army at my command. However, I suspect you are
not aware of the knowledge I have acquired. I know of your abilities with wandless magic. I know
for months you have been training with your bastarding father at the sword. I am also well aware of
Dumbledore’s pathetic attempts at building an army in hopes it will be able to best mine.*

*I know your strengths, your weaknesses, your enemies, and your friends… I know those you
hate… and those you claim to ‘love’. The mudblood whore you are bedding is not so safe as you
think.*

*I am well aware Dumbledore has reinstated the floo network at Hogwarts,, and though he has
ensured only those he trusts may be allowed entrance by it to your school, he has placed no such
wards on outgoing passage. As such, I have the power to force my will on the one who has turned
traitor in your midst. Should you fail to come to me this very night, I will grab the boy when he
next contacts me and perform the Imperious curse. The moment your back is turned, the Granger
mudblood will die, and as you will have no idea who her attacker is until the deed is done, you
have no way of preventing it.*

*Be forewarned, Harry. Should you arrive with others, the whore will meet her fate by my
servant’s hand. If even he should fail, know this: I will not stop hunting her. You can be assured
I will pass the task along to another, and even to another until it is complete.*

*Meet me tonight at the place where we fought before.*


The words struck him as if he had been kicked hard in the gut. The air in the room suddenly felt
stale and unbreathable. His heart began to jump unevenly within his chest. The sweat beaded on his
body trickled cold as ice down his back.

Voldemort had a servant at *Hogwarts*? The thought some traitor had been watching his,
Hermione's, and Ron's every move without their knowledge made him sick to his stomach. If
he had the time, Harry knew he would go through every male in Hogwarts one by one until he found
the little *shit*.

Unfortunately, time was one thing of which he had very little.

Somehow he had known it would come down to Hermione. Especially after the events of last year,
Voldemort knew his girlfriend was the one person most valuable to him.

In his mind, Harry could almost see the images of the near future playing out before him like
some bizarre sneak preview. He knew even now, Voldemort must be sitting in that damnable cabin in
the Kavan Forest, a smile stretching his horrid skeletal face, thinking close to the exact same
things Harry himself was.

He knew the dark lord knew him; knew how much Harry loved Hermione and would do anything to
protect her. He knew Voldemort was sure he would come.

Harry crushed the note in his fist.

*He was right*.

He strode to the back of the room and grabbed one of Hermione’s quills, an ink pot, and a small
piece of parchment. Despite himself, a large lump throbbed painfully in his chest as he sat and
began to write.


*Hermione,*

*He’s finally contacted me. As much as it kills me to leave you, I have to go. Even though we
never talked on it, you and I both knew he was going to want me alone. I think you knew it tonight.
I know you don’t understand or agree, but this is something I have to do. Please listen to me,
love. Stay at Hogwarts until the danger is passed. I’ve asked Ron before to take care of you should
anything happen to me, and he’s promised he would. I’ll do my best to come back to you. I love you
all there is, Hermione. Remember that. I’ve searched my whole life for what I have in you. My life
is so tangled up in you, I've somehow become more full of your soul than my own, do you know
that? Every day I wake up thinking I’ve loved you as wide and high and deep as I can, and then you
open your eyes and I’m wrong. 'Mione, if I don’t come back, remember I loved you with every
breath I had. And if God chooses it, I swear I’ll love you even more after death.*

*Your Harry.*


No sooner had he finished writing than a hard determination mixed with storm-like fury rose up
to replace the sadness. His eyes flashed a brilliant green as he snatched up the note, stood, and
strode purposefully to behind the couch where he had left his trainers. He yanked them on, snatched
up Godric Gryffindor’s sword, and as an afterthought, shrugged into his black school robes hanging
over the back of the couch; the lion's crest of his Gryffindor ancestors resting red and gold
above his heart. Before tonight, he might have looked on the sentiment as foolish. And even had it
not been, there was still the small matter of being half-Slytherin as well to contend with. Now he
felt as if it gave him some hidden strength; some reminder of who he was; who he *chose to
be*. Even with all of his extra abilities he would take whatever help he could get, be it
sentiment or not.

With each step he took toward leaving his heart gave another painful lurch. He might never see
Hermione again. He might never have her finish his sentences, hear her laugh, hear her correct him,
feel her touch him… He might never taste her again or feel her body move under his, smooth her soft
skin with his hands, hold her close enough to feel complete…

But none of it mattered if he could not keep her safe, and it was this alone that drove him.

He reached the hearth and held the parchment to the mantle, muttering a sticking charm. As he
stood for a moment clutching his sword and gazing at the paper, firelight making it glow yellow
from behind, he couldn’t help thinking to himself how it would be for Hermione to wake hours later
and find his note. He couldn’t stand the thought of her heart breaking; of her crying out for no
one to hear…

"*Harry*?"

A breathless feminine voice sounded quietly behind him, shattering the silence, and for one
miserable moment, he stopped breathing.

*Damn* *it to hell*.

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly and slowly turned round to see a wide-eyed Hermione, dressed
in one of his long-sleeved tee shirts and a pair of his boxer shorts, both much too big for her,
standing silhouetted in the doorway to his room and staring at him.

*Merlin, she’s so beautiful*…

Her wide eyes scanned him all over, from his dressed state, to the sword in his hand, and to the
expression of regret on his face. And suddenly, she looked petrified. She swallowed harshly as her
eyes welled with tears.

"I..I woke up and you weren’t *there*…"

Harry tried to speak, but what came out sounded more like a weary sigh.

"*Gods*, Hermione…"

"Are you going somewhere?"

She was shaking, her voice trembling, and Harry found he could no longer meet her gaze. He bowed
his head to look at the floor.

As she caught sight of something white and rectangular hanging near him, Hermione gasped. She
quickly rushed forward bent on snatching the fluttering parchment from the mantle behind him, but
Harry blocked her with his body.

"What is that!?"

"I'm so sorry, Hermione..."

"I asked *what is that*!?" She bellowed at him hysterically, frantically grabbing
round him to get at the note.

They grappled for a few moments, Harry grabbing onto her wrists and trying to reason with her
until she twisted from his grasp and darted under his arm to rip the paper away.

Her eyes flew over the words; her face twisting with more and more horror the further down she
went. She held a hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her face and over her slim fingers until
Harry could no longer bear it. He grabbed her shoulders and watched painfully as she let the letter
drop from her hands to drift to the floor.

"I'm sorry. I *hate* this... I don't want to *hurt* you..." his
voice cracked harshly with emotion. "I *NEVER* want you hurt..."

He moved his hands gently to her face but she twisted away from him looking betrayed.

"So you were just going to *leave* me!?" She shouted, her voice full of agony.
"You thought you would just walk out the door to face him *ALONE*, and leave me a bloody
**note**!?"

She stabbed a finger at the parchment on the floor, and Harry clawed at his face in
frustration.

"I don't want to Hermione, believe me! I don't have a choice!"

"What'd you **mean** you *'don't have a **choice***!?" Hermione
yelled. "Of **course** you have a choice! You can't go off to face him and his whole
army *by* *yourself*, Harry! You honestly think you would **win**!?"

"He won't bring his whole army into it," Harry replied firmly, staring at her.
"I know him, he's too *damn full of himself* to let anyone else have the glory for
killing me... besides if he wants his powers back I think he thinks he's got to kill me
*himself*..."

While he had been speaking, Hermione had situated herself between him and the portrait door, and
looked desperately ready to fight him for his exit.

Harry sighed painfully and clawed a hand through his inky hair. She didn't understand what
was at stake, and he could not let her read the note from Voldemort and find he was leaving on his
own all for her. She wouldn’t understand. She didn’t understand how precious she was. He would do
*anything* to keep her safe.

"We knew this was going to happen..."

"And you thought I would go *along* with it?" Hermione asked incredulously,
swiping at the tears on her cheeks. "I love you Harry! I won't let you go off to fight him
alone! I don't care *what the hell* he's threatened! Please let's just go get
Dumbledore… He'll call his army and the Aurors and the Order and we'll all fight him
together, the way we’re supposed to! **Please,** Harry!"

*...'Be forewarned, Harry. Should you arrive with others, the whore will meet her fate by
my servant’s hand. If even he should fail, know this: I will not stop hunting her. You can be
assured I will pass the task along to another, and even to another until it is
complete...'*

*‘…should you arrive with others…’*

Harry steeled himself and shook his head. *I'm doing this for her... for her... she's
worth everything...*

"I have to go alone."

She moved backward to lean against the portrait door, her voice trembling with repressed
grief.

"**No,** Harry… I don't care *what* I have to do, I won't let you sacrifice
yourself!"

And suddenly, she whipped out her wand from the back waistband of the boxers and pointed it
straight at him. Her hand shook, and she stifled a sob as he stared at her, but she held her sturdy
façade, her heart beating so fast she felt it might burst.

Harry moved toward her, his expression contorted with anguish. He held up his hand and whispered
something under his breath.

"Please Hermione, *please* don't do this..."

She felt goosebumps rise on her arms and she stiffened.

"*Stop*! Stop Harry, I *WILL* curse you... Whatever it takes... I won't let
you go..."

"You know you won't win," said Harry, still advancing and swallowing back tears.
"Not anymore..."

"*Please* don't make me..."

"I *have* to go... I **swear** I'll do my best to make it back to you; *I
swear it on my **life***, Hermione! ... Please, *please* try to understand..."

She stiffened even more, her body language making it quite evident she was ready for a
fight.

"How can I understand when you won't *explain* it to me!? What's he
threatened, Harry!? Just *tell me*, we can face anything togeth..."

Her voice trailed off as she studied him, a look of dawning horror replacing the outward stiff
façade.

"It's *me*..."

Harry closed his eyes briefly. "Hermi..."

"It's **ME**! He's threatened to hurt **me**!" Hermione cried out
furiously. She advanced toward him, her wand extended. "I don't give a damn, Harry! I
understand why you want to do this, but I'm not worth your life!"

Harry’s mouth dropped open. "*YOU’RE WORTH A **HUNDRED** OF MY LIVES*!"

"**NO**," said Hermione, shaking her head violently. She lowered her wand as she
stared at him. "Harry, you're the one that's to end it all... like it or not, you
**are** the saviour of the wizarding world. '*And either must die at the hand of the
other, for neither can live while the other survives*,' remember!? You can't risk your
life for mine and leave the rest of the world to fend for its own!"

"**The hell I can't**!"

Harry gritted his teeth, furious not with her, but with whatever deity it was that had decided
long ago his life was not to be his own.

"It's *MY LIFE*, Hermione! For ONCE, **I'M** going to choose what I do, who
I love, and who I'm willing to die for, you hear me!?"

She began to tear up again, her back pressed firmly against the portrait door. She raised her
wand again and pointed it at him, shaking uncontrollably.

"**N..no**…"

"I won’t let him hurt you," Harry repeated firmly, his hand outstretched toward her.
"I won’t let him take you from me again, you understand? *I **won’t."***

"Please Harry," Hermione sobbed, "*Please*…"

He shook his head determinedly. He was almost to her, and Hermione made a choice.

"*Petrificus Totalus*!"

But to her unending horror, the spell merely bounced off him and landed harmlessly on the floor
beside her.

Quickly she raised her arm to throw another but Harry grabbed her wrist and plucked the wand
from her hand.

"*NO*!"

"I’m sorry Hermione, I’m sorry… I love you…"

He grabbed her in a hug even as she struggled against him.

"I won’t let you, Harry! Please don’t go! Don’t do this! Please, please don’t go…"

Harry broke down in sobs, his face buried in her hair. "I have to… I’d do anything for you…
You’re all that’s important to me, you understand? You’re everything…"

"You don’t think you’re everything to me too!?" She yelled as she struggled in his
grasp. "Let me go with you, Harry! Take Ron, take your father if you have to… please don’t go
alone!"

"He’ll *kill you*, Hermione… I can’t, I…*gods* I’m sorry, please forgive
me…"

She hadn’t noticed Harry move them against the far wall until she felt the cool wood press
against her back. He took her wet face in his hands and desperately planted kisses all over it.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry…"

His tears were mixing with her own as she cried, her heart, her very soul throbbing with
despair.

"Please don’t leave, Harry," she whispered against his lips one more time.
"Please *don’t*…"

Harry merely shook his head and pressed against her one last time, his lips crushed to hers, his
arms encircling her and crushing her to him with a fierce desperation. Finally he moved a few
inches back and stared into her eyes with his own haunted ones, both of his hands coming up to
frame her face once again as he whispered.

"*Elevopendium*."

Her whole body began to rise, sliding up the wall to finally come to rest levitated some two
feet in the air.

"*Harry*! *Harry*, **no**…"

He clawed a hand through his hair and gazed up at her despondently.

"I’m sorry Hermione. I’m so sorry, I can’t let anyone follow me…I can’t let anything happen
to you… It won’t last long, I promise…"

"*Don’t go*!"

She watched him walk backward toward the portrait door, and struggled against the wall, feeling
as if her heart were walking out the door with him.

"*DON’T GO*! *PLEASE DON’T DO THIS*!"

He swiped miserably at his eyes as he opened the door and peered one last time back at her.

"**I love you**. Never forget that, Hermione. Don’t *ever* *forget*…"

Her pleading was cut off as he pulled the portrait shut behind him, though he could still hear
her screaming and sobbing from inside.

The hallway was dark and damp, lit only by the dim torches Filch kept burning at night to watch
for trespassing students.

Harry muffled a scream of rage and complete suffering and pounded his fist into the wall, not
caring that the knuckles came away bloody and scraped. For a brief moment he closed his eyes and
leaned his forehead against the cool stone, Hermione’s muffled cries from within their common room
carving into his soul like a sharp blade.

*It’s for her… it’s all for her…*

Finally he lifted his head from the wall, stood upright with determination, and fingered the
handle of his sword.

It **was** for her. And the *son of a bitch* was going down, tonight.

Harry peered down as far as he could see toward both ends of the hall and, seeing no one, took
off at a run.

(A/N: Well, here we are at the very edge of the final war. I’m not as happy with this chapter as
I’ve been with others as I’m extremely tired and probably not as ‘on’ artistically as I could be,
but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. I promise even though you may have to wait a bit for the
next chappie, the final war, it will be quite the nail-biter. The poem toward the middle of this
chapter called "Tonight, the Cold" by E.D. was found by me as I surfed the net one night
for poetry. I don’t know who this person is, or what E.D. stands for, but I wanted to give him/her
recognition for it as it’s not mine, and I think it’s hauntingly beautiful.

Please stand faithful with me readers! I promise you won’t be disappointed in the end! :0)



35. Chapter 35: All Day Permanent Red, Part: 1
----------------------------------------------





**Chapter 35: All Day Permanent Red (Part One)**





*“My Life Closed Twice Before Its Close” (Emily Dickinson 1830-1886)*



*‘My life closed twice before its close:*

*It yet remains to see*

*If immortality unveil*

*A third event to me,*



*So huge, so hopeless to conceive,*

*As these that twice befell.*

*Parting is all we know of Heaven,*

*And all we need of Hell…’*





“We really should be studying,” whispered Lavender Brown as Ron held her hand and helped her
step out of Gryffindor tower’s portrait door after him.



In the darkness, the fat lady awoke with a startled grunt and gave a distinct ‘humph’ of
disapproval as the two teens stepped past her, but a few moments after laid her cheek back onto her
hand, twisted in her chair and went back to sleep.



Now standing in the very dimly lit hallway, Ron turned to his girlfriend and rolled his eyes.
“Lav, I *swear* Hermione’s had a bad influence on you. It’s almost four in the morning! One
more all-nighter and I swear my eyes are going to dry up like raisins and fall out of their
sockets. I..need..a..*break.* *WE* need a break.”



“The exams are in two days Ron, this is hardly the time for a break!” Lavender scolded him,
exasperated. She flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulders, folded her arms in front of her
and regarded him pointedly. “And you aren’t just a bit nervous you’ve been studying that fake guide
Andrew Kirke sold you instead of your books?”



“I’ve studied my books all year, Lav. I’m well set, I think,” Ron said dryly. But his face soon
twisted into a dark scowl. “I’m still going to murder Kirke, though; *the little*
*arsewipe*. Have to get him alone first. All the people still awake in the common room
studying and he’s nowhere in sight…”



“He’s been avoiding you,” Lavender said, pursing her lips. “And I don’t wonder what with your
temper! But we’re getting off subject. We really *do* need to study. And if you’re too tired
to study, you’re too tired to snog, aren’t you?”



“*Never* too tired to snog,” Ron replied, grabbing her round the waist, wiggling his
eyebrows at her and smiling lecherously. “Besides, I’ll keep my eyes closed the entire time. They
could do with a good resting.”



Despite herself, Lavender sighed resignedly and smiled back up at him. Ron Weasley really could
be a charming, persuasive git when he wanted to be.



“*Well*… alright, then. Where should we go?”



Ron put his hands on his hips and squinted toward the ceiling, thinking.



“We *could* go to the Room of Requirement… I know what **I** require…” he added
cheekily.



“No, it’s too far away,” said Lavender. “We need to stay close in case McGonnagol pays a visit
and checks to see we’re all in. Professor Dumbledore said they were going to keep watch. And what
with the injured from Hogsmeade being transported here we aren’t sure who’ll be passing down the
hall at any moment…”



“Right, right… stay close,” Ron thought aloud, tapping his chin almost comically. “*Wait*…
I know where. The supply cupboard down the hall near that portrait of Fredweina the Fierce…”



“But that’s near Harry and Hermione’s rooms!”



Ron smiled confidently at her. “Your *point*?”



Lavender looked incredulously at him. “In case it’s escaped you Ron, they *are* head boy
and girl. And I don’t care if they *are* your best mates they’re *going* to say something
if they catch us out at this time!”



“They wouldn’t.” Ron smirked. “They’ll both be too busy studying or snogging to even step foot
outside their rooms. And *Harry*… well let’s just say he’s got the same regard for school
rules as *I* have. That’s all supposing they’re even still awake…”



“Well most of Gryffindor are still awake, *aren’t* they?” Lavender retorted nervously.



Ron stepped closer to her and gave her his best shit-eating grin. “C’mon Lav, you worry too
much. We’ll just take a while… Besides, think on it as helping me relax for further studying.”



He grabbed her hand and began to swagger backward down the hall.



Lavender grinned as she was pulled along.



“You really *are* shameless.”



“I know,” Ron smirked. “It’s why you love me.”



“On a good day, maybe.” She replied. “Most times I just tolerate you.”





Five minutes later they had made their ways stealthily down the long hallway and were quietly
moving past the portrait of Fredweina the Fierce; an angry looking witch with a large wart covered
nose, scraggly brown hair, and crooked teeth, dressed in black robes and clutching a dagger. She
was seated in an uncomfortable looking chair, her eyes closed, her head leaned back against the
stone wall behind her, and her mouth partially open, drawing great shuddering snores.



“Well I don’t wonder she was fierce,” Lavender whispered, scrunching up her nose at the portrait
as she and Ron passed by. “She could’ve done with a few beautification charms…”



Ron snorted. “Not sure they would’ve helped that one.”



The ugly witch in the painting suddenly opened one eye and scowled at the two teens.



“If I weren’t a portrait I’d give you a good stab, I would.”



Lavender stepped back from her, at once surprised and appalled. “Well *that’s* taking it a
bit far, don’t you think?”



Fredweina sat up straight in her chair. “You young sprogs and your disrespect for your
elders…”



But she never got to finish her tirade.



“Wait!” Ron suddenly interrupted, frowning, holding up a hand at the two and cocking his head to
the side.



Lavender turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?”



“*Shh*! Just hold for a minute,” Ron answered quickly, his eyes narrowed and his face
strained with concentration.



After a few moments he jumped, startled and turned back round to eye Lavender.



“Did you hear *that*?”



Lavender nodded, her brow wrinkled with concern. “Sounded like someone crying…”



“Oh, she’s been doing *that* for more than an hour now,” the ugly witch in the portrait
interjected with a lazy wave of her dagger. “I’ve been doing my best to ignore it… starting to wear
on my nerves…”



“I think it’s Hermione!” Ron exclaimed.



“If you mean the little bushy-haired Granger girl, then you’re right on,” said Fredweina,
settling back into her chair once more and closing her eyes. “Hasn’t stopped wailing since that
tall, black-haired Potter lad ran out on her all beside himself more than an hour ago. Getting
downright annoying if you ask me…”



Ron didn’t bother to reply to the witch but quickly grabbed Lavender’s hand and rushed further
on down the hallway.



Moments later they came skidding to a halt in front of the portrait of Sir Cadogen.



Curiously and for the very first time, Cadogen merely sat still on his white horse, his metal
visor hiding any facial expression he might have had.



Ron raised a fist and immediately began pounding on the portrait.



“*Hermione*!?”



The sobbing inside instantly stopped.



“*Ron, not so loud*!” Lavender admonished through her teeth. “Do you want us
**caught**!?”



“I don’t care, something’s *wrong*,” Ron panted anxiously. He pounded on the portrait
again.



“ ‘Mione, can you *hear* me!?”



A muffled voice from inside suddenly seemed to draw in a much needed gasp of air.



“**RON**! Ron is that *you*!? *Dragon’s Lair*! There I’ve said the password!
Please, *please* get in here **NOW**!”



Ron wasted no time and, groping for Lavender’s hand behind him, grabbed the side of the portrait
and yanked it open.



However, as he rushed in dragging his girlfriend behind him, the sight that greeted his eyes was
far from what he had expected.



The common room, as was normal for so early in the morning, was dark with shadows and lit only
by the orange-yellow glow from the hearth. However, a completely distraught Hermione was pushed up
against the far back wall of the room and had somehow been suspended around two to three feet in
the air up against it by what he could only imagine was some dual levitation/suspension charm.


Her hair was in wild disarray, the long brown curls tangled and framing reddened, tear-stained
cheeks; her large brown eyes wet, and framed with a thick fringe of tear-drenched, clumped lashes.
The long-sleeved tee-shirt she wore was wrinkled in such a way that it looked as if she had twisted
fistfuls of it in her hands over and over again.



Ron turned a dumbstruck gaze on Lavender before moving round the couch to the back of the room
to stare up at her.



“*Get me down*,” Hermione breathed frantically. “Ron, get me down *quick*!”



“Hermione, what’s *happened*?” He gasped, clearly at a loss as to what could have happened.
“Where’s Harry? Did… did **he** do this? Are you hurt? What’s happened…”



“*JUST GET ME DOWN FIRST*!” Hermione bellowed frantically.



“*How*? I dunno what he even used to…”



“Use your *wand* Ron, are you a wizard or **NOT**!?”



“*Oh*! Bloody hell…” Ron shook his head as if a bewildered fog had suddenly lifted from
about him and grabbed behind him to whip his wand out from the back of his jeans.



“*Finite*!”



Immediately, Hermione dropped the few feet from the wall, landing, for the most part on her
feet.



Ron rushed over to her and helped her stand upright.



“Are you *alright*? Why were you stuck up there? *Where’s Harry*!?”



At the mention of Harry’s name, Ron watched Hermione’s eyes begin to fill once again. She
suddenly burst into wracking sobs, her body almost buckling to the floor before he could grab her.
Ron hugged her tightly to his chest, immediately afraid of what it meant, and turned confused,
begging eyes back toward Lavender.



She approached the two slowly and placed a gentle hand on Hermione’s head, swiping a few curls
out of her face.



“Hermione? What’s happened, sweetie?”



As if she had suddenly come to her senses, Hermione turned wide eyes on Lavender’s face and
abruptly twisted out of Ron’s embrace, quickly stabbing him with an intense stare.



“Ron, he’s gone after him…” She said tersely, swiping at her eyes.



“Who… Harry? What’d you…”



“Voldemort’s sent for him! He didn’t want me to follow! He’s gone off to *fight* *him*
**alone**!”



Ron’s jaw dropped open in shock.



“*HE’S DONE **WHAT***!?” He roared furiously, his hands clenching into fists.



Lavender flinched from the tone in his voice, her wide eyes following the conversation between
her boyfriend and Hermione like a fast-paced tennis match. They had gone into what she usually
thought of to herself as ‘Musketeer mode’. She was sure they scarcely even recognised she still
stood there with them.



Ron gripped his wand so tight in his hand that his knuckles whitened and spoke in a deadly
serious voice.



“When did he leave…”



“Over an hour and a half ago…”



“Where’s he gone…”



“I dunno, he wouldn’t tell me,” Hermione answered rapidly with a sharp edge of panic to her
voice. She dug her fingers into her hair and began moving desperately about the room as if looking
for some clue.



Ron chewed on his knuckles for a moment, half of his thoughts on watching Hermione pace
frenetically, the other half racing on Harry, before he threw his arms up in the air and completely
exploded with anger.



“*GODS, WHAT IS HE **THINKING***!? He *KNOWS* it’s supposed to be all **three**
of us there! He knows we’re more powerful ***TOGETHER*!**”



“The *note*…” Hermione suddenly muttered. She looked up wide-eyed at Ron from the front
side of the couch and leaned forward to clutch his arm. “The note Voldemort sent him… it told Harry
where to meet him, I’m sure!”



Ron gasped.



“*Where is it*!?”



“I dunno, I’m sure he dropped it round here *somewhere*! Help me *look*, Ron!”



The two began running about the room, recklessly shoving stuff about and tossing cushions, books
and parchments until Lavender, sighing, whipped out her wand.



“*Accio note*!”



Two small pieces of parchment, one folded into a tight roll and the other a bit crumpled and
smeared, suddenly flew from different areas of the common room toward her. She caught them easily
and held them aloft.



Hermione and Ron gaped at her and if it weren’t for the situation they were in, they might have
appeared quite comical.



“I know you both care for him a great deal, but panicking will solve nothing,” said Lavender
sagely.



Hermione, who might normally have felt quite abashed at her disordered state was in too much of
a frenzy to care. At once she tore round the couch and snatched the unrecognised scroll from
Lavender’s hand, her fingers fumbling like mad to unroll it as fast as she was able.



Once the note was unrolled, her eyes flew so quickly over the glowing red words they almost
seemed a blur. A moment later she crumpled it in her fist, her expression far-away and haunted as
if she were remembering something horrid.



“The Kavan Forest…” she breathed, shakily. “Voldemort wants Harry killed in the exact same place
he was last defeated by him.”



“Where that *bastarding, fake* Quidditch recruiter took you last year?” blurted Ron,
jigging nervously on the balls of his feet.



Hermione shuddered. “I’m sure of it.”



“Right, well that’s it then,” Ron replied business-like, snatching his wand up from where he had
tossed it on the couch. “Let’s go!”



He made as if to stride purposefully toward the portrait door, but Hermione’s now calmer, more
rational voice stopped him.



“Ron, *wait*…”



Ron whipped around, irritated. “Wait for *what*!? Harry’s already got a good two hours
*start* on us, Hermione!…”



“Lavender’s right,” Hermione answered shakily, glancing at Lavender with clear appreciation. “We
won’t do Harry any good acting rash and not thinking clearly… We need to get Professor
Dumbledore.”



Ron huffed impatiently. “Well if we’re going to *do* it let’s ***do* *it
fast***…”



Hermione did not bother to let him finish.



“I’m going to get dressed. Lavender, could you go let Professor Dumbledore in on? Tell him
what’s happened with Harry and that we now know where Voldemort and his army are… I’m sure he’ll
immediately send for his own. Tell him we’re going to gather all the students into the Great Hall
as quickly as possible. Ron, that’ll be your job. You’ll need to rouse all of Gryffindor and have
them spread out to every house… tell the students Professor Dumbledore wants them in the Great Hall
right away.”



In any normal situation Ron would have immediately baulked at Hermione’s take charge tone and
instructions, but this night he was all attention. Harry was in trouble. The location of Voldemort
and his troops was finally known. Dumbledore and his army were now needed to fight them.



And all hell was at last on the verge of breaking loose.



“What’re you going to do?” he asked solemnly.



“I’m going to get dressed and gather my wand and whatever else I might need,” Hermione said
staunchly. “I’ll meet you in the Great Hall same as everyone else.”



Ron nodded and bent down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, moved to Lavender and kissed her
thoroughly, and then rushed to the portrait door where he wrenched it open and was gone in an
instant.



Lavender turned to glance at Hermione before she left as well.



“Try not to worry, Hermione. Harry’s quite powerful, we’ve *all* seen it… If there’s any
wizard who can hold his own against You-Know-Who, well… but you already know that, don’t you?”



Hermione gave her a small, brave smile as she watched Lavender leave; a façade that shattered
entirely as the portrait clicked shut behind her.


She took a few precious moments to calm her trembling body, swallow back the tears that
threatened to burst forth once again, and take a long deep breath.



*Pull yourself together, Hermione… Harry needs us… he needs YOU... Nothing else matters…
NOTHING.*



She set her lips in a thin line, hurried across the common room to her own long-neglected
bedroom, and hurriedly began changing; images of Harry fighting Voldemort with every bit of
strength he had branding her thoughts like a relentless hot iron.





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



(a bit earlier)





The cold air bit at his face and blew the hair back from his forehead as Harry, his sword
strapped firmly to his side on its leather belt, bent low over his signature Flametorch broom and
streaked through the dark, thick canopy of trees that made up the Forbidden Forest. The racing
broom he rode was the only one of it’s kind at Hogwarts, and the only one so lightning fast. In his
mind, Harry sent a quick prayer of thanks to his father who had presented it as a gift to him some
months ago. The broom flew much faster than his old Firebolt if that were at all possible. He was
covering ground he had done just last year, travelling the same path, and zooming beyond it twice
as fast.



The sooner he got to Voldemort, the sooner it would be over, whichever way the battle
turned.



As he flew, Harry continued to plot his course of action in his mind. It would have been
completely idiotic for him to suddenly burst into his enemy’s encampment without at least a small
bit of forethought. Luckily, Voldemort had given him the better part of a year since Harry’s last
visit to the Kavan forest to think on what he might have done better last time he had fought him
there.


Harry had given the fight his all last time, though this time he was coming to meet his enemy
much better equipped. The only thing he thought to himself he might have done better was his
approach. He had been so distraught over losing Hermione that when he had finally got to
Voldemort’s ‘cabin’ he had simply forced Stuart Kavan in front of him, blasted the door off its
hinges and rushed inside.



This battle might do with a bit more cunning, and Harry was, at least, somewhat prepared.



With these thoughts in mind, he flew on.



Tree limbs blurred past him like rows of huge dark, waving arms. Blowing, green leaves rustled
together like the clapping of thousands of tiny hands. Bushes and thick clumps of foliage clawed at
his black robes as they whipped behind him in the breeze. Rabbits, squirrels and all other manner
of small forest creature scattered out of his jetstream. Above and all around him, the early
morning sky was just beginning to colour with the dark purples, pinks and oranges of sunrise.



And strangely, the closer to Voldemort’s encampment Harry got, the colder the air became.



Somehow he had the faint inkling it might have something to do with the effect the Dementors
brought with them whenever they were near. He, Hermione and Ron had been sure ever since so many of
them disappeared the day Azkaban was broken into once again, that the foul creatures had defected
over to Voldemort’s side.


Now as Harry’s breath puffed misty white before him only milliseconds before the wind tore it
away, he was sure of it. Voldemort must have found some way of dampening most of the Dementors
side-effects in order for them to stay in his encampment. No doubt the bastard wanted them to help
rid himself of the unwanted burden of prisoners once everything was done.



Miles heaped upon miles. Strange unreal thoughts that everything really was finally converging
into a very near final moment continued to bombard his mind as he continued on, with realisations
that he was soon going to be forced to kill or be killed clawing at his conscience. And his targets
would not be limited to Voldemort. He had no doubt there would be many more he would be forced to
kill along the way to get to the dark bastard, and yet, there was nothing he could do to change
that fact. The creatures, wizards and witches who had joined Voldemort had chosen their side just
as clearly as Harry and the rest of Dumbledore’s army had. There was no other choice now but to
fight, and let the thought that he was having to kill others crawl back into his subconscious to be
analysed at a different date.



At length, Harry finally passed over an invisible line where huge thriving trees and thick green
foliage abruptly led to a brown wasteland of dead trees, dried crackled leaves, shrivelled plants,
and the obvious absence of any wildlife. He knew he had finally entered Kavan.


Oddly, though the skyline above continued to wash over with dawn and the light coming from one
forest to another had not changed, the moment he entered the dead forest it felt dark as midnight.
It was also evident the air had grown even colder than before.



Harry bent lower over his broom. His heart pounded in his ears like a drum. An electric thrill
of dread spread through his chest with every rapid thump. He was close… He knew it.



He *FELT* it.



Finally, far ahead, he saw what he had been looking for and sharply pulled the handle of his
Flametorch to a halt. An encampment of what looked like hundreds of makeshift lean-toos and dark
green tents littered an extensive area of the dead forest that looked as if it had been hollowed
out for that very reason. Black robed Death Eaters and all manner of wizarding creatures, each
outfitted with their very own sort of weaponry, were milling about the grounds; some eating a quick
meal, some already engaged in very early morning battle practice, and still others overseeing their
efforts.



The faraway ‘thwip’ and thud of arrows into trees made Harry’s eyes swivel over to the left side
of the camp where the sleek, powerful, black-haired Bane stood with about seven other centaurs
practising archery. Four large and unequally proportioned trolls stood close by dressed in what
looked like huge burlap sacks and pounding on dead trees with their massive clubs; the resounding
‘thwacks’ against old splintering trunks echoing throughout the camp. A gaggle of short, stubby
goblins expertly wielded knarled staffs and spears as they practised combat with one another. And
worst of all, what looked like a sea of robed death eaters, minus their hoods at this point, dotted
the camp like some rapidly spreading black cancer. They were practising the wand, throwing curses,
casting charms, uttering spells, and, *by Godric*, wielding swords. The faraway clanging of
metal upon metal suddenly made Harry sick to his stomach. He’d had no idea Voldemort was training
his troops at the sword.



***SHIT*.**



He could only hope Dumbledore had had the foresight with his own army to do the same. If he had,
he had never mentioned it to Harry.





Upon scanning over what he could see of the remaining encampment, Harry could just make out the
long-haired silvery head of Lucius Malfoy, seen conversing with *none other* that whom Harry
recognised as Igor Karkaroff from Durmsdrang.



*The snivelling bastard*. Something always *had* seemed slightly off with him…



At the edge and back of everything, and set apart from all the rest as a sign someone of much
greater importance than the common rabble lived there, a small grey-patched, weathering cabin stood
erect, curling smoke from its chimney.



Harry growled as he straddled his broom, his large, clear green eyes glaring and flickering
bright for just a moment with that unholy Slytherin neon hue.



The cabin was the very same one that had held a tortured Hermione captive for more than two days
last year, and it had been rebuilt and stood proudly as if it had never been torn down. The sight
offended every bit of what seemed fair and right within him.



It *ate* at him.



On either side of the gigantic hollow, and with one situated conspicuously near the cabin, two
filthy, massive giants, tall as some of the trees looming near them and dressed in whole hides of
patched together animal skin, stood guard over the whole throng. Their small, muddy eyes
continually searched the surrounding woods for intruders.


Harry smirked despite himself. Giants were known for their poor eyesight.



*Strike one, Voldemort*.





Starting his broom forward at a fairly slow pace, Harry stealthily began making a wide pass
about the camp, passing long dead trees and plants, and being careful not to let his trainers
accidentally drag along a ground covered in noisy, crunchy leaves. He kept his eyes hard fixed on
Voldemort’s cabin.


The *son of a bitch* had to be in there. He was sure Voldemort would know Harry would
search there for him first, and equally as sure the dark lord would have some surprise waiting
there for him.



Shockingly enough, upon quietly making it behind a group of large trees only yards from the back
of Voldemort’s cabin, Harry saw no one guarding it.


Thankfully, the noise of battle practise from the huge encampment around the building continued
to rise with the progression of the morning, so Harry felt he had a good chance of not being heard
as he sneaked inside.



He dismounted his Flametorch, muttered ‘down’ as quietly as possible, and watched as it gently
descended to lay on a bed of fallen leaves.



Pulling Godric Gryffindor’s sword out from its sheath and holding it upright and slightly to one
side, he stealthily began approaching the back of the cabin.



There was no door cut into the old grey wood, but Harry had not expected there to be. A back
entrance to the cabin would have been too easy..



Holding his sword with one hand, he lifted a finger to the wood, touched it at about head level
and whispered under his breath.



“*Carbonis Infindo*.”



The tip of his finger suddenly blazed a hot fiery blue, and Harry immediately began moving it
down the wood much like a torch, cutting a square large enough to fit himself through.


Once done he pushed the wood through, careful to catch the piece of wall before it clattered to
the cabin floor and, leaning it against the inside wall, chanced a peek inside.



Empty.



Nothing lay in wait to attack. There was no visage of Voldemort standing tall with his wand
aloft… nothing but a dim hallway.



Appearances could often be deceiving, though.



Harry clutched his sword before him as he crouched a bit and stepped through the square opening,
coming to stand upright in what looked by all accounts like a normal, though haphazardly rebuilt,
old cabin.



The inside seemed much like the outside though Harry knew he was only standing in the hallway.
Rough weather-greyed, knotty wood led forward to where the hall turned sharply to the left.



He had to keep going.



Again, Harry squeezed the hilt of his sword as he crept onward, knowing that at any second
someone or something might quickly round that corner and begin his first battle. There was nothing
for it, though. Images of Hermione sitting with him in the Great Hall, lecturing he and Ron over a
million things, cheering them on at Quidditch, and even lying beneath him, her body pressed to his
and her eyes filled with love for him, flickered in and out of his thoughts like an old Muggle
movie projection.



Far from being distracting though, it urged him ever forward. He was doing this *for her*,
and he would do it a thousand times over if it meant she was kept safe.



Harry stopped short at the corner, his senses on high alert; his fingers white with the tight
clutch he had on the sword’s handle… He and his father had trained at automatically breathing
shallowly and without sound for just such a situation as he now found himself in. It was strange
how, in the chill evil had brought to the place, even inside the cabin, inhaling and exhaling
softly as he was, his breath still spun out a misty white.

He kept his body still as a stone wall. There was no sound to indicate the place was even
occupied at the moment, though Harry had seen no sign of the dark lord outside as he had circled
the camp. Whether or not he physically saw him though was of no consequence. The sick twisting of
his stomach to whatever depravity hung in the atmosphere of this place was sign enough *he*
*was* there.



Having no choice other than to continue on, Harry craned his neck forward centimetre by
centimetre until he could just peer past the sharp wooden corner.


The stubby end of the hallway led into the side of a wide open space about the same size as the
Dursley’s livingroom, furnished only with a familiar looking bookshelf near the front door, a few
barrels and crates carrying Merlin knew what, a lit fireplace, and one ratty, old, blood-red
armchair. Sitting there, and staring into a ruby-red fire with wand clutched tightly in hand, sat
the menacing, unearthly person of none other than Voldemort himself.



Harry instantly froze. His body felt glacial and numb, as if his veins now pumped ice-water
instead of blood. Every sense jumped to attention with blaring alarm. It was the first time he had
seen the old man since last year, and the first time since fourth year he had seen him in
possession of a body.


As the hall was situated slightly to the side and behind the whole of the livingroom, and since,
as of yet he had not been spotted, Harry took a few much needed moments to press closely to the
wall and survey his enemy.


Time had not been kind to Tom. Deeply etched frown lines, the mark of years of consuming hatred,
marred the skeletal white skin around his mouth and between his eyebrows. He breathed in and out
slowly, whistling air between what Harry was shocked and almost sickened to see were tightly
gritted, blackened teeth, providing an evil contrast against the paleness. He was cloaked in black
as well, his expression under the half-hood set with grimness and determination. Abnormally tall,
he sat regally in the ratty chair that served as his throne, and Harry could see he must be at
least a head and a half taller than his own six feet. He was still as thin as ever, though it had
never been anything physical that made up his power. What he lacked in muscle mass he made up for
in the absolute embodiment of pure evil, so much so that it left it’s mark in the glowing red of
his eyes.


Harry grimaced. If eyes really were windows to the soul, there was no mistaking what lay in
those hollow, glowing depths.



Voldemort stirred very slightly and Harry tensed, staring guardedly at him, his sword held
vertical and to the side of his body and his heart skipping beats.



Though the dark lord’s eyes were still centred on the fire, Harry distinctly saw a tiny smirk
twist his lips.



And suddenly, a suffocating dread blanketed Harry’s entire body like an avalanche.



Voldemort’s high-pitched, raspy demanding voice broke the quiet so eerily it almost startled
him.



“*Surely* you do not think simply because you have now become skilled at Occlumency, that I
cannot still sense your presence..."



Harry went rigid and by reflex, fell back a step.



Voldemort twisted slowly in his seat, fixing his uncanny glowing gaze on his enemy and breathed
out his next words like a hiss.



“*Foolish boy*.”



A door from the other side of the livingroom burst open and four Death Eaters dressed in black
robes and hoods suddenly hurled themselves out, two armed with swords and two with wands. They
stood near their master’s ‘throne’ and awaited his orders.



Harry moved forward into the livingroom, his gaze set intently on the Death Eaters.



“Trying to level the playing field?” He asked, nodding his head toward Voldemort’s choice of
weaponry.



His voice was surprisingly steady, even to him.



Voldemort settled comfortably into his chair once more and, looking at his servants flicked a
finger toward Harry; obviously the sign they were to move forward with the attack.



“I am aware you now come armed with certain other defences,” he said casually. “And as the
Muggle filth are fond of saying, I prefer to cover my bets.”



The Death Eaters moved forward all at once with simultaneous roars and rushed at Harry as
one.



He tensed and raised one arm, palm outward.



“*EXARMANATO*!”



The two in front and carrying wands were instantly rendered weaponless and hurled violently
upward to slam into the ceiling where they remained suspended.



Voldemort settled casually back in his chair to watch.



Instantly two swords swiped at Harry from both sides. He ducked the first cut, the sword
whistling over his head and immediately straightened, punching the man hard in the face and sending
him reeling backward. Immediately after, he whipped about and met the other blade mid-swing against
his own with a loud resounding *crash* of metal on metal, the impact vibrating down his arms
and torso.



Harry shoved forward and swung one foot out low and hard at the man in front of him, sweeping
his legs out from under him. The Death Eater crashed to the floor on his back with a loud thump,
and Harry wasted no time slamming his chest down with his foot and stabbing him through.



The wizard convulsed upward like a crab. For a brief, horrific moment that seemed to last an
eternity he writhed and gurgled, blood frothing from his lips as, before death, he took a last
bewildered glance up at the seventeen year old boy-turned-killer standing above him.



Harry gritted his teeth against the scene. A hoarse, nauseated choke escaped his throat as he
wrenched his blood-smeared sword from the dead body, but there was no time to waste thought and
emotion on what he had just done.



The Death Eater immediately behind him had regained his senses and, regardless of the blood
pouring from his nose and soaking his mask, quickly slashed at Harry again.



Harry leapt back, but the tip of the sword cut a long gash along his chest. He yelled out in
pain, one hand clutching the sword while the other clutched through his robes at the ripped shirt
along his wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.



The Death Eater barked out triumphantly despite his own wound and, with a wild roar, lifted his
sword and came at Harry again. However, recognising the need for both hands, Harry let go of his
chest and held his sword aloft again, parrying the powerful blows that came at him again,
threatening to knock him off his feet.



Then, with an almost feral growl, he began to strike back.



Each lightning-fast slash and defensive parry made blazing shock waves of pain shoot from the
wound outward, but Harry continued forward. He met each blurred stab and swing from the Death
Eater’s sword with a vicious counter-attack, and slowly began gaining ground until his last
opponent was forced back into a corner of the cabin.



If he could have seen the wizard’s face, Harry would have immediately noted the drops of sweat
rolling down the man’s forehead and the panic stricken glances he began to send his impassive
master’s way. As it was, Harry himself was a bit too preoccupied to notice.



The Death Eater, his next actions brought about by the panic that took hold on realising no one
was coming to his aid, suddenly renewed his attack with untamed vigour. He screamed aloud, baring
his teeth and recklessly stomping forward, slicing wildly with his blade and chopping at Harry with
such forceful high and low diagonal blows that it was all he could do to fend them off.



And then Harry realised his attackers’ hysteria could be used to his own advantage.



His heart racing wildly in anticipation of every move, Harry allowed the wild swings to continue
until his enemy felt confident enough to try stabbing at him once more.


Soon as the wizard, with arm and blade outstretched, lunged forward, Harry side-stepped the wild
stab, clutched at the man’s arm with a free hand, and used the Death Eater’s own forward momentum
to yank him forward and run him through.



The impaled man stood there in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief, and Harry took the
opportunity to rip off his mask.



The broad, flat face of Mulciber stared up at him with blood-shot eyes just before he crumbled
to the floor.



The two Death Eaters still stuck to the ceiling wheezed out in disbelief. The Potter boy had
just bested them four to one. Voldemort though, completely unruffled, stood and continued to stare
at Harry, making no move toward him.



Panting and drenched with sweat, Harry bent down to yank his sword from another dead body, his
own pulsing so hard with adrenaline that two good wrenches pulled it free.



He stood upright, swiped at his brow, and turned to face Voldemort with bloodied sword in hand,
his face not a picture of over-confidence, but merely of determination.



Voldemort smirked. “Impressive, Potter. And now I’m aware of your strengths and your weaknesses.
I should thank you for the show.”



He waved a hand carelessly in the general direction of the two Death Eaters still stuck to the
ceiling, and they crashed to the floor in unceremonious heaps. Then he turned to regard them for
the first time since they had entered the room.



“You know what to do.”



The two picked themselves up painfully from the floor, and with simultaneous nods, headed back
to the same room they had come out from.



Harry still said nothing as Voldemort turned back his way, a mocking sneer twisting his
face.



“Once again, the white knight charges in to save his love,” he sneered scornfully. “You really
*are* quite predictable, Harry. It’s one of the things I knew would lead to your
downfall.”



“I’ve not fallen *yet*,” Harry replied quietly, his body completely rigid with anticipation
and a dangerous flare of neon green glinting in his narrowed eyes.



Upon seeing the glowing colour that could only come from a pure-blooded Slytherin heir,
Voldemort sneered, his expression seething with hatred.



Harry gave a nasty smile, knowing what his enemy had just witnessed.



“Don’t like to be reminded you’re half Muggle, do you Tom? Salazar would be *so*
disappointed…”



Voldemort gritted his teeth in fury and hissed. “*Filthy little **blood traitor***…”



“*Not* a blood traitor,” Harry corrected him with sadistic amusement. “I’ve just chosen to
be true to my Gryffindor roots. There’s no way I’ll ever acknowledge Slytherin or any sick, twisted
belief associated with it.”



“*Insolent*, *foolish boy*,” Voldemort growled furiously. “You who are so unworthy to
carry even a *drop* of Slytherin blood dare to **slander it**!? You have *no idea* the
grand design Salazar Slytherin had, how his ideas and standards for a better world were shunned by
the other three founders of that building full of *mixed filth* you call a school. But he was
always ahead of his time. Over the years there have been those who have attempted to continue his
work. I however, intend to *finish* it.”



Harry stiffened as he saw Voldemort bend slowly and reach for something on the hidden side of
his chair, but merely stood in attack stance waiting when the dark lord spoke.



“Look familiar?” He asked with a self-satisfied twist of his lips as he held up a long,
gleaming, sharp sword; one that looked to be almost an exact replica of the one Harry was gripping
tightly in his own grasp.



Harry frowned, baffled, but never wavered in his stance.



“My own broad sword,” said Voldemort by way of explanation, turning the handle in his hands so
that the flat end bearing the name ‘*Salazar Slytherin*’ flashed bright orange from the
firelight. “How ironic, and yet completely fitting it would be to run you through with it.”



Harry did not acknowledge the last remark, but by the surprised expression on his face the dark
lord gathered he had been unaware of the other sword’s existence.



“Did you think Godric Gryffindor the only one in possession of one of these? *Each* of the
founders of Hogwarts were given swords. This one has been passed down generations from one
Slytherin to another. Now it resides with me.”



“Looks like it fell to the wrong heir then,” said Harry flatly. “I’ll have it back soon
enough.”



Voldemort’s narrowed eyes flashed a bright, furious red.



“Neither *you* nor your *filthy, bastarding father* will **EVER** touch this sword.
It belongs with one who will carry on the Slytherin legacy, who will bear the name **proudly**,
not one befouled with *Gryffindor blood*, or bent on infecting themselves with Muggle
inbreeding!”



Harry might otherwise have taken a crack at Voldemort for the fact he still would not accept he
*himself* was half-Muggle, but after hearing him speak of his own father James, as if he was
indeed *alive*, any thoughts of taunting him fell away.



Voldemort noted the rueful look on Harry’s face before the latter could wipe the expression
away.



“Oh yes, I know James Potter still lives,” Voldemort said with a smug grin. “I’ve known it for
years, since before Wormtail died. It seems living as a rat inside the school where you’re father
came to teach and ‘watch over you’ some years ago can provide one with many ways to gain
information. Did you know he left you and your mother alone to die that night, Potter? It was more
important for him to gather information from my servant than it was to ensure his own wife and
son’s safety, I suppose…”



“He left us with a friend to check that piece of *shit* hadn’t sold us out to *YOU*,
*you **sick** **son of a bitch***,” Harry shot back, his voice iron hard with rage.



But despite his fierceness, fear sunk its claws deep enough into Harry’s chest that it throbbed
with every heartbeat. It was confirmed. Voldemort knew his father was alive. And James Potter, as
much as himself at this moment, was in grave danger.



However, instead of continuing the verbal attacks, Voldemort merely smiled, reached inside his
cloak and pulled out his wand. Harry stood rigidly at the ready.



“All will be over soon enough,” Voldemort hissed in his eerie high-pitched voice. “When you and
your friends, the blood traitor and the mudblood are gone, my full powers will return to me. And
there will be no Slytherin heir left save one to deal with, though he will be dead soon enough,
won’t he?”



Harry faltered, falling back a step and shaking his head. *Save one?… What in **Godric’s**
name*…



“What the *bloody hell* do you mean, ‘*save one’*!? You over all others should know
Slytherin consistently produced only one pureblood heir. In case you’ve *missed* it, my mum’s
side was the only exception.”



However, rather than looking chagrined at having made a mistake, Voldemort took on an expression
of amused incredulity.



“It *can’t* be…” he hissed with a sadistic sort of pleasure. A small smile crept onto his
face.



And to Harry’s astonishment, Voldemort began to chuckle.



“It seems the old wizard still has a few secrets yet to reveal,” the dark lord grinned. “I’m
genuinely at a loss as to why he hasn’t told you; he being the sort who has always ‘*valued the
institution of family*’, the sentimental old fool… How mystifying…”



Harry felt as if his whole body had just been turned inside out. It was easy to pick out the odd
bitterness in Voldemort’s voice when he spoke of Dumbledore and his thoughts on ‘family’, though it
was pretty obvious the dark lord would rather Harry suffer in not knowing what he was on about than
tell him. At any rate, there was no way in hell Harry would ask him to explain.


However, now there was one thing Harry sure as bloody hell *did* know… He had more family
somewhere; someone Dumbledore had not told him about… Was it a brother? A sister? Someone even
worse than Voldemort? The thought somehow sickened and utterly enraged him at the same time, but
there was no time now to think on it.



“I can assure you he did not simply forget to tell you,” Voldemort continued in a taunting sort
of voice, studying Harry’s expressions carefully. “Perhaps the fact you grew up feeling no one
cared for you simply never troubled him. How sad it is then, that I must take the mudblood from
you... the only one who has finally done so…”



“**EXPELLIARMUS**!”



The wand was ripped from Voldemort’s grasp so swiftly it burned his palm as it was torn away.
Surprised at being caught off guard, he whipped about to run after it, his black robes swirling
behind him, but Harry was on him again in an instant, his voice thundering with rage.



“**ADSULTOPELLO**!”



Voldemort was suddenly lifted from his feet and tossed across the room where he crashed so hard
into one grey wall of the cabin that the wood cracked, and he fell in an unceremonious heap to the
floor.



Harry strode toward him, his face contorted with a consuming rage. He dropped to his knees in
front of the dark lord, grabbed him by the neck, slammed his head against the wall and whipped the
blade of his sword up to meet his throat.



“*Don’t you ever, **EVER** threaten Hermione again*…” White hot fury blazed through him
so forcefully it left him panting, his eyes seering with a bright green. “I *swear to God*
I’ll have your *fucking* *head* before this is through…”



Voldemort punched at Harry’s chest with every bit of strength he had at the moment and managed
to throw him backward a couple of feet.



“**Accio Scipio**!”



He was back in possession of his wand in seconds and had it aimed at Harry before he could
gather himself to strike again.



“**CRUCIO**!”



The spell hit Harry full force in the midst of scrambling to his feet and sent him writhing to
the floor. He fought it, but his limbs began to seize with the agony spearing thorugh his body. His
determination to bite back any screaming he might have made drew blood from his lips.



Fascinated, Voldemort watched him for a few moments before lifting the curse.



Harry coughed uncontrollably, his throat and vocal chords damaged from muffled screaming. Even
as his body begged for him to stay still, he began crawling back toward his sword with small
painful grunts.



“Stupid *boy*,” Voldemort snarled, unimpressed. “This is only the beginning for you. I’ll
take everything you even think you have and reduce it to ashes… You and your line who were never
meant to exist will be eradicated…and everyone you love with you…”



While he had been talking, Harry had reached out one painful arm.



“*Propulso*!”



He was too weak for the spell to do little more than toss the dark lord a few feet back, but it
was enough of a surprise to him that his wand clattered to the floor and rolled away.



Harry gained the advantage.



He threw himself a few feet to his sword and grabbed it by the hilt, scrambling to his feet and
rushing over to Voldemort, who was struggling toward his wand.



A moment later he had dropped his sword from the dark lord’s throat to the ground in favour of
his bare hands.



Using both he muttered a binding spell on Voldemort’s arms and grabbed him round the neck
smashing his head hard into the floor.



“*You arrogant piece of **shit***… this ends **right now**…”



But Harry was completely unprepared for what happened next.



The two Death Eaters Voldemort had freed from their bondage against the ceiling, and who had
retreated back into the same room they had rushed from some thirty minutes ago suddenly marched
back out once again. However, this time, they did not come alone.



Colin Creevey, magically bound from his arms down and looking by all accounts as if he had been
beaten and dragged about came hovering out between them, his expression one of misery mixed with
terror. What skin was not covered in dirt had turned a pasty shade of white, with tear-tracks
separating one dirty, scratched section of cheek from another.



Harry could almost feel himself going pale, his heart sinking low within his chest.



“*Oh bloody* *hell*…”



Colin’s voice cracked with shame as he spoke. *“*I’m *sorry*, Harry. *Gods* I’m
*SO* *sorry*, I **never** *meant* for…”



“Shut up!” yelled one of the Death Eaters, punching the boy hard in the stomach.



Colin doubled over in his restraints, gasping for air.



Harry grabbed his sword again and placed it under Voldemort’s chin, prepared to bargain for the
other boy’s life when suddenly, the very familiar, unctuous voice of Lucius Malfoy from behind him
made the hair on the back of his neck stand.



“Lower your sword Potter, or watch the boy die.”



***SHIT**.*



Harry turned his eyes as far as he dared from Voldemort’s now triumphant smirk to quickly eye
the dejected form of the other boy.



“What the *hell* are you *doing* here, Colin!?”



“Your **sword,** Potter,” Lucius Malfoy repeated in a cold, commanding voice. “I won’t ask
you again.”



Harry realised he had no choice and finally, with a raging look toward Voldemort that promised
the situation was far from over, he removed it from his neck and stood, his eyes still locked
menacingly with his enemy’s own.



Malfoy strode forward with wand aimed and outstretched and plucked the heavy blade from Harry’s
hand, tossing it aside to the floor with a loud *clang*. He then turned immediately to his
master and ended the binding curse. As Harry watched, furiously clenching and unclenching his
fists, Lucius eyed him with a victorious expression, though staying keenly aware for any movements
toward wandless magic.



It was then Harry noticed the gleaming gold fingers Lucius had wrapped round his wand. He shook
his head, clearly underwhelmed.



“Nice hand.”



Lucius sneered. “And *yours* are to stay down and to your sides.”



Voldemort stood up smoothly, surprisingly regal despite the fact Harry had been seconds from
slicing his throat.



He smiled at his now subdued enemy, watching as he continued to glance frustratedly over toward
the younger boy. His next words though, were ones Harry had never thought to hear.



“Is it so surprising Harry, that one of your own would seek me out?”


The comment was so ludicrous to Harry that he paid it no mind.



“Let him *go*, for *Godric’s sake*. This is between *you* and *me*; it has
nothing to do with him.”



Voldemort smiled, recognising the denial in Harry’s voice.



“Do you think yourself beyond betrayal? How arrogant you’ve become, Potter. I assure you… this
one has more to do with our situation than you think.”



A befuddled frown creased the ridge between Harry’s eyebrows, one that increased and darkened
after turning to study the guilty look Colin had on his face.



“Colin…”



Colin shook his head at his own stupidity as he studied his bound hands. He refused to look up
at Harry… The boy who had lost his whole family to Voldemort… The boy who had put his own life in
danger over and over again to save others, including himself, in a round about way, some four years
ago during his encounter with a basilisk… The boy he had absolutely admired and wished to emulate
since the day he had heard the infamous story of his survival against the dark lord, told from his
own mother’s lips…



“Col…” the word died on Harry’s lips as he continued to scrutinise him. “Gods, say something!
Say *anything*! Call him a *liar*, for *Merlin’s sake*!”

“I can’t.”



Voldemort laughed aloud; a full-bodied, genuinely delighted sound, one he had not heard from
himself for a long time.



Even Lucius Malfoy looked entertained.



Harry glanced quickly at them before turning a burning gaze back on Colin.



“What’d you *mean*, ‘you *can’t’*…”



“*I did it for **Dennis***!” Colin suddenly exclaimed aloud, his eyes pleading with
Harry to understand. “He’s ***got** him*, Harry! **He’s** the one who took him from
Diagon Alley this summer! He would’ve *killed* him had I not done what he wanted! I had no
**choice**!”



Harry swiped a hand down his face, fighting the murderous feeling that suddenly made him want to
bolt over to where Colin floated between the two Death Eaters and beat him senseless. Had he
honestly thought Voldemort would actually keep his end of the bargain?


Then again, he had to remind himself Colin had never had the sort of interaction with the dark
bastard that Harry himself had. And if the situation were reversed, what would *he* have
done?



Harry glanced over to Voldemort and then to Lucius Malfoy, both of whom wore knowing expressions
he found all too familiar. He sighed heavily and turned his gaze back to the other boy again. Best
to get the truth out in the open now rather than later, no matter how much he hated it…



“He’s already dead, Colin. Probably has been for some time…”



“*NO HE ISN’T*!” Colin screamed aloud through gritted teeth. “He’s kept him from me until I
finished spying for him on *you* and Dumbledore! Now you’re here, he’ll let him
*go*!”



Harry looked almost ill. He turned his gaze from the heaving, miserable form of Colin, back to
Voldemort.



“*Sick bastard*… You’ve got what you wanted, why don’t you just tell him the truth for
Merlin’s sake!? How long has he been gone…”



“*SHUT THE **HELL** UP, HARRY*!” Colin shouted furiously. “I **TOLD** YOU…”



“You’ve got me… I give up, alright? Just give him Dennis’ body and let him leave…”



“He’s still *ALIVE* for *Godric’s sake*!…”



“I can’t give the boy what I don’t have,” Voldemort interrupted; his face set with a twisted
sort of indifference.



Harry closed his eyes briefly against the cruel blow and then, much as he wished not to, turned
to regard the other boy.



Colin stared horror-struck from Voldemort to Harry, his face flushed red, and his mouth opening
and closing as if the wind had just been knocked out of him.



“N..no… **NO**…”



“Got to be quite a nuisance, actually,” Voldemort supplied. “Early on it became quite obvious he
had no useful information to supply, though he did try. I eliminated him after only a few
days…”



“**OH GOD, NO**!” Colin cried out with an anguished scream, his voice rough and
high-pitched.



Harry flinched almost painfully and turned his gaze back on Voldemort. “Let him *GO*,
*dammit*! You can’t *use* him anymore!”



“In all actuality, it would be more accurate to say the younger Creevey has been gone for around
two years, would it not Lucius?” The dark lord continued conversationally, ignoring Harry’s
demand.



Malfoy gave a short nod, revelling the same as his master in their control of the situation but
feeling as if he would rather not travel down this particular lane of memory. The way the body had
lain in Voldemort’s cabin for over three months until the dark lord decided what to do with it… the
way the odour would have been unbearable had they not continued to cast anti-decay charms on it… He
shuddered, feeling suddenly ill.



Colin was too distraught to hear anything more, but Harry caught the odd deviation in
Voldemort’s story. He eyed him suspiciously.



“*Two years*?” Harry said with a hard sarcasm to his voice. “Dennis was taken *this
summer*, or have you been hiding out like a pansy-arse for so long you’ve lost track of time
*and* reality…”



Voldemort smiled humourlessly and ignored the off-colour comment.



“I’m well aware of everything around me, Harry. Pity I can’t say the same for you. Tell me… did
the Ministry ever identify the bones discovered in Knockturn Alley some two years ago?”



Harry stared hard at him for a moment, and then slowly began to blanche. A shell-shocked look
began to draw on his features, one that Colin, even in his state of distress, somehow noticed.



“Harry? Wh..What’s he on about…”



“That’s not possible…” Harry began, his breathing laboured.



“It was positively confirmed the bones were of a fifteen year old boy, but that they were
*not*, as originally thought, the bones of a fifteen year old Stuart Kavan, missing from
Hogwarts so long ago and thought dead, was it *not*?” Voldemort continued on as mundanely as
if he were speaking of the weather. “You and the mudblood girl understood this to be true even
*before* science wizards confirmed it, having personally met Kavan, very much alive and grown
to adulthood, before I later eliminated him. Tell me Harry, whose bones did you suppose them to
be?”



“That doesn’t even make **sense**!” Harry barked out abruptly, agitated. “I know it wasn’t
Stuart Kavan they found, but it sure as hell wasn’t Dennis Creevey! It was just *THIS SUMMER*
he was taken! He was at school with us that *whole bloody year*, for *god’s sake*!”



Voldemort nodded casually and began to fumble about for something within the folds of his robes.
What he pulled out was a tiny, familiar looking hour glass set on the end of a long chain.



“Recognise this?”



Staring in disbelief, Harry fell back a step.



*Oh fuck, no*…



As a result Lucius Malfoy stepped forward, his wand still aimed and his every sense attuned to
any desperate action Potter might make.



“What *is* that…” Colin demanded aloud. “What **IS** that, Harry!?”



“Time turner,” Harry stated in a voice that came out flat and emotionless.



He was having a hard time wrapping his mind round the concept… Two years ago the time turner had
not yet been stolen, so how could the bones found in Knockturn Alley have been Dennis Creevey’s,
when he was still safe in school with the rest of them, and would not be kidnapped or killed until
a year later? It was understandably hard to conceive, and yet, Voldemort *could* have
travelled back two years and placed the bones there, could he have not? The night Hermione was
attacked and the time turner had been stolen, had history been changed? Was the two year old
recollection of the bones found in Knockturn Alley only a recent one for them all? Had it just
lately grooved itself into their memories? The idea was mind boggling, and yet, Harry had to
concede, somehow possible. After all what did they truly know about time travel and the changes it
effected?



“It *is* amazing how the manipulation of time can play such remarkable tricks on the mind,
is it not?” Voldemort continued in a pleased sort of tone . “However, being as slow as you are,
Harry, I suppose there are a few things you have not yet understood. The discovery of the mudblood
boy’s bones two years ago marked the end of the apathetic lull our world has lapsed into. It was
the first warning I sent regarding my return. For too long our world has lived under the illusion
that Muggle interbreeding and the mixing of our races would be tolerated considering I, the one who
was to right it all, had gone. However, the world will soon be put to rights again. Those who were
sent to the alleged ‘secret encampment’, and the rest of the wizarding world now understand it;
they know *I have returned*.”



“*Not for long*,” Harry snarled, his voice dripping with corrosive hatred. “You’ll be
burning in *hell* before this day is over. Look for me, I’ll be the one holding the gates
open.”



Lucius Malfoy chuckled. “I’ve always known the boy was delusional. You *have* seen you’re
disarmed and hopelessly outnumbered, have you *not*?”



Harry smirked nastily back at him. “How does it feel to have your own *son* betray you? You
*did* know he’s joined our side, did you *not*?”



Malfoy growled aloud and the golden hand that held his wand shook with suppressed fury.
“**You**… You’ve never been *anything* but an arrogant, over-prized, worthless *little
bastard*, Potter! You whose own family has *never cared* for you; whose own parents were
too *snivelling* and *weak* to live and protect you… or is it that they simply **did not
care** **enough**?”



Harry howled with rage and rushed forward, heedless of the danger. It was just what Malfoy had
been waiting for.



“*PESTIS CONLABOUR***!**”



“*HARRY*!” Colin screamed in warning.



“**NO**!” Voldemort raged violently, grabbing Malfoy’s arm and forcing it down while
temporarily losing sight of Harry.



The curse barely missed him, and Harry took the fleeting moment when both of his enemies were
distracted to dive behind a pile of crates to one side of the large dark room, mentally raging at
himself for losing his temper.



“**IDIOT**!” Voldemort barked savagely at Malfoy, his eyes glowing with such a powerful,
fiery red that his second in command backed up fearfully. “*If you had killed him*… He is to
be left to **ME**! My powers will return to me **ONLY** if **I** am the one to kill
them!”



Behind the crates, Harry had only a moment’s time to wonder confusedly if Voldemort had misspoke
when he said ‘kill *them*’ rather than ‘kill *him*’, before the dark lord spoke
again.



“You have *disobeyed* me, Lucius… It is no different with you than with the others. You
must be **disciplined**…”



Malfoy recoiled pathetically before his master’s wrath, realising too late that his hatred of
Potter had led him to do something hasty.



“Master, *please*… The Potter boy has caused me nothing but trouble since the first day he
began school… I..I behaved rashly… *Please **forgive** me*…”



Voldemort held out his wand, his voice deep with frenzied rage. “**CRUCIO**!”



Malfoy dropped to the floor screaming aloud, his arms and legs pounding the wood and his voice
straining with such a high-pitched vacillating wail, so different from how it normally sounded,
that Harry’s stomach felt distinctly unsettled. He was dimly aware of Colin whimpering in the
background, and without delay decided the younger boy was in more immediate danger of dying than he
himself was. He needed to get him out of there.



Voldemort muttered a silencing charm on Malfoy and finally lifted the Cruciatus Curse, deciding
to himself he had no need of hearing the other whimper. He turned his back on him, gathered his
wand in one hand and Salazar Slytherin’s sword in the other, and began to pace about the cabin’s
main floor, his blood red eyes cautiously searching out every hidden nook and cranny.



“Come out, Harry. I *know* you are still here; you would not leave your classmate behind,
nor would you risk the mudblood’s life by running. You have nowhere to hide. My servant was right
in one regard… you are *far* outnumbered, hundreds upon hundreds to one. You *are* going
to die. And when I have done with you, your best friend and girlfriend are next.”



Harry’s heart pounded in his throat as he watched Voldemort pace closer and closer to where he
was hidden, Godric Gryffindor’s sword lying unfortunately some three feet in front of the silently
moaning form of Lucius Malfoy. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to curse the dark
lord, somehow grab Colin away from the two Death Eaters, and make a run for it to the back of the
cabin for his broom. Only when Colin was on it and safely away would he return to fight Voldemort.
It was the only way to get the other boy out of harms way, and keep the dark lord from using him to
keep Harry in line.



*No time like the present*… Harry thought snidely to himself.



He raised his arm with palm out and, so that his spell would have the most power behind it he
could muster, waited until the dark lord moved as close as he could safely allow…



“This is the end, Harry. The end of all that was never supposed to be. Come out and face me; let
us determine which Slytherin is strong enough, *worthy* enough to live…”



“*EFFUNDO*!”



An enormous flaming ball of electric blue energy suddenly erupted from Harry’s palm and struck
Voldemort fully in the chest, forcibly throwing him backward some five feet to the ground and
wrenching the sword and wand from his hands.



Harry leapt into action.



He sprinted across the room in what seemed only three or four strides and quickly tossed a
couple of curses at the two stunned Death Eaters grappling beneath their robes for wands.



One dodged away and aimed a frenzied curse at Harry.



“*ASPELLO*!”



Harry threw himself to the floor and reached his sword in time. He quickly wrenched the blade
upright, deflecting the driving curse off the metal with a hard, vibrating *ping*, and
immediately after, scrambled to his feet and charged forward.



Behind him Voldemort was coming round, and Harry knew time was fast slipping from him. He was
yards from reaching one of the Death Eaters when the wizard threw another wild curse at him. Harry
ducked it, slid deftly to his knees and took a hard, full circling swing at the wizard’s legs. The
force of the heavy sword sliced one leg clean away at the knee and chopped halfway into the other
before the man even understood what had happened. Bright red blood began spurting forward much like
small sprinkler pipes as he buckled to the ground screaming, and Harry took a very brief moment to
grab the man’s wand and snap it into.


Utterly stricken with horror and filled with a dark rage, the other Death Eater screamed aloud
and grabbed beneath his cloak for his sword. He hefted it up and then swung it downward at Harry
with such a gravitational descending force that when it contacted his own blade with a loud
resounding *CLANG*, Harry realised the shivering metal was inches from his nose. He shoved the
crushing blade away with all of his might and roared out another curse, his head pounding with a
rising panic…



*Hurryhurryhurryhurry*…



“**DEPULSIO**!”



The curse did not hit full on, and the Death Eater was merely shoved backward hard enough to
stumble into Voldemort’s chair and topple over it to the floor. However, the distraction was long
enough. Harry jumped to his feet and grabbed onto Colin’s shaking arms, feeling the rough, magical
binding beneath his fingers.



“*Finite Incantantum*!”



Colin dropped unceremoniously to the floor, instantly freed, and Harry grabbed him upright and
began to yank him bodily toward the hallway just as Voldemort finally got his feet beneath him.



“**CRUCIO**!”



The curse grazed Harry’s right leg and almost took him to the floor with the intense pain. He
yelled out and began to crumble, but Colin instantly grabbed onto him, throwing one arm about his
shoulders and hauling him along. Harry pushed the tip of his sword along the floor like a cane to
help him walk, aware of every millisecond passing… every small sound behind him promising Voldemort
was about to scream out another curse…



The dark lord’s feet made no noise as he maniacally rushed forward, the power of his magic half
flying him to his destination, his sword again in one hand, while the other wrapped tightly,
white-knuckled round his wand. His next curse blew a great chunk of wood out of the wall directly
above the two boy’s heads, both of them wincing and ducking as they hobbled/ran along, great
splinters of wood falling about their heads.



They succeeded in rounding the corner of the cabin, and Voldemort knew Potter must be leading
them toward wherever he had come in, trying in vain to get the other boy to safety.



The dark lord whirled about quickly, screaming out a spell that hauled the worthless Lucius
Malfoy to his feet, and quickly lifting the silencing charm.



Malfoy sputtered, his limbs still trembling in shock from the Cruciatus Curse.



“Get *UP*, *worthless fool*! Pull yourself together! Potter must *NOT* be allowed
to escape!”



Malfoy stumbled along after Voldemort, his legs feeling a bit better as he moved them along.
They ran down the stubby end of the hall and turned to the right, following the longer hallway
until it took them to an obvious hole cut into the wood, the now bright sunlight of mid-morning
pouring through the opening.



Malfoy scrambled through before Voldemort, always first in case there was any unsuspecting blow
or curse, and finally stood upright. Voldemort followed to see the Creevey boy straddling Potter’s
broom some few yards in the distance; Potter backing away from him and frantically shouting
instructions.



“*Kick off*! Just *kick off* Colin! Grab on tight and lay yourself low!”



“Harry, I can’t just *leave* you here, **come with me**!”



“**I CAN’T**, *just get OUT of here!”*



“HARRY!”



“**GO, DAMMIT**!” Harry commanded frantically as he waved him away, catching sight of Malfoy
and Voldemort in the millisecond of indecision that fell upon them as they emerged from the
cabin.



Colin saw them as well and with a final bolt of panic heeded Harry’s advice. He kicked
unsteadily off from the ground, the powerful broom teetering under him until he was able to gather
some control. He leaned forward as he had been instructed and the broom sped off, almost unseating
him.



A wild spray of curses followed after him, one actually hitting the straw end of the broom and
almost causing him to go into a tailspin, but Colin held fast and rounded the corner of the cabin,
speeding off into the trees before anyone could stop him.



Harry could not help a smile of satisfaction despite his own situation. Colin was safely away.
At least that had been one life he had been able to save. He knew many more would die before all
was over.



The moment the other boy left his sight Harry swung about, his sword held aloft and ready.



Malfoy growled and stepped forward, but a restraining hand on his arm stopped him.



“No Lucius,” Voldemort rasped calmly. “Potter’s death will be mine, as it was always
intended.”



Malfoy nodded, although somewhat resentfully and stepped back, leaving Voldemort to glide
forward, his grim, white face set with evil determination.



“Are you ready, Harry? There will be no reprieve this day… no idle threats or promises of later.
We will finish this right now, you and I. And after, I will settle scores with the mudblood and the
blood-traitor as well.”



Harry grimaced angrily as they began slowly circling one another, each keenly aware of the
other’s every move.



“What the hell do Ron and Hermione have to do with ANY of this…” He demanded rather than asked.
“You kill me, you’ve got what you wanted, right? And how do you think their deaths will matter to
me if I’m to die *first*!? How am I to know about them!?”



Voldemort smirked unpleasantly. “Your arrogance astounds me. How you think everything must have
to do with you… Once again you've been blinded to the truth...”



Harry snorted. “*What truth*...”



“You’re death *is* my ultimate goal, it is true,” said Voldemort by way of explanation..
“But my supreme reign over the witches and wizards of this world can never be unless my full powers
return to me. I must kill all three of you to ensure that happens.”



For a surprised moment, Harry faltered and Voldemort took his chance.



“*Pestis Conlabour*!”



“*RETROACTUM*!” Harry bellowed, his deflection charm barely in time to save his own
life.



Voldemort caught the deflected curse on the flat side of his blade and diverted it to the ground
where it sizzled and smoked on a pile of dried leaves.



He smiled.



“*Careless*, Potter… as I said, I’ve seen your weaknesses…”



“What the hell d’you mean you have to kill us *all* to get your powers back!?” Harry
demanded angrily. “Ron and Hermione…”



“Are part of you,” Voldemort intoned dangerously. “They are part of the covenant of the triangle
Sybil Trelawney divined.”



Harry felt shock buzz along his system at Voldemort’s knowledge of the year's events, but
kept his guard up, his sword held perpendicular to his side.



When Voldemort next spoke, his voice was filled with a sort of sick loathing.



“*Surprised*, Potter? The Creevey mudblood has provided me with more information this year
than you realise, though it has taken my own knowledge of the forces of magic to make sense of it.
Weasley, Granger and yourself have forged a *bond*,” he sneered. “One fraught through and
through with an ancient magic. They have become your strength, and you have become theirs. I kill
only you, Potter, and the whole is not destroyed. You are the heir to Gryffindor and to Slytherin,
it is true, but you *three* are the obstacle to my full return to power. I understand that
now, much as I understand that their deaths are no longer simply a means to demoralize you. Their
deaths have now become a necessity. And necessity warrants swift response, does it not?”



Harry felt his breathing become laboured and frenzied. His face flushed red with astonishment
and a burning fury. His eyes blazed a magnificent bright green, and the sword in his hands suddenly
felt lighter from the intense rush of adrenaline that began throbbing through his veins. His entire
body began to glow a gleaming, wavering blue, one so brilliant that Lucius Malfoy shaded his eyes,
his heart pounding in horror. Just what the hell was happening?



“Power is a heady thing, is it not Harry?” Voldemort snarled as he eyed him, a barely shaded bit
of envy in his voice. “However, untrained power is as useless as none at all. Do not think your
angry display has any effect on me…”



But Harry had heard nothing past the threat Voldemort had posed toward Ron and Hermione. His
blood pounded so furiously in his head that he was unable to hear much of anything save his own
screaming, compounding rage.



In a movement so fast it looked almost blurred, he rushed forward and lashed out with his sword,
catching Voldemort off-guard and slicing into his arm.



Voldemort howled aloud and all discussion came to a halt. The true fight had begun.



Their blades met over and over again with the ear-splitting **crash** of metal on metal,
Harry trying his best to push his rage to the back of his mind to better concentrate on what he was
doing.



Voldemort cut his sword in a wide arc toward Harry’s neck but he ducked it, hearing the ominous
whistle of wind rush over his head. He straightened and cut down with his own blade managing to
crush the dark lord’s own to the ground. Voldemort kicked out, caching Harry in the gut and Harry
fell hard to the ground, his sword flying from his hands. Immediately he scrambled for it,
Voldemort swiping his own up from the ground and chopping down at him with it. Harry rolled, and
rolled again, barely missing the sharp edged sword chopping out chunks of earth where he had just
been. He kicked out himself, catching one of Voldemort’s ankles and throwing him off balance,
giving Harry just enough time to jump to his feet, his sword again parrying forceful blows.


Unaware they were doing so, both began steadily moving the fight round the cabin. Lucius Malfoy
shadowed them, his wand out and to the ready, though he was unsure what he would have done with it
given the chance as both were clashing so quickly together that he could not be sure which he might
hit.



Voldemort and Harry continued on, moving further around the cabin until they came close to the
inner encampment, neither concentrating on anything but the other's next move. So intent were
they on the battle that they failed to realise something of great consequence had happened a bit
further in the camp while they had been otherwise occupied.



Finally the time came when, for one brief moment, both had lost their weapons and were
scrambling to retrieve them.



Breathing open-mouthed, Harry jumped up quickly after retrieving his sword, his robe now
tattered in pieces and his clothes moulded with sweat and dirt to his body.



He glanced at Voldemort, yards away and in a similar state as he was, and saw that instead of
the dark lord rushing toward the fight with him again, that he stood stock still, staring past him
into the inner camp. His overly-tall, pale body was rigid with an acute sort of twisted fulfilment,
as if some dream he had never thought would come to pass had finally done so.



And suddenly filled with an awesome sense of foreboding, Harry whipped around.



Death Eaters, giants, centaurs, goblins, trolls and all other manner of wizarding creature that
had joined Voldemort had gathered together as one huge mass and were grouped in the middle of the
camp. Most disturbing for Harry was the fact that now, mixed with them, were many of the Slytherin
students from fifth year up who's parents had pulled them out from school some months ago. They
stood with their Death Eater fathers and mothers, wielding wands and expressions of hatred that
seemed utterly out of place on faces so young.


On the outskirts of the great open camp, and protected for a time by what appeared to be an
enormous, all-encompassing, golden opaque forcefield, stood a group of what appeared to be hundreds
of wizards and witches of all ages and races. Interspersed amongst and between them were all manner
of, ironically, many of the same types of wizarding creatures that had joined the dark side.
Firenze the centaur stood with a group of around ten of his own. Eighteen goblins huddled together
near the middle. Hagrid stood to one side with Madame Maxime from Beauxbatons, both with wands at
the ready. Every teacher from Hogwarts was present. And most unbelievable, what appeared to be
Hogwarts' entire student population from fifth year up. Since the school's numbers had
diminished so severely, there were only about sixty five students to speak of, but the number was
not what was so compelling. It was the fact that they were students, and none were a day over
seventeen. They stood with the rest, Ravenclaws mixed with Gryffindors mixed with Hufflepuffs mixed
with the few Slytherin's left, including Draco Malfoy; each face white with terror, but set
with grim determination.



Albus Dumbledore, standing tall, regal and majestic headed the huge crowd, Minerva McGonnagol on
his one side, Harry's father on his other, and Ron and Hermione standing immediately near
them.



Harry felt his knees weaken. His eyes met his Dumbledore's, his father's, Ron's, and
then... *Hermione's*. Her pale, expression was so full of emotion it was almost
unfathomable. She looked so desperate as her eyes raked him over, so deeply anxious, so incredibly
in fear for Harry's own life that he almost could not bear to look at her. But at the same time
he was helpless to look away. He felt at any moment she might begin raging at him with her eyes for
leaving her... might burst out sobbing for the situation they were all now in, on the brink of a
very large battle, might try frantically gesturing at him to run... but as she stared at him, he
was overwhelmed by the simple response he got.



*I love you*.



He could not hear her behind the forcefield, but he watched her lips tremble as she formed the
words, her eyes staring at him in such a way that made him feel as if she was baring his own
soul.



*I love you, too*.



In a flash, the invisible shield that, until then, had been responsible for holding the battle
at bay suddenly vanished with a wave of Dumbledore's hand.


Oddly, no one spoke or moved until Voldemort, his eyes alight with eagerness and bloodlust,
moved forward, deciding to temporarily pause his battle with Harry.



“*Dumbledore*.”



For being in such a wide open space, the word seemed to echo through the forest as if it were
nothing more than a small enclosed room.



Dumbledore stepped forward, his eyes locking with Harry's own for one brief second. Harry
understood the look.



*Move back with us*...



Harry kept his sword aloft as he stepped carefully backward toward the tree line, his eyes never
leaving Voldemort or the hundreds of Death Eaters and creatures that watched his every move, but
took no actions to stop him.



Finally reaching the masses that made up Dumbledore's own army, he moved in with the crowd,
hands reaching out to touch him in some way... students from school, members of the Order... Colin
Creevey... ( he must have stopped his flight upon meeting with the rest) his father...
*Sirius*...



“Glad to see you're still in one piece Harry,” Sirius said gruffly, swiping behind his long
black hair at what looked suspiciously like a tear travelling down his worn cheek.



Hermione rushed over to Harry and grabbed him round the middle, burying her face in his chest;
her body shaking so hard he felt she might come falling apart. He grabbed her to him and shared a
short, meaningful look with Ron over her head.



“Don't you *ever* do that to us again, mate,” Ron ordered angrily, his voice husky with
emotion. “**Never again**, you *hear* me?”



Harry merely nodded at him and buried his face in the top of Hermione's head.



Fluffy white clouds travelled through the blue sky overhead. The sun streamed inappropriately
cheerful through the dead trees. A light wind made old branches creak above them and stirred dead
leaves forward between their feet. Tent flaps slapped open and closed, robes whipped about, and
hundreds of attentive ears tuned into the conversation that had just begun between Voldemort and
Dumbledore; two generals leading opposing forces speaking one last time before battle.



“You should have let it go, Tom.” Dumbledore suddenly spoke into the fateful morning, his
burning blue eyes fixed onto Voldemort's own glowing red ones.







Voldemort sneered at the old man as if he were the epitome of everything he hated. In truth, he
was.



“Let it *go*? When I am so close to accomplishing my goals?” He rasped in a high-pitched
demonic sounding voice. He stepped forward, brandishing his sword. “Oh *no*, Dumbledore. Our
time has finally come. The time to end things once and for all. My powers will return to me this
day... your pathetic army will be defeated... and the return of the world as it was meant to be,
before corruption took hold, is at hand. The fates have been kind, have they not? It is all now
within my reach.”



Dumbledore gave no reaction whatsoever to the speech. Each side seemed to tense, as if they were
sure at any moment they would be called upon to charge.



“I have warned you over and over through the years,” the Headmaster said. “You are right. The
time to end things once and for all has come. This ends today.”



Voldemort roared aloud, his voice unearthly and frightening as he whipped out his wand and aimed
it at Dumbledore.



Dumbledore raised his own.



The forest suddenly came to life with the thunder and rumble of hundreds and hundreds of bodies
suddenly in motion, voices screaming curses and shouts of war, wands and swords suddenly aloft and
crashing together, and two sides rushing forward to clash in the middle...







*"All Day Permanent Red" by Christopher Logue (an excerpt of a more contemporary
rewriting of the Iliad).*



“*...See an East African lion*


*Nose tip to tail tuft ten, eleven feet*


*Slouching towards you*


*Swaying its head from side to side*


*Doubling its pace, its gold-black mane*


*That stretches down its belly to its groin*


*Catching the sunlight as it hits*


*Twice its own length a beat, then leaps*


*Great forepaws high great claws disclosed*


*The scarlet insides of its mouth*


*Parting a roar as loud as sail-sized flames*


*And lands, slam-scattering the herd.*


*This is how Hector came on us..."*





A/N: Hi guys... so this small excerpt of the above poem is where I got the title for this
particular chapter. The name “All Day Permanent Red” really speaks of a day of war... and I thought
the description of the lion, even though the name given to it is “Hector” sounded like Gryffindor.
Anyway, this is only part one of the war, of course. Next chapter is part two, the war in its
entirety. I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think so far, please!)




36. Chapter 36: All Day Permanent Red Part Two
----------------------------------------------


(A/N: Ok, so I’ve had quite a few requests to get my arse moving along on this story, and I
can’t say I blame you guys! *blush* So, I’ve decided rather than make you wait longer, I’ll make
the war into three chapters rather than two, so I can get some out to you now. I think I’ve left it
in a good spot, as what happens after seems to be enough for the last and final war chapter. Please
don’t flame me for the long wait! As I’ve said, the muse slaps me across the face at the strangest
of times! Hee hee… that being said, here’s part two.)

**Chapter 36: All Day Permanent Red: (Part Two)**

*"If We Must Die"-Claude McKay*

*"If we must die--let it not be like hogs*

*Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,*

*While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,*

*Making their mock at our accursed lot.*

*If we must die--oh, let us nobly die,*

*So that our precious blood may not be shed in vain.*

*Then even the monsters we defy*

*Shall be constrained to honour us though dead!*

*Oh, Kinsmen! We must meet the common foe;*

*Though far outnumbered, let us show us brave,*

*And for their thousand blows deal one deathblow!*

*What though before us lies the open grave?*

*Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,*

*Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!"*

The immediate pandemonium erupting within the once relatively quiet woods was violent and
fraught through with wild roaring, wailing of the first wounded, screams of curses and spells, the
sharp sounds of clanging blades, and travelling fresh on the wind, the bitter, metallic tang of
blood.

The sudden rushing forward and clashing of both sides had ended the separation of one side from
another, and as a result, had effectively come between and separated Dumbledore and Voldemort from
one another just as they had raised wands to begin their own battle.

In the midst of the confusion, Harry quickly lost sight of those he wished most to keep his eyes
on. He hadn't much time to think on it though before he found himself tossing curses at the
charging Death Eater in front of him, and immediately after, crashing swords with another behind
him.

Dementors suddenly glided forth from the trees where they had apparently been hovering in wait,
sucking on the morning air and swooping in and out of the madness, looking for the weak and those
who straggled on the edges of the encampment. The dampening charms Voldemort had placed on them
continued to waylay most of the dark creature's side effects, but did little to help the
dreadful gloom and icy chill their mere presence brought with them, or the awful screams of their
victims as they were born down upon. The dark creatures being there amidst what was already a
horrific battle served to bring even more panic into the mix.

Chaos soon turned to pandemonium.

Harry was awarded brief glances of those he loved amidst it all. While cutting fiercely at a
Death Eater in front of him and trying his best to avoid bumping into the mesh of flailing bodies
battling round him, he caught a quick glimpse of Hermione through the throng. She was some twelve
yards away from him leaning on the ground over an unconscious Kingsley Shacklebolt. Somehow, amidst
the havoc surrounding her she was managing to find a way to concentrate her healer skills on the
wounded. She ignored the screaming and the centaur's hooves that nearly trampled them both,
ignored the spells that passed perilously close-by, and closed her eyes. A brilliant amethyst light
spread outward from the small hand pressed onto the Aurors dark head and travelled like some type
of ethereal purple-glowing rope throughout his body.

The moment he opened his eyes and took Hermione's helping hand to help pull himself up he
was off again, looking somewhat stunned but alright enough to continue the fight.

Hermione took off again as well, finding another to help, and Harry found himself chanting a
mantra to her inside his head as he whipped about and chopped his sword into the momentarily
exposed side of the Death Eater he had been duelling, slicing it out just as quickly and watching
him crumple to the ground.

*Becarefulbecarefulbecarefulbecareful*...

Near him, Charlie Weasley had immediately honed in on Bellatrix Lestrange, almost as if he had
rushed forward to meet her at the onset. He was battling her fiercely, tossing curses and jinxes so
quickly his wand was almost a blur. The fierce, unforgiving expression on his ruddy face told what
he was thinking as clearly as if he was shouting it out for everyone to hear. He wanted her
*dead* for what had happened to Bill.

Harry could hardly think to blame him for it.

On the other side of the camp, Ron was already bloody and covered in dirty cuts and scrapes as
he took a hard **crack** to the arm from the goblin he was fighting, the hard knobbly staff
striking him so hard he felt the bone might be broken.

Howling aloud he stumbled back a few steps, tossing his wand from that hand to his other and
simultaneously waving away an anxious, swiftly approaching Madame Pomfrey, who looked as if she had
already fought a few battles, herself.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" He bellowed.

She took him at his word and whirled away to find another.

The short, stubby goblin was approaching again, his staff raised, his lined, horrid face livid,
and his wide mouth pulled back in a feral, sharp-toothed grimace. Ron caught the brunt of the swipe
with the hand of his injured arm, doing his best to ignore the agony and yanking hard on the staff.
Goblins were known for their skill at the staff, but Ron had more weight and muscle on his side. He
managed to yank it hard enough that the goblin was pulled off kilter and stumbled forward.

Ron aimed his wand.

"*Propulso*!"

The goblin launched backwards as if punched by some giant fist, his staff soaring from his
hands, and his flying body knocking five others down behind him.

However, there was no time to dwell on the victory. Ron was immediately assaulted from behind by
a centaur's hooves and turned abruptly with wand outstretched to begin it all again.

Mr. Weasley was duelling Lucius Malfoy at the wand, the latter of whom had such a look of smug
reassurance on his face that it was all Arthur could do not to let the overwhelming urge to
*permanently* wipe away that smirk away distract him. Already he was having to push thoughts
of Bill out of his mind and concentrate on the task at hand, though the fact he was fighting with
one of the people responsible for his son's death made it extremely hard for him to think
objectively.

Toward the back of the melee Hagrid was wielding his umbrella/wand; now without fear of any
consequence. He was engaged in a fierce duel with Igor Karakoff, the latter of whom seemed more
troubled by the sheer *size* of the half-giant facing him than by the force of his
opponent's magic.

Dumbledore was in the middle of the crowd, waving his wand at any wizard, witch or creature who
dared cross paths with him and, for the most part, flinging them away as effortlessly as tossing a
quaffle. His eyes stayed fixed intently on Voldemort who was currently duelling past Nymphadora
Tonks and Sirius, finally blasting them both out of his way. It seemed his goal was to reach
Dumbledore as well, his thoughts of killing Harry and his friends temporarily put on hold until his
old nemesis was out of the way.

They drew steadily closer.

Harry's father finally succeeded in downing the giant he'd been lobbing curses at; the
enormous creature finally teetering dangerously on huge jelly-like legs until he fell to his knees
with a hard thud, the ground shaking for a moment almost as violently as it had done the day
Hogsmeade had been destroyed. The giant suddenly toppled forward and, almost panicking, James
sprinted out of the way. He watched horrified as it slammed to the ground, crushing some six people
and five creatures beneath it; the impact causing great rivers of blood to pour from its open eyes,
nose and mouth.

Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan and Neville Longbottom were currently engaged in a battle with
three Death Eaters on the edge of the forest clearing. Each of the boys were hiding behind large
dead trees, their hearts thumping wildly out of their chests as they chanced popping round the
trunks and trading hexes and curses with their enemies; answering curses blasting huge, dry chunks
of wood right from where they had just stood.

Harry, now battling furiously to get to Bane the Centaur, who had an arrow taut in its bow and
aimed at Minerva McGonnagol, again caught a glimpse of Ron. He was hanging precariously onto the
neck of a troll and trying his best to beat it round the head with his fists, while Parvarti Patil
shouted frantic curses at it from behind. He had no time to help as his professor was in the most
immediate danger and did the first thing he could think. Sprinting toward the large, black,
half-horse, half-man, he slammed his shoulder into him as hard as he could, causing the arrow to
lose it's mark and fly wildly up into the air where it thudded vertically into a giant's
eye. Bane staggered sideways, too large to have been thrown completely to the ground and watched
with fury as the wounded giant began swiping madly about with his ham-sized fists, knocking not
only those from Dumbledore's army through the air, but also those from his own side. Bodies
went careening overhead, some hurtling through the crowd to bowl into others, and still others
flying into the trees and slamming into hard, dead trunks, instantly killed.

But by the time Bane had nocked another arrow into his bow and whipped about to exact revenge,
Potter had disappeared into the crowd.

The tumult and confusion began to compound. Those still fighting were left to stumble across the
wounded and the dead quickly littering the ground. Moans and cries of pain mixed with the sharp
sounds of battle. Blood ran in small, thick rivers from sword and arrow wounds, soaking the earth
and spattering up on the legs of others as they ran past. Severed body parts turned up near
duellers and fighters in the most unsuspecting of places.

Harry stumbled past the wreckage, his sword coated in congealed blood, sprays of dark red
droplets lining his dirty, worn face, and his own body covered in small stab wounds and cuts. The
bodies of those he recognised littering the ground filled him with unending amounts of horror.

It felt as if he were witnessing the end of the world. It was the end of the one he had known,
at any rate.

Padma Patil laid sprawled on her back, her head twisted in an odd manner, and her eyes wide and
unseeing. Sickened, Harry did the only thing he could think of and bent down to mutter a sticking
charm to her eyelids to hold them closed. Molly Weasley had been badly trampled by a centaur, and
was grimacing painfully as Madame Pomfrey waved her wand over her crushed legs.

Emmaline Vance, a stately looking witch belonging to the Order laid dead on the ground, her
normally pristine robes torn and covered with wand ash. Dedalus Diggle, another Order member lay
nearby, obviously dead, one arm missing below the elbow.

A sobbing Ernie Macmillan, whose grasp was being forcibly removed by another Ravenclaw boy Harry
did not recognise, was sobbing as he cradled the body of Hannah Abbott.

Otto Bagman, brother of Ludo, had had his Death Eater's face mask ripped from him and was
duelling fiercely at the wand with a filthy Mundungus Fletcher, the latter of whom seemed to be
gaining a small advantage.

A panicky Katie Bell used her own hands as a tourniquet while holding Angelina Johnson's
bleeding arm in a vice-like grip until Hermione, nearby, could get to them.

Miles Bletchley, a member of the Slytherin Quidditch team until he was recently taken from
school by his parents to join Voldemort's side, was sprawled over another body, a surprised
look forever frozen on his face, and a large goblin's spear protruding from his neck.

Not far to the left, Neville was now kneeling sorrowfully over the body of Susan Bones, a
Hufflepuff he had recently taken a shine to. He also seemed to be applying some charm to shut her
eyes.

Terry Boot of Ravenclaw lay dead nearby, with Mandy Brocklehurst of the same house sprawled
directly beside him. Eddie Carmichael was sobbing over them both.

To Harry's surprise and for the first time that morning, he saw Percy together with his
long-time girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, battling a troll.

Vincent Crabbe and Theodore Nott of Slytherin were running terrified from a Dementor who was
gliding fast behind them sucking and rattling on the morning air, apparently so crazed with its own
desire to feed that it did not care whose side it attacked.

Roger Davies of Ravenclaw lay sprawled so close to Harry's own feet as he stumbled along
that he nearly tripped over him.

Harry began to feel despondent. The tip of his sword dug a thin, bloody trail in the ground
behind him as he staggered past the carnage around him with a dazed, nauseated expression on his
face.

Interspersed among the bodies of goblins, trolls, centaurs and various Death Eaters were those
he had known and those he recognised.

Hestia Jones from the Order; Madame Pince, the librarian; Professor Sinistra; Zacharias Smith of
Hufflepuff; Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, and Marcus Flint of Slytherin; Marietta Edgecomb from
Ravenclaw; Jack Sloper and Patricia Stimpson from his own house, and others he recognised but had
never got the chance to really know... all stared with glazed eyes up to the morning sky,
unseeing... never to see again.

Despite himself, Harry dropped to his knees and vomited.

Some fifteen yards away Hermione was bent over professor Snape of all wizards, her eyes tightly
shut and both of her hands pressed to a massive bleeding wound in his chest; that unearthly purple
light wending in and out of his body. The Potions Professor was somehow still conscious and goggled
at her in a way that Harry recognised as utter shock before being helped up by her. He moved on to
join the fight once more, a wound that might have been fatal completely healed.

Still on the ground but beginning to pull himself up and together, Harry caught Hermione's
haunted eyes for one blessed instant in that moment, and a look of bone-deep *relief* that
spoke a thousand words without uttering one passed between them.

*She was still alive*...

*He was still alive*...

They could go on.

But something else caught his eyes directly perpendicular to Hermione and he froze; a look of
utter abject horror washing over his face.

Ron was lying on the ground with Lucius Malfoy on his knees and leaning over him; that golden
hand crafted in hell squeezed tight about his neck.

Harry's vision kept being obscured by the crowds battling between them but there was no
mistaking what he had just seen.

Ron was dying.

Ron's fingers clutched convulsively at the hand round his neck, his face slightly purple
with loss of oxygen, the heels of his feet kicking at the ground, his mouth stretched open and
desperately trying to draw in air. Turning swollen eyes, he saw rather than heard Harry howling
with rage and rushing toward him before his best friend was accosted again by a huge, muscled Death
Eater wielding a sword and immediately slashing away at him with it. He watched Harry fight with
him for a moment, their swords flashing in the sunlight as they crashed blurrily together over and
over, Harry's sick, worried expression glancing past his burly opponent every time he was
able.

Ron was simply waiting to die. He knew that now. So he watched.

He saw Hermione catch sight of him some ways away from Harry. She screamed in terror, tears
streaming down her face as she rushed toward him, though even in the state he was in Ron found the
strength to hold up a hand at her, his expression begging her not to come to his aid. It did not
matter anyway. She was instantly drawn into a duel with a Death Eater.

Craning his neck upward, he could barely see Lavender behind him, sobbing hysterically as she
tried crawling toward him, the curse she had taken sapping most of her strength.

"Ready to join your brother, Weasley?" Lucius Malfoy hissed madly through gritted
teeth into ears that had already begun to lose their hearing. "You're *bastarding
family* has stolen my son's allegiance from me... My master may wish you to die by his hand,
but today you will die by *MINE*."

Ron gagged, tears streaming from his eyes, his vision darkening, and his mind suddenly, quite
clearly recalling the dream he, Harry and Hermione had shared this past year. True, he knew now the
dream had come from Voldemort, and that the dark lord had somehow, by way of their link, been able
to plant it into all three of their minds as a way to make them all fear it was some vision of the
future. It was also true his own death was not coming to pass the way the dream had shown it,
although he *was,* as the dream had divined, being murdered by Lucius Malfoy all the same. And
only weeks ago, Ron himself had vowed aloud to kill this very same bastard along with Bellatrix
Lestrange, and whoever else it had been that had attacked his father and brothers.

*How fucking ironic*.

He turned his bloodshot eyes and they finally came to rest on Ginny who was blessedly still
alive, and who had just caught sight of her brother.

Her eyes widened from some five yards away, a Death Eater clawing desperately at her torn jeans
as he finally sagged dead to the ground.

"**RON, NO**!"

She had lost her wand during this last duel. She had no way to help him.

Her gaze turned left to right frantically, hands fisting in tangled hair and clawing at her
dirty face as she searched for someone to help her. A spell from out of nowhere quite suddenly
catapulted a goblin from behind her off his feet and over her head as the creature's spear came
inches from stabbing her through. His short, thickly muscled body slammed to the ground in front of
her, rolled, and lay still.

Stunned, Ginny whirled about.

Draco Malfoy stood behind her dirty and bloodied, his wand slowly lowering, his expression one
of fury mixed with alarm and his chest heaving at what had almost happened.

Ginny launched herself at him and grabbed his arm before he could even reprimand her for losing
focus.

"*Help him*.. *HELP HIM, DRACO*!" She begged aloud.

"Help who?"

"*Hurry*, *he's* **dying**! **Ohmygod**..."

"**WHO!?**" Malfoy grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard.
"*Who's dying, Red*!?"

"**RON**!" Ginny wrenched from his grasp and flung herself around. "Your
father's **killing him**! **Help him**! *Oh gods, **please***, *I've lost
my **wand***! **HELP HIM, PLEASE**!"

Draco instantly moved forward and shoved past Professor Grubbly-Plank, who was momentarily
distracted from conjuring a Patronus Charm against a large Dementor bearing down upon her.

There on the ground only yards away laid Weasley, his face discoloured and looking almost
bloated with lack of oxygen. He was moments away from losing consciousness, Draco's own father
squeezing the life from him with that massive golden paw from Voldemort he called a hand. He
noticed Lucius had not to use much pressure as whatever magic the hand possessed seemed to do all
the work for him.

"**LUCIUS!**" Malfoy commanded loudly, his wand extended and aimed at his
father.

Surprised, the elder Malfoy turned his head slowly, his silvery hair gleaming in the sunlight,
and Ron was afforded one brief, very much needed gasp of air before the hand began squeezing
again.

The narrowed, grey eyes, so much like his own bore into Draco's and the snarling expression
on his father's face turned feral.

"Hello *Draco*... so it is '*father*' no more, I see..."

"**Let him up**," the younger Malfoy demanded, and although his voice came out
strong, his hand shook a bit.

"**Blood** **traitor**…you always *were* a disappointment," Lucius hissed
furiously, the golden fingers squeezing so powerfully now that Ron flailed. "I should have
*known* you were too weak to join the side of the powerful. I should have killed you along
with your mother when given the chance."

Draco's jaw dropped open despite himself; sharp prickles of fear and dread suddenly
radiating through his body.

"*Mother*..."

"Dead. I killed her before you returned home for holiday during Christmas. She was weak as
well, too *bloody soft,*" Lucius sneered contemptuously, "too afraid of the changes
my master intends to bring upon our world. However, there is no need to fret son, you will be
joining her soon."

*Narcissa... dead...*

Despite the fact she had been for the most part emotionally absent; in Narcissa's own
distant way of showing it Draco *had* known some sort of comfort, some sense of belonging...


*It's official, now. I have no one*.

Draco glanced down at Ron and then back at Ginny who was jerking convulsively as she sobbed, her
fingers curled tightly into her mouth.

Past Grubbly-Plank and the two Dementors her boar-shaped Patronus now fought, past Dumbledore as
he battled with two Death Eaters and a troll, and past numerous others he saw Potter ferociously
blazing his way toward them as fast as he could, his movements hampered at every turn by a new
battle, his sword cutting and slicing and crashing against another with frenzied blows, casting
wandless curses about him when he was able to get a free hand.

But Draco knew it was not Potter who was going to end this. He would never reach them in time.
Granger was still duelling with another Death Eater some ways behind him. No one else was fighting
to get to them, they were all otherwise occupied or had not noticed. It was he himself who was
going to end up dealing with Lucius. Much as he hated him, the thought of killing his own father
left him feeling cold and empty. Fate had dealt him another cruel hand.

"Don't make me do it, Lucius," Draco said in a voice that came out emotionless and
dead, though his wand hand trembled.

"**He's stopped moving**!..."

He heard Ginny behind him screaming into her hands, and she began to rush forward

despite the obvious fact there was nothing she could do.

Draco whirled about and grabbed her around the waist as she tried to rocket past him. She
screamed and struggled with him but he steadied her, grabbing her arms, his eyes boring into hers,
grey on blue, reassuring.

*I'll do it... I'll do it, I swear*...

"You are *worthless*!" Lucius laughed, turning his back on his son to concentrate
on his task. "I have nothing to fear from you. From the very day you were born you were never
worthy of the name Malfoy. Watch the Weasel die and do *nothing*, you *weak little
**bastard***..."

He continued belittling him, Ginny continued whimpering, Lavender Brown sobbed louder, her limbs
disobeying her command to move forward, but Draco heard none of it. It was as if every sense in his
body had suddenly attuned to one lone, solitary factor. Lucius Malfoy had to die. There was no
cursing the man and sentencing him to Azkaban. There would be no long incarceration in the hopes he
might one day change his thinking. The madman had long ago given himself over to evil, embraced it
whole, and his entire body now coursed with it. If given only a slight chance he would try to
escape and kill again; it was part of his depraved nature. And as the fates had decided, Draco was
to be his judge and executioner.

He steeled himself and mentally placed his emotions under lock and key.

*So be it***.**

"I'm sorry father," said Draco almost absently, not even realising he had, for the
last time, called Lucius Malfoy the name he had vowed never to use again.

Ron, with eyes rolled back into his head, seemed to have finally lost consciousness as he had
stopped fighting the strangle-hold the elder Malfoy had on him. Draco knew he had to act fast.

Lucius smiled as he continued squeezing, his teeth bared in a mad snarl as he craned his neck to
look back at the younger Malfoy.

"*Weakling*," he spat out contemptuously. "You were *NEVER* my
son."

Draco aimed his wand and let his mind recall Lucius Malfoy’s evil toward him throughout his
entire life. He summoned up every last bit of rage and hatred he had within him, and directed it
pointedly at the monster in front of him.

"You’re right… I wasn’t. *Avada Kedavra*!"

Instantly, the grip the elder Malfoy had on Ron slackened, and with an expression of hatred
still frozen on his face, he slumped to the ground.

Ginny wasted no time rushing over to her brother. She dropped to her knees beside him, using an
adrenaline-aided strength to shove Lucius Malfoy's body aside, and immediately bent over and
began breathing into him.

Draco stared ahead numbly, his wand as yet still aimed where Lucius had been kneeling, his whole
body slack with the odd feeling of having been anaesthetised. For him, time had abruptly gone
still. He felt suddenly displaced; transported to some bizarre alternate reality...

Funny thing about the Avada Kedavra. The spell gave no time for preparation. One moment the
victim was alive and in motion; next split-second, he was forever laid still.

Suddenly Draco wanted to scream... or laugh... or cry... or continue to stand there as
*fucking* paralysed as he was now, staring at what he had just done.

And it had been surprisingly... *easy*.

Model of a future Death Eater, was he? Perhaps they had been right all along.

No one saw him as he walked away.

Ron spluttered back into life, Ginny kneeled beside him with an expression of giddy, crazed
relief. She threw herself bodily onto her brother, sobbing and effectively crushing him once
more.

"Oh *gods* Ron, you're **ALIVE**!"

Ron croaked weakly, his words muffled by her hair. "Mffgg... Gin...
*geroff*..."

Lavender, having finally made it to his side clutched at Ginny's arm.

"He *won't* be for much longer if you continue to suffocate him!"

"**OH**! Oh, oh Ron I'm s..sorry!" Ginny wailed as she sat up, swiping at the
tears that had marked clean trails down her face, and leaving great muddy smudges where there had
once been just dirt.

However, as sounds of battle suddenly reintegrated themselves into their consciousness’, they
knew there was little time to celebrate.

Ron sat up weakly, and was about to try speaking when Harry finally sprinted up to them and
threw himself to his knees, his clothes ripped and bloody over wounds on his torso, face and hair
hopelessly filthy with dirt and blood, and his sword, coated with congealed blood, still in
hand.

"Ron, thank bloody *Merlin*!" he rasped, clearly out of breath from his last
battle. He hung his head as if to cover up his obvious emotion and grabbed onto his friend's
arm.

Ron thought to himself the only time he had seen Harry equally as pale was when Hermione had
gone missing last year.

"Are you alright, mate?" Harry continued, helping Ron sit up fully.

"I will be," Ron rasped out, clutching at his throat.

Harry nodded then, and immediately wasted no further time.

"Ginny, you and Lavender grab Ron, move into the trees and lay yourselves low..."

"NO!" Ginny protested immediately. "We're *just* as capable
as..."

"It's not about that!" Harry exclaimed abruptly, grabbing her arm. "Ron
*can't fight* any more. He'll need help getting out alive from the middle of this. You
two need to help him into the woods and hide yourselves with him until it's all over. Help
protect him in case anyone comes after you. Understand?"

Ron looked angry, ready to argue and fight with Harry even in the state he was in to within an
inch of his life, but Harry levelled him with a hard gaze.

Ron narrowed his eyes defiantly and shook his head. "I'm *NOT LEAVING*,
Harry."

"You're in no shape to fight any more Ron," Harry interjected strongly. "You
won't do anyone good chucking weak spells and getting yourself into worse shit..."

"It's *supposed* to be all *THREE* of us*, dammit*!" Ron screeched
angrily through damaged vocal chords as hard as he could. "You've got to stop
*ignoring* what Trelawny said!"

"I'm not ignoring it! But you're in no bloody shape to keep on fighting!"
Harry retorted through gritted teeth, ducking his head and narrowly missing the errant,
decapitating swipe of a blade as Kingsley Shacklebolt stomped past them fiercely battling a Death
Eater.

Ginny screamed, clutching onto Lavender for support, who was frantically patting the ground
around her for her wand.

Ron pounded a fist into the dirt and started to stand. "You *NEED* Hermione and I to
win. If you think I'm just going to crawl off into the trees and wait it out you're bloody
off your nut!"

"You know I'm right!" Harry pleaded, though for a moment, he lost focus on Ron as
he caught sight of his father, some twenty metres away, who had just blasted two centaurs off of
their hooves as they had been charging toward the small group on the ground.

Only yards away from their intended targets, the half-horses stumbled down onto their knees,
strong, thickly muscled legs not able to hold them up against the force of the blasting spell James
had wielded on them.

Dirt clods flew upwards from their hooves as the centaurs' whole bodies suddenly crumbled to
the ground and skidded almost twelve yards to come to a halt directly in front of Harry; great
clouds of dirt billowing upward where they had just slid to a rest.

Still kneeling beside Ron, Harry turned wide eyes upwards to meet his fathers own.

James pointed his wand at Harry for emphasis and, from the distance away that he was, shouted
out angrily.

"Don't waste bloody time talking, son! Watch yourself!"

He turned away instantly to help Sirius who was duelling at the wand with two Death Eaters.

By the time Harry turned his gaze back down onto where Ron and the rest had been, he realised
they had gone.

"*DAMN IT*!"

He jumped to his feet, his gaze sweeping the camp until he finally spotted one familiar head of
blazing, red hair.

Ron was near Hermione, helping her duel with Bellatrix Lestrange who's black, Death Eaters
hood had either come off during the fighting, or who had removed it herself.

Hermione had soon seen someone nearby who needed her healer skills and had sprinted off to help
them, leaving Ron duelling the horrible witch, and looking thoroughly satisfied with the
arrangement.

Harry could hardly blame him as she had been one of the one's responsible for Bill's
death, and in any case, there was no more time to stand about watching.

It was time to search out his real target, and upon catching glimpse of Voldemort from across
the encampment, he realised the dark wizard had been thinking along the same lines.

Voldemort had somehow separated himself from the rest of the battle, and stood tall and rigid
toward the back of the camp. His arms were down and to his sides, wand in one hand, bloody blade in
the other, and his unnatural, gleaming, ruby-red eyes planted fixedly on Harry.

The expression on his face was bone-chilling, even to Harry himself. It was odd how everything
and everyone round the dark lord moved about in a mass of frenzied madness while Voldemort himself
stood stock still; his chin in a downward tilt, evil face and blackened grin beckoning Harry
forward toward him.

Harry could almost hear it in his mind.

*Come forward, Potter*... *meet me*... *it is time*...

At once Harry's eyes shone brilliant green with fury. His whole being began to blaze a
powerful sapphire, wavering blue; the glow radiating off of him in heavy rolling waves.

He began to move across the camp toward the dark lord, somehow becoming unaware of the rest
battling near him. Those who might have been in his way moved out of it with one awed glance at him
anyway.

However, moment he drew more than halfway near his enemy, something completely unforeseen
happened.

An enormous, opaque blue forcefield suddenly **erupted** in front of him; a solid, slightly
humming wall of pure energy that seemed to reach as high as the trees in the dead forest.

Harry stopped short, his own surrounding, sapphire glow winking out with a loud snap; the
trance-like state of focussed hatred he had been walking in, gone.

*What the hell*?....

He reached out a tentative finger to touch the wall, and felt a sudden electric burning
*ZAP*. He jerked back, wincing and staring at his hand. It was when he looked up again, his
gaze coincidentally landing elsewhere that he began to realise how wide the shield reached.

Harry began to turn round, his eyes searching for an end to the magical wall. He turned a full
three hundred sixty degrees before he realised there *was* no end to it. It was a full
circle.

For a brief, infuriating moment he thought the shimmery blue wall only encompassed Voldemort;
that the dark lord had somehow conjured it as a cowardly way to protect himself from the fight.

But when his gaze landed on his enemy again, he realised Voldemort was staring with complete
detestation at the only other person inside the barrier, and looked just as surprised, and just as
infuriated as Harry, himself did.

The one hundred or so left fighting nearby had finally begun to realise what was happening, and
some began to stop and gape as well; the wounded as well as those who were still unhurt.

Dumbledore lowered his wand and walked slowly from where he had been standing to the side of his
and Voldemort's enclosure, standing on his side of the forcefield, and staring through the wall
at Harry with piercing blue, very serious eyes.

Harry goggled at him.

"I may not be successful at what I am about to attempt," Dumbledore said to Harry in a
low voice meant only for him. "I have heard the prophecies same as you have..."

"I know you have," Harry whispered quickly, frustrated. "Which is why I don't
understand what you think you're *doing*!"

"I must try," Dumbledore said again, his eyes full of a sad sort of wisdom.
"Prophecy or no, I must try."

"Why!? You know how it's supposed to end, *I'm* the one who has to kill him...
with Ron and Hermione helping, of course..."

"A minor detail, Harry, you've been doing your best to ignore," Dumbledore cut in
sternly. He sighed and gazed down at Harry again with the same unreadable look he had been giving
him as of late. The one that spoke of volumes of secrets, and the one that held a puzzling emotion
Harry still had not solved.

"Even if what I do serves only to buy you, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger time to regroup,
even if it is an act of complete foolishness I am determined to try ending the fight here,"
Dumbledore continued, "before it comes to you."

"*Why*!?" Harry pressed again, "I don't understand..."

Dumbledore favoured him with a small, wise smile. "I have lived a long, full life, Harry.
And yet, I have known for a very long time that my purpose, my last act on this earth was to be
much greater than myself... I feel I am near it..."

"Sacrificing yourself for *me*!? *What for*!?" Harry exclaimed aloud.

Again Dumbledore smiled tiredly and fingered his wand. "You have never really known your
own worth, or at least your worth to me... and that is not by your own fault... As with your
father, it was the way it had to be. I once told you if I were able I would take your place. I have
never said anything and meant it more completely than I did on that day."

Harry stared at him. "But you *won't win*! Even if you *do* buy us some time,
even if you *do* weaken him a bit you'll be sacrificing yourself for
*NOTHING*!"

"Oh, not for nothing," Dumbledore shook his head as he backed away from the
forcefield, wand out and to his side, feeling Voldemort's deadly gaze burning into his back.
Again he smiled sadly. "Never for nothing. There is one lesson I suspect you learned early on
in life Harry, and one over which I have spent many years making agonising decisions; some wise
and, unfortunately, some very foolish... There is *no* greater sacrifice... than that done for
*family*."

For a few moments Harry stared at him, completely thunderstruck. His whole body stiffened with
electric shock as he stared at Dumbledore backing away from him, turning his tall, thin, and yet
magically powerful frame away from the astonished gaze of his great-granddaughter’s, Lily’s, son...
and to the burning red gaze of yet another family member.

Voldemort gritted blackened teeth as he stared at Dumbledore, Salazar Slytherin's bloody
sword gripped in one skeletal white hand and his wand in the other, his ruby-red gaze even more
fiery and full of hatred than it had been when directed on Harry himself.

"You *have* made many mistakes throughout the years, haven't you Dumbledore?"
Voldemort hissed furiously.

"The first being to take one such as yourself under my wing..." said Dumbledore
regretfully as he held his wand aloft. "I should have looked beyond the ties of family... I
should have seen the truth as it stared at me the day I took you from the orphanage to live at
Hogwarts... I should have heeded the warning signs as you delved further and further into Salazar
Slytherin's teachings and ideals..."

Voldemort grinned nastily. "As I have stated before, you always *were* foolishly
preoccupied with loyalties to '*family*'. Nevertheless, you should not have tried to
stop my attempts at carrying on our ancestor's glorious work, or later, to end the bastarding
bloodline that should never have been."

"You forget **I** am part of that bloodline," said Dumbledore as he and Voldemort
began to circle one another.

Voldemort sneered, full of hatred. "I’ve forgot *nothing*."

Outside of the forcefield and staring in, Harry stood stock still, his thoughts and his eyes
completely focussed on Dumbledore... the last heir to Slytherin other than Voldemort and himself.
The thing seemed hard to believe and yet, somehow, missing pieces were beginning to form together
to make the notion somewhat plausible.

Harry had never really understood what had possessed Dumbledore so long ago to pick Tom Riddle,
of all wizarding orphans, to give free room, board and Hogwarts schooling. Now, it all made perfect
sense. Tom Riddle was a relative... and Dumbledore valued family above all else, apparently no
matter how distant the relation.

Harry supposed Voldemort *would* grow to hate one who tried to stop him from fulfilling his
own dream of a 'pure' world. And upon finding out Dumbledore was his blood relative, and
not only that, but a blood relative belonging to the side of the family that 'never should have
existed', Voldemort must have grown to loathe him even more. Furthermore, Dumbledore had aided
in hiding Harry from Voldemort after his parents' deaths, therefore keeping Voldemort from
killing the threat to his rule, and becoming the last remaining heir to Slytherin besides
Dumbledore himself.

Harry began to understand the animosity between the two for the first time, and on a deeper
level than what he had understood before to be the simple clashing of one wizard's ideals with
another. The enmity went way beyond what he had always imagined... and he, Harry, had been in the
middle of, and part of it his entire life... and *never known* it.

Beyond all of that, Harry thought with a sickening lurch of his stomach, once again he, Harry,
was faced with the fact that he had family left on this earth who had decided to give him over to
the Dursleys to raise.

Only when James put a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Ron spoke feverishly to him did Harry come
out from his state of shock.

"Mate," said Ron aloud, breathing hard. "I don't care what Dumbledore said to
you, there's still a war going on! Leave them!"

Harry stared through him for a moment, and then at his father, who continued to glance behind
him to make sure they weren't about to be assaulted.

"Are you alright?" James said quickly. "I've been trying to get your
attention; you've nearly been attacked several times..."

"Where's Hermione!?" Harry asked at once, snapping out of it and looking round Ron
and Lupin. "Where is she, I don't see her!"

"It's alright son, she's safe," said James quickly. "She's on the
other side of the encampment seeing after the wounded. She and Madame Pomfrey have been levitating
them all to one side to better care for them."

Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment and nodded, hefting his sword once again and following
his father and Ron back into battle. Now was not the time for having his mind elsewhere.

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

(Another A/N: Reviewing is good for the author’s soul! :0)




37. Chapter 37: All Day Permanent Red:  Part Three
--------------------------------------------------

**Chapter 37: All Day Permanent Red: Part 3**





*Tears, Idle Tears, by Lord Alfred Tennyson*



*“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,*

*Tears from the depth of some divine despair*

*Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,*

*In looking on the happy autumn-fields,*

*And thinking of the days that are no more.*



*Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,*

*That brings our friends up from the underworld,*

*Sad as the last which reddens over one*

*That sinks with all we love below the verge;*

*So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.*



*Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns*

*The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds*

*To dying ears, when unto dying eyes*

*The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;*

*So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.”*







On the inside of Dumbledore’s magical enclosure he and Voldemort moved in a menacing circle
around one another, both pairs of eyes glaring at the other, blood red on bright blue, watching for
some faltering movement; waiting for a weakness to present itself…



On the outside the battle raged on; an unrelenting, seemingly never-ending day of permanent
red.



“You have weakened over the years… I can feel it,” Voldemort growled, his wand pointing at
various parts of Dumbledore, apparently deciding which might be the most debilitating to attack.
“However, *I* have become much more powerful since we last met. You *will* die
today.”



Dumbledore regarded him with a hint of triumph. “Then I shall die knowing I have completed all I
have set out to do... Can you say the same?”



Immediately enraged, Voldemort let out a high-pitched, feral scream and stepped forward,
throwing his wand arm out and steadying himself for the powerful wave of magic he was about to let
loose.



“**EVASTO**!”



A thick beam of molten red light *zoomed* out of his wand straight toward Dumbledore who,
at the last possible moment, twisted, whipped his cloak around himself, and with a decidedly loud
*POP*, vanished. The curse struck one wall of blue barrier, reflected off it, and for a moment
the enclosure was brilliantly lit with a thousand shard-beams of broken red light.



Voldemort blinked away the blinding brightness, narrowed his eyes in aggravation and whirled
about too late to see the Headmaster behind him, ready to strike.



“**Vinculum**!”



Magical golden cords suddenly flew out from the end of Dumbledore’s wand and whizzed forward,
writhing in mid-air like live snakes until, upon impact with the dark lord, they whipped tightly
about his entire body.



However, Voldemort was only momentarily overcome.



He immediately began muttering something under his breath and, only moments later, his entire
body began to glow a bright fiery red. The golden ropes binding him began to smoke and finally to
burn away, the ash falling heavily to the ground like golden glittery, cord shaped piles about his
feet.



Again he raised his wand and screamed a powerful curse, only to have it deflected with a bit of
difficulty by Dumbledore to the ground. It blasted a pumpkin-sized, smoking hole in the earth.



Both raised their wands at the same time and began trading curses again, narrow misses
compounding with deft escapes, much to the horror of someone who was watching them duel, and trying
desperately to think of a way into the enclosure with every spare second he was allowed.





Harry’s sword crashed together and held with one the one across from him, wielded by whom he now
recognized (having seen him in the Daily Prophet) to be Augustus Rookwood.



Rookwood’s crooked teeth were bared in a ferocious snarl as he used his larger muscles to push
with all his might against Harry’s own sword, the two blades scraping and grinding together, and
mere inches from both of their faces.



Harry was on the point of complete exhaustion. Physically fit though he was, he had fought so
many battles this day that he was now almost completely relying on the rush of adrenaline to keep
him going.


His arms were shaking so hard from the exertion, he felt they might certainly give way at any
second. Sweat poured down his forehead and cheeks, the salty drops tickling his skin as they slid
down his face, and making superficial scratches on his face and neck burn. His clothes were
saturated with the same stuff mixed with blood seeping from the many cuts and stabs he had taken;
most shallow, but others bordering on the dangerously deep. His biceps felt as if they were on fire
from the strain of blade on blade as he tried to force his opponent back; the overused muscles in
his legs twitching spasmodically as he dug his feet in the dry earth and struggled to push himself
forward to cause the other to stumble.


And as suddenly as the battle between the two had begun, it ended. Just when Harry felt he would
not be able to hold up any longer, a sudden shout of the Petrificus curse nearby caused Rookwood to
seize up and fall backward to the ground stiff as a board, with eyes that were permanently
surprised.



Harry stumbled forward with the sudden lack of force to push against and looked up, lowering his
sword. Behind where Rookwood had just stood, he saw Ron lower his wand.



“Not as permanent as an Unforgivable, but it has it’s charms I reckon,” breathed Ron heavily as
he walked over.



Harry closed his eyes and leaned forward to brace himself on his knees, struggling to regain
some of the breath he had lost.



“Thanks mate,” he panted. “Damn near thought I'd lost that one.”



Ron nodded open-mouthed, keeping his eyes peeled for any enemy who might decide to target them,
while simultaneously looking Harry over.



“You look bad.”



“I feel worse,” said Harry, swiping at his brow. “Where’s Hermi…”



“She’s fine,” Ron answered at once, tonguing a split area on his lip. “She and Madame Pomfrey
are well out of it now, I think; they’re on the outside tending to all the wounded. Lav and Gin are
there too... Ginny’s gone spare, though. Can't seem to find Malfoy. Last time we saw him was
right after he killed Lucius. She keeps trying to move out to look for him but I've made her
sit with Mum and the rest of the wounded for safe keeping. She’s in no shape to fight anymore,
herself…”



But Harry had not heard anything past learning Hermione was safe. He had moved forward a couple
of steps, a bolt of fear blazing through his chest as his gaze once again settled on Dumbledore and
Voldemort.


Only seconds into watching the battle waging within the forcefield it had become apparent that
Dumbledore, the wizard Harry had always imagined incapable of failure, might actually be beginning
to weaken. True, Voldemort also seemed tired and a bit less on his mark than he had been before
but, Harry realized with a frown, Dumbledore looked a bit worse. He was still on his feet and
managing difficult spells, but the ones he was throwing seemed almost mediocre in strength. He
seemed constantly on the defense and rarely attacking, and to Harry, it was a spectacle he had
thought never to witness.


He’d known Dumbledore had grown very old but his age had never before seemed to undermine his
physical abilities or the magic or the possessed. Now, it almost seemed as if everything was
catching up with him. His impossibly lined face was set with determination, but oddly, Harry
thought he could see a bit of... quiet resignation?... in the expression as well.



**No**... *it couldn't be*...



Perhaps Dumbledore’s weakness was simply due to the fact he was having to concentrate much of
his magic on keeping up the barrier that was separating Harry from his enemy.



Or maybe, just *maybe*, Harry thought with a sudden, sickening lurch of his stomach... the
Headmaster had decided this was to be his last day on earth, and had made a peace with himself
about it.



Upon studying Dumbledore one last time, Harry came to the awful conclusion that was exactly what
he had done.



...*Son of a bitch...*



Muffling a furious roar, he reared back a fist and pounded it into the magical wall in front of
him, wishing himself inside, fiercely willing the glowing sapphire strength to give way...



And for one brief, incredible moment, Harry's fist sunk through the wall in front of him as
if it were made out of some sort of neon, gelatinous material. Instantly, tiny electric blue
lightning bolts began surging through the shield toward his hand as if the barrier itself
recognised an intruder and was attempting an attack.


He was so surprised at being able to move even an inch through the shield that it took a moment
for his brain to register the sudden flood of pain that ran all along his nervous system.



Quickly he yanked back his fist, the hand coming free with an odd sucking noise and held it up
in front of his face, noting with sudden clarity that there was no permanent damage done.



“Harry, have you heard a bloody word I've said?” said Ron frowning, oblivious to what had
just happened.



For a moment, Harry was unable to answer him. He stared past his own hand and back at Voldemort
and Dumbledore as they fought, their forms appearing blue-tinged and wavery through the shield.



Voldemort launched some sort of lightning-fast severing charm on Dumbledore, one which the
Headmaster was not able to fully defend himself against, and which ended up leaving a deep, curving
gash from one side of his chest up to the top of his clavicle. Dumbledore grasped at the wound and
immediately launched a counter-attack; one which hit it’s mark and blasted Voldemort backward a few
feet, but did little to slow him down.



It was then Harry began to realise almost stupidly that all the power, all the strength he and
everyone else had always known Dumbledore to have was purely because of his magic, and could never
cover the fact he had simply grown very old and frail in body. Perhaps it was his reflexes, and not
his magic that was beginning to wane, or maybe it was the fact he was having to use too much of his
energy in keeping the barrier up that separated Harry from his enemy. In any case, fact was he
seemed to be only *just* keeping himself in the game...


A dark, shrewd grin suddenly broke out on Voldemort’s face as he regained his footing. The
blackened, uneven teeth proved a sharp contrast to the snow white of his sunken skeletal face; his
blazing red, snake-like eyes now narrowed with a gross realisation...



A nauseating horror begin to swirl about in Harry's stomach.



Dumbledore was weakening with every passing moment- and Voldemort *knew* it.









“He’s bleeding!” Ron exclaimed, openly gaping at the Headmaster from behind Harry. “Don’t think
I’ve *ever* seen Dumbledore wounded…”



“I reckon no one’s ever got him weak enough to do it before,” said Harry quietly, not bothering
to turn and face Ron as he spoke.



An expression of hard resolve began to crawl over Harry's face. As he thought back to the
extraordinary thing he had been able to do only moments ago, it took him only a matter of seconds
to make his mind up.



*Merlin, let it weaken*... *let it let me through*... *Let me be strong
enough*...



Harry whispered aloud, unaware he had done so. “...Got to get in there...”



“And how’ll we go about doing *that*?” Ron snorted sceptically, gesturing at the
forcefield. “Damn shield's about two feet thick and holding strong. I don’t suppose it’s easy
for Dumbledore to keep this thing up and duel at the same time but somehow he’s doing it, isn’t
he?”



*I've got to do it*... *At least I know maybe **I** can break through*...



Harry tensed, instinctively knowing Ron's reaction, and prepared himself. “*We* aren’t
going to, Ron. *I* am.”



Ron frowned at his statement, but the impact of Harry's words and what he was planning to do
dawned on him too late.



*Let it break... Let it let me through... I **WILL** GET THROUGH...*



Harry mentally steeled himself against the pain headed his way, gripped his sword tightly, and
without a backwards glance at Ron suddenly launched himself forward, forcing his mind with an
iron-hard will to focus on what he wanted to do.



“*What the fu*…” Harry heard Ron begin angrily as he slammed into the barrier with his left
side and began to sink through, his face screwed up in concentration, and those same thin
water-blue lightning rods suddenly stinging at every part of his body.



All sight and sound of battle utterly disappeared for the few brief moments he moved himself
through the thick wall; inside his ears roaring with the odd sound of having been plunged
underwater. It was the strangest sensation he had ever felt. The small electric bolts jolted
painfully along his body with every push forward he made, agonising warning zaps rocketing through
his fingers, his toes, his eyes, his chest, his arms and legs; the sharp pain spasming along his
entire nervous system. It was like trying to push through some sort of wet, thickly-charged
protoplasm, though he had never before encountered anything like it with which to compare...



Finally, after what seemed like minutes, when in reality it had to have been only seconds, he
squelched through to the other side and crumpled to the ground, his body oddly dry although it had
felt drenched with the blue stuff, and still twitching with the odd pang shooting through his
nerves.



Thankfully, neither Voldemort nor Dumbledore seemed to have noticed him break through yet, and
continued blasting at each other.



In a few seconds Harry was able to stand on jelly-like legs, and he turned back round to see Ron
who was now furiously attempting the same thing he had just done. He was ramming and pounding
against the blue barrier which had somehow, unexpectedly, become solid once more.



“***Harry*!**” He screamed furiously, and to Harry's extreme displeasure, he saw
Hermione some ways behind Ron flying towards them, her expression one of complete horror.



“What the **bloody hell** have you **done**!?” Ron yelled furiously from behind the wall,
the exposed skin from his fist down to his elbow showing an angry red from the pounding he had
given it. He gave the wall another hard punch but it held solid, the muffled zapping sound from the
electrical charge on the other side apparent even to Harry, himself.



Behind Ron, Harry saw a huge, filthy troll suddenly bear down on him, rearing back with its
giant tree limb sized club to take a deadly swipe.



“**Ron, watch yourself!**”


Ron whipped about with wand instantly outstretched and screamed out a defensive curse so
powerful it sent the large creature rocketing backward into two Death Eaters behind him, crushing
them under his weight.



He whirled back round to Harry instantly and speared him with a hard, furious gaze.



“Listen *mate*, I can see it hasn’t dawned on you yet you *NEED Hermione and me*
to...”



“You’re needed out *there*,” said Harry forcefully. “Help Dad and Sirius mop up and keep an
eye on Hermione. It’s me that’s got to kill him, Ron…”



“And you need **US** backing you up to **DO** it!” Ron exclaimed furiously, his face
flushing red to the tips of his ears and both hands clenched tightly into fists. Harry could tell
Ron wished he was cursing *him* right about then.



“For the love of **bloody Godric** Harry, you’d better get it through your *thick* skull
*RIGHT NOW* we’re **NOT** letting you fight him alone!”



“I knew I could get through the shield, Ron!” Harry countered. “I've got to get to
Dumbledore, he doesn't have much time left and I won't waste it standing here arguing with
you!”



“*Damn right you won't*!” Ron yelled again, eyeing the large blue wall in front of him.
“You're going to use it to get us in there with you... *NO* *DON'T ARGUE,
DAMMIT*! You got in, Hermione and I can too! *Find* some way, just... just help me **get
it down**!”



Harry watched Hermione for a fraction of a second frantically wending her way between duels and
battles to get to them, her long, curly brown hair flying out behind her, her wand casting curses
and jinxes and blasting wizards and witches out of her way as she ran.



She was very close to reaching them, so Harry took the few moments before she got there to stab
Ron with a very serious look.



“Ron, I **don't want** Hermione in here. I couldn’t bear to lose *either* of
you…gods, if I can spare you two I will...” Ron immediately began to protest but Harry shouted out
above him. “*NO* dammit, **listen** to me...!”



“*No* Harry, you listen to **me**!” A flushed Hermione panted furiously as she stopped
short beside Ron, her hair a mess of tangled curls, and her clothes ripped, dirty and covered in
the blood of those she had been desperately trying to help. “Don't you *do* this to us,
you hear me!? Don't you even **dare**!”



Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment and opened them to look down into Hermione’s face. For
the first time he could remember, he wished she was not there.



“Love, I've got to go to him. I'm sorry... If something should happen, I wan... I
just... I *want* you to take care of each other. *Promise* me...”



“**No**, shut up... *shut*...*UP, Harry*! The way you feel about losing Ron and I
is the same *bloody* way we feel about losing **you**!” said Hermione, her large, thickly
lashed brown eyes brimming with furious tears. “You left me once to fight him alone. You
**won’t** be doing it again.”



Harry stared down at her, his jaw working and his eyes boring into hers, desperate for her to
understand. For one brief moment he raised a hand as if to stroke her cheek, only to drop it
moments later upon remembering almost stupidly that the wall was separating them.



He glanced at Ron and saw the same angry, fierce determination on his face as he fingered his
wand.



Knowing they might both hate him for it, he steeled himself and shook his head.



“I *won't* help you to die. **No**. I *won't* do it.”



He began to back away.



“Harry, **please**! If you made it in there I *know* you can find a way to let down that
barrier!” Hermione cried out desperately, fear zinging through her chest as she watched him through
the wall, his tall, blue, wavering image moving away from them. “We can't get in there but
somehow you *CAN*! We've got to help you fight him, you *know* we do...”



“No I *don't*!” Harry exclaimed, his face reddening. “**I'm** supposed to kill
him- not *you*, not *Ron*, **ME!** **That's** what I know! That's what
I'm going to **do**!”



Ron gritted his teeth in fury and began screaming at him. “*AND WHAT ABOUT THE PROPHECY*,
*HARRY*!? Are you just going to *FORGET* all Trelawney's said abou...”



“**FUCK THE PROPHECY**! *Fuck **ALL** of it*!” Harry bellowed wildly in return, all
of the frustration and fear that had been simmering just below the surface suddenly boiling over.
He swung his sword up parallel to his side and eyed them both. “For *once*, I'm going to
*protect* the people I love instead of being the reason they *die early*! For once,
**I'M** going to decide my *own* *bloody* *future*!”



“You don't think Ron and I have the same **rights**!?” Hermione shouted back, furious
tears streaming down her face. “And what about **OUR** future, Harry!? *Yours* and
*mine*... what about **that**!?”



Harry opened his mouth to retort but suddenly Ron and Hermione, both struck momentarily dumb and
looking past him, began to completely drain of colour.



His heart hammering at the looks on their faces, Harry suddenly whipped around.



Dumbledore and Voldemort had paused their battle and had turned about to discover finally that
Harry had joined them.



Voldemort began to grin.



Hermione screamed.



Dumbledore, dropping both of his arms to his sides, suddenly looked impossibly old and worn.







This was it.







Harry glanced back at Ron and Hermione with one last, longing look at both them- one that spoke
volumes of goodbyes. Then he turned his back on them, tuned out their cries, gripped the handle of
Godric Gryffindor's sword and began to approach the two tall wizards in front of him.



Dumbledore, who stood between Harry and his target, looked at once emotionally defeated.



“Ah, Harry... I *had* hoped you would not find a way through my shield.” He frowned, not in
disbelief or confusion about what Harry had done, but in sadness. “How I wish you had not.”



“I had to get in,” said Harry, his sword up and at eye level. “You knew I had to.”



A fresh surge of adrenaline mixed with powerful magic coursed through him, supplying him with a
much needed new strength. An electrical blue hum of energy wavered like a sapphire cloud about his
body as he stepped cautiously forward. He did not even look at Dumbledore but stared past him at
the ominously still form of Voldemort, who still bore that maddening grin plastered on his
face.



“I have failed, then.”



Harry heard the words almost as clearly as if Dumbledore had spoken them loud and clear, though
it had been a mere whisper.



Harry glanced at him and merely shook his head. “No. Nothing is done, yet.”



“Oh, it will be,” said Voldemort with a touch of something indecipherable in his voice.



Harry fixed him with a hard gaze. “Yes, it *will*.”



Dumbledore stood stock still eyeing Voldemort, the cogs in his mind turning with rapid clarity
and complete force of will. Whatever he had to sacrifice, he would... not only to help Harry, but
for the good of the entire wizarding world. One life did not matter when compared with the loss of
thousands later on should the dark lord win this battle and escape... Whatever had to be done would
be done...



No sooner had the thoughts formed in the Headmaster's mind than Voldemort put his promises
to the test.







Before Harry even realised what was happening, Voldemort thrust out his sword, struck it hard
with his wand, and magically sent it *rocketing* across the distance separating them.



When Harry thought back on it later, he remembered everything about those next brief moments in
such great detail that it seemed almost implausible that he had barely processed any fear or
thought of reaction, though he finally realised he hadn't even had time to think.



Somehow in the next couple of seconds his mind comprehended the blinding flash of sunlight as it
glinted off the flat sides of the heavy, travelling blade; the sharp, murderous tip as it came
hurtling toward his chest at an almost impossible speed; the silver handle glittering with emeralds
as it turned round and round in flight...


There was no time for speaking a counter-curse; there was barely time for a breath. The blade
was coming at him too fast to form coherent thought or even to move out of its path...



...And a deep, booming voice that had always commanded the utmost authority and fearful awe
suddenly bellowed out into the absolute silence of those few seconds.



“**NO**!”



Dumbledore then did the last most incredible, and most self-sacrificing thing he could ever, and
would ever do. In a final, emotional burst of incredible magical speed and complete lack of concern
for himself, he moved lightning fast to throw himself in front of Harry, cast his arms out wide
before Harry could stop him and took the blade full on.



Harry had time to blink only once before he watched the sword punch through Dumbledore's
lower chest to come out bloody through his back, had time to yell only once as the loud grunt the
Headmaster gave must have indicated the hilt had hit home and could move no further; had time to
take only one half-step forward as the Headmaster crumpled to the ground before he could even reach
him...



No sooner had Dumbledore's body fallen and lain still than Voldemort raised his wand and
summoned the sword back to him. Stunned and temporarily dazed, Harry watched the bloody blade pull
out of the Headmaster's body and soar back, hilt first, toward its owners outstretched
hand.



And part of Trelawny's prediction suddenly sped through Harry's thoughts with the speed
and intensity of a freight train.



“*Lest one whose worth is not yet known, should yield his life for his own*...”



Dumbledore had just given his life for Harry's... he had 'yielded' his life for
another who belonged to his family- one of his '*own*'.



Harry began shaking his head, his eyes filling with tears.



*Nonononononono*... *it's not right, he shouldn't have... he can't be dead...
not like this... not for me...*



Dumbledore stared up at him for a few seconds more with eyes full of unspoken things, before
blackness took him over.



Up above it all, the blue hue of the early summer sky, (though the temperature in the forest
continued to feel almost winter-like) began to morph into a light grey, the fluffy white clouds
beginning to swell and grow heavy. The cold, wispy breeze that had been a constant all morning
throughout the battle began to blow a bit harder; the gusting a bit ominous as it whistled
mournfully through the trees, picking up dead leaves and whirling them about in erratic
dances...



Although technically the sword had not hit its mark, (or had it?) Voldemort looked up toward the
sky and smiled even wider before he focussed again on Harry, who stood next to Dumbledore's
body.



“And then there were two, Potter.”



Harry needed only a moment to comprehend what he meant. There were only two heirs left to
Slytherin now; Voldemort and himself.





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





“**Professor Dumbledore! Oh my god, no...!**” Hermione screamed out upon seeing the
Headmaster fall, frantically slamming a hand against the shield before drawing it back again with a
hiss of pain. The change in the sky above instantly brought back to mind the dream she, Harry and
Ron had shared this summer. Though she knew Voldemort had only planted it in their minds as a way
to try unnerving them, it would appear he had been right about certain things that might happen
should the final battle begin going his way.



*Oh gods this can't be happening*... *Harry*...



“**Son of a BITCH**!” Ron roared aloud, punching the forcefield in frustration. “I can't
even make a bloody *dent* in this thing! Harry wades through as if it's some giant bloody
wall of *goo*, and I can't even poke a damn *finger* through!”



Hermione chewed anxiously on her knuckles; her face a picture of intense concentration as she
willed herself to come up with the answer.



*Think... **think**, Hermione! Surely you've seen some sort of counter-spell for
magical barriers in one of the hundreds of books you've read! Please, oh Godric **please**
let me think of something*...



“Pounding at it certainly *won't* be what breaks it,” said a quavery, ethereal voice
from behind Ron, and it startled him so completely that he whirled about mid-strike at the wall
with his wand aimed.



“It should have fallen wh..when Dumbledore did. He's obviously ensured it would hold up even
if he... if he did *not*.”



Professor Trelawny stood before Ron and Hermione looking completely dishevelled. Her outfit,
minus its usual drapes of shawls and many bangles and beads was mucky with dirt and wand ash;
bloodied holes in the fabric torn round where she must have sustained wounds; her thick-lensed
glasses askew and cracked where they sat on her nose. Somehow though, although she continued
shaking involuntarily at what she had just witnessed, she was able to maintain her sense of the
otherworldly.



Ron gritted his teeth and lowered his wand, making a disgusted noise. “We don't have
*time* for this...”



“You'll *make* time if you want to get through that wall,” she interrupted him harshly,
and her voice, for only the second time Ron could remember, suddenly lost it's mystic quality
and sounded natural.



Hermione seized the Professor's arm and looked square into her bespectacled, magnified eyes.
“If you know of a way to break through, *tell* us.”



Trelawny pursed her lips as she stared through to the fallen Headmaster, her body trembling
slightly. “Dumbledore's an exceptionally powerful wizard. I suspect there's some reason,
some extra power Potter has that enabled him to break through, but I assure you neither I nor
anyone else so far has been able to do it.”



Frowning at her words, Hermione focussed her attention further down at other areas of the
barrier and began to realise she and Ron weren't the only ones desperately trying to break the
spell.



Several Aurors and Ministry officials from Dumbledore's army dotted round the thing, taking
wand shots at it and muttering to themselves. Most noticeably, a haggard Sirius, Lupin/James, and
Hagrid were firing curses at it one right after the other, sometimes all together; blue, green, and
red jets of light flying from their wands at the wall, and bouncing back off it just as easily.



Sirius shouted frustrated obscenities as they stared in at Harry, Voldemort and Dumbledore;
frantic looks of fear on their faces. Hagrid pounded at the wall as if brute strength might somehow
be its undoing, paying no attention to the many painful electric stings he was receiving. For his
own part, and completely pale with worry, James looked ready to kill.



“Do you have a way to do it, or **not**!?” Ron shouted, focussing his attention back on
Trelawny. “Otherwise stop wasting our time...”



“It's going to take quite a large crowd,” she answered, moving forward to stare past Ron.
“It's a very powerful bit of magic... Anyway, Potter looks as if he's adding his own to it.
There's no one or two of us who will do it alone.”



Ron and Hermione instantly focussed on Harry and saw that somehow he had conjured the presence
of mind to raise a hand toward the barrier and use his own magic to further fortify it. Hermione
stared in at him and, as if he sensed her eyes on him, he deftly avoided her gaze and turned back
round to his enemy. Because she knew him so well, she knew even now the engulfing, all-consuming
grief he must be feeling upon having just watched yet another someone else he cared for so greatly
fall to his death. She knew now he must want more than ever to keep anyone else from getting in
there to help him, no matter *what* the consequence, and it was this last thought more than
anything that made her chest throb with fear.



“What'd you mean 'a large crowd' !?” she said very quickly, forcing her gaze away
from Harry and gripping her wand tight. “*Wait*... wait, you mean an *incantation*!?
Something everyone focuses on together, don't you? I don't remember reading about an
'incantation' to break powerful spells... why don't **I** know about it!?”



“I don't suppose you *would* no matter how often you've visited the library,”
Trelawny said with a distinct sniff. “It's not the sort of powerful spell-degrading type magic
Dumbledore would want his students trying to sabotage each other with, is it? Furthermore, the root
of 'incantation' can be found in divination, and those wizards unlike *myself* who are
*not gifted* with extrasensory powers have always perceived the art to be unreliab...”



“We only care if it *works*!” Ron interrupted angrily.



“Of *course* it works!” Trelawny answered with an indignant glare. “I've used
*many* an incantation to...”



Hermione cut her off. “But if we need the others to do it and they're still fighting...”



“My *dear* girl,” said the professor, waving her hand about and turning round to look
behind her. “Take a look past what's right in front of you. Our part of the war has almost
ended.”



Ron and Hermione focussed past Trelawny, their jaws dropping open at their own ignorance. They
had been so intent on what had been happening inside Dumbledore's barrier that the war still
waging on behind them had become a blurred second place. In a very few brief moments they managed
to take in a lifetime of horror and victory.



The entire clearing circling them was littered with broken bodies, most dead, though some others
were still crawling about and wounded. Moans and cries of pain still split the otherwise calm
morning. There were loads more bodies sprawled here and there and over one another than before,
covered in wounds and wand ash.


A group of around five Dementors were surrounded by what looked like some sort of wavering red
imprisonment shield. It looked to be the same type of imperturbable magic Dumbledore had conjured
to keep himself and Voldemort confined together.


Aurors and Order members, some wounded and some as yet still unscathed were dragging those they
had subdued to one side and making sure they were properly disarmed before leading them over to
what looked like a makeshift, temporary prison camp. Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a
number of Ministry officials had wands aimed at a large group of disarmed Death Eaters on the
ground who had been instructed to lie face down with arms stretched forward. Bane the Centaur,
surrounded with two others of his kind sat with his long, muscular horses legs folded under him and
large hands spread flat on the ground before him. The remaining goblins and one large troll were
also nearby, their bodies laid out flat and unmoving.


Those students and Professors from Hogwarts who had made it out alive were, for the most part,
slumped in various stages of exhausted stupefaction in a large circle near the edge of the
clearing. Each face seemed stricken with dazed horror, most eyes fixed on the battle going on
inside Dumbledore's shield, and at the fallen Headmaster.


Madame Pomfrey was tending to the wounded along with whoever else she had found to help her who
possessed even marginal healing skills. Hermione felt a brief pang of guilt for not helping as
well, but it passed upon glancing fearfully back at Harry and Voldemort. Her place now, she
reasoned with herself, was with Harry and Ron.



The ground was muddy with blood; bodies, severed limbs, and even, to Hermione's horror, a
troll's head lay amongst what she could see of the gruesome battlefield. However, it was clear
one side had won out over the other. And it had been *theirs*.



“We must gather everyone together quickly,” said Trelawny, snapping them back to the
present.



Hermione glanced breathlessly up at Ron and then back at the Professor. “Circle about the
shield?”



Trelawny nodded. “It'll take a great amount of combined magic for this one. We'll have
to work together. It's an ancient incantation...”



But Ron and Hermione had already taken off, headed toward the one large group of witches and
wizards who seemed to have nothing to do at the present moment: the combined inhabitants of
Hogwarts.







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





Up above the sky continued darkening, slowly changing from a light grey to a dark ashy colour;
the sun now almost completely shadowed over with dark, black-lined clouds. The wind changed too, no
longer the gusty breeze that danced the leaves, but now a half-hearted gale that promised an
approaching storm...



Harry stared down at Dumbledore's still form, and watched as darkness finally ate the last
bit of sun-lit ground, leaving the whole forest in an early twilight-like state. He turned his
downward tilted gaze just slightly from the Headmaster to glance back up again at the dark
lord.

However, instead of the fear and numb despair Voldemort might have expected, Harry's eyes
began to glow and crackle bright electric green with a hard **rage**. The cold wind whipped his
black Gryffindor's robes about his legs; his hair, already untidy, now tousled about his head,
making him look even more wild. The hand wrapped about the hilt of Godric Gryffindor's sword
gripped it so tight his fingers turned white. The sapphire cloud that had disappeared upon watching
the Headmaster take what had been meant for him suddenly snapped to life with intensity, the power
radiating off of him in such dense, heavy waves that Voldemort himself, some distance back, could
feel the heat brush against his face.



Harry began to stalk toward him.



Voldemort threw out his wand.



“*Debilito*!”



The curse barely missed him and hurtled toward one part of the magical barrier. The red energy
slammed into the blue wall and instantly splintered wide all along it into what looked like a
massive purple-glowing cobweb.



Unfazed, Harry continued forward at a faster pace.



“*Difflare*!”



Again the magic passed him by as if it had been nothing more than another gust of wind and
blasted a hole into the ground behind him.



“*Acrimordeo*!”



Another miss. Voldemort stiffened and screamed aloud with rage.



“*CRUCIO*!”



Dodging it by mere inches, Harry began running toward him and, with a hoarse, anguished scream,
reared back, swung his sword upward and brought it back down on Voldemort's own with a hard,
resounding **CRASH**, his whole being intent on causing as much bloodshed and physical pain as
possible.



Voldemort shoved backward with all his might and managed to push Harry back just enough to begin
meeting him blow for punishing blow.



Pain radiated from Harry's arms downward as he reacted to every lunge and parry with
maddening speed, his body jarred and aching with the vibrations the blades made each time they met;
the clanging sound of metal on metal ringing in his ears. He ducked a swipe to his head and
simultaneously tried an upper sweeping cut to Voldemort's torso, missing by centimetres as the
dark lord jumped backward. An instant later, he began fighting off a furious rapid succession of
retaliating slices and cuts. Voldemort stabbed at him again and he managed to miss it with a
violent twist of his body, kicking out simultaneously and catching him in the abdomen. Voldemort
doubled over, and Harry was given a momentary breather. He began to realise his reflexes were
growing sluggish and his energy, rapidly evaporating. His chest rose and fell heavily as he gasped
for air, his clothes sweat-soaked and sticky with blood that had begun oozing again from barely
healed stabs.


For a moment, and unable to help himself, he let his eyes travel to the old wizard who lay
bleeding and impaled on the ground some few yards from them. The sword had not gone through his
heart but had punctured the other side of his chest, so there was the very faint possibility he was
still alive, though Harry almost dared not hope. If he *were* still alive he was now bleeding
to death on the forest floor with no one to help him. However, Harry knew he dared not try to lower
the shield. He couldn't risk Voldemort's escape or those he might try to harm if he got
out. The duel really was down now to only the two of them...



Suddenly Voldemort came at him again with a mix of hard slashes and swings and finally, managed
to shove Harry backward far enough that he was able to raise his wand in a wide slashing
motion.



“*Abscindo*!”



“*Shit*! *Dammit*...”



Harry swiped the back of his hand against his stinging cheek and brought it back down, absently
noting a bright red smear of blood and immediately angry with himself for losing focus. The
powerful decapitating curse had narrowly missed doing its job, and had brushed by him so closely it
left a stinging cut lashed across his cheek.


Instantly he forced all distracting thoughts from his mind and moved his emotions into check. He
lowered his sword and raised his other hand.



“*Aspello*!”



Voldemort threw out his wand, apparently intent on deflecting the curse but had not banked on
the amount of angry power thrown behind it. The driving spell hit him full on, blasting him
backward off his feet, tearing the sword and wand from his hands, and slamming his entire body into
the shield some five yards behind him. Instantly the forcefield began to zap him with painful
energy bolts, the crackling sizzling energy loud and echoing as it sounded throughout the
barrier.



However, Harry was almost unprepared for how quickly Voldemort recovered. He had run closer, and
was barely a few feet from him when Voldemort wrenched himself away from the wall, his blackened
teeth bared in a feral snarl as his chest heaved in and out, and his red eyes narrowed to
slits.



Harry stopped short.



“*Come* now, Potter... Is that really the best you can do?” Voldemort taunted furiously as
he summoned his wand. Harry raised his hand to counter the summons but was not fast enough. It
soared so quickly into the dark lord's outstretched hand that it appeared blurred
mid-flight.



Voldemort smiled as he fingered the wooden stick. “As you can see, you'll have to try harder
than that.”



Harry threw up his hand. “*Effundomolior*!”



“*Recidivus*!”



Voldemort caught the whole of the curse with his wand and hurled it back at Harry who was almost
unprepared for the quick return. At the last moment he swung his sword up to deflect it, the red
energy slamming into the sword full force with a loud reverberating *PING* and throwing him
backward to the ground; the blade pushing toward his face and vibrating so hard that, as Harry
gripped it as tightly as he could, it was all he could do to hang on to it.



In the moments it took for the painful jolting of magic to stop flaring along his system, his
sword having acted almost as a conductor for the lightning-like red energy, Voldemort bore down on
him.



Harry, exhausted and in pain, had made it almost to his knees as the tall black-robed form swung
his own sword up and over his head and back downward, the blade slicing through the air with a
sharp whistle.



Salazar Slytherin's blade *crashed* down hard on Godric Gryffindor's, the resultant
force behind it bringing Harry's own quivering sword centimetres from his nose. His biceps,
which had been aching before, now positively screamed in pain as he forced his sword upward with
all his might under the crushing weight, his mind boggling at the strength dark magic gave the
skeletal man above him. Harry knew he dared not try lifting one hand from the hilt of his sword to
try cursing; moment he did, he knew he would be cut in two.



Voldemort gripped tightly about the hilt of his sword and pressed down on the blade, his foul
breath puffing closely to Harry's face; his eyes wide and glowing with what looked like hellish
red flames...



“You feel it, don't you Harry?” he wheezed happily. “My powers are returning to me... With
each step toward victory I take the stronger and stronger they become...”



Voldemort chanced a quick glance upward without letting up on his sword's pressure and then
looked back down into his enemy's face.



Shaking from exertion, Harry looked up as well and felt his stomach flip over as he saw the dark
clouds above him mixing with one another, much as if they were being stirred by a giant, invisible
spoon. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down his face to drip off his chin as his eyes swept
the horizon. Here and there, large flashes of unearthly red lightning punctured the very beginnings
of the forming tornado.



*Gods, so tired*... *It would be so easy just to let go*...



*Dad, Sirius, Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione... My family.*



*Hold on... I've got to hold on...*



He pushed even harder against the sword Voldemort was holding, the blades grinding and scraping
against one another with jarring metallic sounds. Every fibre of his being was painfully aware that
if he lost this battle with Voldemort the dark lord would go on to kill Ron and Hermione, and
after, have ultimately have gained enough power that it would be near impossible to stop him again
no matter how many Aurors and ministry officials waited outside the barrier.



Voldemort gave another glance upward.



“The vortex has begun to form...” he continued as he strained against Harry's blade. “It is
the way I thought it would be... I'm so close... Too bad you've ensured the other two
cannot come to your aid; in doing so you've given me the upper hand. It was a foolish thing to
do, was it not?”



Harry shook his head against Voldemort's words, dirt from the ground mixing with sweat in
his hair.



*No, it wasn't foolish. I love them.*



He would not give in to the *bastard*... he would *NOT*...



“You have always been foolish, haven't you Potter? Foolish in life and with those you claim
to *love,*” Voldemort continued, sneering hatefully at the word. “It was you who made yourself
known to them; who let them close to you in the first place, knowing the end result. And what have
you promised them in return... an early grave? How very gracious of you.”



Harry muffled an anguished sound and shoved upward even harder, fear powering limbs that might
have long ago given up.


Voldemort put the whole of his body weight behind his blade, practically laying on the
sword.



“In a few moments it will not matter which side has won. When I have killed you, the Weasel and
your mudblood whore will surely try to avenge you. When you, and finally they are disposed of,
every bit of the magic I lost sixteen years ago will be returned. This small, pitiful victory will
be *meaningless* in the face of what I will bring...”





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



The dark grey sky above continued to churn restlessly in a large swirl of sinister looking
clouds; loud, resounding *CRACKS* and growling thunder following each stab of ruby red
lightning that punctured its dark shroud. The wind was a mad gale, whistling hard through the dead
limbs above, bowing and breaking dried out shrubs, and whipping tent flaps, robes, hair and every
other thing about in a mad frenzy. The top of a large funnel was now swirling inward and down to
form a long, thin body, the curvy, cylindrical shape slowly dancing downward to meet the
ground...



“Hurry!” Hermione screamed aloud, urging the rest of Hogwarts on as they sprinted behind her
toward the large blue barrier.


She could see Harry on the ground underneath Voldemort's sword, his wavery blue image
pushing upward with all of his might against the blade bent on cutting him in two. A whine of panic
rang in her head and, with an almost Herculean effort, she pushed it away.


Trelawny and Ron were directly behind her, and upon reaching the shield all three began shoving
students and teachers alike toward the edges of the magical wall, forcing them to circle round
it.



“Sybil, what in *Godric's name* do you plan to...” began a breathless Professor
McGonnagol beside Trelawny.



“Just you leave it to me,” Trelawny replied tartly. “I know you've never quite believed in
Divination or any art associated with it, Minerva, but just this once I'm asking you to trust
me...”



Beside McGonnagol, James raised his voice.



“Putting all differences aside Sybil; whatever you can do to drop this shield, *DO it*. My
son won't last much longer under that.”



Trelawny gave him a curt nod and eyed the circle of wizards and witches who now completely
surrounded the large shield.



“**WANDS OUT**!” she bellowed above the sound of the cold gusting wind.









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





Inside the barrier, the thin dancing vortex began lowering itself to hover just yards above
Voldemort, the sound of it now screaming loud like an approaching train.



Harry looked far up into the eye of the tornado above him and for a moment, watched the
debris-filled cylinder as it undulated above them; fat red bolts of lightning piercing it within
and without.


He summoned the last bit of his strength he had and punched one of his knees hard into one of
the dark lord's kidneys.



With a startled grunt Voldemort fell onto his side and Harry rolled over and away from him, his
mouth open and gasping for breath and his chest heaving. Slowly, he pulled himself to his hands and
knees and crawled as far away from his enemy as he could.



In a few moments Voldemort, though out of breath himself, was back on his feet. He tossed his
sword to the ground in favour of his wand, and whipped about.



Harry tried to get to his feet but his strength had finally given out. With a small grunt he
dropped back to his knees on the ground. One hand held him upright, his fingernails digging into
the dirt. The other he managed to thrust out in front of his face, readying himself.



Voldemort smirked and yelled above the roaring wind. “**Enough**! It is time... *PESTIS
CONLABOUR*!”



Harry screamed out with all his might. “*RETROACTUM*!”



The two curses met mid-air, blue magic on red forming a great, arced, purple-gold strand of
energy in the middle.



Both Voldemort and Harry grimaced but held on with all of their might; Voldemort gripping his
vibrating wand tightly, and Harry, still on his knees, now supporting one arm with the other.



Tiny orbs of glowing golden light appeared on the beam, travelling very slowly toward
Voldemort.



The dark lord concentrated, mentally focussing on the beads. They changed direction, crawling at
a snail's pace toward Harry's outstretched hand.



They had been in this situation before.





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





Around fifty or so wands pointed at the wavering blue energy in front of them.



“We must say it together!” Trelawny yelled above the din, only momentarily distracted by the
awesome image of Potter and the dark lord bound together by the meeting of their magics, and on the
whirling tornado above it all. “Repeat after me!”



James Potter and Sirius Black, a bit down the line nodded briefly to her, their eyes fixed on
Harry and Voldemort.



“*EVANESCO IS MAGUS*! *LICET QUIDEM EXCINDO*!” (Vanish (disappear) this magic. Allow
the thing to be utterly destroyed.)



It took a few moments for the words to reach all the way round the circle.



When all were finally saying it together, magic began to pour forth; a complete circle of
different blinding colours all bursting forth from each wand and pounding at the blue shield.



In moments, an extraordinary thing began to happen.



The shield began wavering almost as if it were on some unstable ground, its walls rippling and
bloating with magic to almost double their size. A kaleidoscope of colour now pulsated within it-
greens, purples, reds, yellows, blues and every other known colour- the brightness almost blinding
in its intensity. Just when it seemed the shield would not be able to hold up any more, its
undulating walls suddenly *BURST* outward in a brilliant display of power and light, as if
they had been filled to the brim with magic and could not hold any more.

Hands flew over faces and eyes to protect them, but no one was harmed. The wall had quite
suddenly disintegrated into nothingness, leaving Harry and Voldemort within nothing but a circle of
bodies; the hair and robes of all still tousling wildly in the harsh, screaming wind.



Neither one was able to do anything about what had just happened round them and continued to
focus the golden beads pulsating along the beam back toward the other...





Madame Pomfrey rushed forward first, throwing herself down on the ground beside Dumbledore, her
wand out instantly and waving over his still form. In moments she had levitated him back toward the
circling crowd.



Hermione, Ron, Sirius and James immediately dashed toward Harry, all others stumbling back a bit
from the sight of Voldemort and the thin tornado dancing above him, as if sure the dark lord might
suddenly disengage from Harry and turn on them.



“*STAY BACK*!” Harry bellowed through gritted teeth above the din of the tornado, as he
eyed the four charging toward him from the corner of his eye, his entire body shaking with effort.
They stopped at once.



“*Please!*... Don't know what might *happen*!...”



Voldemort focussed even harder during Harry's distraction, the black robes engulfing him
whipping violently about his thin frame; the white, snake-like face screwed up in concentration and
his stance, hard and unyielding.



The golden beads of light passed over the high arc of the beam and began moving perilously down
the line towards Harry.



“*NO*...”



Harry pushed harder, sweat popping out on his forehead, his breathing harsh and laboured. His
thighs and knees hurt badly from the effort of keeping him upright; he felt as if they might give
out at any moment. His arms and torso shook so badly he felt as if someone were pounding on
him.


The golden beads slowed significantly but still crept toward him, despite his best effort to
push them away...



And finally, having successfully begun pushing them back toward the dark lord, Voldemort's
face suddenly broke out in a black grin.



He raised the hand that was not holding his wand toward the tornado above him, fingers claw-like
and outstretched.



A thin, red bolt of lightning struck out from the eye of the tornado and connected with his arm.
The light engulfed his hand, travelled down his arm, and swallowed his body in a strange glowing
ruby light.



The beads on the beam of purple-gold light passed back over the high arc and moved faster than
they had ever done toward Harry.



“He's drawing *power* from that thing!” a horrified Sirius bellowed, making a move as
if to run forward. “He's going to lose, James... Got to help him...”



James grabbed his arm. “*No*!”



“What the *bloody hell* do you mean, '**no**'!?” yelled Sirius. “It's your
son's **life** on the line here...”



“Not us,” yelled James above the noise, his voice shaking with the effort of keeping calm. He
pointed to Ron and Hermione who were already moving quickly toward Harry. “Them. They've got to
help him, Sirius. They're three parts of a whole. I can feel it. It's got to be
*them*.”





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





Ron and Hermione rushed forward, mindless of the powerful wind that tore at their bodies and
kept trying to forcefully blow them back.



Once they had come on either side of Harry they both raised their wands and screamed out the
same deflection curse Harry had. A great bolt of green shot from Ron's wand, joining with
Hermione's purple, and joined the blue coming from Harry's hand, the colours twisting
together in the air much as they had done that night a few months prior in Harry and Hermione's
common room. The purple-golden beam between Harry and Voldemort suddenly swelled to triple its
size, the beads on it now growing to the size of oranges and still trying to bob toward Harry,
although much much slower than before.



Screaming aloud with fury, Voldemort tried drawing even more energy from the vortex above him.
The red lightning still attached to his hand thickened in power.



Hermione finally realised Harry had been yelling at them the whole time, chanting aloud.



“*Be careful, be careful, be careful*...”



“It's alright, mate!” Ron screamed. “We're alright...”



“I'm sorry,” Harry panted aloud, pushing hard against the large golden orbs so close to his
hand. “I'm so sorry, you were right... You were both right, I just didn't wan... I just
*couldn't let*...”



“It's alright,” Hermione said close to his ear, sweat now beading on her forehead as well.
“Just hang on, Harry...”



Harry managed a nod.







It seemed like hours passed before it finally happened, though in reality, it was only
minutes.



Out of instinct, Hermione and Ron moved close enough to Harry that their magics twined even more
tightly with his, their arms finally getting close enough to his outstretched one that all three
touched.



A hard electric zap of magic burst through all three. Their hair stood on end. Their bodies
trembled. None could let go if they wanted to. Something had surrounded and combined their magics,
their very beings; twisting them, for a moment, almost into one wizard. They felt giant-like in
size, strength and ability. An aura of opaque, pure gold energy surrounded and weaved between them,
wavering and billowing much like the sapphire blue had powered off of Harry not long ago, though
much, much stronger.


The large golden orbs that had been inches from Harry's hand began moving steadily, smoothly
back toward Voldemort. They did not bob or jerk as they travelled, but moved solidly, deliberately,
as if it were the only way they could move.



Voldemort screamed aloud, a deep, horrific, furious scream; one that came over even the sounds
of the vortex above him, and one so unearthly and monstrous that Harry felt he might never forget
its sound.



Those standing, sitting or lying on the forest floor trembled, their eyes wide and unbelieving.
The circle of Hogwarts that had moved back from them, moved back even further, utter fascination
and complete terror lining each face.



The orbs had passed over the high arc, still moving steadily toward Voldemort's outstretched
wand.



“**NOOOOOO**!”



He drew even harder from the tornado above him, pushed with all his might against the pulsating
things inches from the tip of his wand... and failed.



The orbs absorbed into the tip, as if the wood itself were swallowing them. One... two...
three...



Four great circles of gold were forced back at, and into him.



What happened next all seemed to happen in a methodical order, as if the universe had planned it
out.



Voldemort screamed again, this time as if he were in pain.



The great golden-purple cord connecting him with Harry, Ron and Hermione **cracked** out of
existence; the three crumpling to the ground from exhaustion.



The red magic pulsing around the dark lord expanded, and then disappeared from existence with a
loud SNAP.



The ruby lightning that had attached to his hand drew itself back up into the vortex, which now
seemed to swirl a bit slower and appear a bit clearer, if that were possible.



Voldemort dropped to his knees, his wand falling useless from his fingers, rendered powerless,
now nothing more than a slim, wooden stick.



The tornado above Voldemort pulled itself upward, its thin body shortening and thickening where
it moved back toward the dark clouds. It met the horizon and turned into a great dark grey swirl
which continued to lighten in colour until finally, it was nothing more than a white-blue swirl of
regular clouds. The stirring slowed and slowed until finally, there was no movement above but the
lazy drifting of clouds.



The cold, gale of wind in the dead forest suddenly morphed into a light warm summer breeze,
instantly warming those within it.



The sun burst forward from the clouds, its beams splintering through the dead branches above and
resting in patches on the ground.







All was completely silent.







Harry stood shakily, catching Hermione's hand and giving it a comforting squeeze when she
grabbed for him.



On his knees, Voldemort looked up at Harry some five metres in front of him. The wizard once
known as the dark lord was now only a grotesquely deformed man, devoid of any magic, no more
powerful than the common Muggle.



Harry began to walk toward him.



From the crowd standing round them, James suddenly ran forward and grabbed Harry's arm with
cold fingers, his face dirty with dried blood and streaked suspiciously with what looked like
tears.



“Son... you don't have to do it. It's over for you. You've defeated him. Let someone
else do it.”



Harry shook his head. “It's got to be me.”



“Why?” James asked, staring at him.



Harry turned his head to look at Voldemort, still glaring defiantly at him, despite the fact he
had lost and then turned back to his father.



“I've got to finish it.”



James eyed him for a few moments more before letting him go.



Harry approached Voldemort and finally, stood over him.



Voldemort glared up at him hatefully, with just a hint of some unknown triumph in his eyes.



“Go ahead then, Potter. Kill me. I know you want to. See if you're strong enough to use an
Unforgivable.”



Harry stared down at him. So that was it. If Voldemort could not win, he would probably love for
the last thing he saw on the earth to be Harry using the dark arts he hated so much.



“You would think so, wouldn't you?”



Giving a small jerk of his head, Voldemort narrowed his eyes and sneered at Harry.



“You would let me live!?” He wheezed out in his high-pitched voice. “*Saviour* of the
wizarding world... You're nothing more than a weak little bastard, Potter, just like Albus
Dumbledore was. Weak, simpering little fool...”



Harry let him talk, and moved two metres to his left, dragging something up off the ground. When
he had it, he moved back over to Voldemort and held it aloft.



“Recognise this?” he said, echoing the very words Voldemort had used in his cabin when showing
Harry Salazar Slytherin's sword for the first time



Voldemort stared at him, his face blank of emotion, and said nothing.



Harry drew in a deep breath, drew the sword back behind him, and swung it outward as hard as he
could in a hard, whistling, downward sloping arc.



Voldemort was killed in an instant, his head neatly separated from his neck and thudding to the
ground.



Harry did not waste time staring at what he had done. He dropped the sword to the ground,
stumbled back to Hermione and Ron, and threw himself on his knees beside them, drawing them both
into an embrace.



He opened his eyes mid-hug for one moment, seeing a large crowd begin to move toward them, his
father and Sirius at the forefront. His eyes met the ground. The last thing he saw before passing
out from exhaustion, was a small sprig of tender green grass poking its head out from the dry
forest floor.





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



*A/N: WHEW! No, this is not the end. I would not leave the story at the end of the
battle.*

*I hope I didn't go overboard on the symbolism thing, but I so LOVE symbolism, as in Harry
using Slytherin's sword to end it all, among others. I thought it was fitting. (Did you all
catch the circle of Hogwarts around the barrier? Remember Trelawny's predictions... ;0)*

*Don't go to hard on me for my Latin, you language buffs out there. I used an on-line
Latin site, and I'm sure it's not 100% accurate. I hope you enjoyed the end of the war,
(FINALLY) I can hear the lot of you saying. Please, please just leave me a few words to let me know
what you thought. I thrive on them! It only takes a few moments, and I've worked really hard.
Thanks! I love you all!*



38. Chapter 38: O Captain, My Captain
-------------------------------------





*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.





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





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!




39. Chapter 39: What Once Was
-----------------------------




*Chapter 39: What Once Was*







“*A Clear Midnight”, by Walt Whitman.*



*...This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,*

*Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson*

*done,*

*Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the*

*themes thou lovest best,*

*Night, sleep, death and the stars.*







It was two days until the set date for Dumbledore's funeral, which was to be held at
Waterford cemetery, the very same cemetery in which former Minister Fudge had been buried. James
finally decided that if he was going to try out the incantation, whatever it was for, he had better
do it before it was time for the funeral, Harry’s exams, and finally, leaving Hogwarts. At first he
had been adamant about making the trip to Lupin and Lily’s graves alone, but Harry had insisted he
wanted to go along, having never before been to visit his where his mother was buried and needing
somehow to do so. Finally, after much discussion, James had relented, leaving Harry slightly
confused about why he had wanted so much to make the trip alone in the first place. In the end,
Harry asked both Ron and Hermione if they wanted to come along as well, and after a lot of
discussion in which Hermione initially felt Harry and James should go alone, they both decided to
come.



The trip was taken by auto- an old, metallic brown Allegra Vanden Plas rented for the day from
'*Magicars*', a business in Hogsmeade where old cars left in Muggle junkyards had been
rescued, magically repaired and kept for loaning out to wizards in need of mundane, non-suspicious
transport.


James drove them from the edge of Hogsmeade and on through a couple of small towns running
through the Scottish countryside; down long, narrow paved roads, and eventually, along winding
roads that, for a time, ran round the jade green outskirts of the Forbidden Forest before heading
toward the mountains.


They took a bend that passed them round the back of a part of the forest which looked to be full
of large, sparsely-covered trees covered in new, light green growth. At once Harry knew he was
staring at the back edge of the Forest of Kavan, magically growing double-time to make up for the
years it had stood barren. He and Hermione smiled from the back seat, Ron in front with James, as
they watched a couple of rabbits hop nervously back into the trees when they drove by. Even the
animals were starting to return.



Harry sighed contentedly as he let down the window next to him for a touch of cool breeze.
Hermione was plastered to him in the small back seat, her body planted firmly between his thighs
and her head resting snugly under his chin. Her arse was pressing into that part of him he would
rather keep calm at the moment; small wiggles and shifts to get comfortable from her exciting him
to the point of embarrassment. And she knew what she was doing. To make matters worse, the wind
kept blowing her bushy hair into his eyes and mouth, and each time he made to blink it away or spit
a piece of it out of his mouth, her body shook against him with suppressed laughter. She made no
attempt to move away and relieve him from her hair or her nicely shaped arse. Inbetween digging his
fingers into her ribs as retribution and making her squirm, Harry decided that this was the most
deliciously uncomfortable way to travel. Now that he could hold her close without the fear of what
might happen next pounding at the back of his brain, he decided he would be taking every advantage
to do so. Oh and how he had plans for later... It had been too long since he and Hermione had spent
time together alone, truly happy and carefree without thoughts of dread piercing through every
stolen moment. He planned on making the most of the couple of days they had left before exams and
end of school.



Now though, as they drove along, Harry sobered; thinking to himself how stupid he was that he
had never thought to ask where his mother and Remus Lupin were buried. Was he really that
self-centred? Did he not care as much about them as he thought he did? As many times as he had
thought of them throughout the years, especially when he had thought it was both his mother and
father who had died, why had he had never asked to be taken to their graves?



The road continued to bend until it came to a straight line, where Harry could see up ahead in
the distance, in the valley and at the foot of the nearest mountain, stood another village. The
small shops and houses were all wooden and shaped as if they were taken straight from some old
nineteenth century photo, but something about the derelict, unkempt way they stood, rickety and
unused for some time made the place feel a bit off, as if it had been abandoned in a hurry one day
and never returned to. He had turned to speak to Hermione in the instant they finally passed into
the town, and both missed the small wooden sign that marked where they were until it had been
passed by, too late to read. In the front seat, however, James had noted the name of the deserted
place with a depressed, unhappy flop of his heart. They were passing through what was once a
thriving little town, known as *Godric’s Hollow*.


As the car puttered along through the abandoned town, Harry shifted Hermione sideways on his lap
and, in whispers, discussed with her his fears about the reasons he had never visited his parents
graves; Ron, with his seat adjusted back, snoring open-mouthed from the front as he had been for
some time. She reasoned with him that he had been quite busy with other more pressing things to
really think on it, and that maybe he had sub-consciously not been ready to face it. Harry nodded,
sighing out a breath he had not known he was holding. He could only hope what she had said was the
reason. Ever since he had seen his parents looking back at him from the Mirror of Erised so long
ago, it had been his fondest pretend to imagine they were alive on some plane of reality and
thinking about him, and he reckoned seeing their graves *would* splash a cold bit of truth on
those thoughts. Still, he felt now he was ready. He had no choice in the matter at any rate. From
the front, James had just announced in a rather small voice that they would be arriving at their
destination soon.



Harry only then began to realise they had already passed through the main part of the tiny town,
and were now travelling steadily up and round the mountain the town had rested near the bottom of.
He was sure this mountain was the jagged purple one he had always seen from the castle, rising so
starkly above the rest in the distance behind the Forbidden Forest. To think his mother and Remus
Lupin's graves had always stood on this large rock, so close to where he went to school each
year, made an odd shudder travel down his spine. It was not an eerie feeling, but more the sort one
got when something significant had been forgotten, and Harry had the feeling it was a something his
mind had deliberately not wanted him to remember. He grabbed Hermione's hand and instantly she
held it tight, squeezing it comfortingly and gazing steadily on him.



“It's alright Harry,” she whispered into his ear. “You're not alone.”



A few minutes later James steered the car off of the main road they had been winding up and onto
an off-shooting dirt road that seemed to run straight on and down from the mid-backside of the
mountain. For a long while, the only thing obscuring Harry's vision of other mountains looming
ahead was clouds of dirt billowing upward from the car and large quantities of ram-rod straight
green mountain pines. However, as the road they had been travelling took a short bend, the view in
front of him began to become sparser and sparser with trees until it expanded into a sunny,
rolling, jewel-green valley; one covered in boulders and pastel-coloured mountain flowers which
swayed as one in a gentle breeze.



Harry stiffened.



On his lap, Hermione gripped the car door and stared out the window, beaming, a warm breeze
blowing her hair back from her face.



“Oh, Harry look; oh... it's so *beautiful*!”



In the front, James said nothing; his fingers as they gripped the steering wheel turning white
at the knuckles.



Harry stayed mute as well, a lump swelling in his throat at the sight before him and a wave of
strange nostalgia sweeping him over...



As the valley swept along beside the car, long buried flashes of a very short life with his
parents flickered through his mind so quickly he was not sure it was not a product of his
imagination.



His mother holding his small chubby hand and laughing as he stumbled along the green grass,
ripping up unsuspecting little flowers as he went... the ground had looked so very close, covered
in tiny criss-crossing roots...



*For me? What a beautiful flower! Thank you, Harry!*



His father, James, tall and messy-haired like his son was now, calling playfully for him as he,
Harry, sat hidden in a large clump of grass, giggling; his grubby, little fingers grabbing at a
cricket and stuffing it into his mouth...



*Harry, I don't see you! Have you turned invisible?*



Harry alternating walking and swinging between his parents as they held his small hands and
helped him along; laughing as they swept him off his feet to launch upward, the blue sky overhead
rushing at him...



*You can fly, can't you? Only, you can fly without Daddy's broom! Aren't you
clever? Here we go...*



Harry's heart flipped over. Ahead and drawing closer as they neared, half-hidden in a small
clump of trees that seemed to stand apart on their own and that formed a U-shaped hollow, stood an
abandoned log cabin with a wooden swing set into the front porch, the wood greying and old from
years of weathering.



Like ghosts from the past, more haunting images began to sweep in and out of his thoughts.



James and Lily sitting on the porch swing and rocking gently in the night, baby Harry in-
between them... the swing had flipped over once on accident, they had all three fallen down...



*Oh, Harry... are you alright? Don't cry honey, I'm not laughing at you...*



Harry stumbling along the raised wooden porch after a small kitten and almost falling off the
end if not for his father catching him just in time... He actually *had* done once; he had
been quite accident prone, hadn't he?



*Leave the kitty alone Harry, he doesn't want to fly...*



Harry levitating his cat quite by accident and dropping it off the porch...



Songs sung gently into the night as the image of impossibly large trees and a soft moon blinked
foggily in and out of his sight... Lily singing him to sleep as they sat on the porch to spend time
alone with James...



*Lullaby, and good night... so that Daddy and I can sno..og... James had chuckled.*



Inside the cabin had felt warm and safe... Sights and smells permeated his thoughts...



Red and gold stars hanging above his crib, (he swatted at them with tiny hands)... The image of
a patterned rug covered with magically flitting snitches lying on the sitting room floor; he had
crawled about on it, playing, trying to catch snitches even then... Orange fire licking at logs in
a large hearth as his father and mother sat on a deep red couch near him, talking...



*Don't touch the fire, Harry! No,no... It burns!*



Blue fire erupting from the Muggle gas stove Harry's mother had used to warm up his
milk...



*Don't touch the stove, Harry, it burns! Ouch! See?*



Green fire blasting out from a long wooden stick, travelling toward who he had thought was his
father...



*Lily, take Harry and GO!*



and then his mother...



*No, mommy, daddy... don't touch the fire... it burns...*



Their bodies crumpling to the floor, Harry staring at them from between the wooden bars of his
crib, moonlight illuminating them in the darkness...



The same green fire travelling toward him like a jade lightning bolt... Fire burning his
forehead, (*he hadn't touched it, it had touched him! He had been a good boy, hadn't
he?*) Fire deflecting back from him and smashing back into the tall dark figure it had come
from...



The figure shrieking and sweeping from the room like a living nightmare...



And his parents would not get up.



He was crying... *screaming*... he was reaching for them between the bars of his crib and
still they would not move... Why wouldn't they get up and come to him?



Alone.



He was *alone*.



The car rolled to a stop in front of the cabin. Ron jerked awake and sat up straight,
sputtering.



“What..wh... we're here? Where's here? What is this place, what... Wait... Hold
on...”



He stared ahead at the grey cabin, looked over at James who sat very still, his face pale, and
then twisted abruptly in his seat to stare at Harry, whose face was pressed into his hands, while
Hermione, her arms wrapped tightly about his waist, murmured into his shoulder.



“It's where you lived, isn't it? It's where they w..were...” She paused and hugged
him even tighter, her voice almost fierce. “You're not alone, Harry... Listen to me- you'll
never be alone again.”



In the front seat, with his head bowed low, his eyes closed, and his hands still gripping the
steering wheel, James took a few moments to compose himself.



“I thought it might be here,” said Ron very quietly, turning round to stare out the windshield
once again. “I wasn't sure but I thought.. I thought it might be.”



James nodded heavily, his voice coming out very gruff. “This was our home, right on the
outskirts of Godric’s Hollow... Lily and I moved here some two years before Harry was even born. We
were hidden here, safe; for a time, anyway... This was our place.”



He turned round in his seat to look at Harry, who had finally lowered his hands and was staring
past James at the cabin.



“You remember some of this, don't you son,” James stated more than asked.



Harry nodded as if he were in a trance. “Somehow... yeah, I do.”



James nodded heavily and sighed. “I thought you might, even as young as you were. The mind has a
way of bringing about memories you didn't even know existed, especially ones suppressed through
trauma. It’s why I didn’t want you to come with me. I thought… I reckoned you’d been through
enough.”



Harry tore his eyes from the scene beyond the windshield to look at his father. “I needed to
come. I need to see them.”



“I know you do,” James sighed and twisted so that he could reach a hand out and place it on his
son’s shoulder. “And so do I, incantation or no. I used to come here a lot but, well... it got too
hard. I've avoided it long enough now, I think.”



For a few moments they sat there, James mentally preparing himself to revisit the old place
after many years, and Harry preparing himself to take it in for what seemed like the first time.
After sitting immobile in the car for more than five minutes, they decided not to avoid it any
longer.



The old porch creaked and groaned under their feet as James, Harry, Hermione and Ron moved to
the door, James taking out a long skeleton key and jiggling it in the old rusty lock until he
finally had to use his wand to unlock it.



“Alohomora.”



The lock gave one solid, scraping click, and the door snicked open. James entered first, very
slowly, with Harry close behind.



No one spoke a word as they surveyed the derelict place. It was as if they had entered some
sacred haunt.



The main room was filtered through with dusty sunlight. The old red couch Harry had just seen in
his thoughts lay on its back where it had fallen, covered in a thick layer of dust that did little
to hide a few dark magical gashes marring the front. Ron moved forward wonderingly to finger the
wand marks, feeling as if he was witnessing the ruins of something historical.


The rug Harry had played on as a baby lay sprawled unevenly and slightly bunched in front of the
couch, as if someone had slipped on it while running. Dirty golden-coloured snitches still flitted
about its ragged loops and snags, although now moving very slowly, bumping into each other and the
rounded outside hem. The fireplace directly in front of the little sitting area lay cold and long
unused, filled with old whitish-grey ash.


Harry moved forward to the mantle above it and ran a finger through a thick layer of undisturbed
dust covering the wood.



He was the first to speak.



“No pictures?”



“You’ve seen them,” said James, coming up behind him and watching Harry as he rubbed the dust
between his fingers. “In my room at Hogwarts. They’re the only things I took from this place after
the… after it happened. Everything else is just as it was that night.”



Harry turned round to look at him. “Why?”



Hermione and Ron were now peering down the short hallway round the corner of the fireplace.



James looked away from Harry, his eyes sweeping old Muggle paintings and pictures of relatives
on the wall, familiar nooks and crannies, dusty toys of Harry’s scattered about on the floor, in
the same position they had been in the night of the attack, and the old dining room table and
chairs which had been upended as well.



He sighed. “I don’t think anyone could bear trying to clean it up.”



Looking around at the place, a home which must be full of more memories than he would ever know,
Harry at once understood.



Ron took a step backward and peered past James at Harry, looking very solemn.



“Mate, look here,” he pointed forward, down the hallway to the part of the house they had not
yet explored. “I think this must’ve been your old room.”



Harry moved forward immediately, very aware of Ron’s eyes on the back of his head as his friend
followed him down the short, dusty hallway, past a room whose door was shut, past the loo, and
finally, to the room at the very end of the hallway.



The heavy, wooden door to the old room, already ajar, creaked quietly as he pushed it open.



Hermione was already inside the tiny room, touching little things as she passed by. A wooden
rocking chair, lying on its side where it had crashed down, sat near a small table with a very
dusty lamp in the shape of a unicorn which had been left miraculously untouched. A baby's
dressing table with a padded top covered in dusty little pastel moons and stars was against the
immediate wall, with half a bag of unused diapers, an old yellowed, plastic baby bottle lying on
its side, and a soft, folded Winnie-the-Pooh blanket lying on top.



Harry fingered the dirty blanket, curiosity stealing through a bit of the numbness that had
filled him up since entering the cabin.



“Strange seeing something like that, isn’t it?” James said quietly, picking up the blanket when
Harry had done with it and holding it closely to his chest. “You’ll find not everything here is
representative of the magical world. Lily had a lot of Muggle tastes growing up as she did.”



Harry nodded, watching Ron move over to finger torn, ash-smudged golden curtains hanging over
the window directly behind his old crib, and Hermione, as she continued to move about, touching
things in the small room as if they were sacred; ones that belonged to an innocent time... A little
tote bag patterned with flying brooms and bludgers, a toy box painted over with what looked to be a
scene from a book Harry had once read entitled 'The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe'...
She moved over to the old wooden crib, fingering the plush red and gold toy stars that hung above
it, and immediately after, found a long burned out gouge that had been cut into the wood of the
railing, her eyes moving beyond it to the black-smudged curtains Ron stood near. She touched the
wounded bit of wood, her fingertips coming back sooty, and turned wide eyes from Harry to
James.



“Is… is this from…”



“I've only been inside this old place once since that night,” said James quietly, his voice
cracking. “Hagrid came and rescued Harry before... before I had even heard what happened.” He moved
forward beside Hermione to inspect the rough notch cut into his son's old crib, his fingers
trembling as he touched the wood. “But yeah... I reckon this is from that night.”



Hermione turned to look at Harry who stood rooted to the spot, staring at the old black scar in
the wood.



“Harry...”



Had his mother been sitting in that old rocking chair, upending it in her haste to reach him
after Lupin cried out for her to grab him up and go? Had he, Harry, been sitting just beyond the
old railing of that crib, watching green fire travel toward him after it had killed his mother and
father?



“*Harry...*”



His mother had obviously not even had time to pick him up before throwing herself in front of
him... He could almost see the entire scene playing out before him, written in the old clues left
behind… could almost hear his mother screaming again, the same he had done the day a Dementor had
attacked him in third year on the train on the way to school, forcing him to relive not the sights,
but the *sounds* of that night, which were almost worse by comparison…



“**Harry.**”



Harry snapped back to the present and stared at the three surrounding him. Hermione, Ron, and
his father were gazing at him with some concern.



James walked over to him and grabbed him gently round his forearm, steering him toward the door.
“Let's get out of this old place.”



They moved back down the hallway and into the main room again, this time taking a sharp right
and veering into the kitchen where the old Muggle stove Harry had remembered stood coated in years
of dust, with a pot sitting on the smallest burner, still waiting to be used. On the back wall was
a glass-paned wooden door that led out to the backyard, and Harry realised this was where James was
leading them.



A warm breeze lifted their hair and the loose ends of their clothes as Harry, Hermione and Ron
followed James outside, and as Harry shut the door behind him, hearing it reverberate with a final
sounding click, he felt a good bit of his sadness stay behind, locked away from him within the
house. He would not be going back in, of that he was sure. He would be moving forward from now
on.



Beyond the house they began to tromp through a tall, rolling field of grass tangled with purple
heather, one that must have served as a sort of backyard but which had no boundaries to make it
more than a very large field. Harry followed James, wading through it with Hermione and Ron
following directly behind him, a light breeze lifting and swirling little dried heads of heather
into the air so that they had to swipe purple petals away from their faces with every few
steps.



In the distance Harry could see a large clump of pine trees that marked the beginnings of a tree
line. Snaking out of the pines and to the left was a tiny mountain stream that bubbled down into a
small clear pond, one he instantly had a flash of playing in with his father. It was this edging of
trees he realised they were walking toward.



It was after trudging over the top of yet another small hill, when he saw two half-moon shaped
bits of stone in the distance rising above the heather as they neared, that Harry stopped dead in
his tracks, his heart feeling as if it had seized up in his chest.



James heard his son pause but continued walking on his own, having predicted his son's
reaction but knowing that if he stopped as well he might never continue on again. He had visited
Lily and Remus’ graves on several occasions throughout the years, and each time it became harder
and harder to return; the guilt of knowing he had left them to go information gathering the night
they had died gnawing at his insides and refusing to let him go. Common sense, in a voice that
sounded remarkably like Lily's, reminded him yet again that had he been there that night he
probably would have died as well, but his conscience simply would not let him alone. His only
consolation in not dying with his wife was the fact that Harry still had one living parent, and no
matter how long it had taken for him to be able to act as such, in his heart, no matter how head
accused him, he knew Lily would have wanted it that way. He only wished it had been he, James, who
had died that night, and that Lily had been left for Harry. She had always been the better
parent.



He reached the graves and stopped short, feeling his heart give a familiar painful lurch upon
reading the etching on the simple granite headstones once again. His fingers itched to grab out the
parchment Dumbledore had given Harry, read it aloud, and have done with whatever was supposed to
happen, but he wanted Harry to have the chance to visit his mother’s grave properly before they
were done and would not hurry him along for anything.





It took a full five minutes for James to hear the shuffling of feet behind him that indicated
Harry’s friends had finally been able to make him move him forward. The three stopped behind him,
as fully entranced in the scene before him as James himself was. Two simple, polished headstones
stood gleaming in the last pastel beams of the afternoon sun, looking only slightly
weather-worn.




**Lily Anne Evans-Potter**
1960 – 1981
Beloved wife and mother.
Died protecting her family.


**James Alan Potter**
1960 – 1981
Beloved husband and father
Died protecting his family.



Harry stood stock still, his hands jammed in his pockets. He wanted to move forward and touch
his mother's grave, to somehow let her know he was there and he had not forgotten her, but his
feet would not move him forward. However, to his surprise, the sharp pain he had expected upon
seeing her grave for the first time turned out to be more like a dull ache. He had had a long time
to come to grips with her death, and even though seeing where she was buried did drive the fact
home even deeper, somehow, in his heart, he felt that it was only her body lying there in the dirt.
It hurt to know she had died so young, without getting to live life, but Harry knew she was in a
much better place now and that she would never experience pain or suffering again. She had died
willingly. She had died to save him.



Harry looked at Hermione, down at their clasped hands... and understood.



For a few moments no one said anything, but being the sort he was, Ron was the first to break
the silence. Somehow it was a welcome intrusion.



“*Blimey,*” he whispered, somewhat awed. “I wouldn't like staring at my own grave,
that's for sure- even if it wasn't really mine.”



“Well, it's supposed to be my headstone; we had to put my name on,” James explained
unnecessarily. “Would have been a might suspicious to have Remus' name etched there,
wouldn't it?”



Ron grunted. “Well all the same- it's eerie*.*”



Harry looked up at his father. “And now that everything's over?”



James smiled sadly at him. “Now that I can finally come out in the open, I want Remus' name
where it belongs. He never got the recognition he deserved for what he did because I've had to
hide for so long. I reckon now it's time he did.”



Hermione had the distinct feeling both James and Harry were relieved that Ron had broken the
silence, so that they now both found it easier to speak. The seriousness of the moment was not lost
on any of them, but Hermione felt neither Harry nor his father could have been the one to speak up
first, and silently thanked Merlin for Ron's presence once again as she had so many times
before.



James fished his wand out of his back pocket and waved it over the words carved into his own
headstone.



“*Exsculpo.*”



The etched stone behind the lettering seemed to move forward as if melting the letters forward
and out of itself, finally leaving behind a smooth, unmarked surface.



Harry stared at where the words had just been, feeling oddly moved, as if seeing his
father's name disappear from the stone made it all the more real that James was, indeed,
standing there in front of him. It had almost been easy to slip into some strange, alternate way of
thinking about it, what with his father continuing to look like Remus Lupin after the revelation
that he was indeed James Potter. Somehow seeing that name erase from an actual headstone made it
all the more real.



James stood beside the grave, held his wand out again and placed it against the cool stone as if
he was preparing to carve.



“*Inscriptum*.”



The tip of his wand at once began to glow a fiery blue, and as he traced it gently along the
stone, words began to form after it as if grooving into the hard surface of their own accord.





**Remus John Lupin**


1960-1981


Beloved friend and colleague


Died while protecting his friends.





When he had done, Hermione moved forward and laid a light hand on James' arm. “It's
fitting.”



“Yes it is,” he agreed quietly. He placed a hand on the headstone, swallowing hard. “I wish I
could give you better thanks than mere words Remus, my old friend, but they're all I have...
You deserve so much more, but... thank you for giving your life for my family.”



They stood for a moment more, taking in the solemnity of the moment until James finally pulled
out the parchment Dumbledore had given Harry for him.



“I reckon it's time we get this over with, miracle gift or no, aye?”



Harry nodded curtly.



“You three step back,” James said, holding out his wand and pointing it at Lupin's grave.
“We've no idea what will happen.”



Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and moved back from James, Ron following, until they were
standing on the last hill they had topped before seeing the graves, some ten metres away. Feeling
slightly foolish but not completely trusting the contents of the parchment, Harry grabbed
Hermione's waist and pushed her gently behind him.



She smiled a bit strangely up at him, but complied. “I'm sure it'll be alright, Harry.
Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have given you or your father anything that might prove
dangerous-”



“Call it habit,” said Harry, smiling ruefully down at her. “And we *don't* know
what's about to happen, do we? It could be anything.”



He glanced over to Ron, and saw he was frowning at him.



“What?”



“I don't notice you pushing *me* out of harm's way or anything.”



Harry stared at him for a moment and then snorted derisively. “Sorry- does ickle Ronnie need
protecting?”



At once, Hermione looked offended. “Oh, but ickle Hermy *does*, is that it? I reckon you
two don't recall how far you would have got in *any* situation without me by your thick
sides-”



They ignored her.



“*Sod off*,” Ron scowled back at Harry over Hermione's head. “Who did Professor
Trelawny divine was the defense part of our 'triangle', huh? It's the *principle*
of the thing, Harry-”



“-never would have found a single clue if not for me setting you both on the right path all the
time-”



“So, in *'*principle' you want me to hold you until the danger's over, aye?
Right then, come here-”



“OY! *Gerroff* me you giant pile of-”



“You can *both* get off me! Or haven't you noticed I'm standing *right
between* you!?”



Harry grinned. “We've noticed.”



“-only wish Lav was here, that'd be a *right* sandwich-”



“*Ronald Weasley*!”



“Alright, you three?” James threw back at them, waiting for their consent to begin.



Starting a bit, the three stopped bickering at once and looked over at James who was squinting
over at them with a small smile on his face. For a very brief, very foolish moment, Harry had
almost forgot where they were or what they were supposed to be doing. He stared down at the two
gravestones and at his father, and realised that the heaviness that had settled on him moment they
had arrived at this place was strangely less evident. He looked fondly over at Ron and Hermione who
were both avoiding James' gaze and looking extremely sheepish, and a surge of happiness that he
was still alive and present in the world began to run through Harry's veins like it never had
before. He smiled thankfully down at his mother's grave, glanced gratefully at Ron and
Hermione, and called out to his father.



“All set, dad. Sorry. Go ahead.”



For a moment Hermione again glowered up at Harry, but forgave him at once as she watched James
turned back round to face the graves. She grabbed onto Harry's hand, squeezing it very tightly.
To his side, Harry could almost feel Ron stiffen with excitement.



Up ahead of them and still smiling despite himself, having been suddenly reminded of a very
similar group of friends he had had not long ago, James took a deep breath and gathered his
courage. He pointed his wand at Lupin's grave, steadied himself, and began to recite the words
written on the parchment aloud.



“*Pati vicis desino. Esti letum dissocio nost bicorpus, pati quondam eveni denuo. Pati adaeque
natura nunquam transformis.*”



Nothing seemed to happen. No blue light issued from the tip of his wand.



The brook nearby continued to babble into the pond. Other than that, all was silent.

Seconds ticked by. James continued to clutch the parchment containing the incantation in one
hand, while holding his wand aloft in the other, as if he was hoping the spell that was to issue
from it might have somehow been delayed. A soft breeze continued to waft in from the north, again
harvesting little purple petals from the surrounding heather and lifting them in the air in front
of them. Still, no flash of blue light issued from the end of James' wand; nothing
extraordinary happened at all save for the fact that a flock of birds perched in the nearest tree
took wing and flew off.



Harry frowned. It was as if his father had not spoken a thing. He guessed he had expected some
immediate rush of wind, a mad changing of the sky's colour, a life changing event...



James lowered his wand and turned his back on the graves, sighing.



“Well, Sybil did say it might not work, didn't she? Whatever it was- I don't reckon we
should have got our hopes up-”



And a low rumbling from the ground answered James' words, sounding like a far off, but
steadily approaching train. Harry felt the earth tremble beneath his feet, the swaying heather
surrounding them all now rocking back and forth enough that even more soft dried heads of flowers
popped free and whirled about in the air, thicker than ever. Abruptly he realised Ron and Hermione
now had their wands out, their eyes instinctively sweeping the surrounding area as if waiting for
some attack.



“What is this- some sort of earthquake!?” Ron said aloud, his fingers twitching nervously around
the handle of his wand.



Hermione grabbed onto Harry's arm as a particularly hard tremble shook the ground. “At the
same time Harry's father spoke the incantation? I doubt it...”

“What the bloody-” Harry's mouth gaped open and he pointed ahead at his father. “*Look
there*.”



James, seeing the sudden change of expression on his son's face, whipped about and stared at
Remus Lupin's grave, his wand pointed again, prepared for any eventuality. A large fracture had
started at the top of the headstone, cracking it's way down through the newly etched words on
the polished front and continuing on in a lightning shaped pattern until it reached the ground. The
dried earth began splitting as well, a gaping crack wending its crooked way forward from the
headstone on until it had reached where James was standing. Then as abruptly as it had begun, the
cracking stopped and the trembling earth was still again.



No one moved. All four were shocked into silence.



And suddenly, a blue glow began to shine upward from the crack beneath James' feet as if
someone below had switched a light on; a soft humming emanating from the same source. His first
instinct was to run away from it, but something about the warm way it shone kept James rooted to
the spot. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, Dumbledore had wanted him to experience it,
and he knew the old man would never have given him anything harmful.



A soft, whitish dust began to rise from the crack, glowing a hazy blue in the light, and lifting
lazily upward until it had reached about the height of James' head. He watched it with wide
eyes as it drifted forward and began to envelope him in slow rotating circles, allowing it to
swallow him whole; a tingling such as he had never felt before prickling all over his body like
thousands of tiny needles.



At once Harry made to rush forward but a restraining hand from Hermione stopped him.



“Wait. *Wait*, Harry. Look what's happening. He's still standing; he's not
being hurt...”



Harry's vision of his father quickly became completely obscured by the large amount of
glowing dust that swirled about him, almost looking as if some new magical tornado had swooped down
to envelope James alone. With each passing moment it swirled faster and faster, the tiny particles
becoming a blur and the slight humming coming from the grave sounding louder and louder with each
rotation. The blue was becoming brighter, the soft azure now mixing with what looked like a
brilliant yellow, one so vivid it made Harry's eyes water. He could not see his father at all,
but the fact he was still standing in the middle of the dual-blue coloured whirlwind must mean,
like Hermione had said, that he was not being harmed.



The tornado began to slow, though just a bit. The multicoloured dust now seemed to be separating
according to colour, the yellow particles now sweeping outward and downward, and disappearing
through the crack over Lupin's grave in a rush of bright colour. The blue particles remained,
swirling slower and slower with each rotation.

The large crack that had ended at James' feet began to re-seal itself, the earth sewing
itself back together until even the defaced stone of Lupin's grave melted back together again,
making it look as if it had never been damaged. The humming continued.



Harry could now see through the lazily swirling particles surrounding his father. He could see
his form, the back of his head, though... Something was off. He seemed just a bit taller. The
straight, light brown hair he had come to associate with Remus Lupin, and then his father, was not
straight or brown at all. Instead it had become a bit longer, thicker, and very untidy, with
streaks of grey marring its otherwise coal black colour, one piece sticking straight up at the back
exactly how Harry's own did...



Harry jerked backward involuntarily, his eyes widening. Hermione stood very still.



Ron looked from James' form ahead and back to Harry, his voice coming out in almost a
reverent whisper. “*Bloody hell.*”



The azure blue was absorbing into James' body. The particles were lighting on his skin,
melting inward, and for a moment it looked as if Harry's own father was glowing, until the
light began to fade. Quite abruptly the strange humming sound snapped out of existance, and there
was no light left at all save the last orange and pink beams of the afternoon sun.



All was silent.



James whipped around but did not look at the three on the hill. He was looking downward at his
hands, ones which were suddenly different, a bit more olive in skin tone, and devoid of the many
scars he had acquired on nights he had not taken his wolfsbane potion, though upon turning his
right one over he saw a long faded scar running the length of his palm...



*Sirius and I... our blood pact...*

He yanked up one of his sleeves and stared down at his arm. The scar Lucius Malfoy had given him
at Hogwarts on the night he had attacked him and stolen some of his blood was gone. He reached
inside his shirt and ran a hand across his chest and stomach. Ridged scars that should have been
there from the night four years ago that he and Sirius had fought as werewolf and animagus were
gone as well, though one odd scar remained on his chest, in the exact same spot he remembered being
gashed by a rock in sixth year, having taken a nasty fall from his broom during a particularly
rough Quidditch game... Very slowly, his hands strayed up to his face. Remus Lupin's nose had
had a very small bump in the middle of it. His nose however, now felt smooth, though a bit longer.
No more long-ago healed gashes marred his face. His eyebrows felt different, his lips a bit
fuller... A shock wave of realisation rattled through him. He looked up suddenly to see his son
staring at him, Harry's hands shakily probing his own face as if verifying that an older
version of himself was indeed standing before him, but with, as Harry had thought during his fifth
year upon seeing his father in Snape's pensieve, 'deliberate mistakes'.



Hermione and Ron were staring down at James, completely transfixed.



With one long look at the three James whipped about and took off at a run, headed toward the
pond he and Harry had played in so long ago.



With only a moments hesitation, Harry took off after him, Hermione and Ron following.



When the three reached him, out of breath, he was already on his knees and bent very closely
over the water's edge, staring at his own wavering reflection and fingering his face with
awe.



“My god... my *god* is this **real**?... How in Godric's name did he... *Oh my
god*... I'm not a werewolf... I'm not a werewolf any more! I'll never be one again!
I'll never have to take wolfsbane again!” He laughed aloud, and then sobered again just as
quickly, still staring at his reflection in the water, touching his nose, his eyes... “But how can
I look how I should *now*? Twenty one years old... My body was *twenty one* when Remus
took it with him... but I'm not... I'm me... I'm me how I should look
*now*...”



Harry stood back further than them all, not speaking.



Hermione moved forward and bent down to snatch the forgotten piece of parchment from the ground
where James had dropped it, her eyes eagerly scanning over the words. Her mouth dropped open. “The
ending here- *Pati adaeque natura nunquam transformis.* It means 'may it be as if the
natural was never altered'.” She stared at the back of James head, her face set with wonder.
“So the incantation didn't actually switch you back, per se, it simply made it as if you'd
never switched in the first place.”



James stood up, his face still set with awe. “But if the incantation made it as if we had never
switched, then it would've been me who really died that night, and not Remus-”



“No one can come back from the dead,” Hermione interjected quickly, her face set with awe upon
seeing how much Harry resembled James. “Besides, I don't think the spell could change those
events of the past which were normal or natural. I don't think there's *any* spell or
magical object that powerful save the time turner, and even then the *user* has to be the one
who changes things. I think it was just able to correct certain aspects of the past which
weren't 'of nature', or 'natural' in the first place, like your switched
bodies. You were born with the body you're in now... Remus Lupin was born with the other. And
the spell *did* use the word 'natural', as in, 'make it as if the natural was
never altered'. It never said, change the past. It's simple really-”



“Simple... *sure*,” said Ron, his gaze switching from Harry to James and back again. He
looked over at Hermione. “And once again we're reminded you're probably the only swot in
school who's studied Latin.”



Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Don't be stupid, Ron. I know for a fact Ravenclaw has a whole
Latin *club*. And if I *hadn't* studied up on it, you and Harry would still be stuck
back wondering over Professor Trelawny's predictions this year.”



“We'd have figured them out eventually; that's what *books* are for,” scowled
Ron.



“As if you've ever actually *used* those,” Hermione responded scathingly, her eyes back
on the parchment.



“*Oy*!” Said Harry in a mock-offended voice.



Ron glared at her. “We *have* actually, when you were taken last year. 'Course who
needs to worry about books when you've got a walking, talking *library* by your side every
second of the day.”



“That's true you know,” said Harry.



Hermione looked up from the incantation, her eyes flashing. “And like I've said before, if I
*wasn't* by your thick sides every single step of the way these past seven years, you two
would've accomplished exactly *nothing*-”



“*Ho, ho*!” Ron stepped back and jabbed a finger in her direction. “I reckon you don't
recall being petrified by the basilisk during second year, then! Harry and I worked out where Ginny
had been taken all on our *own*, didn't we?! Harry fought Voldemort all on *his own*!
You were nowhere near-”



“That was *one* time! And Harry found that piece of parchment in my hand, *remember*?
**I** was the one who figured out the basilisk was getting round school through the pipes.
You'd have *never known* to go looking in Moaning Myrtle's loo for the entrance to the
chamber if not for me. Anyway, this is ridiculous-”



“Don't forget fourth year,” Harry said quickly. “Neither of you were with me for that
one.”



“That's *right*!” Ron seized on it and whirled back on Hermione. “Harry was on his own
then too, miss 'you two are too thick to ever get along without me'. How do you explain
*that*-”



“-*hardly* the point, Ronald. We weren't trying to figure something out then, were we?
Harry touched a portkey. He was transported away. It wasn't as if there was some mystery
involved we were trying to solve-”



“Exactly,” said Ron, triumphantly. “You've just made my point. Unless there's some
mystery to solve, Harry and I do just fine without you. The end. Now-”



“Well actually it was Hermione and I who went back in time third year to save Sirius,” said
Harry. “You were in hospital with your leg bandaged, Ron.”



“I rather think you've *all* had a hand in helping-” began James in a placating voice,
but Harry shook his head side to side just a fraction, a wicked gleam in his eyes.



“That's *right*!” Hermione exclaimed triumphantly, whirling on Ron, anything James had
said already lost in the excitement of the argument. “And *that* time there was little to
*no* mystery to solve! We already knew what was going to happen, and Professor Dumbledore sent
Harry and I to save Buckbeak and Sirius-”



“Right.. that's right,” said Harry, moving slowly over toward his father.



Ron scoffed at her. “That time was *only* because I was hurt and couldn't go in your
place.”



“How do you get *you* would have been chosen to go in *my* place!?” Hermione demanded,
sounding stung. “There were several times when Harry wanted to jump out of hiding and do something
rash, and it was only *me* who let him in on what a bad idea it was! Professor Dumbledore knew
*I* would understand the importance of not being seen-”



“-and *that* was only because you'd already *been* using the time turner all year,
and he'd told you what might happen if you-”



“-and if *you'd* been there with Harry, I've no doubt you would've both been
seen and given away *everything,* which would've been *disastrous*-”



“Oy! You've *no way* of knowing that! And wasn't it *me* who led you two under
the Whomping Willow in the first place? You would've never known Sirius wasn't a murderer
if you hadn't followed me down there.”



“He did, that's right,” Harry interjected. Hermione glared at him. He threw up his hands in
surrender. She turned back on Ron.



“*Followed* you down there!? You were *dragged* down there Ronald, if you'll
recall, and Sirius was the one who dragged you! Harry and I followed you down there to get you away
from the 'grim'!”



“We found Peter Pettigrew, didn't we? And who made that happen? *Me*!”



“*You* didn't make it happen, you git! Has your *brain* gone soft!? It was
*Sirius* who figured out Scabbers was really Pettigrew! *He's* the one who changed
him back over to a wizard, *you* didn't want him touched! And all because you didn't
realise your rat was an Animagus! Honestly, a *twelve year old* *rat*, Ron!”



“He wasn't an *ordinary* rat, Hermione-”



“He wasn't*,*” Harry agreed, edging away.



“That's right, he was an *animagus* for Godric's sake!”



“True,” said Harry.



“You didn't know he was, either!”



“I didn't live with him practically my whole life either, did I!? *You*, however,
*did*!”



“True again-”



“You *tell* me how I was supposed to know my rat was some dark servant of-”



His hands jammed in his pockets and smiling slightly to himself, Harry moved slowly away from
the two and left them to their bickering, feeling slightly more sorry for Ron than he did for
Hermione. He reached his father and motioned with his head for them to walk away. Neither Hermione
nor Ron noticed.



Once they had got far enough around the small pond that Hermione and Ron's bickering was
nothing but muted background noise, James spoke up, barely suppressing a grin.



“Well, that wasn't very nice of you.”



Harry still had not brought himself to look his father properly in the face. He stared at the
ground as they walked, smirking. “Maybe not. But if ever I want them distracted for a bit, the
easiest thing to do is help them along with their arguing.”



“Not *get* them arguing?”



“They don't need help with that,” said Harry. “I just sometimes keep it going, is all.” He
grinned, cheshire-like. “And to think there were some in school who thought those two would start
dating.”



James looked over toward Ron and Hermione, who were still shouting at one another round the bend
of the lake. “*Those* two? They remind me of how Sirius and Lily used to argue. They'd
*kill* each other.”



“I know,” said Harry, smiling.



“Besides,” said James, looking back at Harry. “From what I've seen, Hermione loves
*you* more than life itself. I think I've known it ever since I saw you two in your third
year, young as you were.”



Harry shuffled his feet for a moment, his cheeks growing warm. “I know. I feel the same
way.”



James smiled at him for a moment, until his expression grew a bit more solemn. “Harry, please
look at me, son.”



Harry closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and looked up at his father. Even as
they were when he had seen James in Snape's pensieve in fifth year, he and his father were
still within an inch of each other's heights. James looked so much like Harry himself, only a
bit different and obviously older, that Harry felt as if he were staring into some slightly skewed
funhouse mirror.



“It's almost too eerie for *me*,” said James, feeling a bit awkward. “I can only
imagine how it must be for *you*. Thinking all those years I was dead, only to find I'd
switched bodies with Remus, and now... Well now, I'm here... I'm alive... and I'm how I
should look as if none of it had ever happened.”



Harry nodded, unsure of what to say. With Hermione and Ron by his side he was sheltered a bit
from his true feelings. Now, facing them without distractions, he felt odd... almost displaced from
reality... He was standing near the place where it had all happened, not twenty yards from where
his mother, and who he had thought was his father, were buried. Yet here he was staring *at*
his father, who had revealed not long ago that he was, in fact, *not* dead but trapped in a
friend's body, and who now, suddenly, was no longer trapped in said body but was back in his
own, looking as if he had never left it in the first place or that it had died at twenty one.

These things were strange, hard things to grasp at best, it was true, and yet they were not the
oddest thing he was encountering or feeling. The strangest thing of all was the decrease of
pounding anxiety and worry within him, two things which had been such a regular part of his very
being for as long as he could remember that they had almost seemed part of what made Harry, well...
*Harry*. Now everything was different. Now, Voldemort was dead. The war was over. He,
Hermione, Ron, Sirius and his father had all made it out alive, (though Dumbledore had not). He was
almost done with school. He did not have to live with the Dursleys ever again. He was free from
almost everything that had caused him distress and anxiety for his entire seventeen years of
existence. However, by no means did he think everything was suddenly better. He knew that. He
understood that he would probably be scarred for a very long time, if not forever, over what had
transpired during his short life thus far, though somehow, now he felt as if now some chapter had
ended in the book of his life and he was inexplicably starting over, as if his life was split into
different sections and he was now on volume two.



“Almost makes you feel as if you've travelled to some alternate universe where things never
went wrong, but you've still got the scars from when they did, aye?” Said James.



Harry had to admit this was exactly how he felt.



“Yeah... yeah it does.”



“I feel the same way,” said James, shoving his hands into his pockets. He paused before speaking
again. “You know, this is exactly why your mother did what she did for you... why she gave her life
for you... the hope that someday you would be able to live happy. We used to sit up at night and
talk for hours about what we hoped you'd become when you were grown... what sort of life
you'd lead. We knew you were destined to be great... I think everyone did, even before
Voldemort gave you that scar,” he paused again, looking sad. “But Harry, we never knew what you
would have to go through to achieve that greatness, what you would have to sacrifice, or what
*we* would. Neither one of us wanted you to live this horror you've known as a
'life'-”



“It's not your fault. I don't blame you,” said Harry quickly, looking concerned. “At
least I don't... I mean, I'm not... *Gods*, if mum hadn't done what she did I
wouldn't be alive *at all*... I'd never have the chance to *really* live, even if
it did take up to now to be able to do it.”



James nodded. “She knew the protection she was giving you; make no mistake. She was as bright as
your Hermione over there,” he said, smiling and pointing over to Ron and Hermione, who were now
both staring over to where Harry and his father were, Hermione with her hands on her hips, looking
disapproving as if she now knew what Harry had done. James smiled and turned back to his son. “Your
mother gave her life for you so you could have one of your own.”



Harry nodded, staring at the ground. “I know that... I know.”



James stared at him. “Then I hope you know she'd do it again if she had to... and if given
the chance, so would I. Your mother did what she did because she loved you, and so do I, and not
because you've somehow earned it, but because you're *my son*. You won't ever have
to worry about earning my love, Harry, or trying to deserve it. You've got it no matter what
you do. Even if you didn't return it, it wouldn't matter. You didn't grow up that way,
I know, and I know it's hard for you to take in, but Harry... this is how parents, *real*
parents, feel for their children. This is how I feel for you. This is how your mother felt for you;
how she still feels for you wherever she is. Don't you ever feel guilty for what your mother
did. She gave herself willingly because she loved you, and if I'd been there that night, and I
wish I had, I would've done the same thing... for her, and for you.”



Harry nodded, his eyes still scanning the ground, though they were rimmed with tears.



James decided in an instant not to make his son any more uncomfortable and hitched a small smile
on his face.



“And I hope you know I'm still *me*, after all this. Strange as this is, I haven't
changed, I'm still the person you knew in Remus Lupin's body. I'm not someone you
haven't met before because I look different. I understand this makes things really strange, but
I think I understand why Dumbledore gave this to me, and I think it goes beyond my no longer having
to worry about the full moon.”



Harry smiled at that and squinted up at his father, feeling slightly ashamed of the tears drying
on his face. “What d'you think, then?”



James sighed. “It just connects us even more, doesn't it? I mean, there's no mistaking
you're my son or I'm your father, now. I think maybe the old man thought this might bring
us even closer together, or somehow help you along with the fact that I am really your dad,” and
suddenly, James sobered a bit. “But I'm not trying to push you son. I'm not trying to make
you feel that we have to be close all of a sudden-”



“I don't think that,” said Harry with a slight smile. “But I do think you're right. I
think that's exactly something he would've done.”



Harry shoved his hands tightly in his pockets and stared out at the pond, shifting from one foot
to the other, and completely unaware of the fact that his father and he had taken the same
protective stance in their discomfort and were now looking more like each other than ever. A soft
wind from the north breezed in again, making the early evening's chill evident and rustling the
nearby pines. Tall patches of heather swayed around the pond, the water along its edge rippling
slightly in the wind. The last bright rim of the sun sank below the horizon, it's pinkish
orange beams now blending with a dusky purple, and outlining the sky in a darker shade.

An awkward silence had fallen between Harry and his father, neither quite sure how to break it,
though this time it was Harry who finally did, squinting a bit reservedly over at his father as he
spoke.



“I'll bet you *are* chuffed not having to worry about the full moon any more though,
aye?”



James smirked, seizing on the conversation. “What's even better is not having to go to old
Snivellus for my potions any more.”



Harry grinned at the thought of how Snape would react upon catching sight of a 'renewed'
James, most of his awkwardness fading with the prospect of sharing abuse of the Potion's
Master. “Merlin, this'll ruin his weekend. I can't *wait* to see his face now
you're back properly... And I'll bet he's *loved* having you owe him for brewing
up your wolfsbane-”



“Oh yeah... Yeah, this'll be a black day for Snivellus,” said James, chuckling at the look
of wicked depravity on his son's face. “Just wait until he catches sight of Sirius and I
standing together, just like old times...”



Harry's grin faded slightly. “Like old times?”



“Oh, we won't take the piss out of him like before,” said James, his eyes happily gleaming
with a far away look. “You've got to understand we were only fifteen then, and Snape gave as
good as he got, Harry. Besides, you only got to see one biased side of it from that pensieve.
I've no doubt he chose to forget the many times he *deserved* what he got. But no... No,
adult forms of torture call for a bit more subtlety-”



Harry frowned. “Just exactly what do you mean by torture?”



James snapped back to the present and grinned wickedly at Harry. “There are much subtler ways of
fixing a person than showing off their greying knickers, Harry. But no worries; Sirius and I've
no intention of reverting to cruelty, I assure you... there's just a bit of overdue payback in
order. Anyway, I rather think you should be worrying about that girlfriend of yours over there. She
looks a bit miffed if you ask me.”



Harry turned to look at Hermione, who was still staring over at him with her lips tightly pursed
and her arms wound tightly over her chest, tapping her foot.



Harry chuckled. James clapped him firmly on the back as they began their ways back around the
pond toward them.



“Just turn on the Potter charm, son- that'll sort her out.”



Harry snorted at him. “It's obvious you don't know Hermione very well.”



“No, I don't,” said James, smiling, “not yet. But I've got the rest of my life to learn
all about her now, don't I? About you too... And I've got a load of people to thank for
that, I'd say.”



Harry nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”



The closer to Hermione he got, the more her expression made Harry wince. Even Ron was standing
back a bit, though he looked amused.



Once they got within hearing distance, Hermione dropped her arms, one eyebrow raised and began
to stomp toward him.



“*Harry James Potter*-”



Harry inhaled deeply. “Look, Hermione... I just wanted to speak to Dad alone-”



“No excuse to keep Ron and I fighting so you could sneak off with him! You could've just
*said something*, you know. It isn't as if we'd have *stopped* you, for
Merlin's sake!”



“This was the most effective way,” said Harry, grinning, knowing full well that would set her
off. He pinched one of her reddening cheeks.



Hermione scowled at him and slapped his hand away. “I'll *show* you effective-”



James, standing beside Ron, gave the younger man a nudge. “So much like Lily it's downright
frightening.”



Ron goggled disbelievingly at him. “Then I honestly don't know how you did it.”



James laughed aloud. “Eh... It's all in whether you're right for each other. I can see
pretty clearly those two are. They'll sort it out.”



“Oh, I know they'll sort it out,” said Ron, his gaze landing back on them again, watching
Harry grin as Hermione ranted. “He's the only one who really knows how to handle her.”



“And she him?” Asked James. “I've no doubt Harry can be a handful, if he's as hotheaded
as I was at his age.”



“Oh yeah,” said Ron, his head moving back and forth between Harry and Hermione as if watching a
particularly entertaining tennis match. “Harry's a 'heat of the moment' sort of person,
you know. Ready to jump and run with the first bit of information we get. I suppose I'm the
same way... Anyway, Hermione sort of calms him long enough to sort things out properly before we
run off. I've no doubt we would've been killed on half the things we blundered through if
it weren't for her.”



James looked at him. “I don't suppose you could've acknowledged that to her.
Might've spared you a fight today if you'd only told her-”



“Hell no,” Ron grinned, laughing aloud as Hermione wagged her finger in Harry's face. “No, I
rather enjoy it. She's too fun when you've got her all pissed off. She gets angry about it
but secretly she likes it too. It's more fun fighting with her than it is Ginny... Well...
Ginny would *hit* me, but you know... It's all relative.”



James snorted at that. “Well, I think we should head toward the car, don't you?”



Ron frowned and gestured toward Harry and Hermione. “But shouldn't we...”



“No,” smiled James. “No, we'll let them figure it out on their own. Besides, Harry looks as
if he's having too much fun to spoil it. You head on to the car, I'll be there in a
tic.”



Ron agreed and began tromping back across the field toward the car. James headed over to Remus
and Lily's graves and stood staring at them for a moment. He walked behind Lily's and
brushed a hand over the headstone before moving around it, his eyes briefly landing on his son and
Hermione, who were standing some yards away, still engrossed in their 'discussion'. He
walked around the graves to stand in front of Lily's.



“I miss you love, more than you'll ever know... I wish you were here.” He turned to glance
at Harry. “But look what you've done for your son. He's still here. He's come over the
hump and onto the other side. He's in love and he's happy, Lily. *You* did that.” He
sighed, the words forming a lump in his throat and knelt down before the headstone, his head bowed.
“I'll never forgive myself for leaving you that night, love. Never... But I *promise* you
I'll never leave our son again. I'll love him and be here for him as long as he'll let
me. I swear it, Lily... I *swear* it... and... and I hope you're happy wherever you are. I
hope you're filled with joy over seeing your son alive and set to live his life, the way you
always wanted him to.”



James stood, and this time, he looked up to the sky.



“I'll always miss you...” he smiled. “Someday Lily... someday you're going to turn
around and there I'll be, standing right in front of you as if we'd never been apart...
Wait for me, will you?”



The breeze picked up again. A silvery moon danced out from behind purple edged clouds,
illuminating the area around him in patches and taking special care to shine down over the
gravestones James stood near. He smiled.



“I'll take that as a yes.”



For a moment he continued to look up at the sky, imagining Lily was looking down on him with a
smile. With tears welling in his eyes he moved away from the graves, walked a wide circle around
Harry and Hermione so they would not see him, and made his way back across the field.



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



“Hermione-”



“I simply *can't believe* you, Harry. You *know* how much I hate to argue-”



“*You*!?” said Harry incredulously. “I think you draw energy from it-”



“*What*!? What an *awful* thing to say!” Hermione blustered. “As if I I'd rather
disagree with someone than have a pleasant conversation with-”



“Let me finish,” said Harry, popping his hand over her mouth and chuckling as she continued to
mumble beneath it. “And... I think it's one of the cutest things about you. It's one of the
many reasons I love you... simply because you're *you*. I wouldn't have it any other
way.”



Hermione's mouth stopped moving beneath his hand. She placed her hands on her hips as he
moved his hand away, narrowing her eyes up at him as if scrutinising him.



“I hope you know this doesn't mean you're let off the hook...”



“ 'Course not,” said Harry, snaking his arms around her waist.



“Because I recognise a smooth line when it's thrown at me-”



“ 'Course you do,” said Harry, drawing her body flush against his, his face inching closer
to hers.



“And if I wanted to,” said Hermione, a bit more breathlessly, “I could... I *could* be
angry with you for the rest of the night. You'd certainly deserve it, wouldn't you?”



“Absolutely,” said Harry, his lips only a centimetre from hers. His eyes moved up to her own;
glinting green on dark brown. “So why don't you?”



“Because... because in principle it wouldn't be right to kiss you now,” she said, her lips
brushing his, light as a breeze. “And I really want to.”



“In *principle*...” Harry grinned and nodded. “That's right.” He moved to crush his
lips to hers but Hermione suddenly pulled back, looking round them.



“But we can't!” She hissed, staring back at Harry. “Ron and your dad-”



“Left us alone a few minutes ago,” said Harry with a bit of frustration, pulling her back
against him again.



“Left us alone... where did they go? We should probably-”



“I'm sure they went back to the car to wait for us,” said Harry, moving so that his lips now
brushed her ear. He felt her melt against him and smiled. “Do you know how long I've wanted to
be able to kiss you without a load of worry clouding my mind?”



Hermione smiled up at the sky. “How long?”



Harry moved his lips nearer hers so that he now spoke against her mouth. “Forever.”



“Me too,” said Hermione, and she let him claim her mouth.



Oh gods, but that one act was going to be his undoing, Harry thought to himself. The feel of
Hermione's soft lips beneath his was intoxicating, her wild hair brushing against his cheek,
her hands roaming over the hard plains of his back, her firm breasts pressed against his chest,
shapely belly pressed intimately against his hips... It had been so long since they had been able
to share a proper kiss; since they had been able to share almost anything...



His tongue was dipping and sliding so sensuously against her own, his body pressed so
deliciously into hers, that Hermione felt she might spontaneously combust right there, under the
moon and stars with only Harry as her witness. His mouth was like a drug, leaving her feeling fuzzy
round the edges and wanting more. It was exhilarating to know there was now nothing holding them
back from truly loving each other the way they wanted, to know that all of the obstacles which had
kept them so filled with anxiety and unsure of their futures were gone... and yet, something very
real told Hermione this was not the time or place to let go with Harry. She pulled back from
him.



“Harry...”



Harry barely heard her, deciding at once to let his lips trail from her lips to her cheek and
over to her ear, sucking the soft lobe into his mouth, nibbling on the shell, his hands smoothing
lower over her back to land on her rear, gently squeezing, pulling her closer to him, gently
grinding his hips into hers...



Hermione swayed into him, and then found herself again.



“Harry... wait, Harry...”



He whispered into her ear, his breath on her sensitive shell making her shiver.



“What?”



Hermione found the strength to pull out of his embrace long enough to compose her thoughts.



“Look where we are.”



Harry stared at her for a moment, and then began to understand what she was eluding to.



“I'm alright though. I don't need to... I mean.. I mean I'm coming to terms with
it-”



“But you've never talked with her, love. You need to talk with her before we leave,” said
Hermione gently. She moved closer and placed a hand on Harry's cheek. “You need time alone with
her, Harry... time alone *here*.”



Harry opened his mouth to tell Hermione that his mother was not there in the ground... that it
was only her body under the headstone... that he had always felt that to talk with her, all he
needed to do was look to the sky, and that he did not have to be here in this old haunt to be with
her... but somehow, the words did not come. He stared at Hermione, bathed by the white-silver of
the moon, stared at the gravestones that he had never visited before, and knew she was right. He
would not be coming back here again. Tonight, he would be leaving behind the physical things that
represented his old life. He needed to say goodbye to all of it... He needed to say goodbye to the
ghost of what had been, and the spectre of what he had always *wished* had been. He needed it
to be able to move on.



He swallowed the lump in his throat and grabbed the hand Hermione had placed on his cheek,
turning it over to kiss the palm.



“I know.”



Hermione smiled at him. She pulled him forward into a brief kiss again, and then looked up into
his eyes.



“I'll be waiting for you just over the hill, alright?”



Harry nodded and watched her walk away until the rolling hills obscured her from his vision.



He turned toward his mother and Remus Lupin's graves and crammed his hands into his pockets,
stubbing the toe of his shoe along the ground. What could he say that would ever be good enough?
What sentiment could he share with his mother that would ever compare with what she had done for
him? Harry felt inadequate to talk with her, almost stupid for thinking to thank her. How could he
properly thank his mother for giving her life for him? What words could he express to make her
understand that he knew how much she had sacrificed? How could he ever tell her what she had done
for him, when he himself did not understand and could not comprehend the sort of love she had had
for him? The sort of love that feels anything is worth sacrificing if only to keep the other happy
and safe? The sort that thought so much of the other, that death was preferable to keep the other
from being hurt?



And then Harry thought of Hermione. He thought of how he had not thought twice about sacrificing
himself for her when Voldemort had threatened to kill her if Harry did not come to meet him
alone.



He began to understand. It was not the head that loved, with rationalisations and thoughts of
one's own self, it was the heart. With a start, he realised that his heart had become so full
of Hermione that it left no room for his own self interest. It was this that helped him understand
his mother's sacrifice. It was this that enabled him to speak with her.



“I love you, mum. I always will... I don't know what to say but thank you,” His throat
constricted. Harry swallowed hard, shifting from one foot to the other and feeling that his mother
was there somehow, watching him and listening. “I hope I've made you proud... I hope I've
never taken your love or your sacrifice for granted or ever made it seem that way. I hope... I hope
I've turned out the way you wanted me to... at least, well...” He paused, his mouth working. “I
mean I know parents want things for their children and I... I hope I've not disappointed you. I
hope I never disappoint you, mum. I want to make you proud. I want to... I want to live happy now.
I want to put things behind me and move forward...” Harry then looked up at his mother's
headstone and added very quickly, “But not because I want to forget you! I *never*... I
couldn't *ever* forget you, I just... I just want.. to be able to... Now that Voldemort is
gone I want to live happy, not just for me, but for you too. I know it's what you wanted; dad
told me. He said it's what you two always talked about... So I want to do it for you, too.
I'm going to work hard to put it all behind me, I *promise*, mum. I hope... I hope you
believe me. I hope you know I love you, even though I didn't get the chance to know you. Dad
says you're so much like Hermione it's frightening,” Harry smiled. “If that's true then
I feel like I do know you... And I feel like you know her. I love her, mum. I'm going to marry
her. And it makes me happy to know I'm marrying someone who is so much like you. I know you
would like her. I wish you could've met her, but... but somehow I know you see us, and I've
got a feeling you would approve.”

Harry moved forward to smooth his hand over the rounded part of the headstone, his chest tight
with emotion.



“I... I don't know what else to say, except, I love you.” He looked up to the sky, the moon
full and outlining the clouds in a dark blue. “I'll always wish you were here... but I know
you're up there watching us... me and dad... and I'll never forget you mum. Never. And
someday I'll meet you, I know it... Will you watch for me?”



The breeze picked up. Bunches of heather swayed as one entity, their bodies bending to the night
and brushing softly against Harry's legs. Pine trees clapped tiny needle hands, bows raising
toward the sky as if lifting Harry's words to heaven for him. The moon smiled at him from
above, her light bright and unfading.



Harry smiled back. “I'll take that as a yes.”



With that, he leaned down, kissed the top of his mother's headstone, and turned to make his
way back toward the car.



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



A/N: Well I think you all probably want to kill me for the long wait. I don't blame you. I
hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and I hope I incorporated relief, sadness, nostalgia, happiness
and humour in it well enough that you see what this chapter was about, and why it was so hard to
write! I hope you aren't too angry with me... go easy on me about the long wait, please! Lol.
And as always, let me know what you think.



Also want to let you guys know what the incantation James spoke means. Very loosely, it means,
“Allow the switch (interchange) to end. Even though (notwithstanding) death divide our bodies,
allow what once was (the former), to be so (occur), again (anew). May (allow) it be as if (like)
the natural was never altered.)” Of course this is not perfect Latin or sentence structure, mind
you, because I don't know Latin and got this off of a website.



OH! And I dedicate this chapter to Kiki, aka Kikilovesyou, and Sean, aka Syustat, who've
been such faithful, wonderful, insightful, detailed, and *persistent*(!) reviewers that I
wanted to give a shout out to them. Thanks you guys!






40. Chapter 40: Remembrance
---------------------------

*Chapter 40: Remembrance*





“*The Dead” by Rupert Brooke*



*I*



*Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!*

*There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,*

*But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.*

*These laid the world away; poured out the red*

*Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be*

*Of work and joy, and that unhoped serenity*

*That men call age; and those who would have been,*

*Their sons, they gave, their immortality.*



*Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth,*

*Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain.*

*Honour has come back, as a king, to earth,*

*And paid his subjects with a royal wage;*

*And Nobleness walks in our ways again;*

*And we have come into our heritage.*



*II*



*These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,*

*Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.*

*The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,*

*And sunset, and the colours of the earth.*

*These had seen movement and heard music; known*

*Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;*

*Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;*

*Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.*



*There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter*

*And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,*

*Frost with a gesture, stays the waves that dance*

*And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white*

*Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,*

*A width, a shining peace, under the night.*





The memorial for all those who died in battle fell on a day so jewel bright and warm that Harry
could almost imagine Dumbledore himself was controlling it from above, perhaps chuckling to himself
at how purposefully inappropriate he'd made it. For Harry, it was strange, to say the least,
that only day before yesterday he was standing near the cabin where he had grown up, facing his
mother's grave for the first time and watching his father get his body back, and now he was on
his way to a collective funeral and memorial to honour those who had died in the war fought only a
week earlier in the Forest of Kavan... the war that had finally resulted in the real defeat of
Voldemort. Media coverage of the events of the war and what had happened since had been, and
continued to be, endless and abundant, though Harry had not expected anything less. Even now, as
he, Hermione and Ron rolled slowly toward the cemetery in one of the many Muggle cars leading the
procession, the wizarding media were either hot on their trail or already there, readying
themselves for the ceremony. Once they were spotted amidst the crowd, he feared they would be
besieged by reporters, all vying for personal, up-close angles on the story, and felt a pang of
envy that his father and Sirius did not have to endure the intrusion as well. They were, of course,
much desired to attend, especially by the media, but because Sirius had just been newly acquitted,
and because even though the media now knew that Harry's father was still alive and that he had
been hiding as Remus Lupin for years, they still did not know he had recently gotten his body back,
the two had felt that to show up at the memorial would cause an even greater frenzy and would take
away from the real purpose of it, and had regretfully decided not to attend. Though he knew it
seemed rather selfish to think it, Harry rather felt they had got the better part of the deal.



The three were riding in one of the vehicles rented from 'Magicars' in Hogsmeade to take
those students who would be attending the ceremony to the site. The black car they had been riding
in pulled to a slow stop and parked, just one of many in a line of what appeared to be hundreds of
cars, carriages, brooms stowed in broom racks, and strangely, the Knight Bus, magically expanded to
six levels rather than three, already parked at the cemetery. Peering past Hermione's shoulder
and out the tinted window, Harry could already make out a massive crowd of well-dressed witches and
wizards forming a crude circle around, and effectively hiding, what he could only imagine was the
area they were headed toward for the memorial.



The driver of their car, a fidgety old wizard with thinning grey hair by the name of Morton, who
had been fighting to restrain himself from talking to them on the trip over, finally peered over
his shoulder at them and spoke.



“You three'd bes' be ready. Momen' you're spotted it'll be *complete
'avoc*, you mark my words. I was listenin' to the WWN right before I picked you up...
*you're* the ones they're looking forward to interviewin' most.”



On Harry's left side, Ron leaned forward with his mouth open. “*Interviewing*!? What
the... this **is** a memorial service we're going to, or haven't the press been
notified!?”



“Oh, they've kep' no'ified of every last detail since the war,” the driver answered
him, with a note of excitement in his voice. “Ain' never 'eard nor seen the likes of it,
though, what could you expect, aye? Everyone wants an exclusive wiv the ones direc'ly
responsible for You-Know-'oo's final demise, an' the media ain' seen 'ide nor
'air of you as you've been able to 'ide out at 'Ogwarts. No' tha' I blame
you, mind you-”



“We haven't been *hiding*,” Harry growled in reply.



Hermione laid a restraining hand on his arm and quickly addressed the driver. “Normally we'd
have already been let out for summer, but because we got... sidetracked... well... we've still
got end of the year exams to finish. We'd still be at school anyway, even if we weren't
'hiding out', which we *aren't*-”



“Didn' mean to imply otherwise, it's jus' the way they're paintin' it,” said
the driver quickly, now downright excited to be talking to them. “Oh, an' they've jus'
been cursin' Minerva McGonagoll to wiv'in an inch of 'er life for not allowin' them
access to the school, but I s'pose it's bin for the best, ain' it? All of 'em
vyin' wiv each other for the chance to corner you three -'specially *you*, Potter...
well... I s'ppose we *all* wanna know 'ow you did it.”



Harry narrowed his eyes. “Did *what*, exactly...”



“Defeated 'im, o'course!” said the driver, now turning fully in his seat to stare in
wonderment at Harry. In his excitement he didn't seem to notice Harry's expression, which
was turning blacker by the second. “Everyone's 'eard you three were the ones 'oo faced
'im at the last, but no one 'oo was there 'as given much detail past the shield Albus
Dumbledore made to stop you from facing 'im... all seem to clam up after that... 'cept
we've all 'eard you *did* 'ave to face 'im alone for a good while-”



“*Him...*” said Harry, now positively fuming.



Ron glanced sideways at Harry and then back at the driver, a feeling of foreboding beginning to
twist in his stomach. Anyone who knew Harry would have known he was about to explode.



“You-know-'oo, o'course!” the driver replied eagerly. “Ain' no one yet let it slip
what 'appened afterward! Well, we all know You-know-'oo killed Dumbledore -real tragedy,
that- but we don' know exac'ly what 'appened or 'ow he finally came to 'is end,
or 'ow you got through that shield to face the dark lord! ...Daily Prophet's callin'
you a hero... say they 'eard tell from several reliable witnesses tha' you faced 'im
alone for a good while... wouldn't let your friends 'ere in to 'elp;... faced 'im
off wiv a sword an' you're *bare 'ands-”*



“ *'*Him*'* being *Voldemort* again, right?” Said Harry aloud, taking
sadistic pleasure in the sudden convulsive movement the driver made upon mention of the dark
lord's name. He felt Hermione put her hand on his arm again but shook it off.



“Yeah,” said the driver, somewhat breathlessly now, but still not taking the hint. “Y..yeah,
'im... Can't imagine wha' it must've been like, you an' yours facing 'im
and 'is whole army down. 'Eard from reliable sources you came righ' close to losin'
it for a few. *Must've*.. *been*.. *somefing*... fightin' the evil wizard
'oo's wanted to do you in you're 'ole bloody life. Finally 'aving an
end-for-all. It's no small wonder everyone wants the details, myself included,” he finished,
giving Harry what he apparently thought was an ingratiating grin.



He stared expectantly at Harry for a moment, but after a few moments of stony silence, the smile
began to slide from his lips.



“W..well... but... but I don' suppose you *want* to be talkin' about all that, aye?
Not after all you three've been thr-”



“So you want to know how Albus Dumbledore died, is that it?” said Harry finally, his voice hard
and cold. “Or maybe you want to know how Voldemort had me on the ground trying hard as he could to
run me through, telling me the whole time he was going to *kill everyone I cared about*?”



Hermione moaned quietly. “Harry, don't-”



“Wha'? N..no... No, I didn't...” The driver looked horrified, his jaw moving up and
down. “Look, I'm sorry, I jus' wanted... *everyone* wants to know 'ow.. 'ow
you done it, not jus' me-”



“C'mon Harry, let's just go,” Ron mumbled, beginning to open the door on his side of the
car.



“No, wait Ron. Let's let him on in what he *missed*,” said Harry more loudly through
gritted teeth, leaning forward in his seat.



“Harry, *please,*” intoned Hermione, opening her door as well and grabbing his arm. He
ignored her.



“So you want to know what a field of dead bodies looks like, aye? Or what it's like to watch
people you've known for years die right in front of you? Or what it's like to actually kill
someone?”



“N..no! No, I jus' meant-”



“How about what it's like to find out someone you've *trusted for years* has kept
it *secret* from you he's related to you, only to *lose* him a couple of days
later!?”



“Harry-”



“Let's get out, mate-”



“Or how it feels to know you're only a **second from dying** and from letting everyone in
the whole world down because of some *piece-of-shit* prophecy you're crackpot teacher made
about you sixteen years ago!? Or how the only people who've ever cared for you are about to
*lose their lives* **because** of you!? Hey, maybe you want to ask Ron what it's like
to lose a brother! Or find Draco Malfoy and ask him what it's like to have to kill you're
*own father*! Though you might not get much detail from him as he's not been much for
*talking* since he did it-”



“I'm sorry,” said the driver at once. “I'm sorry, Potter, you're absolutely
righ'. G..go on now. Easy, there. Forget I ever said anyfing, awright? I was jus'
curious... we all are. Go on, there's a good lad.”



Harry finally gave in to Hermione's desperate tugging on his arm and shrugged himself out of
the car after her, slamming the door so hard behind him that all four panes of glass rattled in
their settings. The driver promptly pulled away from the curb and flew back down the road
again.



Clenching his fists in fury, Harry whipped around and began taking long strides down the
manicured lawn toward the growing circle of solemnly-dressed witches and wizards in the near
distance. Ron and Hermione hurried along after him.



“I reckon we'll be finding other means of transportation back to school then,” said Ron from
behind Harry, sounding slightly irritated.



Harry came to an abrupt stop and wheeled around. “So you would have rather I sat there and let
him grill me with a bunch of dumb-arsed questions!?”



“ 'Course not mate, but what else were we supposed to do?” said Ron. “Rip him a new
one?”



“I was coming to that next,” Harry replied coldly.



Hermione sighed. “We were going to have to face it sooner or later, Harry... we couldn't
hide at Hogwarts forever. No one except those who were there really know what it was like. They
don't understand. They're simply going to be asking inappropriate things of us, and all we
can do is-”



“Sit there and take it like we haven't got better things to do than get on with our lives,
right?” said Harry. “Or maybe we should answer their questions honestly and watch them look
horrified over what we had to do, aye?”



“You've got a point,” said Ron. “Still, we can't want to beat up everyone who asks us
about it. There's going to be a fair few.”



“We can't?” said Harry, sarcastically.



“No we can't,” said Hermione, trying to sound patient. “We'll just have to try..
*politely..* to make them understand that it's a painful subject, and not something we
want brought up every time we're approached.”



“Well, sorry if I'm not feeling full of tact at the moment,” Harry replied angrily, turning
again to march toward the huge circle of people ahead. Some had now recognised that he, Ron and
Hermione were walking toward them and had begun whispering to one another. Harry did his best to
ignore them. “I don't understand why people would think we want to relive it all the time, as
if we aren't already reliving it every five minutes in our heads-”



“It's just as hard for me to understand,” said Hermione, catching him up and grabbing onto
his hand. “But at least you've got Ron and I who understand exactly what you're feeling,
Harry... We're feeling it too, or have you forgotten?”



Harry stopped dead in his tracks and stared ahead for a moment before slowly turning to them.
”You're right. Look... I'm sorry... I just sort of lost it with all the stupid things he
said...” he paused. “I'm sorry, Hermione. Sorry I lost our ride, Ron.”



“No worries,” said Ron, peering past him at the crowd, most of whom were now staring their way,
interspersed with reporters who were now fidgeting excitedly with their equipment. “Better get used
to it fast, though. I've got a feeling it's going to get worse before it gets better.”



Harry looked over his shoulder at the crowd and turned back to Ron and Hermione. He took
Hermione's hand in his own, nodded to Ron, and the three began making their ways forward
together.



Upon reaching the back-most part of the throng, they found as of yet that they recognised almost
no one. Countless relatives, friends, and admirers of the dead had shown to pay their respects, and
though most either watched silently or whispered to neighbours as the three passed by, Harry felt
almost as if he were on display. Reporters standing nearby seemed to be barely containing their
desire to corner those who had been in the battle, and who were now out of 'hiding', and
although they did not approach anyone, Harry was sure their self- control would begin to ebb away
toward the end of the memorial.



The closer the three edged to the front of the crowd, where they were supposed to be for the
ceremony, the more sombre faces they began recognising. Members of the Order and the Ministry,
teachers and students who had gotten there before them, those they had barely met but who had
fought along side them in battle, those parents and relatives of recently deceased schoolmates they
had seen before at various school functions, and most distinctively, Hagrid, who was mopping his
eyes, and who had settled himself near what appeared to be a giant polished, concrete memorial
etched with dozens upon dozens of names, Albus Dumbledore's atop them all. Lavender Brown stood
near him, holding on to one very large hand and squeezing it in consolation. She saw the three and
waved them over.



Hagrid blew his nose into a handkerchief the size of a pillowcase, causing several of those
standing nearby to step cautiously backward, and lowered it to see Harry, Ron and Hermione standing
next to he and Lavender.



“Oh! Oh, it's you three,” he said in a sorrow-roughened voice, apparently embarrassed that
he had been caught crying. “How're you holdin' up, then? You alrigh'?”



“We're fine,” said Hermione, looking up at him with some concern. “Are you alright? Has
something happened?”



“Oh no.. well.. nothin' bad, tha' is,” said Hagrid, giving them a bright smile through
his tears. “Actually blubberin' over somethin' good along wi' all this. Early this
mornin' Olympe woke from her coma. I spen' all day fillin' her in on wha' she
missed after she wen' down.”



“Oh Hagrid, that's wonderful!” cried Hermione.



Hagrid nodded. “She was sure glad ter see me. I was goin' ter stay wi' her all day
bu' she told me she didn' wan' me missin' the memorial... insisted I go. She's
somethin', Olympe...” he smiled reminiscently for a moment, and then continued. “She even
talked Ginny and Sirius inter convincin' Draco Malfoy ter get outta bed and come too. Thought
it migh' make 'im feel a bit better about what he done ter come to th' memorial and see
all those he helped figh' alongside in th' war. Dunno s'much if it's helpin'
but it got him outta bed, a' the very leas'.”



“Malfoy's here?” asked Ron, quickly scanning the crowd. “Where?”



Hagrid pointed one very large finger almost directly across from their part of the circle, and
Ron craned his neck around the speaker and podium directly in his line of vision to see Malfoy,
standing silently toward the front of the crowd, his eyes trained to the ground and Ginny holding
onto his arm for support.



Harry watched Ron warily. A red flush had begin creeping its way over his cheeks and ears.



“*Ron*-” began Hermione, who had apparently just seen the same warning signs that Harry
had.



“I know. Don't say it, Hermione, I know-”



“You can't control who she loves. She's her own person and she doesn't need you
trying to-”



“I said **I know**, didn't I!?”



Ron was saved her reply by the loud sound of the key speaker clearing his voice. Clearly he had
used a voice projection charm.



“Hello everyone... Thank you all for coming to the memorial for those who so selflessly gave
their lives in the battle against...” he swallowed, “against V..Vo..Voldem..mort... and.. and
against those who stood with him.”



Only a few people seemed to react upon hearing Voldemort's name mentioned. Inwardly, Harry
smiled. There was something greatly satisfying in knowing that soon, there would be no one left who
was afraid to say the bastard's name. It would be even more gratifying when he never heard it
again.



The speaker continued, clearing his throat. “Most of us were unaware the battle even took place
until afterwards. The events that have plagued our world over the past few months, I think it fair
to say, have been dark, indeed. We have endured the upheaval of our society, the separation of
whole families and communities, the threat of You-Know-Who's return to power, and the loss of
many of our friends and relatives. We are here today to honour those who stood up, and fought
against a powerful threat to our very existence. They were regular men and women, soldiers and
Ministry workers, creatures, and yes, even children... “



All at once, Harry felt the eyes of many around them settle on various classmates standing
nearby, and then, inevitably, on himself, Hermione and Ron, and the feeling of being on display
settled back on him once again. He kept his own gaze fixed doggedly on the speaker and felt
Hermione and Ron do the same. He knew they felt the same as he did. He did not want to see
anyone's grateful expressions or looks of pity. He had only done what had to be done, just as
those who had not made it out alive had done. He was no one extraordinary. He had not asked for
fame, nor had he acted a hero, as if he had “volunteered” to be the one to kill Voldemort. The job
had been thrust on him, and he had done what he had to do. He was no more special than any of the
others who had died in battle to keep Voldemort from gaining power.

He glanced from the corner of his eye at those standing round him; taking in their looks of
admiration, the whispers to neighbours... He wondered how they would feel about him if they knew
how often he had wished the job on someone else... *anyone* else... how he had wished, upon
going to face Voldemort, that it was anyone else but Hermione that Voldemort had fixated on to lure
Harry to him... how he had wished someone else but Dumbledore had taken that sword... some unknown
person... someone he would not have to mourn... how he had often wished some other boy had lost his
parents to a dark wizard and gained a scar from it, or that he could be one of the many unknowns
walking round him at school, living out their lives in peaceful anonymity, with not much care in
the world save passing the next test...



Hermione seemed to know what he was thinking. Without looking at him, she grabbed his hand and
laced her fingers with his own. Harry glanced gratefully down at her.



“These who stand here before you today, and those who died in battle- whose names will be
forever etched here, and on our hearts- were willing to give their very lives so that we might live
ours in peace,” the speaker continued with a wobbly voice, mopping his eyes with a handkerchief.
“They were willing to die, so that we might not have to live in fear... We will never forget their
sacrifice. We will never forget Albus Dumbledore, the wizard who so bravely led them... and we will
*never* forget those witches and wizards, young and old, who put aside their fears and faced
such an evil, so that we all might be free. So I thank you on behalf of all of us here, and the
entire wizarding race.”



The crowd clapped as one. Those who had fought in battle alongside Harry, Hermione and Ron,
looked politely embarrassed and kept their eyes trained to the ground. Past the speaker, Harry saw
Ginny holding tightly to Malfoy's arm, speaking words of encouragement to him. Malfoy leaned
down and planted a kiss on the top of her head. For a moment, Harry was struck at this tender
showing of affection from the boy he had once thought as evil as they came... At a glance, he could
see that Ron had been watching and was none too happy with it, but was somehow restraining himself
from waltzing across the lawn and ripping Malfoy's head off. Perhaps it had something to do
with the iron-like grip Lavender had on his arm, or whatever it was that she was whispering in his
ear. In any case, it looked as if Malfoy was going to live to see another day... or at least that
he wasn't going to get it at the memorial. As for tomorrow or any other day thereafter, all
bets were still on.



The rest of the service progressed slowly. More people stood up to speak for the dead and those
who were not there to speak for themselves due to injury. Hagrid went forward and delivered a
moving speech about Dumbledore; one which brought most of the very large crowd to tears, and which
confirmed to Harry just how much Hagrid had thought of the Headmaster, as if Dumbledore had been a
sort of surrogate father for him after his own father died.



Directly after the memorial was announced over, as if to ruin the solemn, heartfelt atmosphere
of the place, the reporters standing nearby whispered excitedly to their colleagues and began to
make their ways forward to catch those who had been hidden away at Hogwarts and who, as of yet, had
not been approached to give their stories. Apparently the same courtesy that had been shown during
the service, was considered null and void the moment the last word was spoken. Harry and Hermione
turned together and watched as teachers and students tried unsuccessfully to worm their ways
unnoticed through the crowd, only to be cornered by a determined reporter and his or her
entourage.



“I think we should get going you know,” said Hermione, glancing nervously around. “It won't
be long before we're-”



Something poked Harry hard in the ribs. Annoyed he turned and saw Ron staring past him, a look
of disbelief, mingled with the strong desire to run away on his face. Harry whipped about and
strained to see what he was seeing. Soon enough, a dumpy woman in her late forties with curly
dyed-blonde hair, bejewelled spectacles, shocking long, pink fingernails and a tight garish
business suit made her way through the crowd and began striding towards them, a lavish smile
plastered on her face. One hand was buried suspiciously deep in her crocodile handbag, and the
other was out in front of her, as if ready to seize any unsuspecting person who got in her way.



Harry's face fell. “*Ah* *hell*.”



“HARRY!” Rita Skeeter beamed, grabbing his hand with her own and pulling him forward to stand on
tiptoe as high as she could and kiss him on the cheek. “You've certainly grown tall and
strapping, haven't you? So nice to see you! It's been ages!”



At the sound of the familiar voice, Hermione whipped around, an instant scowl on her face. “Not
long enough,” she muttered angrily.



Rita's smile faltered a bit at seeing Hermione, but she hitched it back into place almost
instantaneously.



“Hermione Granger,” said Rita, her large, false grin doing very little to hide the disdain in
her voice. “Still right by his side, are you?”



Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and stared pointedly down at Rita.



She looked down at their clasped hands and back up again.. “Ah... ah I see. Well I always
*have* had the knack of knowing which way the wind was blowing. Called this one right,
didn't I? Before even *you two* knew it...” She turned to Ron, who was scowling. “And...
*you* are?”



“Ron Weasley,” said Ron flatly.



“Ah... ah yes, the best friend. Well now I didn't get the pleasure of meeting you a few
years ago but I dare say we'll have much to talk of now, won't we?” The hand that had been
rooted in Rita's crocodile skin bag now whipped out a notepad and an acid-green quill, the same
one Harry had seen her use some years ago. She placed the tip of the quill in her mouth and began
to suck on it with relish, excitement etched on her face.



“You can put that straight away,” said Hermione at once, sounding angry. “We came to honour
those who died in battle, not to give interviews. If you can't understand that, you've no
business being here.”



Rita let the tip of the quill drop from her lips and regarded Hermione coldly. “And what exactly
makes you think *you're* qualified to decide where I should and should not be? I suppose
you're just dying to pull out the old 'I'll let everyone know you're an
unregistered Animagus' bit, aren't you? Well I've got news for you, Miss Perfect.
I've gone and registered myself with the Ministry of Magic. Did it last June... Sort of buggers
up your continued plans to blackmail me, doesn't it?”



“And I'll bet they don't know how *long* you've been an Animagus, do they?”
said Hermione, her eyes narrowed. “Odds are you left *that* bit out.”



Rita's face coloured considerably. She opened her mouth to speak again but Harry's voice
cut her off.



“None of that matters. This is a memorial. Everyone here has lost people close to them,” he said
very firmly. “They don't need a bunch of tactless reporters dragging information from them to
sell papers.”



Rita pretended to look affronted, and stared at them for a few moments before speaking again. “I
assure you, my reasons for being here are a bit more honourable than you think.”



“*Honourable*?” said Ron sarcastically. “Sorry, but based on your history, I've got my
doubts on that one.”



“I don't believe you know me well enough to begin slinging accusations young man,” began
Rita in a steely voice. “While it's true I might have embellished here and there on some of my
more... acclaimed... pieces, I've always kept a standard of truth in my writing, which is why
I'm here.”



Harry eyed her. “ 'Why you're here', aye? What... to get the 'truth' out of
us? To tell the 'real' story? Since when have you ever been interested in telling the
'real' story?”



Rita sighed impatiently. “I said I liked to embellish... it's true. But I believe you'll
find the *Daily Prophet's* version of events more palatable than what certain
*others* may choose to report.” She pointed one long, shockingly pink nail toward a cluster of
reporters dressed in robes of black with twinkling stars and colourful planets revolving on them,
worming their way through the crowd and catching unsuspecting people off-guard. “The ones dressed
in solar systems are reporters from Astrology Monthly. If you think *I* add things to sell
papers, it's nothing to what *they* like to do. They like to add astrological spins to
everything. Prophecies, fortune telling... you know the type... if they find out five students died
in the battle, they'll find some way to make it coincide with the comets of Atraides that flew
past the five outer moons of the planet Plexus some one hundred years ago to the day of the battle,
and so on...”



Ron looked horrified. “Comets of Atraides? Plexus? I've never heard of-”



“It's all *rubbish*,” said Hermione scathingly. “There's no planet called Plexus,
Ron, and even if there were it wouldn't have five moons orbiting-”



“Well, *of* *course* it's rubbish,” said Rita casually, twirling the green quill
between her fingers. “But suppose they get enough fodder to sell their papers, and the Daily
Prophet gets virtually none... well it doesn't take a science-wizard to figure out which paper
is going to sell out, and which one's version of events is going to be widely believed and
spread about.”



“As if there aren't going to be nutters out there who read that rot anyway,” said Hermione
again, scoffing. “Us giving you our version isn't going to make anyone who really wants to read
rubbish want to read it any less.”



“And there's where you're wrong,” said Rita, smiling devilishly. “You three give the
Daily Prophet your version of events, and I guarantee yours will be the ones most widely read and
believed. After all, you, Harry, are the one who was foretold would kill V..Vold..demort in the
end, and you were the one who finally did him in, weren't you? You were also very close to the
great Albus Dumbledore, as we all know. He gave his life for you, I'm told. You're the one
who'll be best be able to put a heroic spin on how he died... you're the one who can cast
him in the best light, and not as some barmy, old crackpot who completely lost his marbles, and
there are still those out there who'll want to read articles about how Dumbledore went nutters
toward the end, *believe* you me. And you two,” she said, now pinning Ron and Hermione with a
hard stare. “You, along with Harry, were the ones most involved in all this, and it's your
opinions the public is going to value over anyone else's, no matter whether they were on the
front lines with you or not. Quite simply, Harry, *your* story sells papers... always has. So
you have the opportunity to give the world an unskewered version of events, which I promise to jot
down word for word as you give it to me, *or*...” She let the last word trail away and her
eyes travelled over to the jumble of reporters who so resembled a cluster of galaxies, now
surrounding a small crowd of witches and wizards who looked unmistakeably cornered. “Well, we might
all be learning that Dumbledore's death was actually due to a fatal shift in his protective
aura caused by a large meteor shower which passed too closely to the earth's atmosphere at
precisely the same moment he was to have got out of the way of that sword-”



“We get the point,” said Harry angrily, now watching two wizards and one witch suddenly become
surrounded by a cluster of reporters from Astrology Monthly. They looked as if they had just been
swallowed by the Milky Way. He turned back to Rita. “Give us a minute, will you?”



She grinned smugly and stepped back from them. “Of course.”



Harry, Hermione, and Ron moved to one side and far enough away so that Rita's keen ears
could not pick up any of their conversation.



“I don't like it,” said Ron at once, in an undertone. “Let Astronomy Monthly write whatever
they want to-”



“*Astrology* Monthly,” corrected Hermione, “let's not get them confused with a real
scientific-”



“They're going to do it anyway; it doesn't matter what we say,” continued Ron,
pretending he had not heard Hermione's correction. She frowned at him as he continued. “We
shouldn't have to tell the *Daily Prophet* anything we don't want to. Why should we
rehash everything? Just to give everyone the real story? Why should we? Why do they deserve to
hear?”



“You *know* I don't want to go on reliving it,” said Harry grimly, “but... I dunno...
don't you think it's best they get the correct story, rather than a bunch of lies? I
wouldn't want anyone believing Dumbledore died from some problem with his *aura*-”



“There are others who were there who will be perfectly willing to give interviews to the Daily
Prophet as well,” said Hermione reasonably. “It's not down to us to do it or no one will, you
know. I'm not saying we shouldn't, I just don't want you thinking you have to do it or
no one else will, Harry.”



Harry stared at her for a moment, lost in thought, his fingers running through his hair and
making it stick up worse than it already was. “Even so... why should they have to do it, either?”
Ron opened his mouth to speak but Harry continued on. “No wait. Really though... is it fair if we
leave it to them to do it? They shouldn't have to relive it either... and Rita's right on
one count. We *are* the ones who were closest to everything. We can give the most accurate
account-”



“And like Hermione said, there are others who were right there to give an accurate account too,”
said Ron, cutting in. “If that's what you're worried about I'm sure there are plenty of
other people who want the facts down right as they happened too.”



Harry sighed and jammed his hands into the pockets of the black pants he wore under his dress
robes. Only minutes ago he had been thinking that nothing would be more pleasant than hiding away
with Hermione in some dark hole for a few years until the story of the war became less enthralling
to the media, or that the next nosy person who asked him what it had been like to kill Voldemort
might well be stumbling away sporting a broken nose, but now... now something was telling him he
needed to be the one to set everyone straight about what really happened. He knew it wasn't
just about giving a correct account, it wasn't just about making certain no one put a strange,
“otherworldly” spin on the story, nor was it only about feeling that he should not leave the job to
someone else to deal with... somehow... somehow he knew the shift in his feelings about telling the
story had to do with Dumbledore. He owed it to him. He wanted the public to know what a hero
Dumbledore had been... how he had sacrificed himself not only in trying to save Harry, but for all
those Voldemort might come to harm if he escaped. Many had gotten up during the memorial and said
kind words about the old wizard, but no one quite understood what he had done or why, no one else
really knew what he had sacrificed... and with the exception of Hagrid, he was quite sure no one
else felt the old man's loss as deeply as he, Harry, did. Dumbledore had been more than a
mentor to him... he had been like a grandfather. And now Harry knew exactly *why* his
relationship with the old man had seemed so familial. That was it. Beyond everything else,
Dumbledore was family.

Harry's eyes travelled to the gleaming slate of marble standing tall and engraved with the
names of those who had died in the war; Dumbledore's own, overly-long name etched at the very
top. He knew what he had to do. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he even could, Hermione
spoke for him.



“You want to do it for him, don't you?” she said quietly. “For Professor Dumbledore.”



Harry looked down at her. That Hermione knew him so well still never ceased to amaze him, no
matter how many times she proved it to him. He grabbed her hand and held it close to him, his
fingers stroking her palm.



“Yeah I do... I can't give him anything else now... At least I can give him his name.”


Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand. “I knew you would say that. I'll be right there with
you, Harry.”



Ron nodded solemnly. “Yeah, me too... I... I'll do it for him.”





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





Predictably, the moment Rita heard, she was overjoyed.



“Brilliant! I knew I could count on you, Harry. Always been the noble one, haven't you?
Well, it's served you well my boy, it certainly has. Now... let's find somewhere more
secluded for us to talk; you don't want to get distracted and leave out something
important!”



Clapping her hands together with glee, she whipped the acid-green quill and pad of paper from
her bag once more and, sliding her horn-rimmed glasses to the edge of her nose, immediately began
scanning the surrounding area for somewhere to conduct her interview.



“Wait...” said Ron, “you want to do it *now*? Right *here*? After the memorial?”



“Well of course *now*, you daft boy,” said Rita, her eyes never leaving the surrounding
landscape. A small crop of trees seemed to catch her eye and she began walking swiftly towards
them, beckoning the three behind her with a wave of her hand. “Did you think we might wait for next
weeks edition? Do you think *Astrology Monthly* plans on waiting to run their version? We have
to get the story out as soon as possible if we want yours to be the first ones the public sees! You
three give me the story today and I can guarantee it makes the Sunday paper.”



“But... that's tomorrow!” said Hermione, panting from trying to keep up with Rita's fast
paced walking. Even Harry and Ron, tall as they were, seemed surprised at how fast Skeeter was able
to move. “You think you'll have everything ready to be printed tomorrow? What about editing and
re-checking your facts, and-”



“News waits for no one!” said Rita, waggling a finger in the air as they neared the cluster of
trees they had been heading toward. She stopped suddenly and whipped about, quill and pad at the
ready. Ron nearly ran into her before he stopped himself. “I'll bet you ten galleons
*Astrology Monthly* has their story published by early tomorrow morning. And I don't know
when else I'm supposed to see you three to get the story from you, do you? From what I hear,
Hogwarts only has a few more days of extended school left, and by that time twenty different
versions of what happened during the war might already be out and circulating.”



“That's exaggerating a bit, don't you think?” said Harry, blandly.



“*Not* exaggerating, no,” said Rita, irritated. “*Think* about it. Dumbledore's
death? V..Vold..dem..mort's defeat? *Your* 'destiny', finally fulfilled? I dare
say every paper and magazine will be sold out by the time noon rolls round. This is the biggest
story ever reported in the wizarding world, I assure you.”



“Quite possibly the biggest story *you've* ever reported as well, right?” said Harry,
keenly.



Rita narrowed her eyes, looking nettled. “I've not tried to hide that fact, have I?
*Yes*, I want to be the one reporting it. But everything else I've said is true too. If
you want everything reported accurately, you need to tell the story yourself. Now,” she said
bracingly, planting herself down on a flat tree stump and placing quill to pad. “Does anyone else
want to blather on about ridiculous things or can we get on with the interview?”



The moment the last word left her lips, a loud crack sounded from somewhere right next to
Hermione, and Minerva McGonagoll appeared in front of the four of them, clad in simple black dress
robes, her hair pulled tight in a severe looking bun, and her lips set in an angry grimace. They
had not seen her arrive at the service, nor had they seen her during it, but Harry was sure she had
been there. Her eyes were red-rimmed from a bout of recent crying, and her nose swollen and
chafed.



“Minerva!” said Skeeter, jumping up from her stump and trying to sound pleased, although her
voice quailed just a bit. The quill and pad had completely disappeared from her hands. “How
wonderful to see you! Such an awful day for a reunion though, isn't it? All those names... and
Dumbledore! Who would've thought? I always liked him though, scrambled as he seemed, he
*always* had it together, didn't he? Was always lovely to me-”



“There'll be no stories today, Rita,” McGonagoll spat furiously, sounding a big congested.
“How *dare* you steal my students away, and from the middle of a *memorial service*, no
less! Have you no sense of propriety!? Have you no respect!?”



“Well, I would *never* have approached them during the service,” said Rita, sounding
wounded. “I only asked them to speak to me *after* it was done-”



“The very moment it was over, I'm certain!” McGonagoll hissed. “You've no right to ask
them to relive what they went through, no right at all! I'm taking them back to the school
straight away, and I WILL be reporting your inappropriate actions to the *Daily Prophet*. They
won't be thanking you for upsetting me or my students after this, let me assure you.”



McGonagoll turned her back on Rita, whose face was slowly draining of colour, and began marching
back across the field toward the rapidly dispersing crowd not far away. It was quite apparent to
everyone there that she meant Harry, Ron, and Hermione to follow her without question, and the tone
in her voice brooked no argument.



Rita, obviously beginning to process the damage that an angry Headmistress of Hogwarts might
inflict upon her career, began jogging after her, her words coming out choppy as she stumbled along
breathlessly in her wake. “You can't.. stop the press, Minerva! After all that's happened
some story is bound to.. to surface about what happened in those woods and I would think you, being
in the middle of everything yourself, would want a straight version of events coming directly from
the horses mouth... Certainly, one would think that those.. those who were there would be most
invested in getting the truth to the public-”



“Oh, I'm certain that's what *you're* interested in,” said McGonagoll in a
hard, sarcastic tone, not bothering to turn around as she continued stomping back to the crowd.
“Seeing as how you've always been such been a paragon of virtue when it comes to the
'truth'.”



Rita began to splutter in earnest. “But... b..but... you wouldn't want some falsified
version of events to be spread about for all to read, would you? If I can get the real story out
for everyone to read before a lot of half-truths hit the shelves, just think of how much better it
will be for all concerned! Wouldn't it make sense for the one who was closest to everything to
let the true story out before someone else gets it all wrong? Why Potter here-”



“*Asked* Rita to interview us, Professor,” Harry finished for her, stopping so that
Hermione almost walked into him.



Rita's voice halted abruptly. Ron and Hermione were staring at Harry, Ron's mouth open
slightly. McGonagoll stopped marching at once and turned on her heel, spearing Harry with a very
surprised look.



“Wh... *You*, Potter?” said McGonagoll, looking completely nonplussed. “*You* asked
*this* woman to... you, of all people, wanted *HER*, of all people to-”



“Yes,” said Harry decisively, glancing at Hermione and Ron and widening his eyes just long
enough for them to see that he wanted them to play along.



“Why!? Why would you...” the Headmistress spluttered, “after all she's...”



“Because she's right on one count,” said Harry. “I want the truth out. It won't be
fun... reliving it... but it needs to be done. I *want* to do this, Professor. Please.”



Rita stayed completely silent, though Harry thought he could see her eyes dancing with victory.
McGonagoll put a hand to her forehead, obviously torn between wanting to protect her students and
giving them the right to speak their mind. Finally she relented, her hand dropping to her side as
if in defeat.



“Fine. Fine, Potter. But you don't need them all to get the correct story,” she finished,
stabbing Rita again with a very hard stare. “I don't want them all going through it again, and
Potter is more than qualified to set everything straight on is own.”



Hermione stepped forward. “But Professor-”



“No, Hermione, I can do it,” said Harry. “It's enough for one of us to.”



“Yes,” said Rita, trying very hard to drown her feeling of accomplishment in a look of
acquiescence. “Yes, Potter's version will be quite enough. I don't want any of them going
through it again if they don't have to.”



McGonagoll narrowed her eyes at her and spoke next with a voice that held such a steely edge of
scorn to it that any normal person would have been cut to the quick. “Of course you don't.”



Rita, however, merely smiled cheerfully back at her.



Harry, Hermione and Ron looked at one another for a moment, unsure of what to do.



“Well, no time like the present,” said Rita, clapping her hands together again. The green quill
and notepad had suddenly found their ways back into her heavily adorned fingers. “Shall we then,
Potter?”



Harry quirked a half amused, half irritated eyebrow at her and nodded. “I'll be along in a
minute. We can go back to the trees, if you like.”



Rita nodded and began her way back toward the trees, humming slightly to herself. The moment she
was out of earshot, McGonagoll rounded on him again.



“Are you certain, Potter? I don't want you doing this out of some false sense of obligation.
It's not down to you to tell the story or no one else will, you know.”



Harry smiled at her, struck anew at how often Hermione and Professor McGonagoll sounded alike.
“Yes, I'm sure.”



“Alright then. I can't stop you. Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger can ride back to Hogwarts with
me. I'll have one of the cars stay put to bring you back to school as soon as you're done.”
She glanced back to where Rita was sitting on the old tree stump, already fiddling with her quill,
and speaking test lines to make certain it was working properly. McGonagoll's lips thinned into
a line of disapproval and dislike. “See to it that she doesn't keep you long. If you're not
done by dinnertime in the Great Hall, you can tell her I'll be coming for you myself.”



“I'm sure that'll keep her brief,” said Harry.



The professor eyed him sharply for a moment, hiding a small smirk, and then turned to Ron and
Hermione. “We'll be off, then.”



She turned to go and began walking away, again secure in the fact that the other two would
follow.

Ron began to follow her, but Hermione held back, waving him on without her.



Once he was out of earshot, she turned back to Harry. “Harry, why did you tell Professor
McGonagoll it was you're idea to be interviewed? You didn't have to do that, you know.”



“I don't want her trying to stop me,” said Harry, grabbing onto her hand. “I want Professor
Dumbledore's name cleared. And I might as well tell the story and get it on paper the way we
want it. At least that way maybe everyone's questions will be answered and they'll leave us
all alone.”



Hermione stared up at him knowingly.



Harry sighed. “Well... maybe they won't-”



“No, they won't,” said Hermione, sadly. “An article in the Daily Prophet isn't going to
keep people from approaching us, Harry. We'll still have to deal with it.”



“Maybe. But I still want the truth out. At least I can control what's said and what's
not said, you know?” He smiled down at her and pulled her to him. “And we'll have each other. I
can take questions and reliving it if I've got you with me.”



Hermione hugged him hard, her answer muffled in his chest. “You'll *always* have
me.”



Harry stared over her head at Rita, who was tapping one foot impatiently and staring at them. He
smiled down at Hermione again.



“And will I have you tonight in my bed?”



Hermione pulled back and hit him lightly on the arm. “What exactly do you mean by that?”



“You know what I mean,” said Harry, smoothing her cheek with the back of his hand and then
running two fingers over her lips. “I'll need some comforting.”



“Oh will you?” said Hermione, one eyebrow raised. “Would a right hook comfort you?”



“I dunno... might be exciting though,” said Harry.



“Cheeky,” said Hermione, trying and failing to sound irritated. “I'll see you back at
school.”



She turned to walk back, and then on a whim, turned to glance at him over her shoulder.
“We'll see about that comforting.”



Harry grinned at her as she walked away, and then, jamming his hands in his pockets, walked back
over to Rita and sat down on another tree stump near her.



She smirked at him. “You two seem right cosy, don't you? I'll say it again, I've got
a nose for these things... saw you two coming from a mile off.”



Harry looked at her warily.



“On that note,” said Rita casually, her quill quivering with excitement, “I don't suppose
you want to add in a bit on that, do you? How Granger has helped you through all this, or something
to that effect? Might put a human spin to the story that readers will find easy to identify
wi-”



“**No**,” said Harry in a hard, clear voice. “I'm here to talk about the war, that's
all.”



Rita's casual look melted away. “Oh, *alright*.”



She stared at him for a moment, curiosity lining her face.



“What...” said Harry, flatly.



“Why did you lie to Minerva for me?” said Rita with a scrutinizing gaze. “I know it wasn't
borne out of your extreme fondness for me.”



Harry smirked. “Well... now you owe me.”



Rita eyed him judiciously. “Ah... now we come to it. You could've chosen any other Daily
Prophet reporter to give your story to- there were dozens down there- and McGonagoll was giving you
an out with me, wasn't she? I knew it had to be something. What is it, then? You want certain
things changed? Left out?”



“Whatever I want left out, I can leave out, and you won't be any the wiser, will you?” said
Harry, sharply. “And Hermione already hit on the fact that you probably didn't tell the
Ministry of Magic you've been an Animagus for some time before registering, I think...
didn't she say that? I can't remember.”



Rita pursed her lips, looking extremely sour. “Grown up, haven't you? Learned the ways of
the world.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Alright, you mean business, I can see that. What'd
you want, Potter?”



Harry grinned.



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



(**Author's note:** So it's been a long, LONG time, readers. You want to murder me...
yes, I know... if you even remember this story! (And I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.)
Harry Potter and the Half-Baked Plot really put me off my writing for a long time, (I HATED it... I
apologize to those who liked it) but I'm starting to get back into it, (thankfully), and I
haven't forgotten that I told everyone I wouldn't abandon this story until it was done. So
here's the next chapter, and I hope you all enjoy it! Please let me know what you think.... and
I hope you're all still interested enough to wonder what Harry's got up his sleeve. Tee
hee... I think you'll like it. I do. ;0)



Cheers, Bama)



41. Chapter 41: Seasons of Change
---------------------------------




**Chapter 41: Seasons of Change**





Late Monday morning brought one of the hardest rains of the year. Huge, lashing, warm sheets of
rain, bright flashes of lightning, and booming thunder made many a student sitting their end of
year written exams lose focus of what they were writing and thinking to gaze upwards toward the
enchanted ceiling; some visibly jumping at each loud, cracking drumroll the sky emitted. Above, a
perfect copy of nature's outdoor canopy showed a blackish-grey swirl of angry looking storm
clouds, their complete picture blurred and smeared by heavy torrents of rain pelting down like
liquid bullets, disappearing some fifteen feet above the student's heads.



The rain was a distraction. That was certain. What was even more certain, however, was that even
without the roaring and crashing above, many would have still had problems concentrating on
something that seemed much less important than it once might have been.



Once again, as if everything was normal, as if everyone's world had not recently been turned
upside down, the four long house tables of the Great Hall had been moved aside in favour of a
roomful of individual desks for end of year exams.



As hard as it was for those who had been through the war to accept that life moved on, as
strange as it was to try going on about normal business with newly jaded eyes and ill-understood
emotions, everyone knew business as usual had to be gone on about. Headmaster McGonagall had
reminded the students of that fact, making certain that she did it in the gentlest way possible,
which meant it came out rather stern anyway despite her efforts.



Ginny Weasley, sitting near the front of rows upon rows of desks, had been lost in thought for
more than five minutes now, but a small cough and a slight clearing of the throat by McGonagall
broke her from her reverie long enough to catch her eye. Though she looked kindly at her as if
understanding her distractions, nevertheless, the professor motioned toward the large hourglass
sitting behind herself on an intricate, highly polished professor's desk.



*Fifteen more minutes, Miss Weasley*... Professor McGonagall mouthed silently to her, and
yet, Ginny felt she had never cared less about a test in her life. Though what had happened during
the war played on her mind day after day, this day, something a bit more immediate was actually
succeeding in chasing it from her mind... some*one* more immediate, to be precise.



Draco Malfoy.



Ginny sighed and made a half-hearted attempted to put her mind into marking down an answer on
her test, before resting her chin on her hand once again.



The Malfoy she had known before the war no longer existed. Those who had never known him well
enough to see the difference knew nothing of his changes, but Ginny noticed. It was as plain as the
closed-off, brooding look on his face, and the hollow, clipped tone in his voice. From the moment
he had been found only yards from the battlefield, slumped in an almost catatonic state near one of
the dead trees of the Kavan Forest, he had been a different person. There was an odd sort of
hesitation in his words and a quieter, more reserved way about him that had certainly not been a
part of the cocky, self-assured Malfoy Ginny had come to know.



This morning he had been quieter and more emotionally distant than she had ever seen him, though
Ginny could hardly fault him for it, knowing what this particular day, of all days, was bringing
him.



Having already finished every exam he thought he could, he had been done with school since
Friday evening, though he had opted to wait leaving until Ginny had finished her exams as well so
that he could attend the leaving feast, scheduled tomorrow evening, with her. Beyond that, he had
nothing in particular to go home to; riches being a poor substitute for company, and Ginny had the
distinct feeling that Draco was trying to put off having to go back to the Malfoy mansion for as
long as possible. Grimacing, she thought about the abrupt change the war had brought about in
Malfoy. He had always crowed about his future after school, about how easy it would be, as a
Malfoy, to climb the ranks of the Ministry of Magic, and about how, when the position was finally
offered to him, he would be the youngest Minister ever to have taken office. He had a well-known,
well-respected name, was obscenely rich, had all the right connections thanks to his father, and
had no worries about the future.



Now somehow, even though he still owned his riches and his name, he no longer seemed to hold the
same self-assurance. Since the war, Ginny had not heard another word about what Malfoy planned to
do after school. She doubted he even knew anymore. He seemed to drift along aimlessly, a sad, angry
cloud hovering over his head, and the closer it had gotten to this day, Monday, the more he had
begun distancing himself from her. All of her coaxing to get him to talk about it had failed, and
above all, she simply wished she had been able to go with him on the task he was facing today,
instead of being stuck in this damned hall taking tests that hardly seemed to matter any more.



Today was the reading of Lucius Malfoy's will. Along with Sirius, Ginny had seen Draco off
very early this morning at the great double doors leading into the entrance hall, all of his
possessions packed into his trunk and levitated behind him, as he was to make his way down the long
beaten drive toward the gates leading to the school and wait for one of his father's Muggle
limousines to pick him up. He had given her a peck on the cheek before turning to walk away, trunk
trailing dismally behind him, and had hunched himself into his long black raincoat against the
early morning's chilling drizzle of rain, looking by all accounts the picture of misery.



She had not been able to get his picture out of her head all morning long, and could hardly
concentrate on exams for wondering how he was feeling. She knew the guilt of what he had done to
his father, however necessary the act had been, gnawed at his insides with every passing moment;
knew that he had been more than happy to be able to “hide out” at Hogwarts away from the accusing
eyes of the rest of the world... and although he would never admit it, knew that the thought of
what distant family members, or business associates of his father's might say to him upon
finally catching sight of him at the recital of the will had been plaguing his mind. He brought it
up in jokes, laughing sardonically that killing off the Malfoy patriarch might have cost him his
favour with the rest of the Malfoy family, and that he would probably not be looked on as
favourably as he once had to work at the Ministry now that he had got rid of one of their star
benefactors, but Ginny was not easily fooled by his cheek. The truth behind his snarkiness was far
from humorous.



He was terrified.



Everything he had been before the war, all that he had believed about himself, was no longer. He
no longer knew who he was or where he was going in life, which was all he had ever had in the first
place.



He was lost, and above all else, Ginny felt he probably thought he was more alone now than he
had ever been before. And it was this, above all, that gave her the most unrest. She did not want
him to feel alone. She wanted him to know, at least above all else, that “alone” was something he
was *not*... and she would make certain that he knew it, that he had options to not being
alone, if only he would let her in again...



Without making a sound, McGonagall had somehow moved to where Ginny was sitting, and the light
touch she placed on her arm startled her into jumping. The usual stern expression the professor
wore had been replaced by a sort of a concerned grimace.



“Miss Weasley,” she whispered gently. “Try to concentrate. I know it's difficult, but
you'll have the rest of your life to think on other things, and only one chance to do well on
these exams.”



Ginny sighed. “I know. It's just... it's hard.”



“I've no doubt,” McGonagall said, patting her on the shoulder. “It's difficult for us
all. However, if you're unable to make the best effort now, you've still got the option of
returning during summer to do your tests when you've rested up a bit, as I've made clear to
all my students-”



“I know,” said Ginny. “No. That won't be necessary. I'll finish, Professor. I'll try
to concentrate, I promise.”



McGonagall eyed her for a moment and pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. “You'll let me
know if it becomes too much for you?”



Ginny nodded and watched the Professor turn to make her way back up to the large polished desk
facing the students. It did not matter if she postponed her tests until later anyway. It was too
late to join Draco at the reading of his father's will, and that would have been the only
reason she would have done so anyway.



Sighing she put quill to paper and began marking down another answer. He had said he would be
returning from the reading sometime late this afternoon, and she would have to content herself with
finding out then how it had gone.



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





By early evening, the heavy torrents pelting the school had settled down into a hard, murky
drizzle that clicked and tapped on windows like millions of tiny needles, the weather seeming
determined to keep its pattern of grey and gloomy no matter whether the rain decided to let up a
bit or not.



In Gryffindor tower, and perched on the windowsill nearest her bed, Ginny sat hugging her knees
to her chest and peering worriedly out into the wet darkness of Hogwarts grounds. From where she
was she could just make out the twilight-dimmed, rain-fogged trail that led from the front gates of
the school to the great double doors leading into the entrance hall, and though she squinted as
hard as she could, the trail made a bit easier to see with the light spilling from Hagrid's
hut, she still spotted no figure trudging back towards the school. She had been sitting, staring at
the same spot for more than an hour now, and frustration finally got the better of her.



“Where *IS* he!?” she suddenly exclaimed, dropping her feet to the floor and slapping her
thighs in anger.



Hermione, who had decided to keep Ginny company, and who had been lounging on another girl's
bed reading a copy of Witch Weekly in the otherwise unoccupied room, jumped unexpectedly at the
noise, the magazine flying from her hands to land sprawled on the bed a few feet away.



“*Oh*! Merlin, Ginny you scared the *life* out of me-”



“He should *be back* by now!” Ginny continued frantically, ignoring her. “He said he'd
only be gone throughout most of the afternoon! Here it is half past five and he still hasn't
returned!”



Hermione sighed. “Maybe it ran longer than he thought it would... or maybe he's just had a
rough time of it and needs some time alone. I can't imagine it's pleasant having to sit
your father's will, knowing you're the reason he's no longer around-”



“What if he's decided not to *come* back,” said Ginny, suddenly fearfully, barely
hearing her. “What if he's just decided he's had enough of everything and he's gone for
good-”



“*Don't be ridiculous*,” said Hermione, sharply. “Ginny, he *told* you he wanted
to sit the Leaving Feast with you tomorrow night. He cares about you, and I doubt he's changed
his mind. You're worrying too much. Just relax, he'll be back. Maybe it just ran a bit
long.”



“And what would you say to me if it was Harry feeling all alone and insecure and he hadn't
come back from somewhere at the time he said he would, aye?” Asked Ginny, narrowing her eyes.
“Wouldn't be as relaxed then, would you?”



Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Ginny, that's the story of my *life* with Harry. You know
that. Only with Harry it was usually him trying to make a trip to his *death* alone, not to
the reading of a will.”



Ginny stared hard at her for a moment before her cool façade broke. “I know it is! Which is why
I don't understand how you can think Draco will just come back! I mean he's in a bit of the
same state Harry was now, isn't he? He's orphaned, he's got *no one*, well, at
least Harry *thought* he had no one before his father turned back up alive, and Sirius
doesn't really count as he was in Azkaban most of Harry's life and Harry didn't know
about him-”



“Harry has *me*... and in the same way, Malfoy's got *you*,” Hermione interrupted,
firmly. “You just remember that.”



Ginny sighed and shook her head dismally. “I only hope *he* remembers it.”



“He *does*,” said Hermione standing and placing a hand on Ginny's arm. “I know it...
you'll just have to remind him of it every now and then.”



Ginny scoffed and folded her arms. “And what makes you so certain?”



“I've seen the way you are together... I've seen the way you care for one another; the
way he's opened up to you like no one else. Believe me, Ginny, if Malfoy is anything like Harry
he knows real love when it stares him in the face. I think the lack of it his whole life has got to
show him the difference once he experiences it.”



Ginny stared hard at the floor for a moment before moving over to plop down on the bed beside
Hermione, swiping at her eyes. Hermione put an arm about her shoulders and squeezed her
comfortingly.



“Alright now?”



Ginny paused, wiping her eyes once more. “Some... thank you, Hermione.”



“Of course.”



Ginny moved back to her perch on the windowsill, passing a few more fruitless minutes searching
the grounds before turning back to Hermione again.



“So what are you doing up here with me when you could be spending time with Harry?”



Hermione placed the magazine down again and looked up at her. “Actually, he thought you might be
needing the company. I agreed with him.”



“*Harry* thought I would?” said Ginny, sounding surprised.



“Yes,” said Hermione, smiling, “And besides he and Ron have been in Hogsmeade all day looking at
flats... Professor McGonagoll gave them permission to go together since we're done with exams,
and Harry wants to be out on his own and away from the Dursleys as soon as possible.” The sound of
the Dursleys' name coming from her lips seemed to leave Hermione with a bitter taste, but after
a moment, she pressed on. “Anyway, Harry said he and Ron had 'male things' to discuss
tonight, which probably means he wants to play Quidditch in the rain when they get back, sort of as
a last hurrah, so I told him we'd make it a 'birds and blokes' night and let him play
with Ron for a bit.”



Ginny frowned. “Aren't you bothered you three are leaving school tomorrow? Do you even know
when you'll be seeing them both together again?”

Hermione smiled. “Well I imagine I'll be seeing a lot of Harry... we're going out,
aren't we? He's already got a flat in mind big enough for he and Ron to rent together.
He's had one picked out for some time in one of the apartment buildings we saw in Hogsmeade. I
imagine I'll be able to find one there as well so we can all live close to one another. In any
case, Harry's decided he *will* be going back to the Dursleys at least one last time...
though he's hoping it'll only be to pick up anything he might have left there.”



“Why would he want to go back at all?” asked Ginny, incredulously. “Surely he hasn't left
behind anything *that* valuable to actually want to go back to that horrid place and get
it.”



Hermione sighed. “I don't think it's so much anything he's left as it is he feels
obligated to say goodbye to Petunia and Dudley. Even after how they treated him Harry feels he owes
them at least a goodbye and where to reach him if they need to... I think he feels quite guilty
about what happened to his uncle.”



“But that wasn't *his* fault!” said Ginny fiercely.



“Well, Voldemort was after Harry, so he went after Harry's family,” said Hermione. “Of
course he feels responsible for it. It doesn't mean he wants to be there any longer than to
tell them goodbye, but I think he feels he needs to do that... He hasn't said so, but I know
that's what it is. He needs some sort of closure on that bit of his life to move on.”



Ginny sat in silence for a moment, mulling Hermione's words over before she spoke again.



“Well he *shouldn't* feel responsible,” she said coldly. “And Draco shouldn't feel
responsible for what he had to do to his father, either. They brought it on themselves. They were
horrible people and they did horrible things! They deserved what they got!”



“I agree they were horrible,” said Hermione. “But that doesn't make Harry feel any better
about his uncle's death... and I'm certain Draco feels even worse about his father's
death. I mean, Draco's directly responsible for Lucius, isn't he? It doesn't matter if
it had to be done, he still killed his own father. Think how he must feel! He's not going to
get over the guilt of that so easily.”



Ginny paused again and turned her face back to the window and the grounds below. “No, he
won't... and I don't know how to help him.”



“Just be there for him,” said Hermione, sagely. “You can't undo what's been done, but
you *can* show him he's still a worthy person by sticking with him and loving him no
matter what. That's going to be more effective than any words you can give him.”



Ginny nodded, pressing her lips together in an effort to keep from crying. “If he'll let
me.”

“If he won't let you, do it anyway,” said Hermione firmly. “It may come to that... it
certainly has for Harry and me a few times. He starts thinking he's not worth me loving him,
and I've got to remind him what a wonderful person he is and how I love him for who he is.
Draco and he are more alike than either would like to admit, I think.”



Ginny nodded quietly, her eyes never leaving the blurred picture of the worn path leading back
to the school. “I suppose they are, aren't they?”





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





Strolling across the cold, rain soaked ground toward the Quidditch pitch, Sirius pulled his
rain-imperturbed cloak even tighter about his person, his keen eyes searching through the darkness
of the surrounding area for any sign of life. For the past hour his wand had kept steadily warm in
his hands, pointing him toward his destination, telling him that the person he had applied his
tracking charm to this morning had finally returned to the school, though they had chosen not to
enter it.



An hour was quite long enough to stew, thought Sirius to himself as he finally caught sight of a
head of damp silvery-blonde hair resting against the back of one tree near the north Quidditch
stands. The person was shifting a bit on the ground, trying to make themselves more comfortable,
though Sirius thought to himself that he was probably sitting out in the rain on an uncomfortable
patch of sopping wet ground as a sort of punishment for himself. He shook his head and sighed as he
approached, thinking to himself how, as a younger man, he had done the same thing. Nothing was new
under the sun.



Footsteps squishing softly on the ground behind him alerted Malfoy to the fact that someone had
found him much earlier than he had wanted. He slid his arms off his knees with an exasperated sigh,
his voice coming out flat and echoless in the wide open space of the pitch.



“Look Red, I just want to be alone for a while, alright?”



A much deeper voice than Draco had been expecting spoke up to answer him.



“I should think you've had enough of that already to last a lifetime.”



Draco's eyes widened. In an instant he had whipped about, his wand drawn and aimed, though
upon seeing who it was, he dropped it just as quickly.



“Oh, it's you,” he said dully, turning away from Sirius once more and dropping back against
the tree again. “Bored, are you? Out looking for a cat to chase? Hydrant to mark?”



Sirius made his way round the tree to face Malfoy. “You might at least pretend you're
pleased to see me.”



“In the same way you pretend you're bothered if I don't? What's the point in that
game?” Malfoy retorted, though the dull, spiritless way in which he spoke kept any sting intended
with the words from meeting their mark. “Look, just go away, alright... I'm not up for one of
your pep talks right now.”

Without a word, Sirius planted himself down Indian-style across from Malfoy and pulled his rain
slicker closer about him, squinting at the younger man as if trying to discern his mood through the
darkness.



“Always great to know you respect my wishes,” said Malfoy coldly, eyeing him.



Sirius ignored his last remark as if he had not heard it. “What's going on with you? Why
haven't you come back into the school?”



“How did you know where to find me?” asked Draco coldly, ignoring him. “Put a homing charm on me
this morning, did you?”



“I might have.”



“Hoping to catch me planning some 'secret remnants of the Death Eaters' meeting?”



“You really think they'd have you back now?” asked Sirius bluntly.



Draco smirked.



“Me neither,” Sirius finished. But the wry tone to his voice disappeared quickly. “You've
got poor Ginny Weasley tied into knots, you know. She's been watching for you all afternoon,
thinking you've left for good.”



“And how do *you* know what Ginny's feeling?” asked Draco, narrowing his eyes. Then he
snorted unpleasantly. “Oh wait, let me guess.... the Gryffindor grapevine. Weaselby told Granger
who told Scarhead who told his father who told you, right? The neverending soap opera. I suppose I
should've expected major intrusion with dating a Weasley... family and friends come as a
packaged deal.”



“You're not fooling me so you can stop trying to change the subject,” said Sirius bluntly.
“What's happened?”



“What'd you mean, 'what's happened'?” Draco snapped suddenly, breaking the twig
he had been holding. “You *know* what's happened! I sat the reading of Lucius' will
today! You think it's pleasant sitting in a group of people who stare at you and whisper with
one another behind your back? And let me tell you, some of them need to learn how to *effing*
whisper, because I heard just about every damn thing they were thinking about me... some of them
just thought I didn't deserve to be there. Others weren't as kind. Apparently they
don't agree murderers should be high up on the inheritance list.”



Sirius studied him dispassionately for a moment before speaking again. “Don't think for one
second I believe you cared what they thought of you. That's not it. You've hardly known
those people. I mean our sort aren't exactly known for their warm family ties, are they?
*I've* certainly never known them.”



“Doesn't mean I want them putting me on the same shit-list with you,” said Malfoy, his
bitter tone coming out harsher than he intended. In an instant he felt sorry. “Well... I mean...
that's not what I-”



“You should *be* so lucky,” Sirius interrupted him coldly, leaning forward to glare at him.
“I'm considered a blood traitor because I disowned the Blacks and their prejudices, and they,
in turn, disowned me. I reckon I'd rather be on the shit-list of a bunch of supremacist,
bigoted pure bloods than considered one of them... how about you?”



Draco had the courtesy to colour just a bit. “No. No, I... that's not what I meant. It's
just... he... Lucius, he...” He broke off for a moment, balling his fists and looking as if he was
waging an inward battle with himself before he spoke again. “They think it's my fault,” he
finished through gritted teeth. “They blame me. They don't know what he... and even if they
did, some of them wouldn't... Look, none of them thought I should be there. As it turns
out-”



“What you did was *necessary*, Draco,” said Sirius firmly, leaning forward. “You've got
to stop thinking of Lucius only in terms of blood and start thinking of him as the enemy, no matter
what anyone else says... distant family or no. That's what he was... the *enemy*. He would
have killed every half-blood, Muggle-born and magical creature he could get his hands on, if he was
able. He would have helped Voldemort take over. You know that. And he was no father to you. None
whatsoever. There's more to being a father than sharing a last name and a fortune.”



“Don't pretend to *understand* me!” Draco blurted, suddenly angry. “Don't pretend
you've even got a *clue* what it's like to-”



“I'm probably the only one who really **does** understand!” Sirius barked sharply in
reply. “I've lived your life, Draco. We're remarkably similar, you and I. Think about
it.”



Malfoy set his jaw stubbornly, his face scarlet, and then dropped his gaze to stare down at his
hands. For a long while, he and Sirius stared in different directions, both lost in their own
thoughts, the chilling drizzle of rain the only sound in the darkness as it pattered their
raincoats like millions of tiny pins dropping all at once.

For all of his own problems, Malfoy realized he had quite chosen to forget that Sirius Black was
probably the one person in his world who could even come close to understanding the sort of life he
had lived. However, the compassion and understanding Sirius seemed to have begun showing him lately
was discomfiting to say the least, and the fact remained that Sirius was left with at least one
important thing that Malfoy did not, and would not ever have again. Working against his better
judgement at ever letting anyone into his personal affairs, Ginny Weasley notwithstanding, he
decided finally to speak it aloud.



“He wrote me out,” he said flatly, and the sound of his own dull voice actually speaking the
words brought a reality to the situation that settled in his stomach like a cold lump.



Sirius looked up at him, his expression unreadable.



Raging inwardly, Draco gritted his teeth and forced the rest of it out. “Of the *will*. He
wrote me out. I've got nothing.”



“Nothing...” Sirius repeated.



“Yeah, *nothing*!” He raged furiously, slamming a fist onto the wet ground and rising to
his knees. “You know that thing that's less than something!? That's what I've got! Not
only am I a murderer, I'm a piss-poor one to boot! I haven't got a knut to my name! He
didn't even leave me the mansion. He *knew* I wasn't going to measure up to his and
Voldemort's standards so he took it all from me before it was too late. Disowned and
disinherited me! And they all thought it was fitting, the whole lot of them... you could see it in
their *effing* faces once they realized he'd taken it all from me! Looking satisfied and
smug that the murderer got what he deserved, smiling at the thought that I'm left with nothing
to live on! You wanted to know what was wrong? *Well, that's it*! I've *got*
nothing, and I *am* nothing! Everything I was... everything I am is **gone**!”



He dropped back to the ground and clawed a hand through his hair, sending the blonde strands
flying in different directions, his hands balling into fists tight enough for his fingernails to
leave deep, crescent-shaped indents on the palms.



Sirius did not respond to the revelation, though he opted to study Malfoy with interest once
again.



Draco clenched his jaw. Chest heaving with the sick feeling of desperation, blood boiling, fury
at his circumstances, fury at *everything* fuelling his ire once more, he opened his mouth to
yell some more, but Sirius beat him to the punch.



“Money is just an object, Draco.”



“Easily spoken by one who still has it to spare,” Malfoy countered brusquely. “A *cauldron*
is an object but you won't find me able to pay rent with it any time soon.”



The probing gaze Sirius continued to give him angered him even more, and before he knew what he
was doing, Malfoy began to blurt out everything he was feeling yet again.



“*Gods*! It's not just... it's all I've ever **had**, don't you get it?
My money and my name. I'd think you, of all people... our sort... they're... look it's
not as if the Malfoys left me with some 'legacy of love' to go on, is it? Money is all I
had! It was the same with you, so you've said, only I don't even have that anymore!
It's **all**.. **I**.. **had**! It's who I was, it's what I understood, so
what have I got now? Who *am* I now? Why would she want me anymo-”



Abruptly Draco broke off, shutting his mouth with a snap, and furious that he had let too much
of his feelings slip out. The comprehending look on Sirius' face told Malfoy all he needed to
know about whether or not Sirius had caught the last of his words and he mentally raged at himself
for it.



“Don't think much of Ginny Weasley, do you?” asked Sirius quietly.



Taken aback, Malfoy was instantly even more furious than before. “**YES I DO**! It isn't
*her*! She wouldn't-”



“Then it's *you* you think so little of.”



Mouth still open but suddenly having nothing left to say, Draco snapped his jaw shut and fell
back on his haunches. Feelings were never his strong suit. Gritting his teeth against the
onslaught, the muscles on the sides of his jaw standing out like walnuts, he broke eye contact, and
chose to set a hard glare on some spot to the far left of Sirius' gaze so that he would not
have to look at him. Again they sat in miserable silence, Draco becoming increasingly uncomfortable
with what he could only imagine was Sirius Black sitting there wreathed in sympathy for him,
ruminating, just as he had done after Draco had done his own father in, on how to fix the broken
young man before him.



The thought was more nauseatingly philanthropic than Malfoy could stand to bear, though, once
again, on the verge of speaking up, Sirius beat him to it with a determined exhale.



“The money issue is easily remedied,” he said quietly. “However, the fact you feel that if you
have none, you're nothing... well, that's not so easily fixed.”



The first bit of Sirius' statement drove all hateful thoughts of the other's sympathy
for him temporarily out of Draco's mind.



“What'd you mean, 'the money is easily remedied'?”



Sirius shook his head, looking rueful. “I'd thought it might come to this. I'd
considered how Lucius might retaliate once he learned you'd decided to join our side... He
couldn't get to you physically, could he, being holed up at Hogwarts under Dumbledore's
protection... The next best thing to punish you would have been to take away your
inheritance...”



He paused, knowing exactly how Malfoy might take his next words, but had already decided, even
before finding him tonight, that he was going to go through with his offer no matter how the boy
baulked at his compassion. Taking a much needed deep breath, he ploughed on.



“Look, I've got more money and more rooms in old the Black mansion than I know what to do
with. James has already taken me up on my offer of a room, and I'd already decided to give you
some place to stay and cut you in on a bit of my own inheritance should Lucius decide to take you
out of his. I'm not being completely unselfish, mind you... frankly I'd enjoy the company.
Extra bodies make the old place seem a bit less like a mausoleum and more like a home-”



“I'm *NOT* your charity case!” Malfoy blurted suddenly, his face flushing hot and red,
and the sick feeling of being pitied twisting his stomach once again. “I've never asked you for
*ANYTHING*! I don't want your money, or a room in your house, *you understand*!? I
don't *need* your-”



“I *don't* think you're a charity case,” said Sirius in a deflated voice, and the
weary look on his face seemed to anger Malfoy even more. “That's not what I'm trying
to-”



“Think you have to share your wealth with the poor little orphan who's lost his way, aye?”
Malfoy shouted. “Therapeutic for you, is it, to help out the pathetic little version of you growing
up? Make you feel better?”



“That's not it at all! You're making an arse out of yourself, Draco-”



“**I'm not looking for a bloody hand-out**!” Malfoy's voice rose to a bellow.
“I'm *far* from pathetic just yet, *you understand*? I can find a job. I'll save
up the money to get my own flat-”



“And in the meantime, what are you going to do, live on the streets?” Sirius scoffed aloud.
“Take to begging for sickles in Knockturn alley? Nick your food from rubbish bins?”



Malfoy had nothing to say to this. Chest heaving with humiliation, he looked away from Sirius,
his voice when he spoke next sounding furiously quiet.



“Look... I don't want your sympathy or your money, Black. I... appreciate the... the
*offer*, but... I don't want it, nor do I need it. ”



“Of course you do, don't be stupid!” Sirius barked. “Put your damned pride aside for just
once, will you? Whether or not you want to admit it, the fact remains that we *are* family,
however distantly we're related. And I'm not trying to give you a hand-out, I'm trying
to give you a hand-*UP*. There's a difference! As I said before, I've been where you
are-”



“*Have* you?” asked Draco, sharply. “I don't recall you losing your home or
inheritance. Nor do I think you've ever had to kill your own father, am I right?”



“No, I haven't, you're right,” Sirius replied, huffing as if trying to get his
irritation under control. “But I certainly know what it's like to be disowned by your family...
to grow up never knowing what love and affection are- No, *LISTEN TO ME*! Believe it or not
Malfoy, you and I... even Harry... we're a lot alike. Poor little rich wizards, loads of money
and not a good, happy use in the world for it. I left home at sixteen before my parents
*could* kick me out. They certainly *wanted* to disinherit me. You can *believe*
that. I hadn't lived up to the Black family name, being a 'Muggle-lover' and a
'blood traitor', had I? But father died soon after I left, and mother went mad right after.
Neither of them ever got *round* to changing the will so my less disappointing brother,
Regulus, would get everything, and when he was killed... well... the rest is history, as they say.
But look, when I left the Blacks, James Potter and his family, they became the family I never had.
They took me in during summer rather than see me go back to the old house with my insane mother end
of the school year... even let me stay there end of seventh year until I could get a job and afford
my own place. They gave me food and a bed to sleep in, and more importantly, gave me the sort of
care and support I never had growing up. And I felt the same as you at first, too proud to accept
their generosity, embarrassed and ashamed at my situation- but they weren't out to make me feel
like some charity case, Draco; they just wanted to give out of what *they had*. That's all
I'm trying to do for you. I'm not offering you a hand-out, and I certainly don't feel
sorry for you. Your parents are dead, yes, and they've left you with nothing, that's a
cert... but the one thing you're *not* is friendless*.*.. unless you *choose* to
be. I'm not offering anything more than what one family member would for another. You can pay
me back once you get on your feet if it makes you feel any better. All I'm giving you is a
chance to start over. The rest will be up to you.”



Sirius ended his rant with a final sounding note and sat mutely, measuring his breathing and
staring off in some dark space, prepared to wait all night for the right answer if he had to.



No sarcastic retorts coming to mind, again Malfoy clamped his teeth together and sat silently
for a long while, thinking. A war was raging in his head between wanting to take Sirius up on his
offer, and humiliation at the thought of accepting help from him. The thought of how abruptly
everything in his world had changed was unsettling, to say the least. If someone had told him a
year ago he might be considering anyone from Harry Potter's entourage a friend of his, he would
have laughed in their face... right before beating the hell out of them for the mere suggestion.
Now... well now, things were different... circumstances were different. He had lost everything that
had made him who he was his entire life. The power and prestige he had once proudly stood to
inherit from his father, far from giving him a sense of pride, now left him with a deep sense of
disillusionment and shame. People he had once mocked and thought very little of, he was now seeing
in a different light. And most fantastical of all, he was sitting here in the rain, by the
Quidditch pitch, having a quasi-civil conversation with Sirius Black, ex-resident of Azkaban, and
friend and god-parent du jour to Harry-the-Golden-Hero Potter. Feeling enormously unsettled,
slightly nauseated, and unsure of the right answer to anything, Malfoy said the first thing that
came to mind.



“Touching speech, Black... really. Had me tearing up in a few places.”



Sirius stared at him for a moment, eyeing him as if trying to figure him out, before snorting
sarcastically.



“That the best you can do?”



“On short notice,” Draco answered.



They stared in different directions for quite a while after that, discomfort creeping in with
every passing silent moment before Malfoy finally made up his mind. Chewing on the inside of his
cheek and inwardly buoying himself up for a feeling of inevitable shame, he finally regarded Sirius
with an unreadable expression and made his voice sound as nonchalant as he could.



“Tell me Potter won't be renting the room next to me. Heroism before breakfast gives me the
dry heaves.”



Sirius studied him for a moment, blankly, before the realisation set in that Malfoy was actually
accepting his offer in the only way he knew how. He smiled slightly.



“Harry's got other ideas, I think.”



“So he won't be living there?”



“No,” said Sirius. “He's getting his own place.”



“I suppose he can afford it,” sneered Draco uncharitably.



“That's one reason, yes,” said Sirius.



Malfoy sat quietly a few seconds more, thinking the situation through before speaking again.



“He'll be visiting though...”



“I imagine so with his father and me living there,” Sirius answered dryly.



Malfoy shot him an unpleasant smile. “So I reckon as he's your godson you won't want me
telling you what I *really* think of him.”



Sirius gave him a sour smile. “Not unless you want an arm growing out of your arse.”



Suppressing a grin, Malfoy attempted to look thoughtful and chewed on his upper lip for a moment
before answering.



“I suppose I can live with that.”



Sirius raised an eyebrow. “The arm in your arse or holding your tongue?”



“Have to get back to you on that.”



Laughing aloud, Sirius slapped a hand on the wet ground before standing up and swiping the long,
damp, clinging hair from his face.



“All right then, it's settled. I'm heading back in the castle. I'm giving you ten
minutes, and if you don't haul your arse inside by that time to let Ginny Weasley know
you're back, I'm using any means necessary to drag you back in myself, got it?”



“You'd do that, wouldn't you?” asked Malfoy.



Sirius grinned wolfishly. “With pleasure.”



“I thought so.”



Smiling slightly to himself, Draco waiting until the sound of Black's long strides had faded
away before getting up himself and heading back into the castle.



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



“Harry we really shouldn't,” said Hermione a short time later, slightly annoyed at the hand
Harry insisted on holding over her eyes as he marched her along the hall toward the great double
doors leading outside. “I keep telling you Ginny's just as upset as she was earlier-”



“She'll be fine,” said Harry resolutely, trying to keep the grin on his face from coming
through in his voice. “I'm sure Malfoy'll be back any time now.”



“He said he'd be back this afternoon and it's already dark out, isn't it?” said
Hermione, trying in vain to pull Harry's hand off of her eyes. “And I don't care what
Sirius said, I think it's a long shot Malfoy's somehow outside sitting in the drizzle and
deciding not to come in yet. How does he know? And it doesn't sound like Malfoy to sit out in
the rain anyway. It's *beneath* him.”



“I'm sure Sirius is right. He usually is when it comes to Malfoy oddly enough. Now stop
worrying. No... *no* Hermione,” said Harry, pressing his hand even more firmly against her
eyes as she continued to pull on it and marching her even quicker towards the doors. “The whole
point of a surprise is that you don't know it's coming.”



“I still won't know what's coming, even if you do take your hand from my eyes,” said
Hermione petulantly. “Why can't I see where you're marching me anyway? I know we're
headed outside. I've seen outside, Harry. Discovered Hogwarts has an outdoors a long time ago.
Sorry I won't be shocked.”



“Funny,” said Harry as they reached the doors.



Before they could open them however, a tall, damp figure yanked one open and walked inside,
shaking the rain from his hair.



“Oy, Harry!” said Sirius, grinning as he saw them and beginning to saunter past. He watched as
Hermione tried pulling Harry's hand from her eyes again and smirked. “Nice night for a walk,
isn't it?”



“Nice night for a walk?” Hermione echoed in exasperation, following the sound of his voice.
“It's drizzling outside, haven't you seen? I think Harry's lost his marbles. Wait...
did you find Malfoy?”



“Yes I did,” said Sirius, pausing. “Knew he'd be somewhere out there brooding about life and
how it's worthless now he's got nothing. All too familiar.”



“Now he's got nothing?” said Hermione, beginning to turn and walk towards his voice. “What
d'you mean 'now he's got nothing'? What's happened-”



“You'll find out soon enough so don't worry about it,” said Sirius as Harry shot him a
quizzical look too.



“But I don't want Ginny sitting up there all alone if Malfoy's not going to-”



“He's on his way back to her now; I've made sure of it,” Sirius interrupted bracingly.
“Don't you worry on it. Go on and have a nice night.”



“But I-”



“Not another word!” said Sirius's fading voice as he walked away from them. “It'll all
work out. It's *been* worked out. Go on with you, then.”



Hermione frowned as she listened to Sirius's footsteps fade away. “Well I wonder what that
was all...” Twisting in Harry's embrace to face him, she turned her face up to where she
imagined his was. “Harry maybe we should go back. If there's anything wrong I don't want to
be wandering about outside-”



“Everything is fine, you heard him,” said Harry, feeling slightly panicky that Hermione might
protest him. “Come on, love. We've had enough drama for a while, haven't we? Let's let
them sort it out and let's spend some time together.”



“But what if they-”



“You know we've only got tonight and tomorrow left here,” said Harry pleadingly. “Come on.
Just come with me for a while. Then we can go back and you can worry as much as you want to.”



“They might need us *now*, Harry-” Hermione began again.



“I want to take a walk with you,” said Harry, gently turning her back around towards the door,
bending down to whisper in her ear, and putting on his most persuasive voice. “I want to spend time
with just you, here, before we have to go. The Leaving Feast is tomorrow night, love. Come on.
Whatever is going on with Malfoy and Ginny will be going on when we get back too.”



Hermione paused for a moment, during which time Harry could feel his heart beating hard enough
through his sweater that he was sure she could feel it against the back of her head. Finally...



“Alright then. I do want to take a walk with you. We haven't had much time together lately,
have we?”



Harry let out the breath he'd been holding and moved them towards the doors again, pulling
one open for her. “No, that's right, we haven't.”



“And I do want to see whatever this is you've done,” said Hermione, smiling as Harry opened
the door for her and crossing her arms over one another in the damp, chill air. “I love surprises,
you know.”



“You?” said Harry in a scoffing voice as he helped her down the steps. “No you don't. You
hate surprises.”



“I do not!” said Hermione, beginning to pull Harry's hand from her eyes again so that she
might glare at him. Harry held fast though, and she sighed as he marched her along the wet grounds.
“I love them! You know how I loved planning that surprise party for Ginny's birthday last
year-”



“Yeah, you love them when they aren't aimed at you,” said Harry, laughing teasingly at her.
“Planning someone else's surprise you're in the know, aren't you? When it's
you're own you get impatient, and you know it. Can't control the situation then, can you?
But don't worry, I still love you,” he added quickly when he saw Hermione's mouth drop open
in indignation.



“Well that's a relief,” said Hermione dryly as he purposefully continued their marching.
“Whatever surprise you've got for me might not turn out half as romantic as you hoped if
you've decided you don't love me anymore.”



Harry chuckled and leaned down to whisper to her as he led her slightly to the right.
“That'll never happen. I love everything about you. I even love when you get impatient...
especially when I'm the one who gets to do it to you. You're really cute when you're
irritated, you know that don't you?”



Feeling slightly mollified but not sure if she should be, Hermione made a slight noise in the
back of her throat somewhere between annoyance and confusion and clamped her lips shut, allowing
Harry to lead her where he would.



Harry grinned.



They stopped some time later and Harry finally removed his hand from her eyes, turning her
around to look at him. She took a moment to survey where they were.



“The lake,” said Hermione in a neutral tone as she swiped the damp from her cheeks. “You've
taken me to the lake.”



Harry grinned hugely again and nodded, the moonlight glinting off of his wet hair which still
managed to stick up all over despite the rain trying to plaster it down.



Hermione drew her eyebrows together and gave Harry a sidelong look. “You know I've
*seen* the lake, don't you Harry? It's very nice taking a walk alone with you, but
I'm not sure where the surprise is in all this-”



“Want my jacket?” Harry interrupted, shrugging the black leather off of his shoulders and
handing it to her. Hesitating for a moment, Hermione nodded and allowed him to place it over her
shoulders. “Bit cold out here. Sorry we didn't go back for yours before I dragged you out.”



“I did think that was odd... hang on,” said Hermione, feeling something rather heavy and stiff
stuck in the inside pocket of his jacket and smiling. “What've you brought?”

Harry continued to grin nervously as she brought it out and looked at it.



“The Daily Prophet?” said Hermione, unrolling it and looking at the date at the top. “How did
you manage to get a hold of one of these? McGonagoll said the paper was holding off on their next
edition until they could manage to get all the information they'd learnt at the memorial
service sorted out...”



“Well,” said Harry sheepishly. “That's not exactly true. It *did* come out
yesterday.”



Hermione eyed him shrewdly. “I can see that, what with yesterday's date on it... I've
been absolutely *dying* to see how your interview with Rita turned out. I'll murder her if
she didn't do it right... What did you do, then? How did you get one? No one else here got
theirs, you know.”



“Yeah, I know,” said Harry, shuffling his feet and for some reason, looking nervously at the
ground. “I asked McGonagoll to stop delivery of it to the school... just for one day!” he added,
looking up and seeing the look of shock on Hermione's face.



She frowned. “Why would you do that?”



“I had my reasons,” Harry answered cryptically.



Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “What reasons might those be?”



“See? I told you. Can't stand surprises-”



“Alright, alright,” Hermione interrupted with a sigh. “How did you manage it with Professor
McGonagoll then? I'm allowed to know that, aren't I?”



“Pulled some strings,” Harry answered her, smirking. “You know... Boy-Who-Lived and all
that.”



Hermione made a scoffing noise and gave Harry a playful punch on the arm, with which he stumbled
and feigned extreme pain. She laughed.



“Don't think for one second I believe McGonagoll allowed you to pull strings because
you're the Boy-Who-Lived. She'd sooner put you in detention with Professor Snape! Why did
you ask her to-”



“Well go on and read it then,” said Harry, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. “You'll
find out.”



Hermione sent him an inquisitive smile but unrolled the paper and began to read.





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



“Ron, it's positively *freezing* out here!” Lavender protested as she and Ron walked
hurriedly along the wet grounds towards the lake.



“Well you're the one who wanted to come with me,” said Ron bracingly. “Besides it's not
cold, it's just wet. You won't melt.”



Lavender scowled. “The wet is what makes it *cold*, Ronald. Just *tell* me what
we're doing, would you?”



“I told you, I can't say,” said Ron with a slightly panicky edge to his voice. “I can't
tell anyone until I've done it, alright? I promised. I'm already late, I can't believe
how late I am actually -”



“Well *you're* the one who wanted to snog in the Room of Requirement,” said Lavender,
letting go of Ron's hand and pulling her coat more tightly about her frame as she stumbled
along after him. “It isn't my fault you wanted to go to a room that didn't sense you
required keeping track of the time.”



“We're leaving, aren't we? We won't have a chance to snog in there again. And the
time wasn't exactly on my mind at the moment,” said Ron defensively, his voice breaking a bit
as he broke into a trot. “Oh, I'm dead. I'm done for. I've gone and ruined it and
I'll never be forgiven.”



“Who's got to forgive you?” asked Lavender between laboured breaths as she jogged along
beside him. “Just tell me what's going on, will you? You're gone all day looking for a flat
with Harry, then you want to snog, then we're running along outside in the rain. We haven't
had time to talk at all, have we? I wanted to know if you and Harry found some place to live!”



“Found some places, yeah,” said Ron stopping suddenly and letting his eyes scan around the lake.
“Don't think we'll be living there, though.”



“Oh, were they run down?” asked Lavender, stopping beside him suddenly and trying to catch her
breath. “I know some of the flats in Diagon Alley need repairs but I've always thought the old
wood added character. My sister and her husband say-”



“No,” said Ron. “Not run down... just too crowded. Harry and I'll need some space between
us, you know.”



“Oh... yeah...” said Lavender, slightly confused. “I don't suppose you want a flat so small
you'll be living right on top of one another. But Ron, you know beggars can't be choosers.
You don't exactly have a job yet so your money situation's going to be tight for a while...
not like Harry I suppose.”



Ron stopped scanning to frown down at her. “I've told you already, Dad's got me a
starting position at the Ministry in Muggle Affairs. It doesn't matter I don't really want
to work there. It's a job and that's all I need right now. I'll move up.”



Lavender looked sceptical. “Well I don't know. It seems an awful long way to climb moving
from Muggle Affairs to Unspeakable,” but at Ron's angry look, she added, “But I know you'll
do it! I know it's what you want and I know you'll get there. Yes, you're right. Muggle
Affairs will pay the bills, and you'll move up from there.”



“That's right,” said Ron, looking slightly pacified and scanning the lake area again.
“Everyone starts somewhere, that's what Dad says. Meanwhile I can be in training for
Unspeakable... sort of learn from them what it's all about.”



“Ron, they're Unspeakables,” said Lavender, “they *can't tell* you what it's
about.”



“I know I just meant I'll find out what it takes for me to become one, that's all! Look,
we'll talk on it later, alright? Right now I've really got to... Oy! Alright,” he said
grabbing her hand and walking very swiftly again, “There's where we've got to go.”



“Over there?” said Lavender, squinting her eyes to where Ron had just pointed. “But, Ron
isn't that-”



“Yeah it is, and I really don't want him pissed at me at the moment so let's get there
quick, shall we?”



“But... but they look like they're spending time alone. I don't think they want us
barging in on-”



“We won't be barging in on them, just trust me,” said Ron moving even more quickly and
dragging Lavender along behind him. “You'll see in a minute, alright?”



Lavender sighed the sigh of the weary and allowed herself to be led along again. “Alright,
whatever you say.”



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



Harry stood nervously chewing on the side of his thumb and scanning the grounds over the top of
Hermione's head as she continued reading aloud, getting progressively more nervous as she began
to reach the end of the article.



“ *'It had to be done,'* *Potter continues with a solemn look. 'It wasn't
heroics. I didn't do anything more than anyone else did out there. At least I came away from it
alive, there were plenty out there who didn't and were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice
to see Voldemort and his followers didn't win. But the bravest of all was Professor Dumbledore.
He did something for me I never expected from him and I never did anything to deserve. He jumped in
front of me and let himself take a sword that was meant for me. Didn't even
hesitate.'*



*I can see Potter is struggling not to cry at this moment, tears filling those beautiful green
eyes, and I give him a moment to compose himself before he continues.*



*'I don't think I'll ever be able to fully fathom why he did that*'...”



“Oh Harry,” said Hermione, looking up from the article with a tearful gaze and then noticing
Harry's stance and expression. “You've got no reason to be nervous, you know. You did
beautifully.”



Harry stopped chewing on his thumb long enough to claw a hand through his hair and scoff at what
Hermione had just read. “I wasn't about to cry there, you know. *Merlin*, I **hate it**
when she does that. I told Rita to hold off on the embellishments but I guess she just can't
help herself, can she? Whatever sells the paper. Anyway, go on.”



Hermione nodded and continued reading. “ *'I never knew all of what he was thinking
anyway. Professor Dumbledore was a mysterious man. But he was the bravest and most selfless that I
know and he's done more for the Wizarding World in the time he had on this earth than I think
anyone will ever know. He stood up against ridicule and slander and continued to trying selling the
message that Voldemort was alive even when it looked like everyone hated him... He's the most
astounding man I've ever known, and the world is better because he was in it. I'll miss him
greatly. The world will miss him... But* everyone *out there gave their best. It was a bloody
nightmare. Death everywhere, curses flying, swords and arrows, dead bodies on the ground to fall
over if you weren't careful... Even in all that there wasn't one person on our side who ran
from the battle once it started. There were Ministry members, and Aurors mixed with Professors from
Hogwarts and even students, and each one of them fought as if they'd always been trained to
handle it. They were scared to death but they stood their ground. We never would have won if it
hadn't been for them... if it hadn't been for the fact that they refused not to fight for
what they believed in. The Wizarding World owes them their lives and their freedom. I hope
they'll always be remembered for the heroes they are.'*



*Potter sits quietly for a moment before continuing.*



*'And I owe my best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, my own life. If they
hadn't refused to listen to me when I told them not to help me with Voldemort, I probably
wouldn't have made it.' They've always been there for me. Even when everyone else
thought I was crazy and wanted nothing to do with me, they never left my side. They've put
their lives on the line for me more times that I can count.*”



Hermione began to cry. Harry came to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Go on
love. Every bit of it is true.”



“ *'I love them both more than anyone else. I won't ever be able to repay them for
what they did for me out there. The battle was over for them, and they could have stayed back and
kept safe but they wouldn't hear of it. They broke through the defence I had raised to keep
them out and helped me even when I didn't want their help. I owe them everything.'*



*Potter sits silent for a while and I have no choice but to let him. I can see he is thinking
on what his two best friends mean to him, and on what the battle has cost all of them. He has hit
on every facet of what the war meant, what it accomplished, and the high price he, his friends, and
all who fought there, paid for our freedom from Voldemort and his tyranny.' “*



“Oh Harry,” Hermione sobbed, lowering the paper and wiping her eyes as she stared out at the
lake. Harry rested his chin on her head and hugged her from behind. “You did a marvellous job. I
can't have thought you could do any better. And what you said about Ron and I...”



“I meant it all. I don't know where I'd be if not for the two of you,” Harry remarked
quietly, but then stopped hugging her from behind to pull the hand holding the paper back up to eye
level. “But go on. There's a bit more to it.”



“What?” Hermione raised the paper to her eyes again and wondered how she had missed where it
said the article was continued on a later page. “Oh, how did I miss that? I reckon it just sounded
final at the end there. Alright.”



She rifled the paper to page twenty two, smoothed it out, found where the article was continued
and began to read again.



“ *' As for me, Rita Skeeter, star reporter for the Daily Prophet, I can only sit silently
as well and think on what they did for all of us. We will never be able to repay those who have
gone. But those who remain, I hope we will never forget their sacrifice, and never forget how close
we came to living in a much altered world.*



*Harry Potter has a final word on returning to normal life, and to a better life, that he
asked me, Rita Skeeter, to make certain to print. As we've been fast friends going on three
years, I find myself hard pressed to refuse him anything, and indeed feel I owe him something
personally for what he's done. Here is his message:'*



“*I can only hope that everyone who went through the battle will eventually remember how to
live again. Myself, I feel like finally I can actually begin. I have one person in particular to
thank for that, and that's my best friend, and girlfriend, Hermione Granger. She's given me
a reason to go on every day of my life since I met her. It's her above all I want to live for,
and I know I fell in love with her from the moment I clapped eyes on her when we were kids, heading
to our first year at Hogwarts. She's been everything to me since that day, and I can't help
but hope she'll keep being my everything for the rest of our lives. That's why I've
decided to ask her to marry me on the night she reads this, and I hope she'll accept.”*



*Article by Rita Skeeter, reporter.' “*



Hermione began to shake. Tears streamed down her face as she slowly lowered the paper hardly
caring any more that the rain had soaked her clothes enough that they were uncomfortably stuck to
her body. A sudden light from above, something streaming brighter than the moon suddenly blazed
overhead, and Hermione looked up. Words were etched in a soft pink glow across the sky.



I love you as wide and high and deep as my soul can reach for the end of life.



I love you as passionately as I used to grieve before you.



I love you to the end of every day's most quiet need.



I love you with a love I'd thought lost with my childhood faith.



I love you with the breath, smiles and tears of all my life.



And if God chooses, I'll love you even more after dying.



Slowly she turned around to see that Harry was no longer standing, but was kneeling on the wet
ground in front of her, with a small box in his hand.



“Oh... oh my god.”



“Everything up there is how I feel about you,” said Harry quietly, his voice shaking almost
imperceptibly. “I love you.... that seems like an overused phrase, but it's not... because
those three words hold my life in them. I love you. I... love... you. I want you to marry me. I
don't want to wait any longer. Please marry me, Hermione.”



“Oh Harry,” Hermione sobbed. “How.. how did you-”



“Told McGonagoll everything,” he smiled. “She agreed to have paper delivery stopped to the
school until you could read it first.”



“Why... why did you cover my eyes when-”



“Decoy. Throw you off the trail. Didn't want you guessing, did I?”



Hermione shook her head, feeling bewildered. “But... but what about you and Ron.. today..
looking at flats-”



“Wasn't for me and Ron. It was for us. You and me.”



“Us!” Hermione gasped, mindless of the fact that Harry was still on the ground holding out the
ring. “You tricked me! You and Ron- you tricked me!”



“Yep,” said Harry, looking inordinately proud of himself.



“And Rita?” asked Hermione, her head spinning. “I don't know how on earth you got her to
print-”



“Owed me, didn't she?” said Harry, grinning wickedly. “After I stuck up for her with
McGonagoll she wasn't going to refuse me anything.”



“And... and the words up there?” she asked, pointing a shaky finger at the softly glowing poem
still blazing overhead. “Those words up there... you didn't... you weren't able to- I mean
I didn't see you- and I would have-”



“Got Ron to do it. He's probably off snogging Lavender now. I'm sure that's why he
was late in the first place. I'll kill him later.”



“Oh and the *ring*! Oh! Where did you... you didn't just pick that out today as
well-”



“This is my mum's ring. Dad gave it to me at Christmas. Slipped it to me without anyone
noticing.”



“Oh Harry!” Hermione sobbed even louder, her hands over her mouth, muffling her words. “Harry
your Mum's ring! Oh it's so beautiful!”



Harry smiled patiently at her. “Want to wear it?”



“Oh *Harry*! *Yes*! Yes, of *course* I want to wear- yes, **YES**, I'll
marry you! Of course! **Oh Harry**!”



She dropped to her knees on the ground beside him and Harry held her trembling hand steady so
that he could slip it on. One larger than average diamond sparkled in the moonlight on a plain
white gold band. To Hermione, it was perfection.



“Don't think I've ever heard you say 'oh Harry' more times in one setting,” he
said as he grabbed both of her hands. “Not that I'm complaining, mind.”



Hermione, gazing mesmerized at the ring on her finger finally registered what Harry had said to
her. She looked up at him with wide eyes.



“Don't tease me, I'm in shock!”



“Good shock or bad shock?”



For an answer, Hermione suddenly launching herself forward to land on top of Harry in the grass.
“I love you too,” she murmured to him, planting a warm kiss on his lips. “I love you so much I can
hardly bear it. *Yes*, I want to marry you. I've wanted to marry you for so long I
can't remember when I began wanting it.”



Harry rolled her underneath him and began kissing her in earnest, their feelings coupled with
the frustration of not spending enough time together lately quickly turning it into more than what
was appropriate for what might become a public place at any moment, however unlikely.



“Harry... we're... we're outside...”



“And?” Harry breathed, tonguing her ear lobe and moving downward towards her neck, making her
shiver.



“And someone might see us,” Hermione hissed as he slid a hand underneath her jumper to rub the
smooth skin of her belly.



“No one out here to see us,” said Harry absently, moving another hand to stroke the outside of
her thigh.



“Wasn't Ron just-”



“I'm sure I told him not to stick around. He wouldn't want to see this anyway. Probably
send him over the edge.”



Hermione sighed, sliding her hands under Harry's own jumper to smooth over the muscled
planes of his back, and around toward his chest. Harry shivered beneath her touch, and she
smiled.



“I suppose a bit longer won't hurt.”



“Won't hurt a bit,” said Harry, nuzzling her neck.



“But tomorrow... Oh Harry, everyone's going to find out now the paper will be delivered,”
said Hermione suddenly, a mixture of feelings at the notion of everyone finding out the
boy-who-lived was now engaged to Hermione Granger making her slightly anxious. “We won't have a
moment's peace, you know that don't you?”



Harry lifted his head to look at her and grinned, his crooked smile combined with unruly hair
and a jumper pulled halfway up his abdomen making Hermione's heartbeat quicken
considerably.



“I want everyone to know,” he answered with a wicked wiggle of his eyebrows. “I want them all to
know I'm engaged to you. I'll be the envy of every bloke around.”



“Rubbish,” Hermione scoffed, smiling. “I'll have murderous females everywhere searching me
out, wands drawn and ready. There'll be no forgiveness for me now I've taken you off the
market.”



“Technically it's me whose taken you off the market,” said Harry. “Anyway I don't want
to think on that now. I just want to spend all night with you. We can worry about everyone's
explosive reactions tomorrow.”



Feeling happier than she'd ever felt in her entire life, Hermione nodded. “Alright.”



Any more words were forgotten in a blur of falling rain, hands and whispered promises.



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

A/N: Next and final chapter, the wedding and the end. :0) Thanks for never giving up on me guys.
You're all the best! I hope you enjoyed this one, however long it was in coming. By the way,
the beautiful piece of poetry used in this chapter is by the very late, very wonderful poet, Walt
Whitman, who rocks my ever loving world. Much love, Walt. You were everything in a writer I could
ever aspire to be. <3 <3