Harry Potter and the Potion of Time

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated copyrighted ideas are used without permission and are the sole property of J.K. Rowling and her associates. This means they are not mine, and I am not attempting to derive any profit from using the wonderful world provided by JKR. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I only hope I can live up to that standard. So again, not mine. After all, if it were, I’d write this and keep it to myself until it was published so I could be even moreso the richest woman in Britain. Except I’m not rich, female, or British. Anyways, I think that’s enough of a disclaimer.

Rating: NC-17 – I’m an adult, and I expect others to be. This story will contain, by the time it is finished, violence, angst, and pain, as well as graphic sexual situations. Consider this a fair warning. Don’t read if you think I might offend you. And I’m sure I’ll offend some one, it’s a gift.

Explored Relationships: Harry/Hermione, Draco/Ginny (Minor)

Summary: Years after Harry defeats Lord Voldemort, his loss of everything will make him give up the one thing he still has to try and get it back. Cryptic enough? Read the story, I’m not giving away my secrets without you at least asking first.

Author’s Further Notes: As I’m not a particularly gifted author, my idea of a chapter is a group of events that fit together, not “30 pages” or “4500 words”. Chapters might as well be called sections, but that just sounds odd in a story. Consider this a warning, some ‘chapters’ will be painfully short. As much pain as this causes to my readers, please complain about something other than, or, at least, disguise it artistically.

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

Prologue: Regrets

It was a dark and stormy night the voice whispered into the man’s mind. And of course, that brought it all back to him, rushing back with horrifying clarity. Well, it started to, anyways.

Nearly thirty years of dark and stormy nights had helped him finally block out the memories. The memories of the night the world had finally been forced to change, and a night when the name Harry Potter became not just a name recognized in the wizarding world for living, but also for killing.

Harry Potter had spent twenty seven years waiting for tonight to arrive. He knew the potion would work, beyond a shadow of a doubt, even if he no longer had Hermione or Ron or…

Anyone. They were all dead. The entire Order of the Phoenix, every member of the group he had led called Dumbledore’s Army. No one remained to reassure him that his actions were right. No one to check his homework or compare notes with, and no one to give him a grade

They had won, though. Well, he had, but at what horrid cost.

He had hunted them down, destroyed them, any and all of them who had escaped his wrath when he had finally broken through the curse given to him by the traitor…

A friend once. He had taken his time on that one, stripping the memories, learning why it had been done.

He had developed his own curses by that time, horrid, evil dark things, brought on by his guilt and pain. Those few Aurors who were left had left him alone, though. They could not have stopped him if they had tried.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had taken care of their most powerful, leaving only the weakest behind, ones he could have dominated. Had Harry shown any desire to do so, when at the end he had won, he could have ruled the world.

But when his vengeance was done, only one thing had remained, and that was his guilt. He had joined the Department of Mysteries, hoping to learn, to speak with, to…

Anything to be able to undo what had been done. Time was studied there, prophecy and death.

And love.

It always came back the Department of Mysteries. Three times he had been there, and each of those was instrumental in contributing to tonight.

Fifth Year at Hogwarts. The death of Sirius. The prophecy. The near loss of his two best friends. All because of a saving-people-thing. She had always understood him, he had not realized how much his life would be changed that night, or, at the very least, by that night. It had taken him until he had gotten home to realize it…

Long dark hair, untidy, swished as the man at the table shook his head. He had made his choice and lived by it. Unfortunately, that was just out of his reach now. Those consequences were permanent. But everything after he walked out of King’s Cross leading the Dursleys was not. Just barely, if the potion worked perfectly.

Not that there was an opportunity to test it. This was a one shot, the end of a lifetime’s work for a man whose life achievement had been complete before he could have joined the Muggle army.

Which brought him to his second visit to the Department of Mysteries. Frankly it had been the Ministry’s last chance. The entire Ministry had been arrayed, with the extraordinarily successful Order and Dumbledore’s army backing them up as the last ditch defense.

It had barely been enough. Would not have been, if it had not been for the Boy-Who-Lived. They had pushed the attacking dark wizards and their allies up out of the Department of Mysteries, into the Atrium… when he had killed them. Well, her.

And he had lost control. One death had saved everything. A woman for a boy, a boy who saved the world.

It had happened before, it happened again. His greatest strength, his greatest guilt. His most harrowing loss of all. A loss that was not a loss, so many tried to tell him. Like Luna, when Sirius died.

Which was why, six years later he had returned to the Department of Mysteries. They did not even try to deny him, and all the shame he had once felt about using his name for effect was gone. He used it ruthlessly to get what he wanted, and at the same time, advanced their understanding of Mystery so very much in such a short time. Three years he had spent underground, never once leaving the building until he had what he needed, knew what he needed.

It had then taken him fifteen more years to design and collect the elements of his potion. All it needed was two more ingredients, and he would add them both tonight. He, Harry Potter, would, tonight, save the world again. And this time, he would save himself as well.

If they had known what he was planning to do, the rebuilt Ministry would have stopped him. There were Aurors today, born in a time when the Wars of Voldemort were something that only appeared in books of recent history. Enough of them, perhaps, accompanied by the right Unspeakables, could have stopped him, had they chosen to do so.

But he had seen to it no one would know. And if he failed, no doubt the world would wonder why the great Harry Potter had committed suicide.

Author’s Notes:

Very Interesting. I see why so many other stories on this site have begging for more reviews, though. A thousand hits and 11 reviews on the prologue. I don’t suppose we can up that to 1 in 50 on this chapter, can we? Thanks. *grin*

Those of you who did review (you know who you are), thanks. As for this being a dark story, certainly at the beginning. As for the grammar, its written the way it is because that’s how I write. Any implication it gives is specific and intentional.

As for the confusion of the prologue, this chapter should clear it up some. And just so you know, I’ve got everything through Chapter Nine finished currently, but, of course, I have managed to dislocate my shoulder, which means I can’t exactly type quickly. So I’ll post each chapter a couple days apart. Hopefully I can type again by that time.

Chapter One: Summer Memories

Two final ingredients. That was all his potion needed now. Snape… Snape would have been pleased, ironically enough. Everything the man had ever taught Harry, the knowledge Harry had despised merely because of its source, had come into play for what would be the greatest triumph of the career of a great man.

An unknown triumph. The potion was designed that way. If it worked, he would have no more than a lunar month with his memories of the future, before he became the child of the past once more. Which meant, of course, that he had to pick a critical time in the past, one that would change everything.

He let his gaze drift from the bubbling potion on the desk, across the picture frame which held a picture of his reason for doing this. Even now, the sight of her was enough to catch his breath. His eyes kept moving, and finally settled on the third of four objects on the desk.

It had been one of the few things to survive the devastation. Without the Army, or the Order, and especially, without Dumbledore, Hogwarts had never stood a chance. The few teachers had saved what they could. Five people had not yet been dead when he had arrived.

But for all his power, Harry Potter was helpless before Death. From the attack on the school, no one on the side of good, of light, survived. Now, of course, no one from the other side survived either.

But this had remained. Dumbledore’s Pensive. There were no thoughts or memories swirling in it now, the death of the physical body having drained them all away years before. But now, picking up his wand from the desk, he drew out a memory, then another, then another, and more. They swirled faster and faster…

He had let the magic guide him. He was unsure of the memories he had chosen, except the last one, which he always remembered on nights like this one, rain and lightning shattering the heavens.

Harry gazed into the pensive, knowing he would find the right memory among the ones that were there, knowing the magic he had relied on would guide him true one last time.

* * * * *

Harry lay on his bed in Number Four, Privet Drive, facedown, in a pillow soaked with tears. He had been home four nights now, and he had not slept any of them through. Words, sights, sounds, feelings, all echoing inside his head, all tearing aware at the fragile brace of sanity he had left.

Four hours of sleep in four nights. The Order must be worried sick about him, of course. He knew his last letter to them had been incoherent enough they would probably think him completely mad.

The images were the worst, of course. The purple curse light striking Hermione down. Ron, struggling futilely against the brain and its trailing thoughts. Sirius, in shock, the red glow of the stunner fading as he toppled backwards through the veil.

Then the terrible words. “And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…” The complete and total responsibility for his entire world.

He had failed Sirius. How could he protect an entire world? How could he protect Hermione? And Ron, of course.

Seeing them, in the hospital wing, so broken and battered, he had nearly died on the spot. A cruel twist of fate, of course, that he could not have died there if he had wanted to. If Harry were to die before Voldemort, it would have to be by the Dark Lord’s hand.

He had no family. Sirius had been family. Dumbledore too remote, Hagrid too… Hagrid.

There were the Weasleys, but they… he was close, but it was always so different with them. They treated him, for the most part, as Harry. But even still, even with Ron, there was always Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, lurking under the surface.

Which left… Hermione.

Yes, Hermione.

Even watching Ron attacked by the brain, or his other friends being tortured and injured by the Death Eaters, even the pain as Voldemort had possessed him, to force Dumbledore to kill him, all that paled in comparison to the pain he had felt when he had stood in the hospital wing.

Her breathing was even, though very slow, and extremely shallow. He knew she was still alive by the slight pull on her thin garment as her breasts rose and fell with each breath. Ron, just as injured, nearly, had been unconscious in the next bed, but for five minutes after entering the hospital wing, following his talk with Dumbledore, he could do nothing but stare at Hermione, her face pale with her near death experience, drained of the life, the passion about learning and helping that made her who she was.

Nearly a corpse.

When at last his gaze moved on to Ron, Harry had had an easier time of it, imagining what it would be like if…

He had lost them. Either of them. But it was easier with Ron, Harry recalled of his thoughts at the time.

And truthfully, the thought of Ron going and not Hermione, was easier still to him. Hermione, some part of him whispered, would be as hard, if not harder, to lose than Sirius had been.

Because he loved her.

The memory ended. Another began.

* * * * *

He still could not tell Ron and Hermione what the prophecy had said. It was too hard for him to even think about it. Two weeks he had been back at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, but yet, even they could not break him out of his funk.

He felt like he no longer wanted to be close to them, because…

They would try to protect him, to help him. They would try this when he lost.

Not ‘if’ he lost, but when. When he really considered it, all the times he had beaten Voldemort before had been luck. His mother had saved him three times. Dumbledore had saved him once, and only Fawkes had prevented him from dying in the Chamber of Secrets

What chance would Harry Potter have, alone?

Clattering had interrupted him, and Ron had come into the bedroom then, looking slightly put out and scared. “Can I hide from Hermione in here?”

Harry had forced a chuckle. “What did you do this time?”

“I don’t know.”

Harry had pointed to the floor. “Under the bed.”

Diving, Ron had hid from Hermione just in time as she stormed into the room, her hair billowing behind her, a huge cloud of brown curls.

Much larger than the day before. Ron’s doing, no doubt. Probably even an accident, but Ron would have laughed, and then…

Harry could see the results standing in front of him. Cheeks flushed, eyes snapping, hair wild and attractive…

Beautiful. Apparently, Hermione saw his lips move just as she finished asking her question, which Harry missed completely, so stunning did she look encased in her annoyance. She repeated the question, which Harry heard this time.

“Is Ron hiding somewhere in here?”

“No.”

She took him at his word, and left, departed, looking elsewhere in the large house for Ron, who, after a moment, slid gratefully out from under the bed.

“Thanks, mat…”

Harry cut Ron off, his decision made the night before. It had to be done for all concerned, his thoughts this morning only echoing his choice in his head, mocking him. “We need to talk. About Hermione.”

Ron had looked at him, still sitting on the bed, his eyes widening slightly, then flopped onto the foot of the bed, his eyes focusing on Harry as he sat there. “What’s going on?”

Breathing out slowly, he had taken his time answering. “I know you really like her, Ron. Tell her that.”

Ron had looked horrified. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

When Harry had shaken his head, he watched the thoughts flicker behind Ron’s eyes. No, it was not a setup so Harry could pick her up on the rebound. He was not that devious, and Ron could not believe he would do that to his best friend. Other thoughts occurred too, obvious to Harry as he watched Ron’s mouth hanging open. Eventually Ron asked the question Harry had to lie about. “Why?”

Fortunately, Harry had foreseen this and was ready with an answer. “Because the two of you are driving me crazy. Ask her out and see what happens. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Ron looked at Harry for a second more, then a grin spread across his features. “Did she put you up to this? It’s a joke, right, so she can get a good laugh?”

Harry was forced to shake his head again. “No, Ron, this is your best friend telling you something that will be good for both of you, in his humble opinion.”

Ron bit his lower lip. “What about you, mate? I know you feel nearly the same as I do about her. I was gonna let you go first.” He grinned sheepishly. “And see what happened, so I didn’t make the same mistakes.”

Harry chuckled at that, but again, his plan had already provided him an answer for this as well. “Ron, remember the Mirror, first year? How it showed you surpassing your brothers in everything as your deepest desire?” At Ron’s nod, Harry had continued. “I’d like to think of you as my brother, Ron.” Ron’s eyes had suddenly got shiny at that. Neither of them had voiced it before, though they had both thought it. “Step out of my shadow, like you want to with all your brothers.”

Ron had stared at him, surprise evident on his face, relief plastered there too. He was definitely choked up. “I… I… Thanks, Harry.”

Harry had smiled, then his face grew deathly serious for a second. “Don’t even think about hurting her, though.”

Red hair shifting everywhere, Ron had shaken his head, believing the threat in Harry’s eyes. Which was real, to a small extent. “Absolutely not, mate.”

“Good.” Then he grinned, to show he had been joking. Mostly.

Ron stood up, grinning back. “I think I’d probably better go find her and apologize.”

“What exactly did you do?”

Ron had grinned even more. “Not telling, or she’ll think you were in on it. I’ll pay for this one on my own.”

Harry’s eyes had widened. “Must have been bad.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah. And after… this, well, think of it as beginning to repay you.” He had slipped out the door after checking to make sure Hermione was not standing right outside.

Then he closed the door on the hardest conversation Harry had ever had with his best friend, his brother in all but blood. It would keep Ron and Hermione safe when he died, he hoped. Except…

Well, maybe they would live a little longer. And Ron would protect her better than one cursed with Harry’s fate.

Author’s Notes:

I figured I’d go ahead and post this next chapter since I’ve gotten a thousand hits since the last one, though not as many reviews as I’d like. So review this one, please, please, please. *puppy dog eyes*

Those of you who are worried about R/Hr, and the significance thereof, please remember we’re exploring the past through Harry’s memories. How much do you think is going to happen?

And yeah, the arm hurts, but I’ll be out of the sling in a couple of days, thanks for worrying, though somehow I think it’s cause you want more story rather than any actual concern for me. *grin*

Anyways, so that’s going to be my new posting policy, unless I catch up to myself and don’t have anything written. 1000 hits, 15 reviews, or two days, whichever comes first. Thanks for reading and reviewing. *coughhinthintcough*

Chapter Two: Sixth Year

The whole scene turned watery for a moment, and Harry found himself looking at the Pensive again. Which is when he felt the tears running down his cheeks. Of course Ron could not have kept her safe. Neither of them would have done anything but try to help him.

They had both loved him, and he had loved them. But it he was wasting time. Another day and the first of those memories would be out of his reach. And it had to be an extraordinarily clear memory for this to work, which severely limited his options after this much time. He smiled slowly at the picture of Hermione on his desk. So young, so long ago.

The picture smiled back, and Harry Potter lowered his head, gazing into the Pensive once more.

* * * * *

Walking around Hogsmeade, Harry turned in surprise when he stopped talking and neither Ron nor Hermione answered him. They were gone, he realized with a start, and could not believe Voldemort had struck here in Hogsmeade, so blatantly.

Then he spotted them going into Madam Puddifoot’s, and he barely managed to keep himself from gagging. Reflecting over the last few weeks, he shuddered.

Two things had been bothering him most of all. Ever since Harry had gone to be with the Order for the rest of the summer, Voldemort and his followers had been increasing the violence of their activities. It was getting out of control, and it was becoming clear that the Ministry could not stop them, nor could the Order.

Seemingly random attacks on Muggles at first, then strikes at wizarding families, like Hermione’s, that had new wizarding blood in them. Apparently, Hermione had not spotted the pattern, which was unlike her, because she did not seem to be worried about her parents.

Harry was pretty sure that the random Muggle killings had her confused. Then there were the strikes on Wizarding Institutions. The Knight Bus, blown apart while full of wizards, in the middle of the Tower Bridge in London. The bridge was shattered beyond repair, even with magic.

Not only that, too many had seen it, and the Ministry did not even try to cover it up. The Muggle news had made some announcement about a terrorist attack. The smaller Beuaxbatons School of Magic had been destroyed, and the survivors had been brought to Hogwarts to continue learning. Viktor Krum had reported to Dumbledore that he had been unable to reach Durmstrang, and it was discovered that it was sealed to any who tried to approach.

No one had told Harry what that meant, but he knew it could not be good.

But frankly, the one thing that bothered him more than all the reports of the growing power of the Dark Lord and his followers was Ron. Well, Ron and Hermione, truth be told. In the two months since Harry had gotten Ron to ask her out the first time, they had grown far closer to each other, and at the same time, slightly more distant from him.

Well, no slightly about it now. A year ago, they would have never left while he was trying to discuss the ongoing destruction and devastation the Second War was causing. Now, it seemed, nothing was more important than sneaking off for a kiss somewhere he was not.

Which had been his intention, hadn’t it? Hadn’t he wanted to cause them to pull away from him, so that when the time came, their deaths, unlike his parents, unlike Sirius, unlike Cedric, would not be on his hands, that they might live, even when he did not?

Yes, that had been his plan. But he had not expected it to hurt so very much, or move so quickly. The speed at which they were moving made it almost seem like the relationship would burn out before too long. Part of him rejoiced at the very idea, some small leaping flame in his heart.

He crushed it down. The idea of the friendship falling apart completely if Ron and Hermione’s relationship did end was horrid. Ron would never admit to it, but he would blame Harry, deep inside, for pushing him into it. He was unsure how Hermione would react, in that event, but nothing would ever be the same.

But Harry had known that, that had been his intention all along. To protect them, they could not be as close as they once had been to him. He shut his eyes, standing there in the middle of the street, when he heard a sneering voice behind him.

“Potter, have your groupies run off on you finally? The Weasel and the Mudblood?” The words drove Harry over the edge. He spun angrily on Malfoy, his wand slashing out of his robes. He spoke the incantations so fast it seemed that they were one. Malfoy collapsed to the ground, stunned, Crabbe and Goyle, disabled temporarily.

By the time the red haze cleared, he spotted Pansy Parkinson running from him in fright. He grinned, noticing that Malfoy’s blonde hair was pressed into a pile of what looked like horse dung, but in Hogsmeade, who knew, exactly. Taking those three down, even for a short time, had made him feel much better.

He made himself scarce, though, not wanting to be around when they recovered.

The world twisted, and the memory faded, and before the next one started, Harry had time for one thought. I should’ve killed him when I had the chance then. Then she wouldn’t’ve turned, and she wouldn’t’ve died…

A swirl of colors brought him back into Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

He was sitting on the couch, and the corner of his shirt was soaked through with water. Tears, really, which were still coming from Hermione, sobbing into his shoulder. Well, there were no more tears, actually.

She had cried herself out of them some time ago, Harry was not really sure how long. The Weasley family had moved into hiding, of course, some time back, about the beginning of term, and she did not know how to find them. But she knew how to find Grimmauld Place, or at least, that it was in London. And for a sixteen year old, as bright as Hermione, getting to London was simple enough. A taxi had brought her the rest of the way. Harry had been the one to answer the door, as he and Lupin were the only ones there currently, and it had been a full moon the night before, so Lupin was asleep.

And so Harry still did not know what had happened, merely that Hermione had shown up on his doorstep, crying her eyes out. The sobbing finally slowed to whimpers, and then stopped. Harry spoke softly. “Hermione, what’s wrong?”

He glanced at the cup of tea he had made for her, still full, and undoubtedly cooler than merely tepid now. Soft footsteps interrupted his thoughts as he concluded from the young woman’s lack of response that she had cried herself to sleep.

“Harry? What’s Hermione doing here?” came Lupin’s soft voice. “And um,…”

And, um, indeed. Harry realized that cuddled on the couch, with his arms around Hermione in his lap was fairly non-platonic looking. “I don’t know why she’s here, Professor. She showed up about an hour ago, crying her eyes out on the front step,” he replied softly. “I think she’s asleep now.”

“Do you think we should put her in one of the beds?”

Harry realized that was the last thing he wanted to do, when it came to it. Having her curled in his lap felt so…

Everything.

“No, I’m okay for now holding her.” Harry’s mind was at work, though, trying to figure out what was wrong. Now that the crying had finally stopped, and Lupin was making him think again, it came around fairly quickly. Hermione might be the brightest witch her age, but Harry was pretty damn clever, when you got right down to it. “I think something must have happened to her parents. She was supposed to be meeting them for a few days before Christmas. That’s the only reason I can think of as to why she’s not there, and is here instead. Only wizarding place she can get to with Muggle transport where there was someone she could trust.”

Lupin nodded. “That makes sense. We need… I’ll… I’ll see what I can find out.” He left the room as softly as he had entered it.

Harry breathed in deeply as Lupin left. He had never been this close to Hermione before, and part of him was very glad she was distracted, as his sixteen year old body was unable to control its response to the warm softness of her in his lap. He ran his finger lightly along her back and squeezed her in his arms, wishing there was something he could do to help.

But he did not even know what was wrong. Lupin came back in as Harry was forcing himself not to tangle his fingers in her curly brown hair, which was matted down from the snow outside. “Kingsley is on his way to her house now. He was closest.” Lupin continued staring at Hermione for a long moment. “She was in a right state when she arrived, wasn’t she?” At Harry’s nod, he continued. “Her bags?”

“In the hall.”

“Do you think she would have noticed anyone following her?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “I don’t think she would’ve noticed a hundred people, let alone one.”

“Damn. We may need to move in a hurry. I’d better let as many as possible know.” Lupin walked out, a brisker step making a louder noise upon the flooring. The noise caused Hermione to stir in Harry’s lap, and her movement caused something else to stir.

Not athletic, but fit and slender, warm and soft, Hermione’s body was a nightmare for a sixteen-year old at this point, and, of course, his wildest fantasy at another. But not now. Her head moved on his shoulder, and her breath exhaled softly against his neck.

“Harry?” She lifted her head, still sleepy as Harry turned to look at her. Her face was a mess with her tears, though certainly no worse than when she arrived. “Oh, Harry…” The sobbing started again, quieter, not as fierce. “They’re gone. They murdered them.”

“What happened, Hermione?” Harry questioned her, looking her in the eyes, forcing her to look up and stop crying, just for a moment.

“My parents, they weren’t going to be able to meet me at the station, so they had me take another train, and then a taxi home. I always carry Muggle money when I go home, just in case… When the taxi turned the corner… there was nothing left of the house. I had been dozing in the back. The driver woke me up, scared. He had merely pointed when I saw it. The house was obliterated, and the… the… Dark Mark was hovering there, over the rubble. My parents were lying dead in the yard. I told the cabbie to take me back to the train station, and I came straight here. Oh, god, Harry, they were…”

The nearly emotionless Hermione had sounded almost like her usual self, reciting a lesson she had learned. But she never spoke the last word, bursting into tears again, and Harry tightened his arms around her. He nearly said that it would be okay… but he knew it would not be, ever again. Just like his life had never been okay. “I’m here, Hermione. We’ll stop them. I swear it.”

I’ll get them for hurting you like this before they kill me.

He had stopped them. But he had not prevented them from hurting her again and again. Every time a friend was lost, every time the Death Eaters killed, Hermione grew grimmer and grimmer. School and magic became the only things for her. She had been trying to learn everything she could.

Harry, at the time, thought it had been for revenge. But now, looking back over the rest of his life since the fateful night in the Ministry of Magic, he knew what she had actually been attempting to do. Find a way to do what he was about to do. She had been putting the pieces together for less than a year before Dumbledore had ordered her to stop, before she went too far. With his help, and Ron’s, she had nearly returned by the time their N.E.W.T.s approached to the old Hermione. Thanks to all her research, she had casually completed the tests in half the allotted time. But that covered the next sixteen months far too quickly.

The next memory that swirled into view, Harry had not expected to see. It was not really his, but one he had torn from the traitor before he had killed her.

Ginny smiled in the fading light of the summer day as she looked over the lake on the Hogwarts grounds. They would be returning, well, not home, because the entire family was in hiding, and for good reason.

Voldemort and his Death Eaters were everywhere. Five students had been killed over the Christmas holidays, and four more had lost family. Ten more over the course of the term. She flipped her red locks back that had fallen in her face and closed her eyes. Cutting off the other sensory input was the only thing that allowed her to hear it.

“Imperio.” Her mind blanked, and she stood, moving slowly towards the Forbidden Forest as the dusk grew towards night. She looked curiously at the grinning Malfoy when she arrived. “The youngest Weasley. You’ll do very well.” He grinned at Crabbe and Goyle standing the shadows. “Strip.”

Ginny did as she was told. This had not been part of the DA training, she could not fight it at all. She slipped her robes off first, then her uniform was next, placed in a neat pile until she stood naked before Malfoy and his leering hulks of compatriots.

“Hmm, I think I see why Muggles study anatomy in their schools now,” Draco chuckled, moving up and running his hands over her small, fifteen year old breasts. He pinched her nipples, hard, when she did nothing. “If it hurts, scream, little Weasley.” The grin was plastered permanently on now. “If you like it, let me know.”

He pinched again, digging a thumbnail into her nipple, which was hard from his touch and her complete reliance on Draco for orders. Ginny moaned.

“I think the little witch likes it, boys.” Not that she had a choice, under the curse. “Stand with your feet wider apart, and bend over to touch your toes,” he directed her. She did so, feeling no shame at having her arse stuck into the air, her legs spread fairly wantonly. She still felt no shame when Draco’s fingers had touched her, intimately, caressing where no one had touched her before. Ginny moaned again as Draco fingered her. “She definitely likes it.” He grinned. “And she’s definitely a virgin. Not at all loose like that whore Pansy.”

One of Goyle’s rare moments of speech came just then. “Not when we’re done with her.” Crabbe chuckled, as sinisterly as he could. It turned far colder and more sinister in moments, though, as a new form appeared.

“My lord,” Draco said, dropping to one knee, Crabbe and Goyle awkwardly following suit and mumbling something similar.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named chuckled once more. “Is this the limits of the power your father’s have taught you while they hid to protect themselves from those who hunted me?”

“Milord, we were trying to cause worry and fear here at Hogwarts. We were trying to distract them with pain closer to home.” Draco still refused to look up at Voldemort, and Crabbe and Goyle were cowering on the floor of the forest.

“My dear child,” the hissing voice began. “Your ideas are sound, your execution is not. Unfortunately, you do not have that which it is you need to make this truly effective.” The hissing laugh again. “Tell her to stand up and answer all my questions truthfully.”

Draco did so, immediately. Ginny looked unconcerned at the Dark Lord, who spoke his first question. “Do you remember me possessing you, pure blood child?”

“Yes.”

“What do you remember about the possession?”

“Nothing,” Ginny replied calmly. “But… occasionally I have nightmares.”

“Very well, little Weasley. Do you remember Harry Potter failing you, letting you get taken away to the Chamber?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” the hiss was pure venom now. “Do you know why he failed you, why he did not return your love for him?”

“Hermione.”

Draco spat. “That filthy Mudblood.”

Voldemort chuckled. “Quite, Draco. They all are.” The piercing, inhuman eyes shifted to Ginny again. “Did you want to get her back for it? Do you want to get Harry back for it?”

Ginny breathed out her answer in a hiss, the truth of her feelings revealed at last, why none of her other boyfriends had ever worked. None of them were Harry. Harry Potter, who did not care for her at all, who gave out his love to… to… to a Mudblood. “Yessss. Master.”

Then she felt him in her mind, the pain as he tore into her memory, tearing down the barriers his younger self had put there, bringing the blocked memories back to her, letting her feel the destruction, the power, the sensuality of control the basilisk once more as it hunted and destroyed.

As he withdrew his mind from hers, he broke Draco’s Imperius Curse easily enough, but Ginny did nothing. Draco felt he curse break with a jolt, and started to raise his wand once more. “No, Draco, that won’t be necessary. She’s with us now.”

Then she spoke softly. “Can I put some clothing on?”

Voldemort chuckled. “If you want, and you can think of a better way to strike at Harry this instant than doing what Draco wants from you.” He stepped back, fading into the forest. A lust for flesh no longer drove him at all. Just power.

Ginny smiled at Draco, then Crabbe and Goyle. “All of you, strip.” They complied readily and quickly, standing naked before the naked younger one. “Well, Crabbe, Goyle, you two just this once, unless I feel like being truly naughty again. Draco, though, you and I, this won’t be the last time. Draco first.” She beckoned him with a hand, and pushed him down on a convenient log, kneeling before him. Red locks brushed his thighs as her tongue flicked out against Draco’s standing erection.

The old Harry tried to leave the scene then, escape the memory, but it clung to him, Ginny’s first, but certainly not last, betrayal. He was forced to watch as her small pink tongue circled the head of Draco’s manhood, then as her lips closed on the throbbing shaft before sliding down its length. Despite the red hair barring his vision, the future Harry knew exactly what she was doing, it being Ginny’s stolen memory, after all.

He was forced to relive it all with her, but closing his eyes helped blur the details, though the cries of pleasure and pain echoed strongly in his ears.

Finally the memory ended, and Harry came up for air, breathing hard. The old man who had once been the Boy-Who-Lived shuddered, pushing the images and sounds out of his mind.

Author’s Notes:

It’s sorta saddening to watch the way the numbers are dying off. 2131 views on the prologue, 562 on the first chapter, and 405 on the second chapter. Does my writing scare people off?

Anyways, sorry for the short chapter, but it fits the story. Keep reading and reviewing.

Chapter Three: The Man-Who-Died-Alone

One memory still winked at him from the basin of the Pensive, and Harry knew it would have to be the one. No other memory he possessed of the time was strong enough, or in the right place to do any good. He would forget everything he needed with the other memories before it was time.

Time itself was a strange thing, resistant to change. That was undoubtedly part of the problem, which was what made the potion so difficult, why he needed a perfectly clear memory, or this would be merely a creative and messy form of suicide.

Appropriate, of course. Wizard’s oaths tended to be of the death before dishonor type, for sure. He would have to go with the last memory, the one he would never ever forget…

This memory, though… it could hardly be worse timed. There would be no second chances, no ability for damage control if he screwed it up again. Who knew, he might not even win this time.

So the last memory would have to do, for it changed the least things. He did not have to watch it to know what happened in it either, the scene replayed for him every night in his dreams, and on nights like tonight, his waking hours as well…

The Pensive swirled, bringing his seventeen year-old face to the surface, the image fading as his face spoke the words… Avada Kedavra, the flash of green that had haunted him ever since he was a small child, and Hermione’s scream as he killed her…

Dipping his wand into the Pensive once more, Harry drew out the memory, long and powerful. It hung from his wand, gleaming softly, as he placed it into the bubbling mixture that was the potion…

It hissed, turning deep silver, exactly the color it was supposed to turn. Harry allowed himself a small grin, then pulled the cauldron right to the edge of the desk, directly in front of him. He closed his eyes for a moment, then scooped out a cup full before pushing the rest of the potion away. He only needed this little bit. He transferred the cup to his left hand and picked up his wand again, pressing it to his chest above his heart.

“Diffindo!” The pain was excruciating. He felt his chest shatter open above his heart, and blood splattered onto the wall, hot and sticky as it pumped from him. Immediately his heart began to beat faster as blood stopped flowing through his body, trying to pump more and more blood to his body.

The goal was to have his heart’s blood splatter into the potion, which was becoming difficult to see as blood loss began to make Harry black out. He lifted it, saw the blue steam rising from it, and knew, then…

He drank it down… and then, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort, and the man who let down his friends, died. Alone.

Author’s Notes for the End:

You’ll see that complete memory later. The story flows better without it here.

Author’s Notes:

I was originally going to post this chapter without any notes, but the last few reviews have convinced me to at least gloat a bit that I’ve got you all desperately waiting on one of the later chapters to figure out what is going on. While this is by no means the end of the story, this chapter (and the next) will make much abundantly clear about the first bits of the story.

And for those of you whom are confused, short bits in italics are most likely thoughts, while conversations or scenes in italics are memories. 99% of the time, anyways.

Chapter Four: The Department of Mysteries Once More

Harry closed his eyes against the dizziness for a moment, and when he opened them, he saw Hermione looking at him concernedly. “You okay, Harry?”

He nodded only slightly, wondering why he was so surprised to see her, to hear her voice. She’s dead. I’m dreaming. Or I’m dead. Which is when the next twenty-seven years came rushing back to him. It worked!

His elation was short lived, though, when he realized how close he had cut it. He was not going to have enough time to develop full control over the situation, and it would continue to play out as it had until he did. “They’re coming now,” he whispered, too softly for any to hear.

Now indeed. It was quite possibly the loudest explosion any of them had ever heard, throwing all but Dumbledore to the floor. In the door room, most of the Order was spread out, also hidden behind doors. Intermingled with them was Harry’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Dumbledore’s Army. Harry gripped his wand tighter as he rolled to his feet, watching while his body went through the motions of the coming battle, motions he knew all to well, merely hoping he would gain enough control in time.

The ceiling hit the floor, shattering into thousands of pieces, and water from the repaired fountain in the Atrium sprayed down onto them. Dementors led the first wave, and Harry’s slight prerecognition brought by the future memories had let him be even more prepared than before. No one else even got the chance for a Patronus Charm as Harry shouted “Expecto Patronum!” giving birth to the silver stag which tore into the dementors. They fled before it, especially as more appeared to join it. Already things were changing from Harry’s memories.

That could only be a good thing. Finally he managed to get words from his mouth. He only had a few seconds before it happened. “Headmaster! They’re attacking the school too!” It was all he had time for as the Death Eaters descended through the hole, fully expecting a raging battle to be occurring.

Moody shouted. “Go, Dumbledore, we’ll hold them!”

Curses began to fly back and forth across the room, and Harry tried to turn, but he could not, he tried desperately. Dumbledore deflected the first few curses headed his way, and then, with a crack, vanished.

Which was when Harry stumbled, dodging a Stunning Spell from someone who looked suspiciously like Lucius Malfoy under his Death Eater robes. That was when the war changed. “Imperio!” came from behind him, and Harry snapped upright, freezing in place.

Ginny Weasley had committed her treason. The members of the Order froze in place, stunned for the half second it took. Stunning spells flashed across the room from the Death Eaters, striking down Ron and Fred and George. Bill had managed to shout “Ginny, what are…” before he too was brought down.

Moody avoided the attack, while Tonks and Kingsley returned the stunning blasts. Hermione sent back her own attacks with a well timed shielding charm, and then she whirled, trying to reach Harry, to stop Ginny.

Take down the Order, the command echoed in his mind. He obeyed, trying to fight it, twenty seven years of hatred and denial boiling up inside him. It still was not enough to break through. He did not have full control yet.

His younger self had no idea what was going on. The Harry from the future knew exactly what had happened, but the Harry of this time was unfortunately still in control. The potion had cut it too fine, and without knowledge of the attack, and who was attacking him, his younger self was unable to fight the compulsion in his mind.

His wand came up as Hermione ran towards him. She was first. “Petrificus Totalus.” She froze in place, dropping to the floor. Tonks wheeled towards him, abandoning the fight with the Death Eaters to deal with the far greater danger in their midst.

It was not that it deprived the Death Eaters of targets. In fact, it created less threats to them. Dumbledore’s Army might have been pouring into the room, but there was the small problem that people coming through doors were immensely vulnerable to just any spell directed in that direction.

Tonks’ “Stupefy!” merely bounced off an easily emplaced shielding charm from Harry, reflecting back before she could do anything, knocking her to the ground. The senior male Weasley, still conscious, was dueling with his traitorous daughter, who had already brought her mother to the ground with a stunner.

The problem was, too many of the most powerful wizards were distracted by Harry’s betrayal, the weaker ones, reinforcing them, had not even noticed it. The Death Eaters, despite their much smaller numbers, were quickly gaining the upper hand because of the snake they had implanted a year before.

Harry still could not fight it, though he was trying desperately. Spells were flashing everywhere around him as Harry struck down those who trusted him, curses and spells from an unexpected quarter overwhelming them with surprise. Finally, he won a respite from following instructions. Unfortunately, that was because every member of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army was lying on the ground.

Harry had seen enough flashes of green light to have a sickening suspicion that far too many of them were dead. A number of Death Eaters were down too, but they were being roused by their fellows. Ginny was standing over Hermione’s body, pointing a wand down at her, trembling with rage. She raised it to curse her dead, when Draco shouted from under his mask, “Ginny, stop.”

She whirled, pointing the wand at her lover while Harry watched disinterestedly. “Why should I? It’s her fault, you know?”

Draco chuckled. “Your revenge will be so much sweeter if you make him do it.”

This was the point Harry remembered, the point he had been trying to avoid, to change. The reason he had risked everything. In the past he knew, he had thrown off the curse as Hermione had died. But her death had driven him wild. The Death Eaters had not even been able to touch him, and he had killed ten of them before they had escaped, running to allow their lord to take him down. Harry’s anger then had let him beat Voldemort, this time, Harry had another weapon, if only he had time. He waited for the inevitable command.

“Kill the Mudblood, Harry,” Ginny said softly. “Use the killing curse on Hermione, so she won’t wake up this time.”

Harry raised his wand, and he began the incantation. He was going to do it again. He could not do it again. He could not kill her this time. NOOOOOOOOO!

“Avada Kedav…” He spun on Draco and Ginny, finally regaining control, “…ra!” The green curse burst from his wand and blew Ginny off her feet. His wand waved again, the Banishing Charm sending Draco flying against the far wall.

The Death Eaters finally recovered from their surprise. Green bolts of light flew at Harry from all directions. He shouted “Protego!” instinctively, useless against the killing curse, but able to deflect the lesser ones sent towards him. The reflected spells took down four of the Death Eaters as Harry dove under the killing curses, robes flapping wildly as he rolled.

His wand was moving as he came to his feet. “Stupefy! Incendio! Incarcerous!” He managed to take at least one more of the Death Eaters out of the fight. He was unsure how many were left, exactly, but he was taking down as many as he could. Then, with a swish and flick of his wand at the rubble of the ceiling, he shouted “Wingardium Leviosa!” and sent chunks of rubble from the ceiling flying towards the hooded dark wizards.

He repeated the spell, again and again, forcing the Death Eaters into deflecting the flying chunks of stone and not attacking him. As they were occupied, he sent a few more spells directly at them. “Obliviate! Stupefy! Impedimenta!”

With a crack, the standing Death Eaters disapparated, realizing that Harry was going to win if they stayed, especially as he cut down their numbers without being touched. Harry breathed out a sigh of relief, then remembered what had happened in his past when the Death Eaters were gone. They had left him for Voldemort to deal with.

He had a few seconds, though, just a very few. “Accio wand,” he commanded, flicking his wand in Hermione’s general direction. Her wand flew to him, and he stuffed it up his sleeve, turning around, looking for the Dark Lord. Last time, he had appeared next to what was left of the fountain.

Thunder crashed in the sky, and rain began to pelt down upon Harry, soaking him through in an instant. He should have been here by now.

That was when he heard the laughter from behind him. The high, soulless voice spoke to him. “Turn around, Harry. Now.”

Harry did as he was told, his mind ready, his arms slightly flexed. But when he finally faced the Dark Lord, he froze. Voldemort was holding the unconscious Hermione and Ron in midair with his hand upraised. “You can stop me from killing both of them, at least immediately, I’m sure. But one of them will die before you can do anything. After all, you don’t know any curses to hurt me.” The dark, horrid laugh again. “Thanks to you, not even the killing curse will harm me.”

Harry slowly circled around the Dark Lord. “You’re wrong. If it will kill me, it will kill you too. Or at least shatter you again, like it did before.” He knew it was true, because that was how he had beaten him in his past. It had taken four killing curses, and enormous amounts of other combat spells to distract the Dark Lord, but eventually Voldemort had been trapped and vanquished. That was how he knew it would work.

The Dark Lord paused, obviously having not expected to be called on his bluff. “You still can’t stop me from killing one of them.” He sneered, moving his wand back and forth between Harry’s two floating friends, forcing Harry to choose… A memory rose, unbidden…

Ron pulled Harry aside for a brief moment, tugging on his robes as he pulled Harry into a secluded corner as they headed inside after graduation. Hermione also paused, looking at them oddly, and Ron grinned at her. “We’ll be along in a second. Guy stuff,” he added, wriggling his eyebrows.

She shrugged and began walking down the corridor towards the Great Hall. “Don’t be too slow, or you’ll miss all the food.” The amusement in her voice at the thought of Ron missing out on food was obvious.

“We won’t,” Harry called after her, then turned back to Ron. “What is it?”

“It’s about Hermione.” Harry waited, expecting more, but when Ron spoke next, it was with a quaver of fear in his voice, on a different subject. “It’s going to happen soon, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, but what…”

Ron cut him off, which was rare. “You know we’ll both be with you until the end, right?” At Harry’s next nod, he continued. “If it… if it comes down to it… Save her. Promise me, you’ll save her and not me.”

Harry was horrified. “I can’t do that, mate.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Ron whispered. “I’ll stun her, force her to remain behind. You need her more than me.”

“I need you both. It’ll always be the three of us.”

Ron grinned. “I don’t think she’d go for that, Harry.” Harry blushed before Ron continued. “Promise me, damn it. I’ll do everything I can, but I… I feel like you need her to beat him. I’m going to get the two of you that chance.” His glare had been fierce as Harry shook his head. “Promise me!”

The emotion had convinced him more than anything else. “I… I promise.”

…and Harry moved, an instant too late.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Expelliarmus!”

The jet of green light hit Ron squarely, but Harry’s action cost Voldemort his wand. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord moved so quickly that he grabbed the flying wand from midair with his other hand, allowing Hermione and Ron to drop to the floor. As Voldemort spun, he shouted the same two words once more, but this time, with even more murder in his heart, directed at the Boy-Who-Lived.

The green flash passed harmlessly through the air where Harry had been, and as Harry straightened up, he flicked his wand at Voldemort. “Furnunculus.” Voldemort easily blocked the spell and laughed.

“Is that all you have, Harry Potter?” The tiniest movement of his wand and Voldemort sent a spell flashing at Harry, the garish purple flame once used on Hermione. Harry easily dodged it, and let his anger surge through him. In his determination not to repeat the mistakes of before, he had limited himself quite clearly to no use of the Unforgivable Curses.

“Stupefy!” The red blast raced out and Voldemort merely deflected it once more.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Harry.” Voldemort’s laughter was continuing, and was really starting to get on Harry’s nerves.

He tried the trick he had used on the Death Eaters, summoning up chunks of the ceiling to fly at Voldemort. They struck the shield which Harry had seen the Dark Lord use before when fighting Dumbledore. Flinging curses before him, Harry charged Voldemort, and Voldemort stood his ground calmly, deflecting all the curses away, then, as Harry sent another disarming spell at him, Voldemort cast forth a green light from his wand. They intersected once again, and Voldemort snarled, snapping the connection and whirling away from the backlash as both spells exploded through where he had been standing.

Harry grinned, switching to Hermione’s wand in the brief instant He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had his back turned to him. “Impedimenta!” Voldemort attempt to block in the same manner with a counter spell and gasped in disbelief as they passed through each other. Harry avoided the purple streaks once more, having expected it, but Voldemort was hit with the spell.

NOW! Harry’s mind screamed at him.

You see, every generation has its greatest, its Don Juan, its Achilles, its Einstein, its… Merlin. Sometimes they were good. Sometimes they were not. Every war needs a hero, a Horatius, someone who just refuses to quit. Two generations ago, for Wizard-kind, that hero, that greatest, had been Albus Dumbledore. A generation ago, there had been an anti-hero, greater than Dumbledore. His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he was Lord Voldemort. And just as Dumbledore had faced and been beaten by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, He-Must-Not-Be-Named now faced the Boy-Who-Lived, greatest of the next generation.

Lord Voldemort had been the greatest wizard who ever lived, a name three generations had feared to speak. And then, Harry Potter was born, and now, it was Harry Potter’s time to be the greatest. That was when Voldemort realized that his ambition had been achieved. He had made it. He had been the greatest who ever lived. His ambition had just had a small problem. “Ever lived” only included those that came before. And was past tense.

Harry Potter was after. And Voldemort had lost, he knew it, now it was a race to see if he could hold off the mechanics of losing a little while longer.

He could not.

There is a room in the Department of Mysteries, that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study which reside there. It is the power held within that room that Harry possessed in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. It was the power that two years prior had taken Harry to save Sirius. It was the power that twenty seven years in the future would take Harry back to this time to save Hermione.

It was the power that would save him from Voldemort. The single door that remained in the room of doorways that was locked shattered at this point as Harry’s mind cried out. Voldemort, already fighting through the Impediment Jinx, was turning on Hermione as he felt the feeling swelling.

He guessed wrong. Love exploded into the room, battering Voldemort onto his knees, throwing him across the room towards an open door. “This is for Hermione!” Harry shouted as he allowed the power to throw him after Voldemort.

Tom Riddle fell to the bottom of the steps in the Death Room. Voldemort was merely a shadow now, the power overwhelming him. “Harry,” he pleaded. “Please, no. I don’t want to die!”

“Neither did anyone you killed, Riddle, son of your father.” Voldemort drew back in pain, and suddenly leapt for Harry, the last insult enraging him. But the Man-Who-Defeated-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was ready for him. The wave of love grew around Harry and threw Voldemort back once more.

Like Sirius, time seemed to slow as Voldemort fell into the portal, and then, passed beyond the Veil. On the far side of the hall of doors, a lock clicked back into place, and Harry sagged down on the floor, exhausted.

It was over, and he had not sold his soul to beat the devil. Unlike last time. Blackness descended, and Harry passed out.

Author’s Note:

There were some expressed concerns about Harry’s vulnerability to the Imperius Curse cast by Ginny in the last chapter. I figure when Moody had him under the curse in GoF, it took him between 20 and 30 seconds to throw it off, and he was fully concentrating and expecting it. And even still, he half executed what was wanted of him. In the last chapter, I feel that it was likely he was under the curse for less than a minute. While I realize a lot happens in that minute, you have to remember I’m describing the actions of some two hundred people, approximately, all fighting for their lives. As for it being that quick, the DA isn’t really that good, overall, as they are just children, not soldiers, and the Order isn’t that big.

Plus, the Order, at least, has its attention split between two very significant threats, leading to the military term “defeat in detail,” which is why they go down so fast. As for Harry’s vulnerability, remember the voice in his head is Ginny’s, whom he trusted, and the orders she was giving were only changed by target from his goals at the minute. Giving him a new target shouldn’t require that much force of will.

It was not a simple case of needing it for a plot point, though I admit it was the easiest way to accomplish the plot point that I wanted. I really did think it through so it was at least plausible, but as I’m not JKR, I’m of course not canon, though I’m trying. Anyways, enough blabbering from me. Time for more story.

Chapter Five: Aftermath

His eyes fluttered open again, and cool blue ones behind half-moon spectacles gazed down at him, framed by silvery hair. The eyes glinted with concern, and relief, when Harry opened his eyes.

“Is it over, Professor?” he whispered, recognizing Dumbledore.

“It’s close enough, Harry. You don’t need to worry about anything more. I don’t know how you did it, though.”

“With the room, the locked room…”

Dumbledore smiled kindly, and helped Harry sit up. “Not that, my dear boy.” Dumbledore was nearly grinning. “The magical community has long tried to actively go back in time and change their minds about things, rather than just manipulating after the fact.”

Harry held up his hand, cutting Dumbledore off. “Don’t speak of it. The knowledge will be gone soon enough.”

Dumbledore blinked, and then smiled. “You thought of everything, then. Very good. I’m glad to see your schooling did not get wasted completely. But I must ask one more question of you. Why now?”

“Because I could save the most people while I remembered.” His voice grew so soft Dumbledore could not hear. “Because I could save Herm…” He broke off, unwilling to say it.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “I’m sad that you had to learn you could not save everyone, Harry, but I had to let you learn that sacrifices must be made.” He offered Harry his hand, helping the young wizard to his feet.

Harry looked around at the ground, searching for something. He reached down and blanched as he picked up. Hermione’s wand was snapped in half from him collapsing on it.

“That’s not yours,” Dumbledore said with some amusement, looking at the expression on Harry’s face.

Harry quietly shook his head. “Hermione’s going to kill me.”

Chuckling, Dumbledore took the wand in his hand, examining it closely. “I think she’ll understand.” He handed it back to Harry, then his face sobered. “Come, we must see who else has lived.”

As they walked up the rows of benches, Harry asked the old wizard, to keep his mind off the scene they were sure to find, “And the school, did you get there in time?”

“I did. Thank you for warning me. I held the attack off long enough with the help of the remaining teachers that they retreated when you defeated Voldemort. The numbers involved in both attacks make it clear that the task is not yet done, despite the Dark Lord’s defeat.” Dumbledore stumbled in shock when they walked through they door back into the entry hall and could see the bodies and the devastation.

“What happened, Harry? You should have been able to hold them off easily enough, the Death Eaters, that is.” As he spoke, Dumbledore waved his wand, and Harry felt a cool tingle into the air, making him shiver as the rain continued to pelt his head, now that they were back in the open. “There, now if they awaken, they shall not get away.” Harry looked more closely at the Death Eaters and saw them all bound and trapped now, including Draco Malfoy.

It was only then that Harry answered. “The Imperius Curse, Professor. Ginny… Ginny was a traitor. I could not gain full control in time, and she put it on me. The distraction of me in their midst brought too much confusion among the Order, and the Army, hiding behind the other doors, knew nothing.” Dumbledore turned to where Ginny lie slumped on the floor, beginning the same motions he had used on the others, then stopped. “What did you do?”

“I… I killed her,” Harry muttered. “With the killing curse.”

“Why did you not disable her like the others?” Dumbledore asked very softly, as if he was trying to restrain his temper. He no longer looked quite as kindly has he had only a moment before.

“While I was under her curse, she… she ordered me to kill… to kill Hermione. I was saying the words as I managed to free myself. All I had time to do was change my aim.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his face clearing, once more understanding. “So that is why you came back,” he whispered. Then he smiled sadly again. “Shall we see how many you managed to save this time?”

Harry nodded mutely, already afraid it would be far less than he was hoping for. They moved through the room slowly, testing pulses, Dumbledore gently performing the magic needed to revive those who could come back, Harry doing the same for those he could. Tonks woke, as did Lupin and Kingsley. Moody was gone. He had been one of the killing curses Harry had seen. Molly Weasley, Fred, George, and Bill awoke as well. They had much to grieve, though. Ginny and Arthur would never wake again. Neither would Ron.

A good third of the people they had brought with them never revived at all, though, and the ones that did, some awoke to pain, some to full awareness of their terrible losses. But most of the green flashes had been directed at the children of Dumbledore’s Army, the Army Harry had created to stop Voldemort. Just under half of them never awoke and were gone. Neville was with his parents at last, for they had been killed during an attack on St. Mungo’s. Seamus and Dean were gone too. Lavender and the Patil twins, and Ernie Macmillan. Terry Boot and…

Harry could not take it any more. He collapsed on the floor in tears. He had tried so hard to save them, to save all of them. And indeed, none of them had survived in his past, so even what he had done was a miracle, but…

It had not been enough. He cried for a long time. He could feel the people moving around him, could hear Dumbledore slowly explaining what had happened to them. Harry dimly wondered when the other people would begin arriving. He knew that the Ministry’s underground destruction had vaporized three city blocks of London. He heard someone trying to move towards him as he lay there, weeping his dead, and he heard Dumbledore stop them.

Another person moved towards him, though, and Dumbledore made no move to stop her. A hand brushed gently on the back of Harry’s neck, a cool and soft touch. “Harry,” Hermione whispered, “you did it.” He sensed more that saw her kneel down on the broken, wet floor, trying to look him in the eyes. “You beat him, Harry. You beat V-Voldemort.”

A tiny smile crept onto his lips as even now she stumbled over the name. He looked up into her liquid brown eyes, his green eyes bright with tears, his face streaked by their paths. “I failed them, Hermione. So many dead…” Another gut wrenching sob ripped through him, and the young woman wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Some part of his mind that sounded a lot like Draco would have commented on the situation, Harry, a foot taller, leaning into Hermione’s shoulder and soaking her robes with tears, even more than the rain. Fortunately, that part of Harry’s mind, like all the rest, was too stunned to go on.

Author’s Notes:

Thanks for some great reviews so far. I’m glad you like the story, so you keep reviewing, and I’ll keep writing.

As for the Imperius Curse, well, I don’t want to get into an argument about it, but I will say this. When Voldemort and the fake Moody both cast it, Harry was expecting something. He was not expecting Ginny to attack him at all. Ginny was his friend, her voice in his head would be friendly advice, why would he fight it? Further, the Imperius Curse provides a state of bliss when one is under it, which, under the circumstances, would be similar to the combat calm Harry has exhibited in the past. There’s no reason (he has too little experience) he would notice the difference.

As for Ginny’s inability to cast the spell, a year would be enough time for her to be trained in it. I’m fairly certain I set up her hatred well enough and deep enough to let her do it, which is where the power for the Unforgivables comes from. But no more arguing. It’s a plot point. If you don’t like it, or it bothers you, stop reading. You have my full justification now, but this seems more like a topic for debate on the forum, especially as we don’t all the details on how the Imperius curse works.

And stop worrying about any R/Hr. He’s dead, and I can read the rules as well as anyone else.

If you want to talk about either of these topics further, my email address should be available on the author page.

Anyways, I promised more story and less talk, so here you go.

Chapter Six: Laughter is the Best Medicine

The next few days passed in bouts of unconsciousness and dreamless sleep for Harry. He finally felt himself being shaken awake, Hermione’s voice insisting he get out of bed. “Come on, Harry, wake up. We have to go to Hogwarts for the fune…” She broke off, her voice catching oddly.

In addition to Snape, dying three days before the attack on the Ministry to bring them word of the Dark Lord’s plan, Professors Trelawney, Sprout and Hooch had been killed during the attack on the school. Even Dumbledore had been unable to save everyone.

The horrible thought actually made Harry feel a slight bit better. Hermione had already left the room as Harry opened his eyes again after a moment. His dress robes were hung by the foot of the bed. He smiled slightly at Hermione’s consideration.

Once dressed, he trod downstairs. For now, he and Hermione both lived in Grimmauld Place. It was certainly big enough for them and Lupin, the third relatively permanent occupant. They were waiting by the fireplace downstairs, wearing dark, formal robes. A handful of Floo powder and they were off, Harry going second, a bit too quickly after Hermione.

When he burst out of the fireplace, he saw Hermione had yet to move away from the fireplace, and trying to stop himself, managed to trip and sprawled out into her. They both fell onto the floor, Harry lying on top of Hermione for a second, stunned.

Harry blinked his eyes slowly, wondering why she had gone out of focus, and Hermione giggled. The sweet sound shattered the air like the clearest of bells, and Harry began to laugh. It had been years since he laughed. He hugged her just as Lupin came through the fire, having figured out what would probably happen, seeing how close Harry had followed the young woman. Unfortunately, he failed to account for them bursting into laughter and not getting off the floor.

The older man tripped over Harry’s leg, and Harry and Hermione laughed even harder. Lupin, at least, did not fall on the floor. He still had wolf-like grace when he needed it thanks to a certain problem the two youngsters knew about. He glared down at them, but smiled tenderly, ruining the effect. He knew how much they needed the laughter.

After a moment, he spoke, deliberately phrasing it the way he did. “Harry, are you going to lie there on top of Hermione all day, or help her up like a gentleman?” He grinned as Harry blushed bright red, and that set Hermione off again. Harry got up, though, and helped the young witch to her feet smoothly. She pilfered Harry’s wand, and with a wan smile, tapped Harry on the bridge of the nose.

“Reparo.”

Harry smiled and hugged her again. “Thank you,” he whispered, before returning his wand to where it belonged.

From the entry hall, they moved out onto the grounds, and were sobered at the sight. Coffins were lined up, one after the other. Hermione whispered something of an explanation to Harry that those people who had no where else to be buried would be buried at the school, and that they were only having one large ceremony for everyone.

The four professors’ coffins were draped in a Hogwarts flag, for Snape and Sprout, edged in their house colors, and the students, draped in their house flag. Those not related to the school, like Arthur Weasley and Moody, were draped in a flag of the Ministry of Magic. The field of colors, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, the bright swatches that were the flags of the school, bearing its coat of arms, and the flags of the Ministry intermingled between them. It was a solemn reminder of how much the fight against evil had cost them.

Twenty-seven coffins lay in neat rows of nine. Harry stared at them, the twenty-seven silently mocking him, all had been his friends, his companions. Even Snape, he had learned to trust him in the end. Twenty-seven years of learning what to do, and still twenty-seven of the people closest to him died. But in the past Harry remembered, this field had been filled with coffins. A thousand students at Hogwarts, twenty teachers, the entire Order, the village of Hogsmeade. Dumbledore. Hermione.

The field was not green with the fresh grass of summer. It was raw and barren, covered in ash and dust, the same color as the ruins of the school, shattered beyond repair, much as Beauxbatons had been twenty months previously. It was obvious what command had been given for Hogwarts and the neighboring village of Hogsmeade. Leave none alive, no stone upon stone, burn and salt the fields with the ashes of the dead, and let the world know the power of the Dark Lord.

The power of the Dark Lord was broken, but fires still burned the Forbidden Forest. The centaurs had been driven out, Grawp was dead, Aragog hiding. Smoke still filled the air a week later as Harry passed between the endless rows of coffins. Those bodies which could be identified had their house flags draped over their coffins, or their family coat of arms, or the school coat of arms, for the teachers.

Harry stopped at every coffin, touching it silently, renewing his vow that each death would not be in vain. None of the thousands of dead would have died without cause. He reached the rows of Gryffindor coffins, and silent tears ran down his face as he saw the small coffins which held the remains of the first years, whom he had not had a chance to know, preparing to fight the final battle. They had kept them at the school because it was safe. Safe. Ha. He recognized the names, but he could not put faces on them, he could not tell himself anything about them. He was lost to the world he had given everything to protect.

“I swear, your deaths will not go unanswered, you shall not have died in vain,” he whispered into the wind. It was a wizard’s oath, and he could not turn away now. The rage and the pain coursed through him and he screamed, raw and primal, tearing into the fading sun. Power flowed from his fingers, not the power to restore the dead, but the power to rend and destroy. The ground quaked and the sky darkened with a storm, and Harry vanished into the new night.

He gripped her hand in his, feeling the tears well up again. He felt her squeeze back. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

“No.” That was all he noticed for the entire ceremony, holding her hand tightly, like a life line. He left immediately afterwards, much to everyone’s shock. Except Hermione, who had seen the haunted look in his eyes.

* * * * *

An hour later, Harry did not react as a sooty Hermione popped out of the fireplace at Grimmauld Place. He was sitting motionless on the couch, his arms wrapped around his knees, which were drawn up against his chest. After brushing her robes down and running her fingers through her hair to get rid of the worst mess, she sat on the other end of the couch, facing her remaining best friend in the same position he had adopted.

They were silent for a long time. Neither of them had any tears left to cry, which contributed to the silence. Harry eventually broke the quiet with a comment that sounded, to him, completely inane. “There’s still some soot under your eye, Hermione.”

The young witch blinked at the sudden noise and made to wipe the aforementioned soot with her hand. “Your other eye,” Harry corrected her. When all she accomplished was smearing it on her tear streaked face and the back of her hand, Harry leaned forward and produced a handkerchief. “Let me get it.” She froze as he leaned close, his hand tenderly wiping her cheek.

Harry, for his part, froze as well, with his hand poised on her face. The position was extremely intimate for them both, paused like this, her hand on his shoulder to balance him, his hand on her knee for the same reason. They had never been like this before, never this close, without one or the other of them crying. They both felt the tension, they knew it was not the time to mention it, but looking into each other’s eyes, neither one denied to themselves. Hermione broke that infinite moment with a small smile. “Harry, what happened to my wand? You haven’t told me.”

Harry fell back to the other end of the couch, relieved that that was all she had asked about that night. But even still, when he opened his mouth to answer, no sound came out. Hermione shifted down the couch, moving next to him. “Tell me,” she demanded, forcing a bit of the old Hermione who had berated him and Ron about homework into it, but both of them knew it was fake. Her voice became soft and tender. “I promise that’s all I’ll ask for now.”

Harry smiled as the last let him know much she cared, how well she knew him, how much she knew he had to work things through on his own before he could discuss them with even her and Ron. “I…” he began, not really thought about how to explain it. “I…” he repeated, then forged on. “Remember what I said about the night Cedric was killed, how my wand… the Priori Incantatem effect?” At her nod, Harry continued. “I knew that if I tried to duel Voldemort, the same thing would just happen again. I wouldn’t be able to touch him.” He swallowed, remembering what it was Voldemort had done to make sure that the Dark Lord could touch Harry. “I needed something else I could use, so I took your wand.” He paused.

“Why my wand?” she asked intently.

Harry swallowed once again. “I remembered you summoning my wand back to me the last time we were in the Department of Mysteries. When the Death Eaters vanished, I knew He was coming and… I just acted.”

“But wands are specific…” she began to object, then cut off as Harry smiled slightly. “But Neville used it…” As Harry nodded, Hermione paused to collect her thoughts. “How did it break? Did Voldemort…”

Harry shook his head, and blushed, looking away. “Harry,” she began dangerously, but stopped when he looked back, laughter glittering in his eyes, a sight that made her feel like everything might be okay again for just a small moment.

“No, Hermione, it was all my fault. After… after I beat him… after I beat Voldemort, I collapsed, and I…” he started to look away again, but her hands snaked out and stopped him. “I fell on your wand and broke it after I won.”

The expression on Hermione’s face was priceless. “You… you… you fell on it?” At Harry’s glum nod, she burst into laughter and hugged him. After a moment, Harry was laughing too. It was a long, cleansing laugh, good for both of them, body and soul.

“Dumbledore was right. Again.” Harry sounded on the light-hearted side of disgusted as he breathed out the words, Hermione leaning against him.

“About what?”

“I said you would kill me when I told you. He disagreed.”

Hermione smiled. “I think he knows far more about everything than he lets on, or we give him credit for.” She grinned. “You were almost right, though.” Her eyes glinted evilly as Harry looked at her sharply. “I’m going to take you shopping.”

His eyes bugged out. “I was going to buy you a new wand already,” he murmured weakly, defensively.

Shaking her head slowly, Hermione smiled. “We’ll start at Ollivander’s, of course, but there are plenty of other stores to visit.” His eyes got even wider and his mouth dropped open. Tears formed in her eyes at his expression. Burying her head in his chest as she began to cry again, she whispered. “You looked just like Ron did the first time I told him we were going shopping.” Tears fell for a second more. “I miss him so much, Harry.”

Harry wrapped his arms around her, and felt tears running down his own cheeks, dripping into Hermione’s hair where his chin rested. “I miss Ron too, ‘Mione.” They sat that way until long after they had both stopped crying once more. There was silence for an even longer time before Harry heard Hermione’s voice echo up from where she was still cradled against him.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“How did it happen?”

“How did what happen?”

“How… how did he… die?”

“Hermione…

“Please, Harry, tell me.”

“I can’t, not yet.”

“Soon, then.”

“Soon.”

Neither of them left the couch until long after Lupin arrived back and woke them up for dinner.

Author’s Notes:

If someone could leave a review explaining how exactly to reply to an individual review, rather than having to put it in my notes, that’d be great. I know it can be done, I just don’t know how.

In other news, I got the sling off my arm today, which means I can type quickly enough to compose at the keyboard. Hopefully I’ll be able to finish up some more chapters before I catch up to myself, though I undoubtedly shall reach the point where I’ve not got another chapter written when it’s time to post, but that’s at least… four days from now.

Chapter Seven: The House of Black No More

It was a few more days before Hermione was able to make good on her threat. In the meantime, of course, there was plenty to do. As busy as everyone else was, most of Harry’s time consisted of hiding in Grimmauld Place from all of the people who wanted to talk to him. Most of the time, he sat staring into the flames of the fireplace. Much of that time, as Hermione bustled through the kitchen and rooms adjacent, she would bring him something to eat. Originally, it was regular snacks – Chocolate Frogs, Every Flavour Beans. After the first day or two, Harry noticed she was bringing him things that were no longer staples of his junk food diet, and that he had not even known were in the house.

All in all, it was not anything approaching flavorful, but he was hungry enough to eat it. Until about the fourth day.

“Gah!” Harry spit whatever it was Hermione had given him out, and it the stack of owl-post addressed to him that he was refusing to open. The stack tilted towards the fire and Harry’s wand was out in a second. “Immobulus!” The stack frozen in mid-fall, but rather than fix it, he merely reached out absently and turned it so that when the spell wore off and it fell, it would just fall away from the flames. “What was that, Hermione?” he glared at her accusingly.

Delighted at first to get some reaction from him, Hermione was shocked at the expression on his face. Lupin had not said her cooking was that bad. “It’s not that bad. Lupin liked them!” She tried extremely hard not to burst into tears at his lack of appreciation of her efforts. He had only eaten when she had brought him food, and she had become increasingly worried as their supplies dwindled to the level of nothing they were at now.

“Tonight’s a full moon. You know he’ll eat anything the week before it happens,” Harry snapped back.

That comment broke her resolve. She had been trying so hard to snap him out of his depressive state, only to get yelled at when she did. Hermione collapsed to the floor in tears, her worry about her best friend overflowing, her skirt floofing out at the abrupt movement and bunching up to reveal more of her leg than normal.

Harry swallowed at the sight of the creamy white skin of her thigh, then pushed the totally inappropriate thought away to slide down on the floor next to the witch he loved. She started to withdraw from him and he paused, not wanting to hurt her more. “I’m sorry, ‘Mione.”

At that, she leaned into him, still crying and Harry squeezed her in his arms. He, intelligently, said nothing. After a moment, she started talking, as he had known she would. “I’m sorry, Harry. I know I can’t cook, but…” the sobs got the best of her for a moment. “You… you and Lupin weren’t doing anything and I… we needed some food.”

Harry nodded and squeezed again. “I know, I know. I’m sorry too, Hermione.” He tilted her head with his hand so she was looking up at him. “I promise to cook from now on, since I, at least, learned how.” His forced smile tried very hard to make light of the fact he had been a virtual slave at the Dursley’s.

Hermione smiled sadly up at him. “Thank you.” Her smile grew a little wider. “If you can find anything to cook.”

In surprise, though he should not have been if he had thought about it, Harry blinked. “So that was the last thing in the cupboard, huh?” At her nod, the questioning continued. “What was it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It was all that was left, so I didn’t look at it.”

Pushing off the floor, he stood, offering her his hand to help her up, when Tonks came crashing out of the fireplace. Tonks attempted to nimbly avoid the half risen Hermione, with the only problem of despite an athletic build and small frame, Tonks was quite possibly the clumsiest person Harry knew.

They all ended up back on the floor in a confused pile. Harry found himself on the bottom, Hermione’s knee uncomfortably close to his groin, and a face full of wild pink hair. “Wotcher, Harry, Hermione. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Tonks,” Hermione replied, sounding oddly muffled until Harry realized Tonks’ body was smashing her face into his chest. Tonks, for all her clumsiness, rolled smoothly off the pair and to her feet.

“Hermione, watch your…”

“Hermione, don’t…”

Harry and Tonks began at the same time, to unfortunately be cut off by a yowl as Hermione moved and kneed Harry. “Oh no, Harry,” she cried, dropping back down to hug him, straightening her leg out carefully and Lupin came into the room.

“What’s all the noi…” he began and broke off, taking in the scene of Hermione laying on Harry, both on the floor, she straddling the young wizard’s thigh with her skirt shifted indecently high on her legs. “I didn’t know you two were so close,” he commented lightly, trying to hide confusion among a myriad of other emotions, at this, the second time he had come across them in recent days in a compromising position.

Hermione pushed herself upright quickly enough at that comment, blushing, smoothing her skirt down as best she could. Tonks’ laughter did not help at all, as she pulled Lupin out of the room, starting to explain it to him.

Hermione looked down contritely at Harry. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to.”

Harry nodded, the pain beginning to fade from his face. As Hermione helped him stand gingerly to his feet, Crookshanks streaked into the room, buzzing loudy. He jumped, and a startled Hermione let go of Harry’s hand in surprise to catch her bounding pet. The young wizard stumbled backwards, but managed not to fall over again, glaring at the cat. With effected dignity, he smiled. “Let’s go see what it was you made to eat, Hermione.”

When he took the first step towards the kitchen with obvious discomfort, Hermione grimaced slightly. “Are you sure you’re okay, Harry?”

He nodded. “I’ve been hurt worse during Quidditch.” His reply only made her hate the game even more, despite knowing how important it was to her friend. He continued towards the kitchen, and picked up the tin off the counter. He burst out laughing after a second. “Hermione, how hungry were you?”

“Pretty hungry,” she replied suspiciously. “Why?”

“Cause this must be either left over from when Sirius was here or even before that.” His expression tightened briefly, tearing Hermione’s heart with his horrid pain before the laughter returned to his eyes.

“Sirius?” she questioned, confused. And then jokingly, “What is it, dog food?”

When Harry failed to respond with the appropriate negative, she dropped Crookshanks, who clawed her skirt from hip to hem without breaking the skin to arrest his fall as the young witch extended her arms and rushed forward to take the can from Harry’s outstretched hand. “Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry.”

He grinned. “No wonder Lupin liked it.”

Hermione giggled, dropping her eyes down. Which is when she observed how much leg she was showing thanks to a certain ginger furred creature. “That blasted animal,” she exclaimed.

Harry, of course, looked down and grinned. “I like it,” he said, trying to hold back a laugh.

Hermione looked up at him and glared. “You would.” Then under her breath, soft enough Harry would have to pretend not hear, but loud enough he would, she muttered, “Boys.”

Harry pulled out his wand and waved it in the direction of the torn fabric. “Reparo.” The skirt quickly knit itself back together.

Hermione glared at Harry’s wand, then at Harry. “We’re going shopping.” Then realizing the time, she added. “Tomorrow.”

Harry merely nodded, having expected it, and then looked into thin air. “Kreacher!” he called, summoning the recalcitrant house-elf.

“Foul mudblood and half-breeds, let into Mistress’ house, poisoning the air,” it was muttering as it walked in. “Yes, Master.” The total lack of subservience and inflection made Kreacher’s opinion of the new state of affairs in the House of Black perfectly clear.

“Is there any food in this house?”

“No,” he replied, then turned, and as he walked away, added in and undertone, “Filthy mudblood slut, blood traitors and half-breeds have eaten it all.”

Hermione turned beat red at the first comment, and she grabbed for Harry’s wand. With his reflexes honed by playing Seeker, he stopped her before she could do anything rash. “Calm down. You know he’s not right in the head. We’ll go eat at one of the nearby muggle restaurants.”

The young witch nodded, relaxing. “Okay. But you’re taking a shower first.”

Harry had the grace to look embarrassed. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?” After she nodded, he padded into the hallway, and screams began from the entry hall. Harry had completely forgotten about the portrait of Sirius’ mother until that moment, but it was a clear and loud reminder. He ran into the hall, Hermione on his heels. “Shut up,” he snarled at the picture. Fortunately, the shock of his order paused the screaming long enough for him to wrench the curtains closed. He turned to Hermione. “While I get a shower, would you go take all the other pictures down?” Seeing the gleam in Harry’s eyes, she nodded. This was the old Harry back, and she was going to do whatever it took to keep him here.

Twenty minutes later, they regrouped in front of Misses Black’s sleeping portrait, Harry holding two large kitchen knives, one of which he handed to Hermione. Her eyes met his in total agreement, then watched as he counted down from three with his fingers.

When he reached zero, they peeled back the curtains, and a startled picture was greeted with the sound of ripping canvas. The sharp knives made two swift cuts each, and the canvas easily peeled from the frame. “Should’ve been more careful,” Hermione said to the picture as they pulled it loose. “If you wanted to stay, you should’ve stuck the canvas not the frame.”

The screams which continued to be heard once the painting was rolled up sounded decidedly odd, and Harry noticed Kreacher wandering in, for once, completely silent, to watch what was occurring. The young wizard smiled at Hermione. “Would you like to do the honors?”

At her nod, he passed his wand to her, and with a grin, she shouted “Incendio!” The canvas burst into flames. There was a thump from behind them as Kreacher dropped dead as the painting burned. Neither of them registered just what exactly had happened, though.

After there was nothing left but ash, Hermione waved the extinguishing spell, then handed the wand back to Harry. He waved the wand with a mutter cleaning spell as he distractedly turned towards Kreacher. Hermione was already kneeling at the elf’s side, feeling for a pulse. Harry knelt beside her. “Well?” He tried not to sound expectant.

She looked at Harry. “I don’t feel a pulse. I think we killed him.”

Harry forced himself not to smile at the idea. “How do you know he should have a pulse?” he questioned reasonably. “Or even that you’re looking in the right place?”

Hermione half turned towards him. “I…”

“…read it in a book,” he finished with her, smiling gently, so only a little color flared in her cheeks. “While you were researching for SPEW?”

She nodded. “Yes.” She stood slowly, and Harry rose with her. “What do we do with him?” she asked Harry.

He shrugged. “No idea. We could just leave him until Tonks deals with it.” Hermione made a face. “Alright, we’ll put him one of the chairs in the living room.” He pulled his wand out, and sent the small dead body floating down the hall in front of him. He returned once the elf was put away. “Shall we go?”

Hermione nodded, and out they went, leaving behind the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black finally devoid of the last reminders of what it had once been.

Chapter Eight: Not Alone Anymore

When they returned from dinner, Harry and Hermione were chatting happily, and the light in those green eyes was back, the darkness faded from them. And for that, Hermione was glad to see.

It was even some more hours later when they were both yawning widely. Hermione slowly rose, smoothing her skirt down. “I’ll see you in the morning, Harry.”

Harry looked at the young witch, his eyes suddenly becoming hooded and the darkness began to return. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

She stopped in the doorway when she saw he had yet to move. “Aren’t you going to bed?” e shook his head without looking at her, prompting her turn around and walk back over to him. “And why not, Harry James Potter?”

The, well, not anger yet, but annoyance, caused him to cringe slightly. “Because I see them when I sleep, Hermione.”

The cryptic statement was not entirely absurd, considering Harry’s history with depression. “It wasn’t your fault, Harry. You couldn’t’ve known what Ginny was going to do.” Hermione’s eyes flared with anger, but not directed at him. “You did your best,” she said softly, reaching out and putting her hands on his.

He tore his hands away. “That doesn’t matter. I still wasn’t good enough, wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough.”

Hermione climbed onto the couch and gripped his hands harder, so he could not as easily pull away. “Harry, no one expected you to save everyone…”

He glared into her eyes, and to her surprise, she felt a sudden rush of heat behind her from the fireplace as his anger boiled out of him. “I did. They all did. I was the Boy-Who-Lived.” He sneered as he spat the title. “I could do no wrong.

“Harry, staying awake and trying to figure it out isn’t going to help you,” Hermione said desperately. “You can’t beat grief by logic.” She looked into his eyes. “I know, I’ve tried.” He opened his mouth to object, but a fierce shake of her head cut him off. “Harry, I know you have so much more grief than I can ever dream of. But those we lost in the Ministry, they were my friends too. Mister Weasley, Ron, Ginny, I loved them just as much as you did. All the people we lost, I see them at night too. You’re not alone in that. You’ve never been alone, Harry.” A tear leaked down her cheek again. “You’ll never be alone.”

Harry gently reached out wiped her tear away, the sight of her crying, her caring, instantly destroying his anger and grief. “Hermione, I…” He had been alone, though. For twenty-seven years. Now, now he was not alone any more. Now that he had her back. Tears rolled down his cheeks as well, silently, like those of the young witch who wrapped him in her arms. There was no need for weeping or sobbing. These were tears that cleansed a soul, two souls, of grief, of loss, of the pain of a war they had never wanted to fight.

After a long while, Hermione raised her head from Harry’s shoulder and looked at the clock. It was very early in the morning. Harry was wide awake still, somehow, but Hermione was fighting desperately to stay awake, wanting the green to sparkle one more time before she did. “Have you not slept at all?”

His reply was instant. Despite the far away look in his eyes, he was obviously right there in his mind. “Not since the other night.”

“Which one?” she prompted gently.

“After the funeral, when we fell asleep here on the couch.”

At that, Hermione came instantly awake. “How have you stayed awake for four days?” Her face was burning with curiosity, her liquid brown eyes pleading with him to tell her.

Harry chuckled roughly. “It won’t let you study more, if that’s what you’re thinking, Hermione.”

She slapped him. Hard. As he pulled back from her, she felt instantly sorry. Amusement was fading quickly from his eyes, which had had some of the sparkle. He had been trying to joke with her, a recovery of sorts, and she had driven it down, driven it back. The pain and shock in his eyes tore at her soul, and she collapsed towards him, mumbling apologies through her tears.

Harry ran his fingers down her back, holding her trembling form close. “’Mione, I’m sorry. I know you only asked because I’m your friend and you’re worried about me.” He lightly kissed the top of her head.

She shivered in his arms at the touch of his lips. Not just a friend, Harry. So much more than that. After a long moment, she looked up into his eyes. “So?” At his raised eyebrows, she prompted, “How did you stay awake?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. If I play with the fire, I can rest my body, and it lets my mind project there. It’s the same as sleeping, when you get down to it, but the dreams aren’t in my head.” Harry smiled down at her.

Hermione was confused, at it showed on her face. “How can it be restful? Doesn’t it take a lot of focus and energy to direct your wand and create your dreams that aren’t dreams in the fire?”

His smile grew understanding and gentle. “I don’t use my wand, Hermione. I just think about it.”

Her breath drew in sharply, and she forced herself to meet his eyes. “How long?” she whispered.

“Have I been able to do this? Twe…” …nty years. Shit. He could not tell her that. “I’m not exactly sure.”

Hermione would not have normally missed his slip, but this early in the morning, without sleep, and distracted by the revelation of his power, she missed it, and Harry let his next breath be one of relief. “Show me,” she asked softly.

So he did. He showed her things, the battle from his perspective, skipping pieces, like it was a dream, made out of red and yellow flames. She did not see Ron die. By the time, Voldemort went through the veil, though, Hermione’s breathing against Harry’s chest was even and regular. She was fast asleep. Harry, for the first time in days, followed her within minutes.

And that night, neither of them noticed Hermione’s face constantly appearing in the flames of the fire. But every one was a good memory. Harry had no nightmares, sleeping there on the couch with the witch he loved in his arms.

Chapter Nine: Harry’s Dream

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she blinked in surprise as she started to move and found herself restrained. She realized she was still in her clothes from the day before, and the night began to come back. As she attempted to move again, a voice whispered next to her ear, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

She turned her head, finally coming to terms with where she was. On the couch, leaning against Harry’s chest, his arms around her. They had apparently spent the entire night on the couch. “Good morning, Harry,” she whispered.

The sound of her voice brought a smile to Harry’s face, which made Hermione realize how close his lips were to hers. Very, very close. Irresistible. She leaned closer, moving to kiss him…

When Hermione jerked awake, her mind and heart were racing. The situation was indeed the same, with Harry’s arms around her, with her leaning back against him. But not the same. He was not awake yet, as she could tell from his easy and rhythmic breathing, and she leaned back into his chest, letting herself float on the gentle rise and fall.

It was not long before she felt Harry stir beneath her, his arms tightening around her waist. “Hermione…” he whispered, and she crooked her head around to look at him. His eyes were still closed, and she lifted her hand to stroke his cheek. He did not respond. Dreaming…

Dreaming about her…

The young witch blushed, suddenly glad Harry could not see her, but a sudden crackling in the fire drew her attention. Harry’s sleeping mind was still shaping the fire, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw her own face appear, saw her lips open slightly, saw her head tilt to the side oddly…

That could not be what it looked like, could it? Harry could not be dreaming… that. She was his friend, his best friend…

He had never thought of her like that, had he?

The thought swirled in her mind. Ron had thought of her like that, it was true, but Harry? She had never considered herself to be beautiful, not like Lavender or Cho. But Harry had not gone with anyone since Cho that she knew of. He might have kept it from them, he was good at keeping secrets, for a while, but he usually lost control of them eventually.

She sighed softly. Of course Harry thought about her like that. He was a guy, after all, and girl talk at school had confirmed something Hermione had rather suspected. At their age, there was not a guy in the world that was friends with a girl that did not think about her that way occasionally. And no doubt the fact they were curled up on the couch in a not exactly platonic fashion while they slept had contributed to his dream.

Not that their position was exactly what anyone would call intimate, but when you got right down to it, Hermione had never spent the night in a guy’s arms before. Not even Ron, whom she had gone out with for a year.

They had stopped dating when Hermione had figured it out. One day, she had asked Ron what had finally given him the courage to ask her out, since she had been suspecting it would happen for quite a while, and had thought, up until the moment, the summer before sixth year, that he never would. Eventually, he had sheepishly admitted that it was Harry, and she had forced him to relate, well, had painfully and slowly extracted, the entire conversation. As sharp as her mind was, she had made the connection immediately when she put it with the prophecy Harry had eventually come clean about, and what she knew about Harry’s character.

She had felt an immediate need to tell Ron, while secretly impressed with the deviousness of Harry’s plan. At first, Ron had been hurt, thinking she was breaking up with him over it, and it had taken a while to drive it into his stubborn Weasley brain. But once he had understood, finally, he had surprisingly agreed with her immediately and wondered why he had not realized it earlier. He had been further hurt with the idea of his best friend manipulating him like he had, but he had understood Harry well enough to follow Harry’s logic and need to distance himself to protect them.

To keep Harry from suspecting they had figured him out, Ron and Hermione had continued ‘dating’, but their time alone became strategizing sessions on how to help Harry with his crushing responsibility. He was their best friend, after all, and as they looked back, they were horrified at how close Harry’s plan had come succeeding. They had agreed to renew their relationship when Voldemort had been defeated, if they had still felt the same way about each other. Implicit was the understanding, on both their parts, that that was not guaranteed.

Now Voldemort was gone, but so was Ron. She would never have the chance to find out how he had felt, how she had felt, where they were afterwards, as they had agreed to. Though Hermione was sure if they had tried now, it would not have worked, for neither of them had been the same person when they had gone into the final battle. Watching Harry grow the final year at school as he took on the final burden, preparing himself for what was to come, had changed them all. He had not realized it, how much he had become a rock and a leader on which they had all, not just Ron and Hermione, depended. And they, his two best friends, had become the people Harry had needed them to be, the people on which he had depended without realizing it. Hermione could see quite clearly that none of them had realized how close they had become that last year, as close as a single person. She had been their brain, and Ron had been their balls…

Hermione giggled softly at the thought.

But Harry… Harry Potter had been their heart. They had become so close that they had nearly required each other for everything without realizing it, even working as close as before on their classes, which were diverging with their future goals. Each had known as much as the other two, even Ron, who had always struggled with classes, had, without trying, done much better.

Hermione slowly raise her hands to brush tears from her eyes, but then, realized the tears were not there. She blinked in surprise, and thought about Ron more deliberately, about their dates and all the fun times. She forced herself to recall their arguments and fights, and still, she felt no tears. She missed him terribly now, and there was pain at his loss, but it was a dull pain, the pain that she still occasionally had from the curse from two years before, from her parents death a year and a half earlier.

Ron had been special to them both, but, Hermione realized, she had moved on. Her pain was not a severe as Harry’s, either. She felt no failure, only loss. She had read about survivor’s guilt, and knew that is what Harry had, what she had felt after her parents had died, like it had been her fault…

But she had not fallen into that trap again. And just like Harry had helped her out of the pit when she had fallen into it, she would help him out of his pit if it was the last thing she did. Because he was her friend, and she loved him.

Loved him? Really? Surely just as a friend… No. She could not go on unless she had Harry with her, and she would willingly die before she let him die, especially from this black grief.

Because she was in love with Harry Potter.

Absolutely not. No way in… anything was she in love with him. Was she?

When she had been going out with Ron, she had read everything in the library she could find that had to do with love. For once, even the massive Hogwarts library had been… unhelpful. She had, in fact, learned nothing but some fairly useless poetry and even more useless methods of divination for learning if you were love with someone.

So, in reality, Hermione Granger had no idea what love was, and as smart as she was, that bothered her. She knew she felt differently towards Harry than she had towards her parents, or towards Ron, or anyone else. But that was just because he was Harry. A unique individual demanded a unique kind of feeling.

That was logical; she had no problem with it. But what kind of nonsense was this ‘love’? She had heard about a desperate longing for another, but she did not long for Harry. He was, after all, here with her.

But what if he was gone? Would she long for him then? She would, she realized. She would hate every minute he was gone from her. That was just friendship, though, was it not?

Right. Just friends. Just a friend she would miss like her heart was gone if he was. She would miss his smile, the light in his eyes, the way his hair was wild, looking like he had always just gotten off a broom, his consideration and his sense of humor. She would miss his comforting presence, the way he held her when she cried, the little thrill she got when he hugged her…

Shit.

She had fallen for him. But even if he thought about her like her glimpse into his dreams said he did, that certainly did not mean he loved her back. He would probably be mortally embarrassed to find out she had seen what she had seen, assuming… Silly girl… that she had actually not imagined what she had seen.

Maybe, if she said nothing, did nothing, she would forget about how she felt. That would be the best solution. Too bad this was Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her age, who never forgot anything…

Chapter Ten: Diagonally

Hermione’s silent reflection time was interrupted when she felt Harry move behind her and a very sleep slurred “Good morning” made its way to her ears. Pushing herself upright, or trying to, did her no good when his arms tightened around her.

“Harry,” she said sharply and forcefully, having turned her face half around to see his still sleep shuttered eyes, “let me go.”

His emerald eyes snapped open behind his glasses and got quite wide, echoing the flush that brightly lit his face. “Sorry,” he muttered, looking anywhere but in her eyes, so very close to his own, as he unwrapped his arms from her waist hurriedly. Hermione felt a slight pang of loss when his arms snapped open, but brushed it off. She was close enough to see in his eyes as the night before came back to him, when he whispered, “Thank you.” An explanation of that was unnecessary.

Hermione decided to move things along, though, ending her night in Harry Potter’s arms. Best not to dwell on it, she reminded herself. It isn’t like it’s going to happen again. She smiled brightly at Harry. “Let’s get ready to go. It’s time for shopping.”

The expression on Harry’s face was more than priceless. It was a memory Hermione would keep to her dying day. It fully reminded her of that though Harry had grown up without a true family, he had still somehow acquired the stereotypical male dislike of ‘shopping’. “Can’t we at least have breakfast first?”

Hermione shook her head. “There’s no food, remember? We can get food at the Leaky Cauldron, so they sooner you are ready, the sooner you get to eat.”

Harry groaned, but a noise from the hallway made him spin off the couch, even more awake than before. Hermione found herself abruptly seated on the floor, in front of the couch, its bulk blocking anyone in the doorway from seeing her, watching as Harry’s wand slid out of his pocket so fast she nearly missed it. When she rose from the floor, she caught sight of Harry stopping dead in the door, drawn up into a frozen position so quickly she nearly panicked before her eye caught sight of him placing his wand back in his pocket. Joining him in the doorway, she poked him in the side to get him to move over so she could see around him. The way the boys had grown in the last three years had not been fair to her in this department. Tonks was staring at Harry from the hallway, a pile of things cluttered around her feet, and Harry was staring back, understandably.

“Tonks?” Hermione gasped in surprise, recognizing the only thing the older witch was wearing to be a ragged man’s shirt, exactly the type Lupin wore. In fact, if Hermione had to guess, it was the shirt Lupin had been wearing the day before. Despite being too large for her, the sloppy job buttoning it and the thin material left little to the imagination, though a glance at Harry showed his imagination was working overtime. Why doesn’t he look at me like that?

“I thought you had left last night,” Harry’s voice finally said.

Tonks smiled brightly. “Remus asked me to stay through the night while he was transformed. I was just coming down to get some tea. If I had thought you two would be awake yet, I would’ve put some more clothes on.”

Harry nodded like a dummy. “That would’ve been a good idea.” He was carefully staying focused on Tonks’ face, a thought that cheered Hermione slightly. “Tell me, Tonks, are there any other nights you’ve stayed I’ve not known about?”

Hermione giggled, breaking the tension, at the look on Tonks face, before understanding dawned. “Oh, no, Harry, its not like that at all.” A brief dreamy look crossed Tonks face. Harry missed it, Hermione thought, but she certainly did not. “Besides, he was transformed last night. That’d be way too kinky, even for me.”

The shade of green Harry turned at that, really did not go well with his eyes, Hermione decided. “I think…” he began, then spun on his heel, charging up the stairs towards the master bedroom and the bath located there.

Hermione’s face was questioning as she looked at Tonks. “You aren’t sleeping with the Professor, are you, really?”

Tonks grinned wickedly. “Not yet.” Hermione let out a bark of laughter. “I didn’t think Harry was quite ready for that bit of information.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, definitely not. Go easy on him, though, okay? Lupin is the closest thing to a father he has left. I don’t want him hurt again.” The last was said with surprising force.

Tonks looked at her. “I promise.” The wicked Tonks grin was back, though. “Professor. I can’t wait to see Remus’ face the first time I call him that while we’re…”

Hermione cut her off. “I don’t want to know.

Tonks just grinned. “So what’s up with you two? You were both looking pretty cozy on the couch last night.”

Hermione shook her head. “We’re just friends.”

Tonks snorted, a very unladylike sound. But then, it was Tonks. “Well, I think he’d like more than that, if those fire pictures last night were any indication.”

Hermione suddenly felt relieved that she had not imagined it. “They were just dreams. They didn’t mean anything.” She tried not to sound bitterly disappointed. “He would never think of me that way while he’s awake.”

Tonks smiled. “That’s because of who he is,” she responded cryptically. “But, seriously, how long has he been able to do that with the fire? I mean, he was asleep, right? Can he do it while awake?”

Hermione nodded, still trying to work out Tonks first statement. “He just told me he had been able to do it for a while. He does it, apparently, to keep the nightmares from being so bad. He hadn’t been sleeping since the funeral. At all. He just stays awake and plays with the fire while his body sleeps.”

The look on Tonks face was one of great worry. “I’ll talk to Remus about it, Hermione.” Hermione blinked in surprise. “Reading your concern for him is like reading a large print book. Easy.”

Hermione blushed. “Thanks, Tonks. I’d better go get ready. I’m going out with Harry today.” At Tonks expression, she realized how what she had said sounded. “Shopping. There’s no food in the house.”

Tonks smiled oddly. “I had noticed that.”

Hermione rushed past her, eager to escape the conversation that had left her mind swirling. Tonks merely smiled after her. “Those two poor children.”

* * * * *

Twenty minutes later, Harry, wearing a set of black cloak-like robes with dark green trim over a black lightweight turtleneck sweater and a pair of grey slacks, stood waiting for Hermione to come back downstairs. When she did, he smiled at her. She had obviously had the same idea as him, since they were going to Diagon Alley, they might as well dress like wizards.

Hermione was wearing a blue set of robes of the same style as Harry’s over a pleated grey skirt and white jumper, and she smiled at Harry, her bushy hair drawn back into a clip at the base of her neck. She smiled. It was that smile that Harry knew was just for him, her best friend. He had never even seen her give Ron that smile. He grinned back at her. “Ready to go?” As she nodded, his stomach punctuated this with a loud growl, and she laughed softly.

“Let’s go before you eat yourself for breakfast.”

“Apparate or go by the Floo Network?” he questioned her.

She glared, letting a false anger cover her fear. “What do you think? I’m not getting soot all over me just to travel to the other side of London.”

He grinned. She knew how much he liked just popping into existence. She hated it, her Muggle upbringing making it possibly the weirdest method of transport wizards had to her, but she still did it, for him, anyways.

Quite possibly he liked it because it was the only thing that made him feel like he was moving faster than when he was on his Firebolt, despite the Floo being nearly as fast. He blinked out of existence. She followed a second later.

When she arrived, Hermione dropped to her knees with a gasp. Harry’s torso was lying against the brick wall of the Cauldron’s courtyard. His legs were not present. “Oh no, Harry, you splinched yourself!”

Harry looked up at her as she put her hands on his shoulders. He was shaking. And then, when she met his eyes, she discovered it was with laughter. She looked down at his legs again. They were visible, and his Invisibility Cloak was bunched up in one hand. “You beast!” she shouted, hitting him. “How could you do that to me?!”

He was just laughing too hard. He stood up and wrapped her in his arms. “Sorry, ‘Mione. I couldn’t resist. I know how much you hate Apparating.”

She was still shaking with adrenaline let down. “That was horrid of you.”

He squeezed her tight. “I really am sorry.”

She nodded. “I know.” She grinned. “It was rather funny. But you know I’m going to have to get you back for it.”

He shrugged. “I’m looking forward to it.” Harry’s grin was just pure challenge. “Let’s get some food, though.” They went into the Leaky Cauldron for breakfast.

* * * * *

Ollivander’s looked exactly the same as it always did, and as the two youngsters stepped inside, they discovered it still smelled the same as it always had, like saw dust and lemons. As the noise of the wizards in the street, all clamoring after Harry (and Hermione, too), faded outside the closed doors, Hermione reached over and gently squeezed Harry’s hand. She knew how hard it was for him for all the world to be clamoring for the ‘hero’ he did not believe himself to be. It was clear, from the shouted questions, that even after a week, there were still only rumors of what had happened in the Ministry.

After a moment of quiet, a noise from the back of the shop drew Harry’s attention, and almost his wand, before he recognized Mister Ollivander. Hermione stared at him slightly, quickly, first Tonks, now Ollivander. Harry seemed to have become paranoid in the last week, ready to snap like a loaded weapon.

“Ah, young Mister Potter, it seems only yesterday you were in here buying you first wand… I trust that choice has proven satisfactory?” At Harry’s slight nod, he continued. “You have done great things, I see, as I knew you would.” The old man’s attention seemed to switch suddenly, his eyes coming to rest on Hermione’s bushy head. “And Miss Granger, if I recall correctly… Let me see… vine wood, I believe?”

The young witch nodded, but the old wizard could not have actually seen her reply before he vanished into the rows of shelves. Harry and Hermione sort of ambled about, waiting for him to return. Hermione looked out the window at the crowd gathered in the street, and struck by sudden inspiration, grinned cheekily and waved to them. She caught sight of a small smile on Harry’s face, before the sound of Ollivander returning brought them back to where they were.

“Vine wood and hair of unicorn, fourteen inches, quite flexible.” He handed her the wand, which felt deathly cold to the touch. Hermione shivered, and boxes of wands exploded off a shelf behind the counter. “I think not, something a little less enthusiastic, perhaps.” He extracted another wand. “Core of a hippogriff feather, eleven inches, somewhat rigid.” This one sat inert in Hermione’s hand, even when she tried the simplest of spells. “Perhaps, no.” He looked her up and down, “I wouldn’t’ve thought,” he mumbled, glancing at Harry, then her again, before pulling out another wand. “Veela hair core, twelve and a half inches, flexible.” He extended it to Hermione. “I received this by post a few days ago.”

She shook her head. “Absolutely not. Veela and I…” Harry coughed slightly into his fist, covering a grin.

Ollivander nodded, unperturbed. “Well, then…” H reluctantly extracted a wand that was very dark in coloration. “Stained vine wood, inset rose pattern, core of an Athenian owl feather, wrapped in a tail hair of a Pegasus, thirteen inches, flexible.”

Hermione could not take her eyes off the wand, and wordlessly extended her hand to take it. It began to vibrate slightly before it even touched her hand, and was warm as she closed her fingers about its girth. She felt it throb with power under her touch, and it seemed to glow briefly.

The blue glow drew Harry out of his stupor leaning against the wall. It was familiar, almost like a… Hermione vanished with a pop of displaced air… a Portkey.

The young wizard exploded into action, but even as his wand stopped moving, motionless by Ollivander’s head, his emerald eyes took in the truth of the old man’s shock. Instantly, he swept around, his wand clearing the store, before, outside the window, he saw a man in a dark cloak shoving his way through the crowd. He was a mere second behind the reductor curse that blew the front window to Ollivander’s shop apart, his Quidditch skills serving him well to keep his balance as he slammed into the crowd, which was peeling apart for him.

“Diffindo!” His shout send the running man in black to the ground, his sliced open leg spraying blood over the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. “Incarcerous.” The ropes coiled about the man, preventing him from resisting. Harry stopped by the bleeding man. “Where did you send Hermione, Death Eater?”

The man on the ground laughed through his pain. “I’m not a Death Eater, Potter.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in disbelief and smiled darkly. “Let’s check, shall we?” His wand flickered, and the arm of the man’s robe tore, baring his forearm. Harry knelt down. “This may hurt you a little bit.” Reaching out, he touched his hand to where the mark had been on Snape’s arm. The Death Eater screamed as the Dark Mark burned black on his otherwise pasty skin, growing paler by the second as he continued to bleed.

“How…” the man sobbed.

Harry breathed out slowly, and with a trick he had learned long ago, ten years from now, he drew darkness about himself, casting shadow over his body, and his eyes burned red behind the green when he leaned forward to whisper in the man’s ear. “The Dark Lord lives in me, faithful servant.” His voice was silky smooth, almost a hiss, high and cold. “Now tell me, where is the mudblood? Where did you send her?”

Which is when the inherent stupidity in the pure-blooded systemic inbreeding became apparent. “To our base, milord, as Malfoy and Lestrange commanded.”

Harry hissed angrily at those names. “Why?”

“To draw Potter in. The girl is the bait, to bring in Potter for a Death exchange…” Confusion reigned in the man’s eyes. “To bring you back, milord.”

“Where are they?”

The man trembled. “I cannot say, the orders arrived, I carried them out.”

“Legilimens.” Harry whispered, easily battering his way into the unfortunate, confused man’s mind, seeking the answers he needed. His vision blacked for a second, then turned red, and as it cleared, he found himself ten feet away as the Death Eater’s eyes rolled up into his head and blood ran out his nose.

“Damn,” Harry muttered, feeling, through the residuals of the link, the man die as he picked himself off the ground just in time for two men in clothing that instantly identified them as Aurors rushed up.

“What’s going on?” they demanded simultaneously. Harry explained quickly. One of them picked up the dead man’s wand and after a near silent moment of his muttering, he looked up. “He’s right, at least, that creating a portkey was the last thing this wand did.” He examined Harry’s wand next, nodding as he completed his investigation confirming Harry’s story. “Stay where you can be found, Mister Potter, in case we have more questions for you.”

“Can I have his wand?” Harry asked softly. “Or do you need it for the rest of your investigation?”

The older of the two looked dubiously at him. “We really shouldn’t… but it is you, Mister Potter. Just make sure we get it back.” He handed Harry the wand, then watched as Harry walked a few steps away before picking up a loose cobblestone from the street and vanishing.

The younger Auror looked at his partner. “He’s not allowed to do that.”

The older man sighed. “He’s Harry Bloody Potter. Leave him be for now. We’ve got enough mess to sort out here.”

* * * * *

A bit later, Hedwig dropped a package off for Ollivander, and it chinked when the old man opened it to discover a pile of Galleons. A note was inside.

Mister Ollivander –

This should cover the cost of Hermione’s wand and the window. Sorry about that. Keep any change.

HP

Author’s Notes:

Yes, I am aware that my update is rather early today, but it is a holiday, and I imagine a bunch of US readers will be busy tonight. I might even post another chapter as a special treat, if I get enough written this afternoon.

Chapter Eleven: The Old Folks Home

“Albus, do you think we are going to have to keep the Order active this time?” McGonagall said with a sigh, seated across the desk from the Headmaster.

“Yes, Minerva, I think we will have to. Voldemort’s final attack destroyed too much of the Ministry, they don’t have the personnel left to fight the rest of this war,” the silver-haired man replied with a sigh. The famous twinkle was completely missing from his blue gaze.

“I had hoped there would no longer be a war with Vol… Voldemort gone.”

A new voice broke in from behind the Deputy Headmistress’s chair. “They don’t have a choice, Professor.” Harry stepped around from behind her chair. “And they’re continuing it the same way they always have, taking the people closest to me.” The rage in his voice was a physical, powerful thing, and the Transfiguration professor’s face paled slightly.

“What’s going on, Harry?” Dumbledore asked calmly.

“They took Hermione.” As he said her name, the torches lighting the room flickered slightly. “I need to get her back. Now.”

The Headmaster was nodding calmly. “Of course. I assume you want assistance from the Order? Who do you want?”

At the same moment, it finally percolated through McGonagall’s usually sharp mind that Harry Potter was standing in the Headmaster’s office without the door having opened. “How did you get in here, Mister Potter?”

“The wards are easy enough to bypass with a Portkey, or I could have blown my way through, but that seemed excessive, Professor.” He turned his gaze back to the Headmaster. “Tonks, Kingsley, yourself, sir. I’d ask for Remus, but he’s not ready after last night.”

“Quite,” The Headmaster replied calmly, noticing how well Potter was controlling his anger, compared to two years prior.

McGonagall was not so easily put off. “Easy enough?” Her voice was rather desperate, for she had always thought of Hogwarts as quite possibly the safest place in the magical world. “And Albus, you’re just going to let a student order you around like this?”

Harry though she was vaguely reminiscent of Snape as she said this, and flushed the anger from his voice. Unfortunately, that had the affect of darkening the lighting in the room, letting only Harry’s eyes be seen. “I’m not a student any more, Professor.”

“Certainly not,” Dumbledore agreed, illuminating the room with a wave of his hand. “I would say Harry has more than earned the right to call on whatever support the Order can provide him with, wouldn’t you agree, Minerva?”

She could only nod her head, slightly frightened of the display of power from Potter. It was something she had only seen from two sources before, one of which was dead and the other of which was sitting calmly across the desk from her. Dumbledore continued, “Harry, while we wait for Tonks and Kingsley to arrive, shall you explain to us exactly what has occurred?”

He did, curtly, with a full explanation of everything that had occurred from the time they had left the Leaky Caldron following breakfast. Tonks and Kingsley had arrived relatively early into the report, and asked no questions, knowing they were here to get the young witch back. The only change in Dumbledore’s expression was a slight paling when he heard the words “Death Exchange.” Harry apparently did not notice.

Harry withdrew the Death Eater’s wand at the conclusion of his story, and tapped the cobblestone he had brought with him, muttering an incantation considerably more involved than the simple spell ‘Portus’. But the stone glowed bright blue, and Harry held it out for the others.

Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. “Lock the school down until my return.”

“Where are you going?”

“After Miss Granger,” he replied calmly.

McGonagall was still stunned by the turn of events, and had not followed what Harry had muttered with the Death Eater’s wand, which had, to the Headmaster’s ears, been an instruction to force the wand to repeat exactly the same spell it had just done. “Where? How?”

But her words were to empty air. The four traveling as the rescue squad were gone.

* * * * *

The rush of displaced air away from the four as they reappeared on the other end of the Portkey journey prevent Harry from blinking in surprise for a small moment, but then, as the scene before him was revealed, he definitely did so.

“Welcome back to Little Hangleton,” he muttered, staring around at the graveyard, his gaze fixed on a single tombstone. Tonks and Kingsley gave a start as they turned to look at it as well. They both knew Voldemort’s real name, after all. Dumbledore was already in motion, though, Harry with him. The two Aurors shook themselves and quickly moved after the two more powerful wizards. Everyone there knew what had happened three years before in this graveyard, which was suspiciously empty.

Moving through the daylight, with wands out, they looked ready for anything as the group proceeded towards the house some distance away. Anything, that is, except for the shout which echoed from the opened back door. “Ahhhh! Mudblood bitch bit me!” The slap and the soft cry which followed it were also clearly audible.

The three younger members of the group broke into a run towards the building, knowing Dumbledore would bring up the rear and reinforce them easily enough. Harry drew out his invisibility cloak and vanished, slipping through the back door at a slow jog while Tonks and Kingsley waited by the outer wall, out of sight from the door, which suddenly slammed shut.

“Trap,” Tonks mouthed to the elder Auror, and he shook his head. When she looked at him quizzically, he sighed.

“It’s been less than an hour, they can’t expect Harry to find them that fast,” he whispered. “Hell, I don’t know how he did find them that fast.” To this, Tonks had no reply but a shrug as Dumbledore caught up with them.

“Shall we wait on Harry to ask for our assistance?” the old wizard asked with a slight grin, which completely confused the two to whom he was speaking.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, inside the house, Harry crept forward under his invisibility cloak, tracking the sounds of the voices until he stood watching the scene play out before him. Four unhooded Death Eaters were now sitting sprawled on furniture, Hermione was bound and unconscious in a straight backed chair. Her cloak was missing, her clothing torn, a bruise was appearing on her cheek, and her hair was in utter disarray.

Harry thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight as he watched the slight rise and fall of her breasts. Her breaths were steady and slow, but she was clearly alive. For now, he listened to what they were saying.

“The Portkey will be here in the morning for us to take her to the main base.”

“Well, what do we do until then?”

“Make sure that Potter doesn’t get her before then.”

“How could he?”

“Don’t know. He got Franks, though. He might have gotten something from him before the curse took effect.”

“Possibly. Potter’s brave, but he’s not completely stupid. If nothing else, he learned from the incident with the prophecy. He’ll know it’s a trap. He’ll want help, and it will take him a while to get it.”

“Dumbledore dotes on the boy. He’ll help him as soon as he gets there.”

“Hogwarts is a long way from Diagon Alley. Even if Potter can Apparate that far, he’ll bounce right off the wards on that old castle like nothing else. He’ll never find us with help before we’re gone.”

“Once we have our lord back, we’ll be able to free our compatriots, and with Potter dead, there will be no one to stop us. Not even that fool Dumbledore can stop the Dark Lord.”

That was when Hermione moaned softly, lifting her head up slowly. “Oh look, the Mudblood is awake. Think anyone would be upset if we were to torture her a bit?” There was just laughter at that, and Harry closed his eyes slowly counting down from ten, nine….

He felt his mind reaching out across space…

…eight, seven, six….

The door was opening to him again…

…five, four, three…

The connection flowed through him, torn open by his anger, flooding him with love…

…two…

He opened his eyes…

…one.

The lights in the Riddle house died completely. The Death Eaters shouted in confusion. Spell light flared, red, blue, yellow, slashing outward from Harry’s wand, each one lighting the room bright as day. Crashes of sound accompanied the flashes of light as the Death Eaters failed Moody’s lesson. Constant Vigilance.

Five seconds later, the lights came back up as Harry used a severing charm on the bonds that bound Hermione to the chair. Of course, channeling pure force as he was, he also severed the chair and about ten meters of the ground, but Hermione was free. “Harry?” she murmured, her gaze not quite tracking him. He helped her to her feet, holding her easily with his right hand, pressed against him. Then her eyes got wide, and she shouted fuzzily “Harry!”

The alarm in her voice gave it away. There was a fifth Death Eater. “Protego.” The spell bounced off the shield erected behind his back, and he waved with his free hand, muttering “stupefy” under his breath and watching in delight as the red bolt threw the man in black through a wall.

A surprised shout from Kingsley betrayed that the three Order members had indeed followed Harry in, just after he killed the lights. But Harry did not hear the dark skinned man as he turned to Hermione. “Are you okay, ‘Mione?”

She was crying into his chest, and Harry divested himself of his robe to wrap around her shoulders, while Kingsley and Tonks picked through the wreckage of the sitting room. He repeated his question, and this time, got a nod and a gasped “Yeah.”

Dumbledore entered the room a moment later, and in his calm, quiet voice pronounced. “We have what we came for.” He waved his wand and the five dark wizards were suddenly tied up and strapped to a large broomstick, only to vanish a moment later in the swirl of a Portkey transport. “So unless you have any desire to fight more Death Eaters, I suggest we go. They will be here soon.” He picked up the leg of a table Harry had blown apart and tapped it, causing it to glow blue for a moment, before extending it in his hand. Still holding Hermione, Harry grabbed on, after tucking Hermione’s new wand in his belt, Tonks and Kingsley a moment later and with a gut wrenching tug, and a swirl of air and color, they were gone…

The house burst into flame as a burning phoenix exploded out of it, gleaming brightly even in the full light of day, a shriveled green serpent hanging loosely in its beak…

Author’s Notes:

This chapter is one of the ones for which the story receives its NC-17 rating, and it’s not for sexual content. Just thought I would warn you. It’s also the last completed chapter, so there may be a slow down soon, especially later in the week. I’m going to try very hard to finish the entire story by the release of HBP, but no promises.

And Happy 4^th of July!

Chapter Twelve: The Tracking Charm

As the ether dropped Harry and company into the Hogwarts hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey rushed out of her office at the sudden noise. “What’s happened?” she demanded as Harry lowered Hermione onto the nearest bed.

Dumbledore calmly began to explain. “Miss Granger was kidnapped by Death Eaters as part of a plot to capture Harry when he came after her. I do not believe she is seriously injured.” While he was speaking, the school nurse had waved her wand, motioning Harry back from the bed, while she transfigured Hermione’s clothing into something more appropriate for the hospital. He was unable to move far away, though, as the young witch was unwilling to relinquish Harry’s hand in her own.

Frowning slightly at that, Pomfrey waved her wand over Hermione slowly, watching as it slowly inspected the young woman. Then she reached down and tapped her wand to Hermione’s cheek with a soft incantation, and nodded with satisfaction as the bruise began to fade. “You seem to have been very lucky, Miss Granger, that that bruise was the worst of your injuries. I think a short kip should make you feel all better.”

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief, and smiled down at Hermione, squeezing her hand. “You’ll be fine.” She nodded to him, and then closed her eyes. The Head Nurse glared at Harry, and he could see her thoughts in her eyes and he merely responded with a grin.

With a huff, she strode over to Dumbledore, who was dismissing Kingsley and Tonks, thanking them for their help, and asking Kingsley to tell McGonagall that he had returned before he left. Tonks, of course, managed to trip over the stone floor on her way out. Then he turned to the Nurse. “Yes, Poppy?”

“Headmaster, a Death Eater, or someone, seems to have left some sort of charm on Miss Granger. It’s not injuring her in any way, but it is there.”

Nodding, Dumbledore gave his orders. “Go get Filius, and we shall see what he makes of it.” The Nurse left as instructed, searching for the head of Ravenclaw house, while the Headmaster walked slowly over to Harry. “Did you place a charm on Miss Granger?” he questioned softly.

Harry started in his chair, he had been drifting off as well, then glanced at Hermione, then up at Dumbledore. “No, I didn’t.” He turned and studied the sleeping young witch intently. “It’s a form of the Tracking Charm, but modified to bind it to her soul. It’s pretty dark magic, but requires no particular skills. With a scrying basin, they’ll be able to track her anywhere. As far as I know, it’s unbreakable, but limited in duration. It’s blocked by the castle wards, though. I first saw one of these a year from now,” he finished as the memory flooded back to him.

Having chosen not to blow his way through the anti-Apparition wards and announce his arrival, warning those inside, Harry instead had appeared just outside them. There were only two Death Eaters here, but he desperately wanted both of them alive, to make them pay for what they had done to him.

The lock picking tools Fred and George had shown him how to use slid into his hand, and he entered the cottage after a moment, silently gliding over the floor. Drifting up the stairs, he paused at a closed door, listening.

“Oh fuck yes!” Ginny Weasley’s voice echoed from the other side. “Harder, Draco, harder!” Harry’s lips curled into a sneer as he heard the sounds of something he would never have, but it was perfect timing. They would never have a chance to respond and they were paying even less attention than they would have been had they been asleep.

The wooden door exploded inwards in a shower of foot long splinters, jagged pieces that slashed into cloth and down and flesh, provoking two screams of pain, one low and one high. Standing in the doorway, Harry paused, glaring at the two people inside frozen in shock. Ginny, white knuckled, was gripping the headboard, kneeling on the bed, with Draco kneeling behind her, his hips flush against hers. Their joined white skin was stained with crimson, though, flowing from deep punctures and gashes, dripping the bedclothes beneath them.

As a wave of force sprung from Harry’s hand, throwing the two against the far wall, he snarled angrily at Ginny, “Is Draco really that good a fuck, you traitorous whore?”

“Draco’s twice the man you’ll ever be, Scarhead,” she shouted in response, breathless with her earlier activity and pain.

“Scarhead. Can’t even think up new insults. As for being twice the man I am, if it takes fucking a slut who betrayed her family and friends to be a man, I’ll pass.” As Draco struggled back to his feet, lunging for his wand, Harry waved his hand again, pinning the blond dark wizard to the wall, spread eagled. Ginny leapt directly at Harry, and found herself in the same position as Draco with a cry of pain forced from her abused body. “I don’t have time to play, and I need to take you both somewhere where I can question you. I’m sure your wards have alerted your compatriots as to my presence here.”

With another wave of his hand, they were in a dark, dank room, with Ginny and Draco tied to the wall with heavy metal chains, Harry standing before them in his solid black, holding their wands. “You won’t be needing these any more.” He smiled calmly, then shattered the magical items like so much powder in his hands.

“What do you want, Potter?” Draco spat, blood splattering on the floor as he did so.

“Information, my dear Malfoy. Information on where each one of your precious little Death Eaters is hiding, so I can get each and every one of them.”

“I’ll never tell you anything.”

Harry laughed, darkly, his eyes turning black as pitch and the air around him crackled with malevolent power. “That’s what the poor sap who told me where you were said before I broke him.”

“He was supposed to tell you, Potter, so you would drag us in here.”

“Really? Why is that?” Harry gazed into the ether surrounding his two captives and spotted the charm immediately. “Ah. So you’re tracking me. What’s the goal?”

“To rescue the rest of our fellows hidden here.”

The laugh came again, the torches lighting the bare walls flickering. “Do you see anywhere here for storing captured Death Eater trash?”

Malfoy’s face, and Ginny’s, if it was possible, went even paler. “You wouldn’t. You didn’t. You’re Harry Potter, Savior of the World,” Ginny whispered.

Sauntering up to her, he placed his wand under her chin and lifted her face up, looking into her eyes. “Until the day you had me murder my friends, you’d’ve been right, Ginny. After that, I discovered I rather enjoyed killing the scum who destroyed my life.” When he moved his wand, her face fell again, as she was unable to hold up her head, she had grown so weak. “Now, I think I’ll take what I need from Malfoy first.” He turned and grinned. “We’ll unfortunately have to do this quickly, since I’m sure your friends will be here soon. This means it will hurt more, though for not as long.”

A dagger flew to Harry’s hand, and in a single smooth move, he turned, and slammed it into Draco’s pelvis, the wide blade completely removing the parts of him that were so necessary to the continuation of the pure-blood line. The scream was inhuman, and it merely fed Harry’s satisfaction, as his gleaming eyes, green once more, took in the blood splattering to the floor from the lethal injury.

Almost lovingly, his hand drifted up to Draco’s head, caressing the paling cheek, then with a murmured curse, began tearing silver strands of thought from his mind, dropping them in a waiting Pensive. Again and again he pulled every thought he could from the wizard’s head, tearing them out with enough force to cause blood to run down the side of Draco’s face. It took twenty minutes, but Draco had stopped screaming some time before, and finally Harry locked the last scion of the Malfoy’s in a stasis, holding him alive until later.

Then he turned to Ginny. “It’s your turn now, Ginny,” he whispered, twirling the bloody knife in his hand. “Where do you think it would hurt the most, hmmm?” He looked at her again, his eyes blackening once more, and then he smiled, face twisted cruelly into an expression that had never belonged on the face of Harry Potter. “You’re carrying his child. Does he even know?” That cruel, high laugh, that sounded so much like the Dark Lord echoed once more. “That is the wound I shall give you, then.” The blade flashed, growing longer as Harry spun it, before he drove it between her spread legs, cutting up into her deeply, shattering her insides. “I’d pull it out, but you would die to quickly, traitor.”

Which was when he proceeded to drain her mind of all its information and knowledge, placing these items once more in Dumbledore’s Pensive. It took a little less time for her, as he used both hands, until blood poured from her ears, dark crimson against her red hair. A stasis took her as well, as Harry proceeded to process the memories, sifting through them quickly, absorbing the ones he needed, storing them as his own.

Then Harry removed the stasis on both of them, and tore the dagger from Ginny’s body, spraying what little blood she had left across the room, spattering off the shield that instinctively arose before the dark haired wizard. Then, spinning, a quick cut decapitated Draco. Harry felt the tracking charm die, and smiled. “That’s good to know.”

Harry returned to the present and looked into the concerned faces of Dumbledore and Flitwick. “Are you okay, Harry?” Dumbledore asked softly.

Swallowing hard, Harry stared down at his right hand, the hand that had held the blade. “Yes, Professor,” he whispered, barely audible. “Just remembering the future.”

Flitwick started, but Dumbledore murmured, “Forget you heard that, Filius, and see if you can help remove the charm from Miss Granger.” Dumbledore calmly placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “If you should need to talk about something you did, Harry, I will listen, and try to understand.”

“No, Professor, there are some things I would rather forget, some things I did.” Some things I did that made Voldemort look sane.

“I understand.” Dumbledore conjured himself a chair, and sat quietly, watching Flitwick work, as did Harry, still gripping Hermione’s hand lightly.

Finally, the miniature professor straightened. “I don’t think the charm can be safely removed, though it will pass away by the next full moon. Mister Potter is right that the castle wards will prevent it from being traced, but it is one of a very few locations in the world that would accomplish this, so it does not actually disguise her location very well.”

“Undoubtedly, though the Death Eaters would be fools to try to take her from here,” Dumbledore opined. “Not that they haven’t proven in the past that they are fools. We shall leave the decision to Miss Granger when she awakens. If you have need of me, Harry, I shall be in my office. The password is Canary Creams. I would prefer if you didn’t Portkey in there again without an emergency.”

“Of course, Professor. Thank you. Both of you. I’ll be here until Hermione wakes, and I’ll explain the situation to her. We’ll let you know what is decided.” The two professors departed the hospital wing, and Harry let his eyes droop closed, joining Hermione in a nap, his hand still lightly gripping hers.

Chapter Thirteen: Home Again

A slight motion, a feeling, really, the brush of skin against skin, tender as the flowers opening to the morning dew, and Harry awoke to the painful brightness of the setting sun glaring into his sleep fuzzed vision. Shaking his head slowly, he cleared the sleep from his eyes with a few blinks, then noticed Hermione looking at him, but before he could say anything, she spoke. “I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Sitting up with a grimace as abused and stiff muscles protested movement, Harry smiled. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping anyways. How are you?”

Hermione smiled at him, and glanced around the room, spotting a set of clean clothing for her nearby. “I’m fine,” she responded. “Did you bring those?” she questioned, indicating the clothing with an inclination of her head.

Shaking his head in response, Harry stood. “Madame Pomfrey said you could leave after your nap, I’ll go wait over there,” he indicated the direction of the Head Nurse’s office with a nod of his head, “while you get ready.”

He stood, and headed into the Head Nurse’s office to inform her that Hermione was awake, and ask if it was permitted for her to go or not. When he returned, Hermione was dressed and sitting on the edge of her bed. “So can I go?” she questioned him.

“Yeah.” After a moment, as they made sure they had everything, Harry spoke again as they moved towards the doors. “Are you hungry?” With exquisite timing, he managed to punctuate his question with a growl from his stomach, prompting a laugh from the young witch.

“I am, though it doesn’t sound like I’m as hungry as you.”

Harry grinned. “Hey, I did the hard work, being the hero. You were just the damsel in distress.” Open mouth, insert foot. When did I start channeling Ron?

Hermione glared at him, angrily, but was unable to maintain the façade. “True.” She smiled, playing along. “It’s so easy being captured by evil dark wizards, being beaten and degraded and shouted at, and being told you’re worthless because of the parents you had and…” Playing along had been a bad idea, as Hermione dissolved into tears, and found herself wrapped tenderly in Harry’s arms. It only took a moment for it to pass, though.

“Shhh, ‘Mione,” Harry whispered. “You’re safe now, with people who care for you, and know that worth comes from who you are, not your blood.”

Sniffling, Hermione looked up at Harry. “I know that, Harry. After all, you’re the most powerful wizard ever, and you’re only a half blood.” The last was said cheekily.

You have no idea how right you are, Hermione, about that. Damn, that was arrogant of me. Harry laughed silently at his own thoughts, as he stood away from the witch in his arms slightly. “Ready to get that food now?”

At her nod, they headed down to the kitchens and tickled the pear, and upon its change to a doorknob, entered the kitchens, where they discovered the house elves working as busily as if preparing for a great feast, despite the fact there was hardly anyone in the castle. It only took a moment, though, before a familiar face appeared out of the crowd, tennis ball eyes shining brightly. “Hello Harry Potter, sir!” came the squeaking voice of Dobby.

“Hello, Dobby,” Harry and Hermione chorused together.

“Dobby knows that Harry Potter missed his lunch, sir, to rescue his Herminny. Does Harry Potter and Miss Herminny want some food?”

Harry chuckled. “Actually, that’s why we’re here, Dobby. We’re both quite hungry.” This statement prompted an immediate response from the other house elves as Dobby bounded away to clear off the end of one of the great tables.

Once they were seated across from each other, Harry and Hermione were presented with a veritable smorgasbord of different food options. At first, they ate in silence, but then, eventually, Harry spoke, setting his roll down heavily on his plate. “Hermione, when… when the Death Eaters had you… had you prisoner… they…”

Hermione looked up, her eyes slowly becoming glazed with fear as Harry stumbled over the words. As her fear grew, so did her agitation, until she spat, “Spit it out, Harry.” She at least had the grace to look sheepish at the look on his face.

“Well, theyputatrackincharmonyou,” he let out in a rush.

“They what? Slower.”

“They put a tracking charm on you, Hermione. It’s bound to your soul, and won’t come off until it wears out at the next full moon.” Once he had vocalized it the first time, getting it out the second time was easier. Her mouth formed a little ‘O’ of surprise, and she quickly fell into her thinking expression. Harry continued with his explanation. “Professor Flitwick was going to try and figure out how to remove it, but he was not confident. He suggested you might wish to stay in the castle until it wears off, as the wards block the other Death Eaters from locating you.”

Hermione waited a moment as he paused, then prompted, “But?”

“But he also pointed out that staying here will just as effectively advertise where you are, since there are very few places with sufficient magic to block the charm. While we took a Portkey here, it won’t take the Death Eaters long to eliminate most of the other sites.” Harry looked rather depressed as he dispensed with this information.

Hermione smiled brightly, and showed why nearly eight years before a ragged enchanted wizard’s hat had sorted her into Gryffindor. “Well, if the Death Eaters want me so bad, I can’t very well stay here. I can be the bait to draw them out.”

Harry shook his head and proceeded to explain exactly what he had overheard and learned from Franks and the other Death Eaters, and Hermione’s frown grew deeper as she continued to think. Neither of them were touching their food now, but both of them had eaten quite a bit. “What’s this Death Exchange the one called Franks mentioned?” she finally asked when he finished.

“I don’t know. They apparently need me for it, though, and apparently can get Voldemort back. I think the name is fairly self explanatory, though.”

Hermione nodded. “I agree.” She looked Harry in the eyes. “Promise me that whatever happens, you won’t let it happen, you won’t give them Voldemort back, Harry.”

As green eyes stared into brown, Harry knew he could not refuse anything that the owner of that liquid chocolate gaze. “I promise, Hermione.” Harry hoped to all that was holy and good that he could keep this promise, but knew, deep in his heart, as he had for nearly thirty years, that he would let Voldemort walk the earth again if he could keep Hermione alive. He had, after all, risked it once, and won.

What was to say he could not do it again?

Eventually, they finished their dinner, and were sipping coffee afterwards, idly chatting, when Dobby approached them. “Harry Potter, sir, Miss Herminny? Professor Dumbledore is enquiring as to where you are. He would like to speak with you.”

Harry looked guilty. “Oh, right. He said he wanted to know if you were going to stay here or not, Hermione.” He looked down at Dobby. “Could you take us to him?”

“Of course!” Dobby squealed in pleasure. “Follow me, Harry Potter, sir, Miss Herminny.” He scampered out of the kitchens, and the humans were hard pressed to keep up with him as he led them up through the maze of the castle. Finally they emerged at the top of the North Tower, above the Divination classroom. Dumbledore was standing near the edge, his hands resting on the railing.

His soft voice echoed as they came out of the door. “Dobby, stay here for a moment.” He turned to face them. “May I assume Harry has filled you in on the situation, Miss Granger?” At her nod, he asked the next obvious question. “And have you reached a decision?”

Harry glanced at Hermione, as she had not expressed one way or the other once the entire situation was made known to her, and felt no better when he saw her breathe in deeply. “Professor, I will not hide from the Death Eaters just because they stuck some little charm on me. I’ll go back home with Harry to Grimmauld Place. Between Harry and Professor Lupin, I’ll be safe enough there, especially with all the wards we have in place.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I expected as much from a Gryffindor, Miss Granger.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling in the starlight. “Now, as Kreacher is gone from your house, Harry, I was wondering if you might like to have Dobby and Winky come be your house elves.” Hermione’s mouth snapped open to object, but Dumbledore anticipated her, a grin spreading onto his face. “Assuming they wish to, of course.”

Hermione’s mouth snapped shut, and Harry chuckled as the expression on the young witch’s face gave away that she knew she had been played successfully. Dobby began bouncing up and down at the Headmaster’s words, blubbering incoherently, but joyfully, as far as Harry could tell. Then he popped out, as house elves were wont to do, even at Hogwarts, only to reappear a moment later with Winky. “If Harry Potter will have us, we will gladly go to help him and Miss Herminny.”

“Of course I’ll have you, Dobby,” Harry began, only to be knocked down by a mass of flying, joyfully weeping house elf in full Hermione ‘It’s been all summer since I saw you last’ tackle hug mode. A chuckling Hermione and Dumbledore, and a suddenly weeping and horrified Winky made the scene into complete and utter humiliation for the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Defeat-Voldemort.

Eventually, Harry pried Dobby off him, and set him upright on the roof as he stood once more. “We’ll work out the details tomorrow, Dobby, Winky,” he said to both elves. “I think tonight me and Hermione just need to go back home and rest.”

“Of course, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby and Winky will arrive in the morning with breakfast,” the two elves chorused in their high voices.

Harry smiled. “Just make sure it’s not dogfood.”

Hermione turned bright red, visible even in the dark of night, and Dumbledore’s eyes brightened noticeably with silent laughter before he directed the group towards the door leading back down into the school. “You can use the fire in my office to return to the House of Black.

* * * * *

When Hermione came through the fireplace, she found a sooty Harry already collapsed on the couch, staring blankly at the flames. Muttering something unintelligible under her breath, she joined him on the couch, gazing on his mask-like visage.

After about five minutes of utter silence, the young witch could not take it anymore, and opened her mouth to speak, but Harry beat her to it. “Aren’t you going to bed, Hermione?”

“Not until you do,” she responded heatedly, annoyed that he had preempted her question to him.

“I’m not going. The nightmares will be back, and I can’t stand to see them again.” Harry glowered at her, despite the tears building in his eyes. “I can’t stand them blaming me for failing them, for not being good enough, fast enough, strong enough, for failing to save them all. All of them, they mock me, and then… then he comes, and tells me I was doomed to fail, that I could never have done it.” Harry met her eyes with his own, and anger blazed in his gaze, tears now dripping down his cheeks. “I refuse to listen to them any more. When they’re in the fire, they’re silent.”

Hermione gasped slightly in shock, for Harry’s nightmares were far worse than she had ever imagined they could be, and for a moment, her brain froze. How could she possibly ask him to sleep and face those demons? No wonder he was angry. She could not, of course, she could not hurt him by doing so. Finally her brain caught up to her. “Did you have those nightmares when you slept last night?”

After a moment, Harry shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

Hermione got a bright idea in her head, smiling to herself, knowing she would get to spend at least part of the night in Harry’s arms again. In his bed! If it worked. “Well, why was that?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because I didn’t feel alone last night, I didn’t feel like a failure.” He smiled at her, the witch he loved and could never tell. “You’ve always helped me be stronger, like for the first task in the Tri-wizard Tournament, and when you helped me with the DA, when I told you and Ron about the prophecy.”

Hermione blushed slightly. “Well, I’m your friend, Harry, and I want to help you as much as I can.” She scooted closer to him on the couch, reaching out to touch the back of his hand lightly. “Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep? Would that help you?” Harry looked surprised at the offer, and it showed. “Now don’t you go getting any funny ideas, Harry James Potter.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Hermione. You’re my friend, and I know how to behave.” He forced a leer onto his face, grinning and chuckling.

Too damn right you know how to behave. I wish you wouldn’t, though. Through her answering laughter, though, she forced a response. “Fine, Harry, you go get ready for bed, and I’ll join you in a minute, until you fall asleep.”

* * * * *

Thirty minutes later, Hermione forced her eyes open all the way and carefully disentangled herself from her gentle embrace of Harry, as his gentle breathing, slow and even, told her he was well asleep. Quietly slipping towards the door, she stopped as she heard a soft whimper come from the bed.

Turning back to the sleeping dark haired wizard, the expression on his sleeping face broke her heart as his demons had apparently returned full force. I’ll stay just a few more minutes, then. Sighing softly, she slipped back into the bed and once more wrapped Harry in her arms, pressing against him. As she lowered her head to the pillow, and closed her eyes, the terrified, pain-filled noises stopped, and Harry relaxed, snuggling closer to her.

That was the last thing Hermione remembered from that day, as sleep claimed her…

Chapter Fourteen: Return of Nightmares

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Harry turned as the loud sound interrupted the music he and Hermione were dancing to. Looking across the nearly empty dance floor, he watched as Remus and Tonks spun about to the same song. As they neared, Remus shouted “HARRY!”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Harry!” Remus' voice called from outside the door as, sleepily, Harry returned from a land of pleasant dreams. Starting to move, he found himself oddly restrained from sitting up and reaching for his glasses. He gave up for the moment until he was more awake.

Blinking to clear his eyes, he called out fuzzily, “Yes, Remus?”

“The most excitable house elf I have ever seen and another one called Winky are here with breakfast. But we can't find Hermione; she's not in her room or the library,” the older man called from the other side of the door.

“Uhhh…” Then Harry's brain at least partly woke up and he sat up quickly enough and forcefully enough to push through whatever it was that was restraining him. He felt it slide down into his lap, peripherally, but his mind was elsewhere as he grabbed his glasses and roughly shoved them on his face, staring at the door. “Could the Death Eaters have gotten in, Remus? Could they have taken her again?”

“I don't see how. The wards are…”

That was all Harry heard of Lupin's response, though, as from the restraining weight on his body came a voice that brought the pieces shattering through the remaining fog of sleep that surrounded Harry's brain.

“Harry? What's going on?” came Hermione's very sleep fogged voice. “Why are you shouting?”

Oh. My. God. Did I sleep with her?

Well, obviously. Clearly celebrity prevents the most basic connections from forming in your brain. You woke up with her, therefore, you must have slept with her.

No, Voice-in-my head-that-sounds-too-much-like-Snape, I meant did I have sex with her? And what are you doing in my head anyways?

A very quick inventory showed that all clothing was securely in place, so the answer, while not forthcoming from the voice in his head, was most likely no.

Lupin finished speaking about this time, having detailed off the wards and their protections and how they were intact, though Harry had really heard none of it. “Remus, it's okay. I remember where she is now. I'll go get here and bring her down for breakfast,” Harry announced firmly. “Brain not quite awake yet.

Feeling Hermione freeze in place as the voice that came back to him from the other side of the door sounded perfectly fine after the worry moments before, Harry smiled tightly. “Alright, I'll tell those elves to have the food on in ten minutes. I'll see you downstairs, Harry.”

Harry's smile became a grin as he looked down at Hermione and saw her blushing. “I thought you were going to go back to your room after I fell asleep.”

She sat up, the sheets sliding down her body and letting Harry really see her for the first time in her nightgown, which was far fancier and thinner than anything she had worn at school. He tried not to stare, and mostly succeeded, bringing his attention back to her when she spoke. “When I got up, you immediately started having the nightmares again. I figured it wouldn't hurt if I helped you sleep through the night.”

“Thank you,” Harry murmured softly, and much to Hermione's surprise, leaned forward and kissed her forehead. When she jerked back in shock from the touch of his lips, Harry's eyes dropped to the bed and he refused to look up. “Sorry, I shouldn't've…”

“Harry.” She waited until he looked up. “It's okay. You surprised me, that's all. You never minded the occasional plutonic kisses I gave you in school. I don't mind either.” She hugged him tightly, and Harry began really hoping she let go soon, because that nightgown was much too thin and her body was much too warm and…

She let go and moved out of the bed, and Harry noticed that the nightgown was much too short as well. As she passed in front of the window, the light streaming from outside let Harry realize just how thin the nightgown was, and the teenager in him reacted quite normally to the sight of exquisite curves outlined in the early morning sun.

After she put on her robe, Hermione turned to him and said, noticing him still in the bed, “Aren't you getting up?”

“Uh, um…” Harry stammered, quite unwilling to get out of bed in his current state with her in the room. “Not yet.”

Hermione glared at him. “Harry James Potter, you told the Professor you were going to bring me down to breakfast, which means I can't go until you do. So get out of bed.”

“Uh, turn around then.”

She looked confused. “I've seen you in your pajamas loads of times, Harry.”

Guiltily glancing down at his lap, Harry shook his head. “Not like this, you haven't,” he muttered, not quite managing to keep it under his breath.

Hermione's eyes got really wide, and she spun around, her face growing even redder than earlier. Taking advantage of Harry's distraction, she watched him in the mirror as he stood up, his face falling as he realized his robe was next to her. She could not see anything really embarrassing to him from this angle, but the thought made her grin a naughty grin. She yelped softly, jumping in surprise as Harry summoned his robe to himself.

Turning around, Hermione tried to hide her confusion as she watched a robed Harry pull his wand out from under his pillow, which caused her to check to see if her new wand was still in her pocket. It was. “So, can we go see what Dobby and Winky have brought us now?”

At Harry's nod, they set off to breakfast.

* * * * *

Following the excellent elf provided breakfast, Harry, Hermione, and Lupin sat sipping tea across the table from the house elves, who were busily fidgeting and looking anywhere but their new employers' gazes.

Hermione finally broke off studying the two elves and looked up at Harry, who nodded fractionally. She turned back and spoke to the elves, whose attention finally focused on her. “Harry and I have discussed the matter,” a lie, but they had known each other long enough it hardly mattered, “and we would like to pay you two Galleons a day and offer you weekends and three weekdays a month off.”

Lupin barely managed to suppress his laughter at the expressions of horror on the two elves faces, turning it into an unconvincing cough at the last moment. Winky's face was particularly expressive. He had to cover his face at Hermione's next statement, though, a deliberate, he was sure, misinterpretation of the horror on the tiny faces. “Is that not enough? Did you want more days off or more money per day?” Winky looked positively fit to burst into tears and Dobby was not much better as Hermione looked back and forth between them.

“Dobby,” Harry interrupted, “how much did Professor Dumbledore pay you before you came here?”

Dobby seemed to sniffle slightly before responding. “Dobby was being paid two Galleons a month, Harry Potter sir. And Professor Dumbledore had talked Winky into a knut a week. We was both having two days off a month.”

It was Hermione's turn to look horrified. “But… but… house elves are worth so much more than human servants.” That did manage to set both of them off, bawling in their hysterical house elf manner. “You should be paid as such,” she finished meekly, know there was no way she could be heard. Unknowingly, Hermione had just made the two house elves willing to die for her.

Harry, meanwhile, was trying desperately to calm the elves so the discussion could continue. Eventually, he even succeeded. “Now, you two obviously think you're not worth how much Hermione and I think you are, but we refuse to pay you as little as Professor Dumbledore did.”

Dobby interrupted him, surprisingly. Well, started talking when Harry paused for breath, anyways. “Begging your pardon, Harry Potter sir, but Professor Dumbledore is a great wizard, and very generous to his house elves. And there is not as much working to be done at Harry Potter's house.”

“Alright, then, Dobby, with a lower bound of your Hogwarts pay and an upper bound of Hermione's offer, how much do you think you,” his gaze took in both elves, “should be paid?” Harry questioned the elf.

The house elf looked surprised at the direct question, tennis ball eyes growing much larger. He was definitely thinking about it, though, which Harry took to be a good sign. Finally after looking back and forth between the two magical young people for a long while, noticing their equally set expressions, Dobby spoke. “Dobby thinks that Harry Potter sir should be paying him one Galleon a week and be paying Winky one sickle a month.”

“And days off?” Hermione prompted eagerly, as if she sensed the elves about to cave. Harry was not so sure, though.”

“Three days,” Dobby said sharply. Hermione's objection was predictable, even if one had the Divination skills of a troll, but Harry spoke before she could.

“That's fine, Dobby.” He smiled. “Now, both of you will be responsible for general cleaning and food preparation. Dobby, you will report to me and Lupin when we need something, and you, Winky, will take care of Hermione. Now, as to funding, whatever is reasonable, in your experience, for supplies and the like, will be acceptable.” There was, after all, no danger of a house elf attempting to rip them off.

The two elves nodded. “May we get started now, Harry Potter sir?”

Harry nodded in return. “Of course.” Both elves vanished from their chairs.

* * * * *

Once Harry and Hermione had dressed and prepared for the day, they filled Lupin in on the events of the day before, and he agreed to help them search the Black library that Harry had inherited from Sirius for information about the Death Exchange, as Dumbledore was allowing him to rest, and look after the two young adults.

By midafternoon, Hermione was the only one not tired of staring at book that had not helped them at all. Harry was getting obviously fidgety as he rapidly turned pages in his current tome, Seeking Immortality. Lupin had been staring blankly at the same page for about half an hour in a book Harry did not recognize.

Hermione, on the other hand, was flipping pages nearly as fast as Harry, but not idly, and the rapid movement of her eyes gave away that she was actually reading everything in a huge book entitled The Impermanance of Death. When it was closed, Harry estimated it would be close to three feet thick. The young witch was barely a few inches in.

Stopping reading, Harry watched, inappropriately fascinated, as Hermione bit her lower lip in thought as she flipped another page. After a moment, he turned his gaze on Lupin, whose blank stare was now directed up where a nearby bookcase met the ceiling of the library. “Hermione,” Harry said softly.

Her failure to respond to his soft prompting birthed a certain louder action. He snapped his tome shut, the bang catching Lupin's attention, his head snapping down to look at Harry. Hermione's head rose more slowly and she regarded Harry curiously, question in her eyes.

“I can't take these books anymore. Researching has never been my best skill.”

Hermione looked disappointed, briefly, before she nodded. “Go then. I'll find it myself.” While the disappointment in her eyes was masked, the bitter beginnings of anger in her voice were not.

Harry and Lupin both recognized the tone, and Harry started to say something, to argue, but thought better of it. They both scattered from the dank, musty room, despite being one of the best lit in the house.

It was the wrong decision.

Hermione did not join them for dinner than night. Winky monitored her, and took her food in the library, and reported to the two men the next morning that Miss Hermione had not left the library all night, though she had slept for a few hours.

Harry was barely able to function as he consumed his breakfast, though, and absorbed the report. His nightmares had returned worse than ever after two nights of holding Hermione in his arms while he slept.

If Lupin had not known better, he would have expected the boy had not slept in a week, by the circles which surrounded his eyes. Harry seemed to be dipping into his depression again as Hermione continued to shun them for the next few days.

Finally, on the evening of the third day, once the summer sun had gone down, as Harry and Lupin were relaxing late after dinner with their eighth game of Exploding Snap, Hermione burst into the lounge. “I've found it! We've got to go to Hogwarts and get it right now!”

-->

Chapter Fifteen: Certain Confessions

“Hogwarts?” Harry responded, looking up quickly to notice Hermione was still wearing the same clothes she had put on three mornings earlier. “What for?”

Lupin’s objection was a little more sensible, given the time of day. “Why now? What did you find?”

“Because I’ve gotten an owl back from Madame Pince saying that the book I found referenced is in the Restricted section there and the Black library doesn’t have a copy,” Hermione answered excitedly, with obviously false energy, at least, obvious to Harry.

And apparently Lupin as well, who said before Harry had a chance to respond. “Not tonight. Dobby! Winky!”

Two soft pops heralded the arrival of the elves. “Yes?” they questioned simultaneously.

Lupin’s voice was soft with command and assurance. “Seal the house. Hermione is not to leave until she has had at least eight hours of sleep and a hot breakfast at the table with everyone else.”

“REMUS!” Hermione’s eyes snapped open from their half asleep state. “I’m not a child. You can’t do that!” Despite her exhaustion, her anger was palpable, and Harry muttered a curse under his breath.

“Miss Herminny is right, Master Lupin. You cannot give that order.” Dobby looked like he was seriously contemplating hurting himself for being unable to obey the order as he said this.

Remus’ eyes grew large as first Hermione and then Dobby threw his orders back at him, especially as Hermione had never called him anything but Professor before, and accorded to him the respect that relationship implied. Winky chimed in at this point. “Only Harry Potter can give that order, as he is being Master of the House.”

Four sets of eyes, one human, one werewolf, and two elven, focused on Harry expectantly. Summoning up that Gryffindor courage, he spoke. “Hermione, don’t make me give that order. Please get a full night’s sleep in a bed before you go racing off to Hogwarts. This is not really that important.”

The last was most definitely the wrong thing to say, as Harry realized, worriedly, as, instead of calming, Hermione’s eyes grew brighter and more fiery with anger before she spoke, her voice tightly controlled. “No. I’ll go on my own if you won’t come with me.” She began to draw her wand, but Harry was far faster.

“Dobby.”

While overly enthusiastic, Dobby was an intelligent elf, and Hermione’s attempt to Apparate out of the lounge left her twenty feet further into the fairly large room as she bounced off the wards. “HARRY JAMES POTTER!” she snarled, wheeling towards him, a non-verbal spell sending a flock of angry birds towards the dark haired wizard to act out her anger. “Undo this right now!”

Not even bothering with his wand, Harry calmly erected a shield about himself that the birds bounced off, vanishing in puffs of smoke. “No.”

“Let. Me. Leave. Now.” she growled through gritted teeth, holding her wand straight out at him.

Harry sighed as Lupin started to move between the two young persons. “Remus, no.” As the former professor stopped in mid-stride at the command in Harry’s tone, the young man waved his hand and tore Hermione’s wand lightly from her grip.

Giving him a last glare that made him glad looks could not kill, Hermione spun away, and both Harry and Lupin could hear her stamping angrily up the stairs, as the young witch knew, despite her anger, that it would be pointless for her to ever try to get out past the wards, especially without her wand.

* * * * *

Harry was glaring at Hermione’s locked door less than five minutes later. He raised his hand and knocked loudly, prompting only the shouted response of “Go away, Harry!”

“Hermione, I just want to talk about it.”

“No. Go away. I’m not speaking with you or Remus or the house elves ever again.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his forehead against the wood. “You’re being unreasonable, Hermione. You’ll never get out of the house if you refuse to speak to all of us.”

“You wouldn’t dare keep me locked up in his mausoleum forever, Harry Potter.”

Harry sighed again. She was right about that, though he was sorely tempted to reply ‘Try me’ as he made a note to get the house elves to improve the atmosphere of the place. “I’m not the one who locked the door, Hermione. Let me in the room so we can talk about this.”

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“Do you want your wand back?” Harry asked, growing tired of shouting and trying a different tactic. Silence was the only response, so he continued. “Then open the door and we’ll talk.”

“No. I’m not talking to you. Set my wand outside the door when you’re through embarrassing me, though, so I can have it back.”

Harry slumped tiredly against the door frame. “Either open the door now or I will, Hermione. We have to talk.”

Harry heard a derisive snort from the other side of the door. “You can’t break my locking charm, Harry, no matter how good you are with wandless magic. It’s a modification of the passwords use at the school.”

It was Harry’s turn to snort. “Door before me, open.” The lock clicked open audibly.

“Harry Potter!” Hermione shrieked as he entered. “How…” Her brain apparently made the connection. Harry’s house. Harry’s wizarding house. There was no way to lock him out of anywhere. “I could have been indecent! What would you have done then?!”

Harry responded with a truthful grin, which certainly did not calm her. “Gotten an eyeful.” He tossed her wand in a gentle arc towards the bed and watched as the young witch snatched it from the air.

“Fine, you’ve given me my wand back. Now get out of my room,” she snarled.

Harry leaned back against the door, feeling it shut behind him with a click. “No. We’re going to talk.”

“No, we most certainly are not.” Hermione’s wand was pointed at Harry again.

“Don’t make me take that away from you again, Hermione,” he sighed. “I just want to talk.”

She lowered the wand, but kept it pointed in his direction. “Get out,” she hissed. “We’re not talking until you let me go, perhaps not even then. I never thought my best friend would betray me like you did. You’re as bad as Wormtail.”

The blow was very low, and very below the belt, and Hermione was informed of such when a vase nearby exploded, with nothing left for even a repairing charm to work on. “You, Hermione Granger, are not leaving this house until you have slept properly and you have told me what is so damn important about this Death Exchange research.”

“We’re not talking, Harry, and that’s final. If you would be so kind as to leave, I will get some sleep.”

Refraining to point out that she was talking to him right then, Harry remained leaning against the door as she turned her back on him. “Fine then,” he responded after a moment. “We won’t talk. I’ll talk, and you listen.” When she failed to respond, he continued. “You’ve spent the last three days in the library, Hermione, barely even eating the food Winky brought you. She came to me and Lupin in tears, thinking you did not like her bringing you the food. Once we reassured her she was doing nothing wrong, and that she should bring you food even if you ate none of it, she wanted us to do something, because she could not make you take care of yourself, Hermione. But every time me and Lupin would come near, you looked like you would kill us if we interrupted you in any way.”

He took a breath, and when there was still silence from Hermione, he took a step closer to the bed, moving away from the door. “Hermione, you’re my best friend. I’m not going to lose you like I lost Ron. I can’t lose anyone else.”

Finally, this got a response. “You think it’s your fault Ron died, don’t you? That’s why you won’t tell me what happened.” She turned around, her eyes blazing. “We went into this prepared to make sacrifices to defeat Voldemort, to defeat the greatest evil of all time.” Harry thought he saw something else in her eyes besides anger. “You may have to lose us all, Harry. The Death Eaters will never give up trying to get Voldemort back. With their old positions gone, he is their only chance. And it was too easy to get me back last time, they’ll have learned from it. They aren’t stupid.” Her eyes focused intently on Harry for the first time in three days. “You can’t do it. You can’t let them have Voldemort back, whatever it takes.”

“They’re not taking you from me, Hermione.” This time. “Those bastards have cost me too much in the last…” thirty-five… “seventeen years.”

Her anger was focused on Harry now. “Damnit, Harry! Don’t you see why that’s why we have to have the book now? We have to know everything, there has to be a way to stop them.” Her voice got soft. “Or you’ll have to let them kill me. I’m the bait, Harry.” Tears started down her face, her words the barest whisper. “I gave so much, prepared so hard, this time, I can’t do it. I don’t want to die.” She got louder again. “But you have to. You cannot let Voldemort come back.”

That was when everything made sense to Harry. Hermione, fearless, brave, Gryffindor Hermione, was scared. Levelheaded, willing to go to the last limb, loyal Hufflepuff Hermione, did not want to give any more. Intelligent, clever, booksmart, know-it-all, Ravenclaw Hermione did not have any idea what to do. “Do you think I’m not scared too, Hermione? I’m scared every time I go out there, scared witless at the thought of this not being over, even though we’re supposed to have won.”

He turned his face up towards the ceiling and shouted. “I won, do you hear? I won, damnit!” His voice dropped and he fell into sitting on the bed. “Why won’t they just leave us alone?”

Hermione barked a bitter laugh. “Us, Harry? There is no us, this is all about you, just like always. The only reason I’m involved is because… because of you and your saving people thing.” The words were a slap to Harry and he barely heard her as she continued. “You and the Order weren’t the only ones who learned from fifth year. I’m sorry, Harry, it’s the truth. They know you’ll do anything, risk anything, for those people you consider to be your friends. I’m just lucky to be the one they picked this week instead of Sirius.” He was looking at her unseeingly and her smile was bitter. “At least I actually am in danger.”

Not for my friends, Hermione. Just for the people I love. They didn’t win last time either, and this time, I’ll find a way to keep you alive and with me. Finally, he spoke. “Yes, you really are in danger, Hermione. That’s why Lupin and I want you to sleep before you leave, so that when all three of us go to Hogwarts in the morning, we’ll best be able to defend ourselves.” He smiled at her, reaching out and brushing some hair away that had fallen in her face. “You really are a great dueler when you’re not half asleep, ‘Mione.”

She threw herself at him and wrapped him in one of her patented hugs, crushing the life from him it felt like, and Harry was acutely aware of the warm softness of her body as she cried into his neck. “Oh, Harry, I’m just so scared. I want this to be over.”

Harry gingerly returned the hug. “It will be soon, Hermione. Dumbledore and the rest of the Order are getting ready to take on the rest of the Death Eaters in Durmstrang, I’m sure of it.”

Hermione nodded, her face still buried in Harry’s shoulder. He had a lot of memories of this, from the last year and a half. The loss of her parents had hit her hard, as had the deaths of their friends. Additionally, of course, he had all the memories twice, which made things even more interesting for him, and Harry was sure he would never forget any of these times. One day, he vowed, he would hold Hermione like this and she would be happy, instead of soaking his shirt with tears. If he could make her happy, which this conversation was slowly convincing him was probably not possible, if she was so scared of being around him, so tired of being a target, that she could not take it any more.

He sighed softly, and she finally pulled away from him. “Harry,” she questioned after a moment of studying him, “why are you so tired? You’ve not been in the library for three days like I have.” Her voice contained only the barest hint of accusation still, but it did sound like she was no longer as mad at him.

“The nightmares came back, without you around,” he muttered, blushing and slowly turning bright red underneath his black hair, as if he were ashamed to admit it. He turned his eyes to her, smiling wanly. “One reason I can’t lose you, or I’ll never sleep soundly again.”

Hermione giggled. “Oh, Harry, honestly. They will pass. Time heals our wounds.”

It never healed losing you, Hermione. It never could. Harry smiled though. “Of course it does, Hermione. And I’m sorry about not understanding why you were so anxious about this. Am I forgiven?”

The young witch nodded. “Of course, Harry. Do you forgive me for not telling you, and just being mad?”

Harry nodded. “I do, ‘Mione. I do.” He hugged her tightly. “Shall we both get some sleep?”

Hermione nodded. “Just stay here, Harry. It’ll be easier that way.” She turned and flicked her hand against an alarm clock by the bed. “That’ll make sure we wake up in time to fool Lupin.”

Harry chuckled, and lay his head down on the pillows of the bed, pulling Hermione down with him. “Somehow, I doubt we’re fooling him, but I think we’ve got him confused enough.”

Hermione chuckled again. “That’s good enough for me right now.” She laid her head on Harry’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

Chapter Sixteen: Family and Friends

A crashing noise pulled Harry out of the midst of a very pleasant dream, his eyes snapping open behind the glasses he still wore. Arching his neck, he looked around the room and spotted a house elf pulling itself upright from the floor.

“Winky is so very sorry, Master Harry Potter, she did not mean to interrupt you and Miss Hermione. Winky was just surprised by you here, and fell over.” Winky grabbed one of the nearby books off the floor and looked like she was about to begin bashing her head in with it when Harry, viper quickly, flicked his hand at her. She froze in mid-motion.

Summoning the book with another twist of his hand, he set it down on the bedside table before looking down at Hermione. Her head had migrated down onto his chest from his shoulder, and one slender denim clad leg was tossed over his own. No wonder Winky thought she had interrupted something. He unfroze Winky, looking away from the sleeping Hermione. “Shhh. She’s asleep. What is it?”

Winky bowed low, her pencil like nose scraping the floor. “The Weasleys. They Floo’d this morning. They wish to come for breakfast, Master Harry Potter.”

Harry blinked slowly, processing the information. After a moment, he asked quietly, “Winky, what time is it?”

“Seven-thirty,” the tiny house elf replied.

Harry blinked again. That was well past the alarm Hermione had set, and he had never heard it go off, and neither had Hermione, apparently. Yawning silently, he looked the elf in the eyes. “Allow the Weasleys to come in through the wards. And you can drop the protections keeping Hermione from leaving.”

Winky nodded. “You and Miss Hermione will be down soon?”

“In a bit, Winky. You or Dobby come get us if we’re not down there in half an hour.” Harry crushed back another yawn with effort as the house elf vanished with a soft pop. Gingerly, he lifted his hand and ran it through Hermione’s hair, watching her sleep, his emerald eyes gleaming softly as the sunlight crept through the curtained window. Despite his tiredness, he felt more rested than he had for days. He watched the sun glinting off the silky strands as they ran through his fingers again. “Time to wake up, ‘Mione,” he whispered, moving his hand away reluctantly.

Her only response was to press tighter against him at the sound of her name, and the feeling of her warm, small body snuggling against his own made Harry groan softly as it had the predictable result. “Hermione,” he called again, louder this time. “Wake up.”

That got a muttered, unintelligible reply. “No,” he continued. “We have to get up, the alarm didn’t wake us, and we have visitors.”

“Visitors?” came the mumbled response.

“Yes,” Harry continued patiently. Hermione was very rarely this difficult to wake up, in his experience. “The Weasleys are coming for breakfast.”

“No.” Hermione buried her head in Harry’s chest and he stared at her curly brown hair atop her head.

“What do you mean, no, Hermione?” Harry asked softly. “They’re our friends, and we haven’t seen them since the funeral.”

“You didn’t even see them then,” Hermione shot back without moving from snuggling against him, and Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“No, I didn’t. I was a coward, I suppose. I couldn’t take their grief on top of my own. They’re like my family, and I…”

This got Hermione to sit up and look Harry straight in the eyes. “No, it’s not your fault. You didn’t pull the trigger,” the incongruity of the Muggle expression made a smile twitch at both their lips involuntarily, “you didn’t make Tom Riddle be evil. You didn’t do anything to cause this. It’s not your fault, Harry.”

“It is. But you can’t understand why. You never will.”

“I certainly won’t if you don’t explain it. You’re the only one who was awake through the entire battle.”

Harry’s head dropped. “I made choices that I don’t want to talk about, Hermione, nor do I want to talk about the reasons for them. It’s just enough to say that it is my fault Ron and Ginny are dead.”

Hermione reached up and brushed Harry’s hair back off his forehead, revealing the scar there. “I know Ginny was a traitor, Harry, and we’ll probably never know why, but it isn’t your fault she’s dead. The Death Eaters probably killed her in the heat of the battle once she had served her purpose.”

Harry looked away. He knew exactly why Ginny had betrayed them all, and it was his fault. His fault for not being able to return her infatuation with a hero he did not believe himself to be. “The Death Eaters didn’t kill her, Hermione.” As he looked up at her, he could see her mind working, despite just waking up, as she eliminated all the possibilities that left. He looked down again, pushing away from her as he saw the dawning of comprehension in her eyes, moving towards the door. “Breakfast will be soon. We should change and go down.” He left the room, leaving the woman he loved without her knowing, the woman who loved him without him knowing, with an unpalatable conclusion about someone she had thought she had known better than anyone else.

* * * * *

When Harry arrived downstairs, walking through the door in comfortable trainers and jeans, he was immediately swept into a hug by the Weasley matriarch. “It’s so good to see you, Harry. We were worried about you.” Looking over her should he saw the remainder of the once nine strong Weasley family. Charlie, Ron, Ginny, Arthur, gone forever to graves in the terrible war. Percy, permanently estranged from the remainder for his conduct to them and Harry throughout the war. It left the twins and the eldest Weasley child, Bill, along with their mother.

She smiled tenderly at him as he pulled away, and Harry realized with a shock how frail she seemed. Molly Weasley had always been so strong, so motherly. She was pale now, her hair was not quite right, her whole being was indefinably off. Harry was not the only one permanently changed by the Department of Mysteries. Of course, he had not even known she could fight until she had shown up that night there with the rest of the Order.

When Hermione came in a moment later, followed by Lupin and Tonks, who had apparently spent the night again, arriving some time after Harry had gone to speak with Hermione, they got down to chatting nearly amiably, though Hermione never once spoke to Harry, considering what he had revealed, as if she were still pondering it in her mind. When he would meet her eyes, he could see that she was indeed still going over things in her head. It was not that Harry could blame her, really.

Remus and Tonks excused themselves when the meal was done, sensing from the quiet, which emerged when they feel silent, that the two youngest magical persons had many issues to resolve with the Weasleys. Finally, when the house elves had cleared the dishes away, and the six people sat around the table, silently looking at each other, Bill broke the silence. “You left before the wake, Harry. We’ve not had a chance to talk with you. How are you doing?”

Harry sighed. “Alright, I suppose, for losing my best friend, like a brother to me.” He met Bill’s eyes, that seemed more understanding, more compassionate. “Especially when it was my fault.”

Every head snapped around, eyes focusing on him. “What do you mean, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley asked softly.

“I might have well as killed him myself, like Ginny,” Harry replied dully, his voice oddly flat as the horror of seeing his two best friends suspended like playthings before the Dark Lord came back to him, his worst nightmare made real. He seemed oblivious to the deathly pall that had settled in the room as he spoke, as, for the first time, these people who were directly involved in the battle hoped to learn some of what had occurred they had not seen, to observe the last moments of life, even though another’s eyes, of the people they had loved.

Even still, Harry put it delicately. “Ron died to save Hermione, and if he had wanted to die at all, I’m sure that heroic death is the kind he would’ve wanted.” It hadn’t been heroic at all, it had been murder, while Ron was unconscious. But the complete truth would scar too deeply, bring up other truths Harry could not, would not reveal.

Harry’s words caused tears to form up in Molly’s eyes, and she looked at Hermione and smiled. “He really did love you, Hermione. Though he was over his crush on you.”

Fred spoke up now. In the last few months of the war, he and George had stopped dressing alike and even had cut their hair differently, apparently having decided the time for sure childish behavior was past. “Yeah, he told me that he stopped fancying you last summer after the two of you had decided to hold off while the war was on.”

Harry looked up sharply at Fred’s last words. How in hell did they keep that secret from me? Hermione’s face appeared oddly relieved to Harry.

Bill was oddly quiet as this exchange was made, and glanced at George, who was also looking oddly pensive. George nodded to him, and Bill spoke, bringing the attention once more to Harry. “What happened to Ginny in the end? The way you spoke, you made it sound like you killed her.”

Harry swallowed, and looked down at his lap at the question he had feared the instant the Weasleys had arrived. Finally, after a long moment of silence, he looked back up, and met Hermione’s eyes. Even now, with the truth about to come out, he lacked the courage to look them in the eyes and tell them he had killed Molly’s daughter, their sister. Finally, he tried to justify it. “The reason Ginny died is sitting at this table, as is the person who killed her. When Ginny had me under the Imperious Curse, she… ordered me to kill Hermione.” Hermione’s eyes grew wide, and Harry’s vision tunneled on their brown depths across the table, focusing out the four redheads around the edges of the table. “I couldn’t follow that order, and broke the curse.” He took a deep breath. “But Ginny was standing next to Hermione’s body, and I barely had time to shift my wand. I killed her with the Killing Curse.”

The silence was utterly deafening, and Harry looked down in shame. The silence reigned for a very long time, until finally a sniffle from Misses Weasley broke it. “I had always hoped, Harry, that one day you would return Ginny’s feelings for you, so that I could have welcomed you into our family in every sense of the word, instead of just treating you as my son.” Her voice was cold and cut Harry, his face beginning to fall even more. Misses Weasley looked at Hermione, her gaze hardening. “I think I understand why you could not.”

Harry’s eyes hardened. That was closer to the truth than he had wanted it to be. “Hermione has nothing to do with this. Leave her out of it.” He could sense the confusion of the three Weasley sons, who, while upset, did not hate him for what he did, as their mother obviously did. “The reasons I could not love Ginny were my own. She did not love me, she never did. She loved an idea, me as the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One. I cannot have someone love me for that reason. I need to be loved for me, and Ginny never outgrew her crush, her fantasy from when she was eleven.” A brief thought entered his mind to strike back with everything he knew, but still he loved Misses Weasley, despite her anger, too much. “Until she had worked past that, we would have never made a couple. I’m sorry she had to die, but not particularly sorry that I was the one who did it, if it had to be done.”

Misses Weasley did not appear to believe him, if her face was any indication. Worse, the last sentence had not apparently helped him out with either Bill or George, though Fred’s face still did not contain an expression of helpless rage. Harry sighed. “It was not intentional, and had I had any more time, she would not be dead, but I had no choice.” Breathing out slowly, he made an offer that cost him considerable effort. “Hermione and I were going up to Hogwarts today. If you would like to come with us, I’ll ask Headmaster Dumbledore if we can borrow his Pensive and I’ll show you what happened.”

“And to Ron?” Fred asked, but Harry was unsurprised, and shook his head.

“No, that one hurts too much.” The scene flashed behind Harry’s eyes, and he shut them trying to block the memory. “I can’t deal with that failure too.”

The silence was oppressive, but this time, Harry did not allow it to continue. “Hermione, when you’re ready to Apparate, we’ll go to Hogsmeade from the backyard. I’ll go get Remus. If any of you want to come, meet me there.” He pushed away from the table.

Chapter Seventeen: To Put a Stopper in Death

The Apparition was uneventful, despite the size of their party, which had grown from the three Harry had expected last night to an even eight, including all four Weasleys and Tonks. Walking out in the open, Harry was relieved when no one tried to approach them like had happened in Diagon Alley. Of course, by now word would have spread through the wizarding world about what happened in the Alley, and the displays of power Harry had put on there.

Of course, the darkness of the aura around the eight brooding, silent people could have been enough to keep anyone away as the group walked through the village on their way to the castle. Entering the grounds, Harry felt a slight tingle travel through him, something he had not really noticed before, as they pierced the wards.

Dumbledore and McGonagall were waiting for them at the main doors to the castle, smiling, at least until they took in the chill that hovered over them. Dumbledore frowned slightly. “What brings us the pleasure of this visit, Molly, Remus, and the rest of you?”

Harry spoke from the front of the group. “I’ve volunteered to show the Weasley’s how Ginny died, if you do not mind me borrowing your Pensieve, Professor.”

Dumbledore smiled. “You are welcome to borrow it for that, Harry. Indeed, you might wish to get your own, as I imagine you have many memories and thoughts you need to examine.” His eyes twinkled slightly at the secret the two of them shared.

“Perhaps, Professor,” Harry replied softly as Hermione, a couple of steps behind him, spoke.

“I’m here to borrow a book from Madame Pince to read about that thing the Death Eaters were planning on.” She very carefully did not mention the phrase ‘Death Exchange’ in front of the Weasleys, Harry noted idly as Dumbledore nodded.

“Very well. Welcome back to Hogwarts, even if it is just for a short time.” He turned and led them inside. “If you’ll follow me up to my office, we’ll get the Pensive and you can view Harry’s memory.” The gargoyle leapt aside at Dumbledore’s approach, and the group trooped up the curving staircase to the top of the tower.

When Harry extracted the memory from his skull, he watched Hermione’s eyes widen in surprise, unaware that he knew how to do that, and echoing shock in everyone else’s but the Headmaster’s. As it swirled away into the Pensive, Harry leaned forward and touched his nose to the liquid before being sucked in.

The memory was frozen in time as the rest of the party, one by one, arrived. The Weasleys, Hermione, and Dumbledore. “I hope you don’t mind the liberty, Harry,” he said softly as he appeared. “I am most curious about this as well.” Apparently Remus and Tonks had elected to not watch, and the Deputy Headmistress had peeled off on their way to the office, claiming that she needed to do something.

The tableau was set before them, Harry standing idly in the middle of a group of bodies, the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army strewn around the circular room of doors. Some were breathing, and some were not. Various dark shadows milled about the edges of the scene, Death Eaters waking their comrades. Red hair flaming above her face, drawn and tired looking, her cheeks flushed and clashing with her hair, Ginny stood above the downed body of Hermione, shaking with fury as motion resumed.

As her wand came up in anger, a cool aristocratic voice echoed through the nearly silent room, shouted from under a Death Eater’s mask. “Ginny, stop.”

Harry was standing limply in the middle of the room as Ginny wheeled angrily towards Draco. “Why should I? It’s her fault, you know?”

The chuckle was harsher, darker than Harry remembered it, full of evil and a desire to inflict as much pain as possible. “Your revenge will be so much sweeter if you make him do it.”

A beat passed until Ginny finally lowered her wand, and focused on Harry directly. “Kill the Mudblood, Harry. Use the killing curse on Hermione, so she won’t wake up this time.”

A gasp came from those standing, watching the replay. Harry thought it was from Hermione. He knew the tears and crying were from Misses Weasley.

Harry slowly raised his wand arm, his eyes gleaming as it wavered downwards, then hardening with determination as it drifted back upwards, still wavering as he fought the curse. “Avada Kedav…” It wavered more, shifting its target, as he finished the second word, “...ra!” The green light speared outward and struck Ginny full in the chest, tossing her already dead body back limply, the wood of her wand echoing strangely as it hit the floor.

The memory ended, and Harry blinked to clear his vision as reality returned abruptly. He leaned heavily against a nearby table, taking in the looks of the people around him, their mingled horror and pain, and lowered his head. “So now you know,” he whispered.

It seemed that no one had heard him, though. Molly Weasley was weeping openly on the floor, crying into Fred’s shoulder, and Harry clearly heard her say to the twin, “I want to go home now.” As her family slowly moved to comply, Dumbledore stood silently, Hermione watched Harry with near impassivity, and Remus and Tonks tried not to be in the way.

The whirl of fire reached Harry’s ears, once, twice, a third time, and a hand clapped onto his shoulder. Bill’s voice spoke to him. “I wish it hadn’t happened, Harry. I loved Ginny. But you did the right thing. There was nothing else you could have done, so don’t blame yourself. Mum will forgive you in time.” Then there was the last swirl of fire, and the Weasleys were gone.

“Bill is right, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly. “You must not blame yourself for the choices of others. I believe you came here for a reason, though. The answers you seek for that quest should be awaiting you in the library.”

“I’ll be along in a minute, Harry,” Hermione said. “I need to ask Professor Dumbledore a somewhat private question.”

“Alright. I’ll wait for you in the library.” Harry smiled faintly, and with Lupin and Tonks trailing after him, wound his way down the curling stairs and set off to the library.

* * * * * *

When Hermione entered the library a bit later, her face had an odd look on it that Harry did not recognize at all, and one that quickly vanished when she spotted him sitting there with the large tome she had wanted from Madame Pince, To Put a Stopper in Death. It was crack open across a table, and Remus and Tonks were sitting at a nearby table, going through some small book on something, politely ignoring the two youngsters in favor of their own conversation.

As Hermione sat across from Harry and held out her hand, Harry smiled grimly, sliding the book across to her. “You’re not going to like this.”

Without paying much attention to what she was reading, Hermione began to read aloud. “The spell requires the blood sacrifice of thirteen house elves…” Her expression became dark and clouded. “Thirteen house elves!?” She glared at Harry. “How could they?”

Harry was laughing slightly. “Turn to the next page, Hermione. That’s where the section on the Death Exchange starts. That spell is for capturing the souls after a magical battle and keeping them from departing this realm.”

Glaring at him still, Hermione flipped the page roughly, with a huff, and began to read again. “The Death Exchange is an ancient magical ritual used to bring a person back from the other side within a lunar month’s time of their death. It requires the sacrifice of one life for another, a life that could have been lost at the time the life that was lost departed.” Hermione looked up. “No wonder they need you. Once Voldemort learned the prophecy, he must have been preparing this just in case.”

Harry nodded. “I can guess. I wonder why they didn’t do this bef…” He broke off suddenly, but this slip was not so easily covered.

Hermione looked at him. “What do you mean? Didn’t do this before? When you were little?” She missed the relief that flared in his eyes as proved an excuse for his slip without realizing it. “Probably because they did not know of it, or they had to set up for it some how. Voldemort wasn’t really dead then, either, was he?”

Harry shook his head, and Hermione frowned, her nose dipping back into the book. “The person who gives up their life to save the other must be a willing participant in the ritual, with nothing holding them back. Their life must be freely given to be exchanged with the departed’s. The only people who are eligible to participate in the Death Exchange are those who’s theoretical manner and time of death would have closely resembled that of the deceased’s.” Hermione looked up again. “Well, that’s simple, then, Harry. You just refuse to cooperate with them.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Hermione, if they were to threaten you… or another friend.” He hoped the pause was barely noticeable. “Keep reading, there had to be something else we can do.”

Hermione looked long and hard at Harry for a moment before she lowered her head once more, her eyes darting back and forth over the pages. “The ritual requires four people, and if possible, the body of the person whom the others are trying to retrieve from death’s grasp. Four stone biers are laid out at the corners of the pentagram, with the body on one of the bottom points, the Advacati, on the sides, the Speaker at the top, and the person who is giving up their life on the other bottom corner. If possible, the Advacati should be someone who was close to the two being exchanged during their lifetime. The Speaker can be anyone.”

Harry’s eyes darkened. “I bet Voldemort’s Advacati is Bellatrix, then, or Lucius.”

“I’m the brightest witch of my age, Harry,” Hermione said with a little laugh. “I’m not going to take that bet.”

Harry grinned, despite the dark topic. “Smart girl. If this goes down, somehow, they’ll probably try and make you be the Advacati for me.”

Hermione nodded. “I had guessed that too, hence their interest in me.”

“I still haven’t heard any other way to beat this plan of theirs, though. Keep going.”

Dipping her eyes away from Harry, and trying to disguise the growing worry in her voice, Hermione once more began to read. “The Advacati are placed under the spell first, and enter into the realm beyond life only partially, then the Giver,” her eyes flicked up at Harry, “enters the spirit realm fully. Should any physical trauma occur to the body of the Giver, the spell will be instantly broken, and they will return to the physical world, and be unable to undergo the ritual until they have healed.” Hermione looked up again. “Well, we could just get someone inside to stab you during the ritual.”

Harry’s eyes darkened into frozen green glass. “I think not.”

“I was only kidding, Harry,” she said meekly, her fear growing by the minute as she continued to read about this fascinating and dangerous ritual. “While it is unclear what precisely occurs in the spirit realm, the title of Advacati gives some clues as to the activities which take place there, presuming some sort of proving for the Exchange. I don’t think I could do that for you, Harry.”

Harry smiled. “That’s good to know, I guess. But I’m not sure it would really matter, since we don’t know what happens in the spirit realm.”

Hermione shrugged slowly. “That’s true.” She looked back down and her face paled. “There isn’t any more information in here, Harry. Just a list of known times a Death Exchange has been completed, and the spells that the Speaker would require.” She looked him in the face. “What else can we do?”

Harry’s face grew pensive for a moment, then he frowned. “Reread the part about the requirements for the Giver.”

Hermione complied, and as she finished, Harry smiled. “That’s it. That’s how we’ll beat it, if we have to.” Hermione looked confused, but then, she was unaware of what had happened in the Death Room of the Department of Mysteries.

Harry explained, and her eyes got wide, and her fear vanished.

Chapter Eighteen: Facing Dark and Difficult Times

As they left the grounds, the four were chatting softly among themselves, when Tonks smiled and turned her hair bright purple. “I never remembered to thank you both, Harry, Hermione, for leaving me that nice Kreacher to deal with the other night.”

Hermione looked as angelic as she could, but Harry ruined the attempt by snickering. “Well, we couldn’t let you have fun all night, Tonks. What did you do with him anyways?”

Tonks glared at the two younger people. “Vaporized him. It was the only way I could think of to dispose of him without just tossing him out with the rubbish.”

Harry nodded. “Figured you would do something like that. Better you than us, though.” He chuckled, and turned back to Hermione, steadily ignoring when Tonks kissed Remus full on the lips, except for the hardening of Harry’s emerald eyes. “Let’s stop at the Three Broomsticks before we head home. I need a drink.”

The other three agreed readily, none of them eager to return to the grimness of Number Twelve, which, while slowly improving under the care of the industrious house elves, still had a long way to go before being considered livable by regular wizards.

“What does everyone want?” Harry asked as they stepped inside, his eyebrows rising at the crowd. “I’ll get it from Madame Rosemerta while you all find a table.”

“Butterbeer for me,” Hermione said, a choice echoed by Tonks.

Lupin, on the other hand, looked slightly confused and breathed in deeply, as if clearing his head, before answering. “I’ll just have some water.”

Harry nodded, weaving his way through the crowded bar. Apparently, the defeat of Voldemort had brought people back into their old habits of congregating in public places. After a moment, a harried looked Rosemerta stopped in front of Harry. When her eyes lit up, Harry quickly raised a finger to his lips, and she said quietly, “What can I get you, Harry?”

“Two butterbeers, a water, and a double firewhiskey,” he answered in an equally soft tone, pulling out the appropriate money and placing it on the counter as she went to get his order. So far, no one had noticed him, or perhaps word had spread that bothering him had unfortunate consequences after Diagon Alley. After a moment, the tavern owner returned with the drinks, and Harry idly waved his hand, levitating them easily as he turned to find the table his friends had chosen. With a slight frown he realized the crowd had forced them into two separate, small tables, fit for only two people, that were nearby each other, but in the noisy bar, too far apart to talk. Hermione was sitting at the one with the empty chair, and Remus and Tonks sat at the other.

He sighed softly as he sat down at the table with Hermione, having deposited Tonks’ butterbeer and Lupin’s water with them. Sliding Hermione’s bottle across the table, he said quietly to her, “I had no idea there would be this many people here or I wouldn’t have suggested it. They’re all staring at me, aren’t they?”

Hermione nodded, fascinated, as she broke the seal and opened her bottle. She had observed, like Harry, the way the people looked away when he looked in their direction but immediately went back to staring at him when they thought he could no longer see them. “Let’s just finish our drinks and get out of here, Hermione.”

She looked down at his drink in surprise as he sipped it. “Harry, that’s firewhiskey. I’ve never seen you drink that.”

Harry blinked. More than twenty years of it as the occasional habit made it hard to remember that he had not ever touched it until he worked at the Department. “Well, I’ve always wanted to try some.”

Hermione smiled wryly. “We’re not in school any more, so I suppose it’s alright.”

Harry stuck out his tongue. “Thank you for your permission, Miss Granger.” He leaned closer to her. “Do you really think that my plan will work if we need it?”

Hermione shrugged. “There are too many unknowns, and we don’t know how literally that description was meant to be taken. I still think it would be safer to have someone sneak in and stab you, some place harmless, than try your plan. It’s a lot more sure.”

Harry frowned. “I thought you liked me, and here you are, so eager to hurt me.” He smiled teasingly. “I would agree with you, except this is likely to take place in the middle of some Death Eater stronghold, and I don’t need anything slowing me down on the way out.”

Hermione smiled. “As long as you’re planning on coming out. If this happens, and I wake up and find Voldemort there, I will kill you.”

Harry laughed. “Somehow, I think that is the least of my worries.”

He knocked back the second half of the firewhiskey in a single gulp and watched Hermione’s eyes widen in shock. “It’s good,” he tried to argue unsuccessfully against her disapproving frown.

“Don’t like it too much, Harry.”

“Not too much,” he agreed with a grin. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’ll take the butterbeer with me,” she said, as she had been very slowly sipping it.

Nodding, Harry stood, and once Hermione was following, moved towards the door, catching Remus’ eye in the process. The werewolf gave a tiny, nearly invisible nod and got up with Tonks a moment later to follow.

Stepping out into the late June sun, the foursome walked slowly down the street to an area that was not too busy so they could Apparate back to their accommodations. Tonks went first.

Or tried to, at least. With her face screwed up in concentration, she breathed out heavily, then blinked as she realized she had not gone anywhere. “Shit,” was the only thing to come out of the female Auror’s mouth before Harry realized what was going on.

He could feel them, immensely strong anti-Apparition wards like those that surrounded Hogwarts. “We were out too long. They’re coming for you,” he whispered, and Hermione shrank against him slightly. “Stay with me. If they need me intact for this little project, and I stay between you and them, well, they’ll lose.”

Tonks pulled her wand out, joining Remus in readiness, looking about for something to engage. Harry’s wand slid into his hand from somewhere, merely just appearing there as the silver wisp of Tonks’ Patronus whipped by on the way to the castle.

The pop of Portkey transit sounded before them, shattering the silence which had grown nearly oppressive over the wizarding village, then more and more pops as black robed figures appeared like stalkers from the night. Spell light still flashed just as bright in the midday sun as the battle was joined.

As the flashes of curses and the shouts to produce such echoed in the hot air, more and more people began to tumble out of buildings into the street, most of them unprepared for the chaos which had engulfed Hogsmeade in a corona of magical lights. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched as an old man stepping out of a house nearby was cut down by a reveling Death Eater, randomly shooting off powerful curses in every direction to add to the mischief his fellows were causing.

Moving slightly behind him as she had been instructed, Hermione brought up her wand and the red blast of a Stunning spell erupted from it to spear the dark wizard to the ground. Harry, meanwhile, sent two dark blue spell lights twirling back at their caster, bounced from a shielding spell, and having the unfortunate result of spraying the street with a crimson stain as the Death Eater’s body shattered. Purple light tore through the air as a tall Death Eater attacked them next, Harry’s arm stopping Hermione barely from advancing through the blast with her back turned as she defended them from two more Death Eaters coming up from behind.

Flicking his wand, Harry tore cobbles from the street and pelted them at the Death Eater, distracting him as he attempted to stop the flying bricks, and letting Harry put a stunning spell in under his guard. Wheeling, the dark haired wizard blinked once as Hermione’s wand waved almost faster than he could see, pummeling her attackers with a veritable rain of spells. The addition of Harry’s spells won him a smile and two more Death Eaters lying on the ground.

All around them, the lights were flashing brilliantly as Harry paused to check the wards again, seeing if they were weakening or even gone. No such luck. A swish of light caused him to dive aside, away from Hermione and a red jet met the Death Eater who was attacking as Harry came back to his feet. Hermione ran towards Harry, who was noticing the same thing Hermione shouted at the same time she shouted it. “They’re coming after me, Harry!”

It was indeed true. The other Death Eaters were merely occupying Remus and Tonks and the villagers while group after small group came after Hermione and Harry. Harry reached out and pulled Hermione towards him with a wandless summoning charm, pulling her out of the blast of a spell she had missed while distracted. “Get down while I see if I can spot a way out.” Hermione nodded and ducked behind an overturned carriage whose owner was lying unconscious from the first moments of the attack.

Harry flung spells at the Death Eaters from their relatively isolated position near the edge of the village, Hermione occasionally popping up to lend him a hand, but not seeming to realize Harry was casting protection charms with his left hand while his right worked his wand and the powerful combat spells it produced.

More Death Eaters were charging, and Harry noticed that Lupin’s spells were coming slower now, the older man appearing to be limping, and he could not see Tonks’ bright hair anywhere. Suddenly, the explosion of the carriage from a spell Harry missed as not being directed at him threw Harry off his feet and away from Hermione. Spitting up blood onto the street, he shouted, “Fall back, Hermione!” before realizing she was just as bad off as he was, with an ugly wooden splinter protruding from her arm. Shaking his head, the young wizard heaved himself off the ground and flicked his hand, sending the nearby Death Eaters flying backwards with no warning flash of light. Bending over as he reached the young woman, he wrapped his arm under her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Progress was slow at best, but the explosion and the flying Death Eaters seemed to pause the assault on the two youngsters for the moment, at least until a green bolt flashed by overhead, resuming the attack with its full vigor. Hermione collapsed behind the corner of a wall, Harry spinning about to fire a series of dark red bolts back at the dark wizards pursuing them.

Like a roll of powerful thunder, the wards about them shattered as reinforcements from Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix arrived in a powerful display, tearing into the center of the Death Eater ranks behind the point of Dumbledore and McGonagall. Now, instead of trying to reach the two young magical people, the Death Eaters main force wheeled about, trying to prevent the powerful new group from saving the young people.

Harry flung another bolt of power at the Death Eaters, and smiled as they sprawled face down in the street, knowing the force of scraping along the stones would leave a bloody trail. “Hermione, can you Apparate out of here?”

“I think ss…. HARRY!” As his name became a wordless cry of pain, Harry wheeled and was confronted with what remained one of his worst nightmares. Bellatrix Lestrange was standing there with Hermione’s injured arm in her hand, pressing the splinter in deeper, surrounded by a body guard of Death Eaters.

“So, Potter, you lose now.” The insane laugh tore through Harry as it reminded him of the time he had chased this madwoman through the Ministry of Magic. “The girl or your own life, your choice.”

His wand did not move, did not rise from its half lowered position, but light burst out from Harry, striking down two of the evil woman’s guard, then a third as it jumped towards her, but the cracking pop of air collapsing in on itself told the tale that even now the Boy-Who-Lived was too slow, too late.

All the Death Eaters vanished with Lestrange, and Remus came running up to Harry. “Are you two okay? Sorry we got…” The werewolf paused in mid-sentence. “Where’s Hermione, Harry?”

“Lestrange got her. She’s gone.”

Chapter Nineteen: A Choice Between What is Right and What is Easy

They went back to the castle to talk.

“Of course they’ve taken her to Durmstrang. It’s been their base for over two years. Everyone here knows that,” Harry shouted at Dumbledore as McGonagall, Remus and Tonks looked on in a slight bit of awe.

“Very well, Harry, let us say, for a moment, that you are right, and you probably are,” Dumbledore said calmly. “How do we get in? How many Death Eaters are there? In case you have not noticed, there are many many fewer of us left to fight than there were before the battle at the Ministry, and there are very few Aurors to call on for assistance.”

Harry’s visage grew deathly pale, his green eyes gleaming as the flames lighting the corridor along which they walked dimmed into near extinguishment. “We won’t need them, but call whoever you can. It will be difficult to fight and carry Hermione at the same time, as I don’t imagine those bastards will leave her in any shape to help with her own escape. I’ll find out what we need from Draco.” Pale blond hair, matted with blood, clashed oddly with the silvery strands of memory that seemed to echo the fear and pain in the grey eyes.

As he turned and stalked off down the hallway, he heard McGonagall asking, “Albus, did you tell him we were keeping the Death Eaters here?”

The sound of a worry filled voice drifted down the hall. “No, Minerva, I did not.”

* * * * * *

Harry sensed the other Death Eaters shrinking against the walls of their cells in the Hogwarts Dungeons as Draco’s cry of pain cut through the air. The young man’s usually immaculate hair was dirty and filled with sweat, his cheeks smudged with the grime that pervaded the dank little room he was kept in. Then there was his pale face slowly turning bright pink as gravity pulled the blood into it as his feet kicked helplessly in the air.

“I’m not going to tell you anything, Scarhead.”

“Tsk, tsk, Draco. You still haven’t come up with any better insults than that one, you death eating scum.” Harry chuckled. “It hardly bothers me, any more, you realize, as this scar you make fun of so much is what let me destroy your precious Voldemort.”

Draco attempted to spit at Harry, but discovered it was hardly as easy upside down as it is rightside up. “Whatever, Potter. I’m still not going to tell you anything.”

“You can tell me, or we can do this the hard way, or we can do it the fun way.” Harry’s eyes flashed brightly at the last, and the hatred dripping through his voice made the young Malfoy’s face go pale despite the blood sitting in it.

“You don’t have the guts to torture me, Potter.” Draco hardly sounded convinced of this, though.

“Maybe, maybe not. Besides, conventional torture would be far too slow. I need to know now, Draco.” Harry bent down so he could look Draco in the eyes. “Don’t resist. It will just make the experience more unpleasant for both of us.” He waved his hand over Draco’s face, and smiled. “They never thought to put one of those security curses on you, did they? Legilimens.”

How many Death Eaters, Draco?

I won’t tell you.

HOW MANY? Harry’s mind rammed deep into Draco’s, smashing through his feeble defenses.

One hundred and ninety-eight before the attack on the Ministry, including Ginny.

Where is the Death Exchange to take place?

Scarhead, I’m not going to…

Yes, you will. Now, WHERE?

Durmstrang.

How do you get past the wards at Durmstrang?

No, Potter…

HOW, DRACO?

You can’t. You have to walk or fly in. Even the Dark Lord had to, and he set them up. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise at that, and he pulled out of Draco’s mind with surprising quickness. So much for sneaking in and getting her out. We’ll have to try something less subtle.

Re-entering Draco’s shocked mind was far too easy. Is there anything to keep me out, Draco? Dragons, other beasts?

No. I won’t…

DRACO!

I… you can pass through the wards, and there are no magical beasts that will continue protecting the castle now that the Dark Lord is dead.

Harry grinned suddenly, and Draco crumpled to the floor as Harry left his mind once more. “Thank you for your help, Draco. I’ll be sure to tell your father before we stick him in this cell with you just how eager you were to help us get a Mudblood back.”

Draco merely moaned from the floor.

Harry turned to leave when Draco spoke softly. “Harry, wait.” The unexpected form of address caused him to turn and look at the young pureblood expectantly. “You may hate us, but he is my father.”

“I won’t kill him if I don’t have to. My word on it.” Unless Hermione dies. Then you’re all dead, and not even Dumbledore will stop me. I’ve risked too much to fail now.

“I understand. He won’t kill Granger, Potter.”

“If he does…” Harry’s voice trailed off threateningly.

“I understand.” Draco smiled briefly. “In another universe, I’d be competing with you for her.”

“She would make the final choice, Draco, not us,” Harry finished the conversation, turning and moving to the door of the cell.

Draco wanted the last word, though. “She already did make her choice, Scarhead. Doesn’t it bug you she picked Weasley?”

Harry crushed down the anger and jealousy that flared brightly behind his eyes. “Not if it made her happy.” He slammed the door shut on Malfoy’s laughter on his way out.

* * * * * *

The entirety of the Order of the Phoenix was seated in the Great Hall when Harry returned upstairs. Four Weasleys nodded briefly to Harry, as did every member of the Order Harry had met and had not met.

They were all there, every still living member of the Order who would be of any use, as well as some of the Hogwarts teachers who were not part of the Order. As Harry’s surprised eye swept over Aberforth Dumbledore, he grinned in a manner very reminiscent of his brother, who was sitting at the head of the table. “Hog’s Head is closed for now, Harry,” he said.

Harry had not thought it ever closed, and he nodded back to the man.

“Harry!” boomed Kingsley, holding up three day old copy of the Daily Prophet, “what is this nonsense? You’re going to have to be a lot less flashy if you want to be an Auror.”

Despite the tenseness of the situation, Harry grinned at Kingsley. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He made his way to the only empty seat, at Dumbledore’s right hand and next to Aberforth, and sat lightly as the Headmaster cleared his throat softly, bringing silence on the room.

“No doubt those of you unaware of the situation have been brought up to date by those who are, but indulge me while I explain just in case. Simply put, Hermione Granger has been taken by the remaining Death Eaters to their base at…” he glanced down at Harry who mouthed the name, “…Durmstrang as bait to force Harry Potter to perform an ancient ritual known as the Death Exchange to return Tom Riddle to life, at the same time, removing Mister Potter from the equation. We can all agree that this would be a bad thing. I’ll open the floor for debate.”

Harry’s jaw dropped open when Dumbledore finished speaking without giving a plan, and then nearly hit the floor as Kingsley spoke. “I hate to be the one to say this, but everyone here knew the risks involved when they signed up. The girl will die if we attack in force, and there is no way we can let Harry go through with the ritual. Voldemort cannot be allowed to return.”

Tonks stood up so abruptly her chair fell backwards. “Bullshit, Shacklebolt. I say we attack now. We’ve been planning this attack for months, even before the final battle. Surely without He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named there, we’ll be able to move in and take them out.”

Dumbledore’s quiet voice broke through again. “Harry, how many Death Eaters would you guess are in Durmstrang castle?”

Harry could not lie now, even though he desperately wanted to. “There were one hundred and ninety-eight Death Eaters before the Final Battle. I know we captured nineteen there and killed five and another five four days ago, plus one killed. That leaves one hundred and sixty-eight Death Eaters.”

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “The Order has, over the past ten days, captured or killed another twenty-three of them, which leaves a sad total of one hundred and forty-five Death Eaters at large, the majority of which we may safely assume to be in Durmstrang.”

Tonks looked deflated. “Then it’s impossible. Even with you, Dumbledore, we can’t take on that many of them. There aren’t even enough Aurors left to be of use.”

“We could safely say that that is true,” Dumbledore replied. “But the fact remains, Miss Granger has been taken hostage.”

Kingsley spoke up, sensing a rising tide of agreement with him around the table. “She knew the risks. We cannot risk everything to save her, especially on some foolish whim like this.”

Hagrid and Misses Weasley were weeping, while her three sons looked ready to tear Shacklebolt apart. Remus and Tonks merely looked murderous, while Harry was having to restrain himself from dropping the large black Auror then and there. Dumbledore spoke softly once more. “We will have a vote, though I know that is not our normal way of doing business. I feel this matter too deeply touches us all.” He looked sadly down the table, then started with McGonagall on his left. “Minerva?”

“As much as it pains me to say so, Albus, Shacklebolt is correct. We can’t go.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Fred Weasley?”

“Go.”

“George Weasley?”

“Go. Now.”

“Bill Weasley?”

“I agree. Go.”

“Molly?”

“I will not lose my other daughter to this conflict. Go.”

“Remus?”

“Of course we go.”

“Nymphadora?”

“Don’t call me that. We go, and to hell with the Death Eaters.”

“Shacklebolt?”

“We don’t go. There’s too much at stake.”

“Dedalus?”

“I agree with Shacklebolt. We can’t do this.”

“Elphias?”

“This is far too reckless. There is no way we can go.”

“Mundungus?” Dumbledore asked, continuing around the table.

“Absolutely no. We beat that dark lord, and we can’t be havin’ him back.”

“Hagrid?”

“O’ course we’ve got ter go and get Hermione.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Hestia?”

“I hate to say it, but Shacklebolt’s right. This is reckless, and a mistake.”

“Sturgis?”

“We cannot allow His return once more. It has cost too much. We don’t go.” Harry sighed as Sturgis Podmore’s vote evened up the running. He would go, even if no one else would.

Dumbledore continued, glancing at some of the teachers. “Filius?”

“I cannot condone anything that could result in the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” The other voting continued much the same way, a steady majority being built in favor of not going. Of letting Hermione die. Dumbledore’s soft voice continued saying names, and they continued to say no, and Harry’s expression grew darker and darker.

Finally, “Aberforth?”

“We go, despite what everyone else seems to think.” Harry looked up and smiled at Dumbledore’s brother.

“Harry? I know your answer, but for…”

Harry cut him off. “We go, but my vote doesn’t really matter now, does it? Even if you vote ‘yes’, Albus, which I don’t think you would, having called for the vote to absolve yourself of blame, we still would not go.” His voice was harsh, and everyone there had enough magic in them to feel the power flowing with his words. “I just want to say one thing to all of you, especially those of you who heard it once before, and you, Headmaster, who said it.”

He stood slowly, and his green eyes pierced all of them, lastly steadily meeting the blue ones of Dumbledore. “Remember Cedric Diggory.”

Dumbledore’s eyes dropped, unable to meet Harry’s. “You’re right, Harry.” He looked up, and addressed the group. “While I will not make any of you go who do not wish to, I would request that you all do so.”

Kingsley stared disbelievingly at Dumbledore. “Remember Cedric Diggory? What nonsense is this? That boy died three years ago because he tried to be overly noble, just like Harry is doing now. I won’t be part of getting us all killed.”

“Shacklebolt, Harry was merely reminding me of something I said at the end of the year feast in his fourth year.” Dumbledore’s face grew much older, looking heavily pained as he recited, “Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.”

Faces all around the table dropped before Dumbledore continued. “If you wish to come with us, we will be leaving by Portkey in twenty minutes outside the main doors. Please meet there. I need to talk with Harry.”

Once everyone had filed out, Dumbledore turned to Harry. “I take it you know something more for me to work with?”

“We cannot get in without physically passing through the wards. According to Malfoy, even Voldemort had to walk through the wards that had been put in place. And they will admit me for now.”

“I thought as much. Tom never was one for subtlety when it was not needed.” Dumbledore smiled kindly. “How did your research go?”

“Good.” The pleasure in being able to answer that question properly was too obvious in Harry’s voice, though, apparently.

The twinkle returned to the Headmaster’s eyes. “You and Miss Granger planned this, didn’t you? That’s why you stopped to get a drink in Hogsmeade.”

Harry shook his head. “Not precisely. We were going to start taunting them soon, by leaving Grimmauld Place. We discussed that once I figured out how to beat the Death Exchange. Hermione wants to end this almost as much as I do. I’ve been fighting this far too long. We were hoping to whittle their strength down, by taking out capture teams one at time. I never thought they would attack in such force in a place with so many other wizards present. But we needed to stay outside the wards, both here and at home, long enough to make sure they noticed us. She knew the risks, like Kingsley said, but she also is expecting us to come for her.” He shook his head, staring at his feet. “How many other people got hurt because of this?”

“There are three dead and seven wounded as a result of the attack, not counting Miss Granger.”

Harry frowned. “This has gone on for too long now. I can stop it, I know how, I did it before…” His voice trailed off. “But not that way.”

“I understand, Harry. Sometimes the things which we have done haunt us forever. Indulge an old man one question about your past. How did I die?”

Harry blinked, his mouth agape at the Headmaster. “How did you know?”

“It was impossible not to. Despite the changes wrought in you by your time, you still looked at me with the respect for a Headmaster you once had. Which means I died before we became proper friends.”

Harry lowered his head. “Like many of the people who just left, you died saving the world in the Ministry ten days ago.”

Dumbledore nodded, calmly accepting this. “And to save you, at a guess, from your reaction.”

Harry nodded. “Yes.” Not entirely. Since I was the one who killed you all to save the world.

“Come Harry, we should go now. Everyone else will be waiting for us.” Dumbledore beckoned the young wizard before him.

“If I can borrow two things, Headmaster. The sword and a school broom.”

“You may get those items from my office, Harry. I keep my own old broom there. The password is unchanged. I will explain to everyone else the plan.”

“You know the plan?” Harry blinked in confusion. He had gotten very good in his future at hiding his thoughts.

“Of course. It is obvious what it must be. You will go in, and the Death Exchange will fail to occur as the Death Eaters have planned it, and then you will retrieve Miss Granger, striking from within them, while signaling the rest of us to move in from without.”

Harry nodded, somehow, unsurprised, and then walked away to the Headmaster’s office.

Chapter Twenty: Dum tempus habemus, operemur bonum

The gentle rolling thunder of air shattered by multiple Portkey transits echoed in the otherwise silent forest as in groups of three Hermione’s rescue team arrived.

Dumbledore, Harry, McGonagall. Tonks, Lupin, Bill. Molly, Fred, George. Hagrid, Aberforth, Flitwick. Professor Vector arrived a moment later with a shamed Kingsley and Sturgis Podmore in tow. Hestia Jones, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle. Mundungus did not come, though three more of the surviving Hogwarts teachers did. Though she might have graduated, she had been one of their best students ever.

“Harry?” Kingsley said softly. “I assume those of us who get the Daily Prophet have already seen the signal you will use?”

Harry smirked slightly at the older wizard. “Part of it. You’ll know the rest when you see it.” His gaze swept around the group, taking them all in, everyone one of them older, many by at least a generation. He mounted the broom. “Remember to be in position and ready to go three hours from now. If I’m not out in twelve hours, get out of here. I’m either dead and Voldemort still is, or I’m dead and, well… You’ll need to prepare.” He met Kingsley’s eyes, and some of the Order members who had been more resistant to the mission. “I know some of you did not want to be here, that some of you think this is stupid and foolhardy, that we cannot take these risks. No one wants to give their life in a waste, I know that. But the greater the risk, the greater the reward.”

The broom floated a little bit off the ground and Harry hovered. “I beat Voldemort not because I was a more powerful wizard, or a more knowledgeable one, or anything of the sort. I beat him because I had to win. And because I had love, and friends, and family.” He smiled at the Weasleys, then Lupin. “I could not have done it without this team, and together, this team can and will overcome. We will prevail, and our risk, while foolish if we were to lose, will be the greatest triumph of Good in a thousand years. Thank you all for this.” Green eyes took them all in one last time, and then he sped away, zooming towards the distance castle.

“That poor boy has given so much,” Hestia Jones said, near apologetically, “that we should be more than willing to do as he asks.”

Kingsley answered her, his face a mixture of shame, worry, and excitement. “He’s not the Boy-Who-Lived anymore, Hestia. He’s the Man-Who-Triumphed. He has done so much always considered impossible that I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt to pull off one more miracle, though everything in my head and my training is screaming that it is a mistake.”

“Sometimes we just have to listen to our hearts,” Dumbledore said softly as Harry faded from view, his eyes on the speck of black that the young wizard was. “Let us get moving. It would not do to have our hero save the day and rescue his princess, and not have the cavalry arrive in time.”

This prompted a chuckle from the male Weasleys, but the Muggle reference just left everyone else looking confused. Twenty people then faded into the forest, and its silence returned.

* * * * * *

Normally Harry would have reveled in the free sensation of flight, but there was no Snitch before him now, no Draco to knock off a broom, nor a Ron to cheer as Keeper. Only the far more elusive goal of destiny and honor, of a final confrontation for the fate of the world for a generation, lay floating before him.

I’m coming Hermione. I only hope we were right about their plan. And mine. Hell, I even hope that Draco was right.

After an hour of relatively slow flight, Harry grounded, looking up at the imposing edifice of Durmstrang castle and another memory of the future came rushing back to him, as the doors cracked open just enough to receive him.

As Harry’s feet touched the ground, the massive protective doors of Durmstrang yawned open wide, revealing the darkness within. Shapes materialized from shadows, stepping out into the glimmering starlight. “How arrogant you have become, Potter, in the last two years, since that battle where your mistakes slaughtered your friends,” came the sneering drawl of Lucius Malfoy from under one of the dark robes.

“In the last two years, I have broken and destroyed the most powerful and feared force of Dark Wizards the world has ever known, Lucius.”

“You dare…” spat the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, and Harry carefully noted her location as well, but she broke off at Malfoy’s upraised hand.

“We are not broken, much less defeated, Potter, whatever you may believe.”

“Of course you are. I killed Voldemort, and in the two years since then, I have culled another hundred and thirty of your number,” Harry replied with a grin spreading across his features, the only ones visible on this clear night.

“There are still forty of us here, Potter. You have not faced that many of us on your own. Tell us where our fellows are so that we might retrieve them and rule as we ought once you are dead.”

The laugh Harry gave chilled the air, and caused the Death Eaters to visibly tense with fear, as if a Dementor had come among them. “Lucius, Lucius, Lucius.” Harry’s eyes were beginning to glow a bright emerald green, as the white streak of his smile flashed horribly in the night. “You’re right. I haven’t faced forty of you on my own since the battle in the Department of Mysteries, where, if I recall, you all broke and ran. Of course, your ultimatum sounded almost exactly like what Draco said a year ago when you attempted to use your son as bait to trap me.”

“Where have you put him, Potter? How did you make wards so strong we could not track through them?” Lucius was demanding, questioning him as a small child, not a man who had come this night with every intention of killing everyone else present.

“Draco is here, Lucius, with us right now.” Even through the darkness, Harry could sense the man’s shock. The death’s head Harry’s macabre grin became at that point rivaled the sculpted horror of the masks the Death Eaters wore, as he flicked his hand forward, dumping from the burlap sack there something round which rolled to Lucius’ feet.

Silvery, pale blonde hair flashed in the moonlight, and grey eyes came to rest facing upwards, the horror of his son’s brutal death, the end of his family line, confronting Lucius Malfoy at last. “There are no Death Eaters to rescue from my clutches, Lucius. I’ve killed every last one of them.”

The last thing Lucius Malfoy ever saw as his shocked gaze, filled with horrified understanding, snapped up to face Harry Potter, was the green light that killed him.

The Death Eaters were expecting him, and Harry stepped inside, empty hands raised.

“Accio wand!” came a voice from the shadows, accompanied by a flash of long blonde hair.

“You could have just asked, Narcissa.” The shadow gave a start, and Harry grinned at his correct guess. “You might as well take me into the chamber where this is to take place, so I can get this over with.”

The voice from the shadows came again. “Follow me, then, Potter.”

Harry grimaced at the petty power games as the older witch still did not reveal her location. The darkness in the castle was becoming quite annoying, and he muttered, “Lumos.” The end of his wand, in Narcissa’s hand, lit up, and she paused to glare at him.

“Very funny, Potter. The Death Exchange requires that there be no light but fire present in the chamber, so if you please, refrain from doing that again. Nox.” The light went out, and Harry followed by listening carefully to the echo of Narcissa’s heels on the bare stones that made up the ancient castle. Her words were slightly disturbing, in that they implied the Death Exchange was already in progress.

Maybe he should have had Hermione read him the actual ritual, rather than just the synopsis of the whole event. A door cracked open, and light streamed from it, causing Harry to blink as his eyes adjusted to the flames giving birth to the silhouette of Narcissa Malfoy and gleaming from some uncontained hair.

The flagstones gleamed harshly in the light, and a dull brown outline lay on the floor, dried into a pentagram. “Human?” Harry asked softly, and received a harsh chuckle in reply from the dark witch.

“I suppose you could call that rat human, if it weren’t an insult to even Mudbloods. Wormtail was more than eager to serve his Master in this way once more.”

Harry could not help it; he smiled darkly. “I never particularly cared for him myself. Perhaps we don’t have to disagree on everything.”

“No, Potter, just most things. Fortunately, in a very short time, you will be dead, and your opinion will no longer matter even to you, as it has never mattered to the rest of us.” The voice came from within the lit room, standing somehow shadowed on the top point of the pentagram. It was the voice of Lucius Malfoy.

Harry’s grin grew wider. “Somehow I knew you would be the one who was too afraid to undergo the ritual for Voldemort, Lucius.” His eyes swept over the biers adorning the other four points of the pentagram, taking in Bellatrix’s body, the black hair laying out as her chest rose and fell with a slight motion. On her chest was drawn the Dark Mark in the same blood it appeared that adorned the floor, and Harry tore his eyes away from it to look at Hermione. She too was dressed in a filmy drape that revealed the massive lightning bolt drawn in blood across her torso. A bloodied bandage adorned her arm, so while not healed, she was not still bleeding either.

The sight reassured him, and he stepped forward. A claw-like hand shot out and stopped him just short of the pentagram. “No shoes, Potter, nor Muggle clothing, inside the ring.”

Harry frowned. “You must be joking. The only reason I’m doing this is to get Hermione back, so before I go any further, I want to know that one, she’s alright, and two, she’ll stay that way if I do this.”

“Of course she is,” Narcissa snapped impatiently. “But she’s already in the spirit realm for the exchange. So you had best hurry and get ready to do this.”

“On one condition.”

Narcissa and Lucius stared at him. “Fine, what is it, Potter?” the male Malfoy spat after a moment.

“Both of you swear and oath on your family lines that you will do everything in your power to not let Hermione come to any harm, so that she dies of old age.”

“Fine,” said both of the Death Eaters together, and Lucius nodded at Narcissa first.

The blonde woman took the lead. “I, Narcissa Black Malfoy, swear on the pure blood of the Black Family line, that through my action or inaction, no harm shall come to Hermione Jane Granger, so that she dies of old age.” Harry’s eyes widened at the use of Hermione’s middle name, which implied that the Death Eaters knew more than he was aware of about them. Scary. “Good enough, Potter?”

“More than.” Green eyes swiveled to Lucius. “And you?”

“I, Lucius Malfoy, pure-blooded descent of the ancient line of Malfoy, swear that through neither my inaction nor my action shall I allow any harm to come to Hermione Jane Granger, so that she dies of old age.” Lucius smirked at Potter. “You know the Dark Lord will probably just kill us now that we’ve made these oaths, and then slaughter her, once he’s returned to us?”

“Of course I do,” Harry responded calmly. “But your actions will give her a chance. That’s all I’m asking for.” And since I don’t plan on him coming back, there’s no threat to her, assuming the two of them can handle Bellatrix if she wakes up before I do. They can’t break those oaths without dying. Great thing about blood oaths, that. “Now I suppose I’ll participate in your stupid ritual.”

Shrugging out of his robes, he revealed himself dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, as well as trainers, all of which he stripped away, feeling the deathly chill in the air as he did so, before finally he was naked, even removing his glasses. “Do you mind if I put the robe back on? It’s a bit cold without it. If I’m going to die, I can at least be comfortable.”

“Stop delaying,” Lucius snapped. “Put the robe on and climb up on the bier so we can finish this once and for all.”

“Yes, Lucius, once and for all,” Harry replied, barely managing to conceal his grin. He entered the pentagram slowly, then mounted the bier, laying out on it to discover it was just the right length for him, an inch longer above his head and below his feet. He closed his eyes. “Let’s get on with this.”

Lucius began to speak, low fast words in ancient Latin, reciting the spells which were needed. As Harry looked up through his closed eyes, the dancing of a thousand candle flames in the chamber shone through them, and then began to fade as Lucius finished the spells that bound his body to life until his spirit was last claimed by the exchange.

Then the last words Harry Potter heard on this Earth were, at least as he translated them, “Protectors of Time and Space, Guardians of Night and Death, Givers of Life and Goodness, Sources of Evil and Hate, Bringers of Light and Knowledge, unto you we send this soul, a spirit willing and ready, in exchange for one who died, our Master departed, The Dark Lord Voldemort. For him, we exchange Harry Potter, whose death will bring us life.”

Then the flames Harry could dimly see exploded into a nova of brightness, crashing through his eyes, blinding him, sucking him in, pulling at him with invisible fingers…

Then everything went black.

Author’s Note: The Chapter title translates as “While we have time, let us do good.”

Chapter Twenty-One: Tamquam alter idem

“Hello, mate.”

Those words pierced the darkness and caused Harry to open his eyes. Of all the things he had ever considered saying to his best friend, what tumbled from his lips next was not one of them.

“You’re dead.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed cheerfully. “But so are you, nearly, if this thing goes as Lestrange has planned. She was gloating about how perfect the plan was. Sirius was going to tell her off, but Snape reminded him that neither of them could.” Ron grinned. “Slimy git enjoyed it, too.”

Harry smiled, his eyes lighting at the thought of seeing Sirius again. His opinion of Snape had improved greatly when the man had died, but he still did not care for him. “I bet he did. You said Bellatrix was here. Is Hermione?”

Ron nodded and smiled cryptically. “A lot of things become clear up here, mate. But you’re here now. Time to get started. Maybe they’ll let us have a few minutes to talk afterwards.” He frowned. “Or I suppose we could have a whole lot of time to talk.”

Harry shook his head. “Not going to happen, though maybe a few minutes.” Harry felt more than saw Hermione moving up next to him. He realized that was because she was nearly invisible, while both he and Ron were solid.

She answered the silent question in his eyes. “I’m not dead, Harry, so I don’t appear as solid as you or Ron.” He realized, looking at her, that the copy of his scar was the most solid part of her appearance.

“I would guess Bellatrix looks like you?” He rotated his gaze to include Ron, at her nod, and asked a question he already knew the answer to. “I would assume that if Sirius cannot talk to Bellatrix, Voldemort can’t talk to me?”

Ron nodded. “You lucky person, you. Everyone he didn’t kill has wanted to kill him ever since he got here, the only problem being that he’s already dead.” Ron smiled, though Harry could pick up on Ron’s relief that he was not one of the people Voldemort could speak with. “Good job on that, by the way, mate.”

“Thanks. How do we go about this now?”

Ron frowned again. “I hope you and Hermione have a plan.” He pointed, and Harry saw Bellatrix’s ghostly form, and the body of Tom Riddle as he had undoubtedly been the night he had murdered Harry’s parents. “Stand over there with those two. The rest of us only get to watch. And Harry, it wasn’t your fault. You kept your promise, you did what you had to do.”

“Thanks, Ron. You have no idea how much that means to me.” Moving was no more difficult than focusing on where he wanted to go, Harry discovered, willing himself over to be next to Riddle and Lestrange. “Goodday, Bellatrix.”

“Indeed, little baby Potty,” she sneered. “I cannot believe even you were stupid enough to go through with this, even if you care for the Mudblood as much as Draco said.”

Red clouds of anger exploded in Harry’s head at the thought of Draco putting Hermione through this, but when he felt her stiffen beside him at Bellatrix’s words, Harry forced a smile. “Bella, you and your master have taken nearly everyone who has meant anything to me. I’m not letting you disgusting examples of wizard kind take any more.”

“No, lil’ Potter. Now we’re going to take you from them.” And then, though her lips were still moving, Bellatrix was silent. It took her a moment to realize there was no sound being produced and then she stopped, glaring at Harry as if it were his fault.

Harry, naturally, was not at fault. He had long since figured out that his magic was worthless here, no matter how powerful he was in the real world.

“You seek an exchange of lives, between the one who calls himself Lord Voldemort and the one called Harry Potter. Advacati, does Harry Potter willingly offer up his life in exchange for that of Lord Voldemort?”

The simple answer to the voice’s question would have been ‘no’. Unfortunately, here the truth reigned supreme, and the Death Exchange could not continue to even this point without the answer being ‘yes’. Which, her face growing pale, was the response Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible.

The terrible crashing voice came again. “Advacati, does Lord Voldemort accept this offer of exchange?”

Bellatrix apparently found her voice again. “He does.”

“Then we shall proceed with the testing. Call to mind the occasion of Lord Voldemort’s death.”

Harry, unfortunately, had a problem, for he had two memories of Voldemort’s death, one eleven days old, the other twenty-seven years.

One of the hardest things in nature to break is a habit, and a habit of twenty-seven years might as well be a force of nature. And it was certainly not going to be broken in eleven days.

Harry brought the wrong memory to mind. Realizing his mistake just as fast, he crushed it down and replaced it with the proper one. Even still, he was far too slow.

“Your memories are not the same,” the terrible, powerful voice came again, “or at least, Harry Potter remembers two very different courses of events. So we shall examine Lord Voldemort’s memory first, for one of Harry Potter’s seems to match it, yet it seems less real to him.”

Harry suddenly felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, positive that the bodiless voice knew far more than it was revealing. He felt the eyes of his three companions swiveling towards him, with questions that had to be silent.

The flash was blinding, overpowering, as the four of them, and all the watchers nearby, were transplanted back to the Department of Mysteries, inside Voldemort’s twisted mind.

* * * * * *

Harry’s mind burned, his gaze seethed red with hatred, with pain, with loneliness. Disgust and revulsion for others and himself coursed through the veins of his body, setting his very skin aflame. He screamed, but the sound failed him, and he knew where he was.

This was so very, very different from a Pensieve. This was how Voldemort actually remembered events from that day. Pain pounded at his skull, crushing in on him so hard he could barely see, and Harry realized he felt nothing. There was nothing external to himself, so inflamed and powerful was his ego, his selfishness, that the world outside him was unreal. This was what Voldemort had felt every second of every day since his rebirth in that grave yard.

Possibly even before he had killed Harry’s parents and his first body had been shattered by the very force of his spell. Through the haze of red, Harry saw himself, and with a whispered command, it began.

He knew exactly was about to happen before it happened, knew what spells would appear in vision from below his own eye level, what spells his opponent, he, Harry, would cast. His own memories could provide that, clear as day. He whispered his own shouts, and knew all the words Voldemort spoke even as he spoke them.

The battle was fierce, and he could feel Voldemort’s astonishment at the power, at the control Harry was maintaining, despite the slaughter of his friend. He could feel Voldemort’s satisfaction, even some of his thoughts, at the hatred and pain Harry was displaying. He could feel the cruelty and pride in what he had done, and the perverse knowledge that despite Harry’s anger and power that flowed from it, he had more anger, more hate, more pain, and more power, spells that Harry could hardly dream of.

Certainly, the Killing Curse was the surest way to kill, unable to be blocked, but there were many other ways to kill, more painful, more terrible things. Death was not merely a skill or a tool, it was a talent, an art, and the being styling himself Lord Voldemort knew he could teach its Master Class, as Potter was going to find out, if he would just stop being so damn stubborn about it and FUCKING DIE!

Instead of giving up, though, Voldemort noted with dismay, Potter seemed, if nothing else, to be getting fiercer in his attacks, as he shifted the Dark Lord temporarily onto the defensive.

Then anger blazed even hotter as Potter managed to trick him, his skills at Occulmency greatly improved since their last meeting. He could feel it swelling around him, had Potter’s little Mudblood bitch woken up, trying to help him. He snarled soundlessly as he fought through Potter’s spell.

Voldemort knew pain, knew anguish, knew suffering, he was masters of them, and his own was well under control, the external shut off from the mind. But this, this was…agony, an unknown torment lashing at him without remorse or ceasing, a physical battering of the likes he had never known, even with the loss of his body. He could feel the scream torn from his throat, but he could not control it, could not stop it, as every barrier, every ounce of knowledge, every priceless moment spent learning his iron mastery was proved worthless.

He knew what it was, and tried to fight it, though. If he could only hold on a little longer, he could escape, he could learn to fight this, just like he had everything else. Love could not be this strong, never be this powerful…

It hit him again, and he was dimly aware of Potter moving with him, riding the wave of his own strike, his own power, and Voldemort’s senses, blocked to so much, failed him now as his mental defenses were overwhelmed. He spat blood on the cool floor, and looked up at Harry. “Harry,” he gasped, trying not to choke on his blood and his plea. “Please, no. I don’t want to die.”

Harry’s words were lost to him, but he could feel their insult, their pain cutting into him like a knife, a knife that penetrated all things, his hate and pain and suffering, slashing him with the knowledge that he could never have this power, that he could never be, was never, loved. He leapt, knowing that if perhaps magic would not avail him, he could defeat the scrawny boy in this way…

It took him in the air this time, and he felt it throw him back. The lightest touch fazed him with a deathly chill, until he realized what it was… His body was dissolving, vanishing… passing through was an eternity of torment, a new understanding of pain and suffering, time slowing to draw out the process as he watched Potter crumple to the floor…

He had won, he knew it, he had defeated the boy… and then the darkness came as the veil slipped back into place with the gentlest of motions…

* * * * * *

Harry gasped as they came up for air, and he could feel the tenseness of those around him, and he shook his head to clear it of the pain and the darkness, blinking his way back into the light. Unconsciously, he reached out and gripped Hermione’s spectral hand, which despite its ghostliness, he managed to squeeze reassuringly. He felt her squeeze back, and he pulled her closer, feeling the slight tremble.

That terrible, crashing voice, like the cascade of continuous thunder, came again. “And now the memory of Harry Potter, matching that of Lord Voldemort. If you are ready…”

Not that the voice gave any time to be ready, as the terribly bright flash came again, swirling them out their limited reality and into memories of death once more.

It seemed to go quicker this time for Harry, but then, this was the perspective he knew by heart, the feelings and actions and words and losses that plagued him in his dreams. The memory ended the same way, with darkness descending, except not that of the veil, that of unconsciousness.

This time, Hermione really was trembling, and Harry drew her against him. She was craning her neck to look behind her, and Harry turned his head to follow the shorter witch’s gaze. He caught Ron’s nod and looked down as nearly invisible tears streaked down Hermione’s pale face. His fingers brushed them away and she smiled weakly. She could not talk, none of them could, but Harry nodded and squeezed her in his arms, confirming for her that the memory she had seen, of his choice, of his promise to Ron, that all of it was true.

The snarl was silent as Harry turned back and saw Voldemort and Bellatrix laughing silently at the touching moment, the care that the Trio had for each other, displayed in Harry’s memory for all of them to see.

“Well, it would seem that the memories agree de facto. But let us examine the last scene of death before we begin.” The darkness flashed with light, and then, claimed them all into a darker time, a more painful, broken reality than the one that each of them knew.

Only Harry had the slightest clue what this held ready for them…

Author’s Note: The Chapter title translates as “As if a second self.”

Chapter Twenty-Two: “I realized I can’t…crack up.”

“I realized I can’t shut myself away or - or crack up... It could be me next, couldn’t it? But if it is, I’ll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can and Voldemort too, if I can manage it.” Half Blood Prince, page 77, United States Hardcover Edition.

* * * * * *

It was a scene Harry had seen far too often of late, from a multitude of different perspectives, but at least he was in his own body this time. There was, on the other hand, the minor little factor of his inability to control his body while under the Imperious Curse from that traitorous whore…

A traitorous whore who happened to be standing, trembling with rage, over the unconscious body of Hermione Granger, crumpled to the floor where Harry had left her not moments before, after bringing her down. Harry knew what was happening now, he was fighting it, trying to overpower the curse, though it was undoubtedly too late. He could not remember everyone going down, taking out everyone, and he knew that somehow, someone had taken Dumbledore, and that worried the small portion of his brain that could worry about such things, a small portion that was growing larger with each passing moment as he realized what had happened.

He did not know how, but he had to stop them, he had to stop the Death Eaters, Voldemort, from carrying out their plan to turn the very death they feared into a way to preserve their own miserable excuses for lives… to feed their magic off of the souls of the dead.

And now Harry was the only one who could stop them, if he could force himself free of the Curse, and… what? What could he do, as one person against nearly a hundred Death Eaters?

Not that he was particularly worried. Ginny would tell him what to do, as soon as she finished whatever it was she was standing over Hermione for…

Draco’s voice came now. “Ginny, stop.”

She whirled to face Draco, turning away from Hermione, and snarled at him. “Why should I? It’s her fault, you know?”

That merely prompted laughter from Draco. “Your revenge will be so much sweeter if you make him do it.”

Ginny turned back to Harry, her eyes gleaming. “Kill the Mudblood, Harry. Use the Killing Curse on Hermione, so she won’t wake up this time.”

Harry lifted his wand halfway, and then concentrated hard on forcing it back down. It paused, pointed at the floor as his instructions and his own willpower battled it out within him. The tip of the wand lowered another inch, and then another. Harry felt his face screw up into a grimace as he fought the compulsion to raise his wand, to blow Hermione away, that he so desperately wanted to do, to follow instructions, it was so much easier to follow instructions. The wand tip came up, and he forced it back down.

“DRACO, HELP! He’s fighting it!”

The blonde haired young man spun and snarled, “IMPERIO!”, and Harry felt his resistance go slack, his wand arm coming up to point steadily at Hermione. Harry that was closed his eyes, even as Harry that was then could not, as he said the spell.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

The spear of green light seemed to move in slow motion as the full horror of what he had done hit Harry James Potter like a solid mass, slamming into him. It was far too late to take it back, and the sheer power he had infused the spell with did not merely kill Hermione Jane Granger, one of only two people Harry could ever truly remember loving.

It shattered her body, breaking her corporeality in a way it had for only one other, a Dark Lord some sixteen years before. Hermione Granger had no bond with her killer though, to keep her alive, no scar that would haunt her and preserve her. Instead, her body vaporized, shriveling away into so much dust as the front of the green bolt hit her…

Harry Potter had the powers of the elements of Nature at his command, bubbling beneath the surface, raging magical elemental fire and electricity and water and earth. Fire from passion, electricity from the spark of his love’s touch, water from her pain, his pain, and earth, from their strength as a team.

A team… broken…

Perhaps the Muggles had said it best: Some day, after we have mastered the winds and the waves, the tides and gravity, we will harness the energies of love. And, for the second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire.

Harry Potter found fire now.

Pure energy flowed off of him, shattering the bindings the traitor and her lover had placed on him. Pure magical energy that was force, was power. The room around them exploded with Harry’s agony, fire tearing into the deepest corners, shattering the walls and floors and killing all those who stood in its way.

The one locked door cracked open, never to be resealed, and its power coursed through the Boy-Who-Lived, bringing him abilities beyond all imagining. Flames swept across the room, a raging storm of plasma that consumed all it touched, elemental fury at the greatest loss, the longest love, of Harry Potter’s life.

It was more than he could take. The loss of everyone who had meant the world to him, now dying in his agony, dead through his failure, sealed his heart…

The heart that can no longer love passionately, must with fury hate.

He did not know what hate felt like, not the hate that came after love. It is huge and desperate, and longs to be proved wrong, and every day it is proved right, it grows a little more monstrous. If the love was passion, the hate will be obsession.

Their spells unable to touch him, unable to stop his rage, their numbers decreasing quickly the longer they stayed, the Death Eaters ran from him, vanishing into the night, unwilling to be lambs to the slaughter…

The tail end of the green bolt finished striking Hermione, and Harry’s loss was completed.

But one task remained… the Dark Lord, the one being who had caused all this. The being, no longer a man, that Harry Potter would kill.

Before he killed everyone else involved.

By the time Voldemort finished Apparating into the Department of Mysteries, he already was diving aside, unable to even consider blocking the first of the green flashes that Harry unleashed towards him.

But Voldemort was not the greatest wizard the world had ever seen until this point for naught, and his own spells flashed out at Harry too numerous to count or even to see individually. But Harry was playing for keeps now.

The spells merely bent around him, shattering the wall behind him, and Voldemort paused for a moment in shock.

Long enough for brilliant green to light the underground room yet again, screaming through flames scorching the buildings all around them, seven stories above. Once more, Voldemort barely avoided the spell, and was now on the defensive. Green, blue, red, gold, white, purple, spell after spell shattered the night, each gleaming hotter, brighter than before, but Voldemort stood before their onslaught, reflecting those he could, avoiding those he could not.

The raging inferno was swirling all about them now as cast aside spells heated it, engorging it on yet more and more energy, filling the night with their power. So hot was the flame, so elemental, that Voldemort began have to use a portion of his strength to hold the flames back.

Harry did not. He merely walked through the heart of the fires, his light exploding from his hands to slam into the Dark Lord once more.

What was perhaps most disturbing to the scene, as Harry relived it yet again, was the near total silence, except for the explosions and crackling of the fires, the hissing of the air as it melted and the resounding crashes of those spells Voldemort managed to turn aside, it was utterly silent.

Neither combatant uttered a word as the seconds grew into first one minute, then two, then ten. And still the power, the rage, the flames, shook the very earth itself as light exploded back and forth between the two of them. There was no time for words now, only actions, as Voldemort attempted to regain the offensive, or at least, slow Harry down some, or tire him out, or something.

But just as the wind never tires, neither did Harry, as fire burns until all that fuels it had been consumed.

And the rage remained…

The swirl of violence finally shattered as Voldemort was hit by some minor spell of Harry’s, who paused his attack to grin. “Tonight we end it, Tom. Fate exists, but it can only take us so far. Because now we’re here, and it’s up to us to make it happen.” More lightning flashed out from the boy’s hands as he lifted them skyward. “If either of us leaves here tonight, it will only be one.”

The explosion that followed these words was the most intense yet as two immensely bright flashes of green light collided midway between the two combatants, tearing the very air itself apart, throwing them backwards.

Stairs of stone rushed by in a whirl as Harry tumbled, and maniacal laughter filled the air, cold and soulless laughter that tore at the strings of the heart, clawing with frozen dread at the spirit of love.

Two bodies hit the floor before the raised dais, simple but for an arch. One rose to his feet, one did not. One raised up his wand, the other made no move. “Acta est fabula.” A dark smile, colder than the frozen hell it was about to banish its opponent to, creased the face of the being who stood. “Plaudite.” It was a simple command, an order to cheer for one’s own death. Then it came. “AVADA KEDAVRA!” The roar was unmistakable, the flash of light, brighter than summer’s noon, greener than the trees of Christmas, unlike any before it, or after.

Voldemort died. Harry Potter lived.

Darkness shrouded him as the rain began to pelt down, lightning crashing through the exposed sky. The flames began to die under the downpour of heaven’s tears, merging on Harry’s face with his own.

The Second War was over.

Harry waved his arm, and the flames were gone, but even he, now, could not bring the dead back to life, his arrogance and uncontrolled power taking them…

No.

It had been them. Them and Voldemort. And they would all now suffer as he had… Forever.

The Second War was over. Harry’s war had just begun.

* * * * * *

Upon the return to the reality of the spirit world, Harry could sense utter and complete silence, and felt, rightly, he realized, looking about him, that everyone was staring at him. Everyone, including Voldemort and Bellatrix, with complete and utter shock.

Bellatrix’s mouth moved, and much to her surprise, sound came out. “That isn’t what happened.”

Hermione, catching on that they could speak again, interrupted her. “Obviously. But what was that? A false memory, a nightmare of a dream, what? It seemed awfully close to what did happen.”

The terrible voice broke in, enforcing silence once more. “That memory was just as real as the first, the only difference being that it happened twenty-seven years ago for young Harry Potter.” He could see Hermione mouth the number, then her eyes widened, the few slips in the last ten days rushing back to her instantly, connecting the dots behind her chocolate gaze.

Harry slowly nodded, confirming the words of the voice, wishing every second that he had not let them be true, or, at least, that he had told Hermione the truth earlier. He could see the disappointment in her ghostly eyes, and he turned away, unable to face her now, in what could quite likely be the last moment he saw her for a very long time.

It was not, fortunately, and Hermione spoke again, addressing the voice. “Harry Potter participated in the Death Exchange to save my life, and for that, he was willing. Now he has participated, my life is saved, so he is no longer willing to undergo the ritual.”

Bellatrix breathed in deeply, obviously wanting to protest, and for a moment, Harry thought they had won. But the voice rolled over him once more, shattering that hope. “Incorrect. Harry Potter has not yet participated in the completed Death Exchange ritual. Your life, Hermione Jane Granger, would be forfeit if he were to back out now.”

The spectral form of the young witch he loved turned to him and whispered, “I’m willing, Harry. End this now.” He shook his head, unable to speak. She kept talking. “Alright, I’ll try the idea you had.” Harry smiled encouragingly, and squeezed her hand once more. She smiled back, before returning her gaze to the empty air before them. “When Harry defeated Voldemort, he defeated him with pure love, refined into an essence of power, pushing him through the Black Veil to kill him. Voldemort kills with the Killing Curse. Harry would never have died in the same manner as Voldemort, even if it was at approximately the same time.”

The voice was silent for a moment, and when it became clear that no one was going to speak, it prompted “Advocati?” before Bellatrix opened her mouth.

“Perhaps the Mudblood is correct. Perhaps the Dark Lord would have killed Potter with the Killing Curse. But as we’ve just seen, at least once, Potter killed the Dark Lord with the Killing Curse. I am quite sure the Dark Lord would have used whatever means presented itself for killing Potter, and if shoving him through the Veil had been available, he would have taken that option.”

“You are correct, Advocati. This much is clear from Voldemort’s own memory of the events, so the argument is flawed.” At the voice’s words, Hermione mouthed a curse Harry had not realized she had known, which inspired him to grin slightly, despite the seriousness of the situation.

Hermione turned with desperation welling in her eyes. “What now?” they seemed to say, and Harry wished he knew, wish he knew what to tell her, to comfort her, even if he could talk.

“The future,” he mouthed back to her, still unable to talk, and he smiled as he saw her eyes light up, making a connection, coming up with an idea.

She spoke. “You stated that the second memory Harry provided of killing Voldemort happened twenty-seven years in the past for him. Yet the event only happened ten days ago. This means that Harry’s future exists. Twenty-seven years of it. How could he have died?”

There was silence, and Hermione smiled slightly at Harry, who smiled even wider back at her as the silence lengthened. Finally the voice spoke. “Normally it is the job of the Advocati to argue for the Death Exchange, young Miss Granger. Nevertheless, you are at least partially correct. Harry Potter could not have died the first time he killed Voldemort because he had twenty-seven years of future. Perhaps you were even meant to live. Even such as I do not know. I do know that nothing I know of in those twenty seven years, which are in the past, relative to Harry Potter’s killing of Lord Voldemort in this timeline, would imply he has a future.” Hermione gasped at that. “But the memories argue for further examination. I am not all knowing.”

And without warning, the flash of light and darkness descended once more…

Chapter Twenty-Three: Omnes una manet nox

The swirl of darkness was overpowering, as images crashed in on them all, torn from Harry’s mind for them all to see, placed on display as mere reminders of a life had and lost, thrown away for a greater cause than his own purpose…

Gray dominated a smoky sky, a field filled with coffins, a shouted oath, made over the bodies of the dead. Blood spilling, hot and flowing, burning brightly against walls and walks, grass and stone, surface after surface covered with bodies in black robes, torn apart brought down over and over again by the obliterating power of Harry’s wrath, life after life torn apart as Harry’s rage sent him wild.

Images flashed through his mind, face after face, surprised, helpless in their death, yielding before his power. The dead mounted higher, and they only fueled Harry’s flames, their bodies inspiring him onward, each new victory renewing his determination for revenge.

The speed and the swirling mass of the images, the bare presence in each memory, made the feelings of those around him clearer. It made Harry even sicker now, knowing what those about him felt of his actions. From Hermione he could sense shock, disgust, but no hatred, a disappointed understanding as she was confronted with murder after bloody murder.

From Voldemort and Bellatrix, though, Harry could feel unnatural glee, joy at watching his hatred, the suffering and the pain he caused among those he hunted. And it made Harry want to turn aside, to abandon his memories, to not face what he had done. The curses he had made, and used, with terrible affect… he could feel Voldemort and Bellatrix’s glee at learning so many new ways to hurt, to inflict, to control and overpower…

It was a very good thing Harry could not throw up in the spirit world, because he would have, then, and perhaps forever.

Finally Harry felt a spike of utter hatred and rage from Hermione as she watched him slaughter the defenseless Draco and Ginny, the torture he had inflicted on them, the mind-rape he had performed on both of them. He could feel even Voldemort’s shock that such a thing could even be done.

Then the memory was gone in the swirl, and Harry managed to keep from grinning as Bellatrix experienced his own headlong attack against Durmstrang Castle. Alone. Against forty Death Eaters.

Neither of the Malfoys nor of the Lestranges were among the three who escaped that night.

Finally, six years to the day after the death of Voldemort, one last killing remained in Harry’s mind. That of Antonin Dolohov.

The remains of his body lay at Harry’s feet, as the emotionless young man wiped a now familiar blade upon the crimson Death Eater cloak that what was left of the thin Death Eater wore. His booted foot struck the crushed in skull with a somewhat sickening crunch. “Eight years ago, in the Department of Mysteries, I should have done this, for what you almost did to the woman I loved.” A dark smile crept across his face. “But I’ve repaid you with interest, you son of a bitch.” He lowered his wand and smiled. “Disintegratum.” The body dissolved into nothingness, and as seen so many times before, the phoenix rose from the body of the dead, blazing skyward, symbol of Harry’s victory.

The colors swirled again, bringing back a familiar location to them all, a place where one had lived, twice, and one had died, twice, and where others had repeated this fate a thousand fold.

The Death Room.

Harry was standing there loosely, clothed in flowing black robes, his messy hair even more unruly than normal, his glasses askew on his drawn and lined face, his green eyes slightly glassy with obvious fatigue. “Mortvi non mordant,” he whispered in the gentle breeze, causing the Veil to stir as if something had passed through it, as one last step took Harry directly to face it.

Harry could remember how surprised he had been at the voice which had come out of the archway, speaking to him, and now, it came again. “Clearly, celebrity isn’t everything.”

The shock was evident when Harry spoke again. “Snape?!”

“I see your powers of observation have grown no greater, Potter. And it is Professor Snape.”

Harry glared at the curtain. “I was hoping to speak with someone I wanted to talk to, Severus.”

A snort came from beyond the curtain. “Acceptable, I suppose to call me by my first name. You are an adult now, in theory. Amazingly enough, despite your obvious lack of skill, you outlived your parents. As for someone you wanted to talk to, who did you have in mind? Your parents? Sirius? Dead too long. As it is, you barely caught me. Granger, Weasley, Dumbledore? You killed them, Potter. Surely someone over there knows you cannot talk through the Veil to people you have killed.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Well, I do now. Though I was really hoping to talk to Hermione. I… I miss her.”

“I’m not sure she would talk to you if she could, Potter,” Snape said softly, almost apologetically. “I’m afraid you’ve lost her. She truly cared for you, but what you did, after you defeated the Dark Lord, the slaughter you perpetrated, no one here feels like they really truly know you any more.” Harry got the impression of a smile. “I must say I was impressed. I did not think, after all our lessons, that you had what it would take to defeat the Dark Lord, or to do any of the things you did.”

Harry lowered his gaze to stare at the floor. “Lost her? I… I did it for her. It’s not fair, nothing is fair, I hate…”

“Potter. Harry.” The use of his given name stopped Harry short, and he looked up at the veil again. “You turned into the very thing we were fighting against. You fought the darkness more fiercely and more darkly than the darkness itself fought the light. The purity of your love became pure evil.”

“No! I was never evil, I was fighting evil. I had to stop them, before they ruined everything else, before they hurt more people.”

Snape’s laughter was cold. “Potter, I never thought of self-delusion as one of your strong points. Did Dumbledore ever fight evil with their own tactics? When Dumbledore faced Voldemort, did he ever try to use the Killing Curse? No.”

“Damn it, Snape!” Harry interrupted. “You fucking well know that was because of the prophecy.”

More laughter. “You really think Dumbledore did not face Voldemort in single combat at least once before the prophecy was made? You’re naïve, despite all of the world you have seen. You experienced two years of war, maybe three. The Dark Lord’s power had been growing for more than ten years by the time you broke him as a child. You know nothing of the fear that reigned in those times.”

Harry blew out the torches with his anger. “Shut up! You know nothing! You don’t know how much I loved her! You can’t, a piece of scum like you could never have known.”

Snape’s voice was silent for a moment, then, if it had been cold before, was downright frigid now. “Harry Potter, so like your father, always assuming he knew everything about everyone.” Harry was sure if Snape had been physically present he would have spit at him. “You know nothing. Nothing! Did you not always wonder why I hated you so much? Why whenever I looked in your eyes I felt such intense loathing that I felt sick? Not because of your father, you idiot. Because of your mother!”

Harry blinked in astonishment. “What about my mother, Snape?”

“Why did you think Dumbledore trusted me after your parents died? A man who chose love above all other things? Well?”

Harry was not completely clueless. “You loved my mother,” he stated after a moment. “And my father got her, and every time you looked at me, you were reminded of losing to my father, your worst enemy, in the one thing that ever truly mattered to you.”

The veil fluttered as if a sigh stirred it, and Harry heard Snape breathing out, oddly. “So now you know, Potter, why I did what I did.”

Harry smiled slightly. “Well, thank you for what you did do for me.”

There was chuckling from beyond the veil. “I suppose now you really are a celebrity, Harry Potter.” The voice of Snape grew cool and serious, though not unfriendly. “You have become the most powerful wizard in the world, perhaps ever. The last nine years have proved it. I know you probably don’t want advice from me, but there’s something you want, I’m sure, something you think right now you cannot have.” Harry could have sworn he felt a smile. “Go get it.”

“What do you mean?” Silence. “Snape?” More silence. “Snape, don’t you do this. Talk to me, damn it. What do you mean?!” Still more silence. Harry glared at the veil across the archway. “Damn you, Snape,” he whispered softly. “How, though, do I get Hermione back?”

Well, that was that, Harry realized. There was absolutely no hiding how he felt from Hermione at this point, so it would probably be discussed if they got out of here. The swirl of memories, though, was carrying them out of the Death Room now, and into a helter skelter journey across Europe, then later, across the Atlantic, bouncing from place to place, learning from mystics and wizards and finding out elements of philosophy he had never considered, magic he had not known, ways of manipulation he had never even thought about…

It was about a year later, when he sat in a bar, somewhere in Muggle America. He had not been sure then where he had been, and he still was unsure to this day. Not that it mattered. He knew exactly what had happened there, even as the memory began.

He was sipping his drink, and Harry recalled fondly that it was something called Jack Daniel’s that tasted decent, and went down smoothly. Harry recalled Hermione’s astonishment at his drinking in the Three Broomsticks, and felt it make sense to her now, her own realization hitting, more dots connecting.

It was rather amazing feeling her mind this way, but, of course, feeling Voldemort and Bellatrix in his mind at the same time ruined the wonderfulness of the experience for him. They had a tendency to ruin all the nice things in his life.

But now was definitely something he did not particularly want Hermione to see. The girl across the shadily lit bar was sitting talking to someone, facing away from him. It was the way the light reflected off the bushy curls that got his attention, drawing his eye to examine her more fully. Familiarity tugged at his heart, as she moved, laughing. Her voice even sounded the same.

“Hermione?” he breathed out softly, watching the girl move up to the bar. It was not her, even if some portion of his heart insisted that it was. She was so very close in appearance, the same height, the same build, the same soft face framed by her hair, encasing velvety brown eyes. He watched, haunted, as she sat down, a short skirt revealing a generous amount of leg the Harry of the past had never seen on Hermione, and he could feel his breathing speed up slightly.

It’s not her, idiot. No matter what Snape said, this wouldn’t be what he meant. When the bartender moved over to her and she bit her lower lip as she considered what she wanted to drink. His heart fell through the floor and he turned his gaze away…

So like her. So very much like her. As the barman moved away to prepare whatever it was the young woman had ordered, Harry caught his eye. His glass was still half full, so the man stopped with a questioning look. “What’s up?”

“Whatever the young lady wants tonight, it’s on me.” He dropped one of the Americans’ funny one hundred dollar bills on the table. “Keep whatever change there is.”

The barkeep smiled. “I’ve never seen Harmony leave with a guy before, and she’s quite the regular. But you’re welcome to try, I suppose.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to leave with her. Just… she reminds me of someone I once knew. That’s all.” The sadness in his voice apparently conveyed his truthfulness to the man, who nodded.

“As you say. You want anything else, while I’m over here?”

Harry shook his head, then touched his glass. “Just another one when this one’s empty.”

He watched out of the corner of his eye, gently swirling his drink around, before taking a sip of it, while the barkeep took whatever it was back to the young woman. Harry had no idea what it was, not being at all experienced in that sort of thing. Observation techniques born of six years fighting the Death Eaters on his own let him watch the scene in reflections off the glass adorning the back wall, especially the multiple liquor bottles there.

He saw her try to pay, and then the questioning as the barman refused her payment, the quick glance over at him. A small smile broke across his face when she got up and walked over to him, confusion evident behind a slightly angry façade.

“I suppose you think getting Larry here on your side is going to help you take me to bed, huh?”

Harry slowly turned to face her. This close, she did not look at much like Hermione, her features were a little too soft, not quite as hard as the young witch Harry remembered. He could see her confidence falter slightly at the expression of contempt on his face. “I don’t want to take you to bed. I bought you the drinks because the money is meaningless to me, and you remind me of someone I used to know. That’s all.”

“Someone you used to know, huh? Smooth pickup line there, buddy. You really think I’m gonna fall for that.”

Harry’s eyes grew darker, the green hardening into chips of icy emerald, his voice growing deadly quiet. “I was just trying to be nice, and remember someone who used to mean a lot to me, some one I loved very much, who is dead now, and you really think I’m trying just to get you to jump in bed with me? What the hell do you take me for?”

Her eyes widened, and she leaned back slightly on the bar stool. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, honestly.” The tears welling up in the corner of her eye, the dampening of the chocolate there brought forcefully to the surface more memories of Hermione.

Harry shook his head slowly, clearing them out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve blow up at you. You could not have known.” He extended his hand. “My name is Harry. Harry Potter.”

The complete and utter lack of any form of recognition in her eyes was perhaps the best thing about being in the Muggle world. “Harmony Pearson,” she replied, meeting his hand with her own and shaking it.

They talked for hours after that, about everything, and nothing. Harmony was clearly Muggle through and through, so Harry carefully avoided saying anything about the wizarding world, but some truths were hard to disguise, especially with enough alcohol.

Which had flowed very freely thanks to Harry’s virtually unlimited funds.

They ate, and laughed, and cried together for hours and hours, the night growing darker, deeper, a gentle rain beginning to fall. Until about two in the morning, thunder rolled across the sky.

“It was a night like tonight,” he whispered softly. “I’ve hated storms ever since.”

“How did it happen?”

“There was a gang, a bunch of toughs, that thought they could make the local area pure of outside influence. They were driving out or killing everyone that didn’t agree with them. Hermione and I were out one night with some friends, and we got jumped by them.” He shook his head slowly, his hair finally brushing aside to reveal his scar. “I was the only one of us to survive.”

Harmony reached out gently and traced his scar with one delicate finger. “Is this from that night?”

Harry lied again. “Yes, it is.”

“How much do I look like her?” she asked after a moment of silence, looking at him consideringly, with something akin to pain in her eyes, perhaps empathy.

“What?” Harry was surprised slightly. “A lot. You look a lot like her. You could be her twin.”

Harmony bit her lip again, and Harry’s head spun once more, from the alcohol, from her resemblance to Hermione, from everything about the night. “I like you, Harry Potter. You’re truthful, honest, and kind, and you have been hurt so much.” That was when she leaned across and kissed him briefly on the lips. She even smelled like Hermione. “Tonight, call me Hermione,” she whispered, before kissing him again. “Let’s go back to your hotel room and let Larry close up.”

By the time they had made it across the street, they were both soaked to the skin, which speeded even more the removal of clothing that was to come off. Her skin was soft under Harry’s fingers, the way he had always imagined. Her body was smooth and warm, and as they writhed together that night, unsleeping for hours amid tangled sheets, Harry managed to forget that Hermione was dead, pretending instead he was with her.

Reality returned in the morning, when he awoke alone, as always. As he read the note Harmony had left him on the hotel stationary, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Hermione. I just miss you so much.”

He never returned to that small town as invited by Harmony, and had instead continued his search all over the world. Harmony was the first woman Harry encountered that reminded him of Hermione so strongly, but she was not the last, though she had been the closest to the witch he loved. The voice thought it necessary to show all of them, though, much to Harry’s chagrin, and he could feel, slightly, Hermione’s discomfort and growing… hatred.

Odd that. Voldemort and Bellatrix were bored by it all, though slightly amused at what these people did because of love. More memories flashed by from his journeys, though, collecting up things as he learned, pieces of information and knowledge, and the rarest potion ingredients in the world. There was no end to the information he seemed to be finding, hidden away in monasteries and other secret, hidden places, atop mountains and in deep forests.

Finally it shifted to the last six months of Harry’s life, returned to the house at Grimmauld Place, where a large caldron sat simmering above a set of magical flames. Ingredient after ingredient went into it, disappearing, the colors slowly shifting through every hue and shade of the rainbow. Many of the ingredients went into the potion accompanied by words, spells, linking them together, binding them to the power, melding Harry’s magical strength into the concoction beneath them.

The last thing was as Harry added a small measure of powdered horn from a Hungarian Horntail’s tail, and he whispered, “Terminus a quo, tempus firma, terminus ad quem, tempus incognitum, tempus sculpsit.”

That had not been the last thing in the construction of the potion, but suddenly the four of them returned once more to the gleaming nothingness of the spirit world, sending Harry spinning around very nearly in shock. That had, in fact, been a month before he had taken the potion.

He stared at the three others in surprise, who were wearing equal expressions of shock at the abrupt termination of review of the memories. The voice came to them now. “You would have had to have done that, wouldn’t you, Potter?”

Harry nodded, confused slightly, then thought about it harder, and realized just what those words had done when he had eventually quaffed the potion. “I assume you know the price that they demand, correct?” The voice continued. Harry nodded, and somehow, it came to him that his voice was returned.

“I do know the price.” Everything made sense now, and he squeezed Hermione’s hand slightly, and smiled bright at her. “Then I assume we’re done here.”

“Indeed we are, Potter. I must apologize to you, Lord Voldemort, for Harry Potter is unable to undergo the Death Exchange for you. Sad really, that one such as you will have to stay here. Perhaps you should remember, vita non est vivere sed valere vita est, Voldemort, and you, Potter, I am glad you remembered, saepe ne utile quidem est scire quid futurum sit.”

Harry felt his mind being torn open, nearly, a screaming, blackening pain, that took everything away from him, all his senses and everything about him exploding into utter chaos…

But he heard one thing as whatever reality he was in vanished. Ron’s voice. “Good luck with that, mate.”

Author’s Note: Translation of the chapter title: The same night awaits us all.

Phrases:

vita non est vivere sed valere vita est : Life is more than merely staying alive.

saepe ne utile quidem est scire quid futurum sit : Often it is not even advantageous to know what will be.

Spells:

Disintegratum : Disentegrate

Mortvi non mordant : The dead tell of nothing (roughly translated)

Terminus a quo, tempus firma, terminus ad quem, tempus incognitum, tempus sculpsit :

The end from which, time fixed, the end to which, time unknown, time I sculpt.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Causa finite est.

“Get out of my way, Malfoy!” was the sound that recalled Harry Potter to consciousness. “That’s not Potter, it is some sort of trick, some freak of nature!”

“He’s not even awake yet, Bellatrix. We’ll question him when he wakes up.”

Harry grinned, and opened his eyes. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were standing between Bellatrix and Hermione, who in turn was standing between him and Bellatrix, blocking her from firing any spells at him. They were obviously taking no chances with their own lives here.

“Well, the Mudblood is no longer of use to us, we’ve tried this and failed. At least let me kill her.”

“Bella,” came the soft voice of Narcissa, “control your anger. Yes, we’ve failed, but there is no reason we cannot begin again. If it really is not Potter, perhaps he will still come for the Mudblood when he realizes his game has failed.”

“No. I’m going to kill both of them right…”

“You’re not going to do any such thing, Bellatrix,” Harry said, sitting up. She was gaping at him, his voice pausing her action just long enough for him to flick his hand. A red stunner bolt threw the dark haired Death Eater to the floor as Harry stood once more on the bare floor. “Thank you for performing so ably, Mister, Misses Malfoy. But I’m going to have to ask you to go to sleep now.”

The two light haired Death Eaters crumpled to the floor with no other visible sign of activity from Harry, and Hermione’s mouth dropped open as she gaped at Harry in the candlelight. “Harry?”

“Hermione?”

“Is this really happening? I mean, who… who are you? What’s going on? How…” Hermione was going on, questions tumbling out without pause, as she went into her inquisitive mode, but Harry cut her off by raising his hand.

“We’ll have time for that later, ‘Mione. Now, we have to get out of here.”

“No… I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me who you are. Cause you’re not the Harry Potter I knew, that much is obvious. I believe that voice we heard, I know those things were real, but… I’m not dead, so what the Hell is going on?”

“Hermione, please, trust me on this.”

Hermione sat down on the stone bier she had been laid out on, and glared across the room at him. “Why should I?”

“Hermione, we really do not have time to talk about this. We have to get out of here now. I have no idea how much time passed while we were in the spirit realm, but it very well could have been so much that my backup has vanished. I would rather not fight over a hundred Death Eaters to get us out of here on my own if I can help it.” At this, he curled his fingers around his wand, which had returned to his hand, and he produced another wand out thin air.

Hermione’s.

“Where did you get this?”

“From Bellatrix’s robe over in the corner. You’re going to need it on the way out to protect yourself. You do want to leave, right?” Harry looked at her questioningly, prepared to stun her and carry her if he had to.

“Yes, but you’re not my Harry.”

Her Harry? That bore exploring, at a later point. “Am I not? I’m the same person you’ve been around for the last ten days, since Voldemort was defeated. All that is different is that you know the truth now, a truth I never would have told you by choice.”

“So would you have lied for the rest of your life?” Hermione’s voice was getting louder, more shrill, as her frustration was obviously mounting with Harry’s obstructionist line of thinking.

“Yes. I had to… you wouldn’t understand why.” He glared at her slightly. “And don’t be so loud, unless you want to bring every single one of those Death Eaters down on us.

“Try me,” she said in a softer voice. “I think I’ll understand.”

“Not right now. When we get out of here, I promise I’ll answer all your questions.”

“Fine. So how do we go about getting out of here, since this is your show?” Hermione looked at him, a slight bit of sarcasm in her eyes and tone, still obviously upset with him over his presumption, his deceit.

“Do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you.” He flicked his wand at the pile of clothing on the floor, his shirt appearing on Hermione, feeling his own jeans and shoes appear on underneath his robe. “That outfit you were in is just too distracting.”

Despite her anger, Hermione blushed at the compliment, though it only appeared on the surface to make her angrier, and Harry turned around, waving the arm that did not have his wand at the door, which slid silently open. “Follow me,” he whispered.

Then, for ten seconds, he failed to move, counting down inside his head, feeling his connection open again, sliding open a door in a room thousands of miles away. There was almost a physical snap, and…

He was connected, and the power was flowing through him…

The hood on his robe drifted up, and the shadows seemed to swirl around him, darker and more powerful, nearly physical things. The essence of magical power flowed away from him as he began to stalk forward, moving down the corridor with a lengthy, measured stride.

The doors to the main entry hall of Durmstrang blew open at his approach, revealing to them the assembled ranks of the Death Eaters, row upon row, probably a hundred and twenty in all, perhaps even all of the remainder of that order.

A tall, thin man Harry instantly recognized as Antonin Dolohov stepped forward. “My lord?” His voice was questioning, soft, surprised.

“Yesssss,” Harry hissed back, his voice sliding higher, growing cold and full of death, “it is I.”

The rustle which greeted this pronouncement was nothing to the gasp Harry could hear from Hermione. She already thought he was not the Harry she knew, and now he was adding this on top of it. Brightest witch of the age or not, she was going to be horribly confused by the time this was over. As he took more steps forward, the Death Eaters parted before him, slowly turning to make a circle around him. Hermione, bless her, was still following him closely.

“If I might be so bold, milord, where are the Malfoys and Bellatrix?”

Harry turned with majestic grace, his burning red gaze sweeping across Hermione who shrunk away from it, before settling on Dolohov. “You may be so bold. They are resting from their participation in the Death Exchange.”

Harry could see Dolohov blink, and fought down another inappropriate grin as the man asked. “And the Mudblood?” indicating Hermione with his hand. “Does she get the standard treatment?”

Harry’s blood boiled at that thought. The Death Eaters standard treatment was not just death for Muggle-borns, especially the witches. “No. This one is mine, and mine alone.”

He could sense their confusion, and knew instantly it had been the wrong thing to say, as Dolohov stepped closer to him. Too close. Even as powerful as he was at the moment, it was impossible to fool any of the Death Eaters if they got too close to him. And Dolohov had now. “You’re not the Dark Lord. You’re Potter,” he snarled angrily whipping his wand out, slashing it through the air…

Unfortunately for him, by the time he let loose with the curse he had been trying to use, it merely rebounded from the floor as he flew upwards and away from Harry and Hermione, a translucent shield bubble popping into existence around them. A hundred curses slammed into that bubble, bathing the occupants in a flash of colors as Harry’s wand pointed towards the ceiling high above them. “Aetherium Bombarda!”

The spell should have blown in the roof. It should have been the signal Harry had mentioned before, the signal for the Order of the Phoenix to come bail them out of trouble.

The only trouble was, nothing happened.

As the lights continued to pound against the slowly shrinking diameter of the bubble shield that protect the two young magical people from the deadly attack raining in at them, bending certain spells around the bubble instead of stopping them, Harry knew instantly what the problem was, feeling the strain of maintaining the protective field beginning to build. He was trying to do too much at one time. He looked frantically at Hermione, and shouted, above the clamor of the spells raining upon them, “Kiss me!”

She stared at him like he had lost his mind, for a moment, but Harry knew there was no time to waste. “I said to do exactly what I…” With each word, he took at step towards the young witch, and at the last, brought his mouth down on hers, rather forcefully.

Time stopped for them. Force instantly became softness on the part of Harry as his lips contacted those of the woman he loved, and the surge which shot through him was beyond merely indescribable. In that instant, the waves of color skittering over the shielding dome played against Harry’s mind as fireworks, the reverberating clash of artillery all around them.

Some Muggles claimed electricity flowed when you kissed the woman that you loved, but Harry knew that this kiss, this first kiss, contained nothing but power, love… All the electricity in the world was pale in comparison.

Their lips parted, Hermione’s eyes wide with shock at the jolt she had felt, as Harry pulled away spinning wand upright to point at the ceiling once more…

“AETHERIUM BOMBARDA!” The ceiling shattered, the explosion rolling down over them, the very ending of the world experienced at once around them. This had happened before, once, but then, seven floors had separated them from the powerful strike. It was a pulse of pure energy, directed downward from the sky, at the chosen point.

Magic all around them fell apart, wards collapsing, ghosts vanishing, thousands of enchantments failing as in an instant, Durmstrang Castle was turned from the proud yet small school for Wizards, and dark foreboding headquarters of the Death Eaters, into the ruin that Muggles would see upon observing it.

Harry’s wand moved in a circle, counterclockwise, and then slashed down, up and to his left, and back to his right as he shouted his second spell. “In hoc signo vinces: Transit umbra, lux permanent!”

As the Death Eaters scattered throughout the hall, abandoning their attacks temporarily to shield themselves from the collapsing pieces of the castle, the darkness of the night filled with fire, and the Phoenix was born, glimmering brightly in the twilight of early morning, green snake writhing in its razor sharp beak of flame.

As Harry blinked quickly to clear his vision, he took in the scene that lay before him, bathed in unearthly light, shining down from the Phoenix Mark hovering over their heads through the shattered roof.

When he saw that perhaps forty to fifty of the Death Eaters were still on their feet, he grinned, and an unnatural wind whipped around him. He dimly heard Hermione speak. “It really is you, isn’t it, Harry? Everything that happened…”

Harry interrupted her. Occasionally, her being the smartest girl he knew was a pain. Like now, as she was fixated on what had happened, and not on what was happening. “Hermione, yes, it is. Now, run. I’ll hold them off.” She did not move. “RUN!”

As Hermione bolted for the barely standing, shattered remains of the doors, skidding around debris that littered the floor, Harry spun around, the power billowing out from him, lifting chunks of the debris to swirl in the air. As the air currents twisted around him in a tornado, Harry released the chunks of stone, throwing them in all directions to force the Death Eaters to take action, before he exploded into motion.

The sword no one had realized Harry was carrying appeared in his right hand, sliding out of his robe sleeve in much the same way it had once slid from the Sorting Hat, replacing his wand, which moved to his left arm in a single, fluid motion. He charged, light exploding from the end of his wand, while the flames of the phoenix overhead lit his blade with fire…

As spells began to fire back at him, he deflected some of them with the mirror polished blade, swinging it about him defensively as a shield, additionally blurring the outline of his body and making him difficult to target.

The cacophony of a rainbow sped through the room, reflected away from Harry’s body as he charged the Death Eaters, distracting them from the escaping Hermione. Dark robed figures dropped away left and right, occasionally venturing too close to Harry and dropping in a spray of blood. Harry could hardly keep up with his own movements, never feeling the impacts of spells on the blade, never feeling the resistance of flesh and bone to his strikes. As he wheeled to take on a different section of the Death Eaters, which were attempting to group together for mutual support, a series of crackling pops echoed through the room…

The cavalry, or, more specifically, the Order of the Phoenix, had arrived…

The Death Eaters three to two advantage meant nothing as the fight within the ruins of the castle was swiftly concluded, the surprise of the Order’s sudden appearance, combined with the devastation Harry was wreaking on all before him ending the conflict once and for all.

As he breathed out heavily, he glanced down at the blade of the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, and saw it gleaming with the crimson stain of blood. He was suddenly doubtful as to whether he had killed anyone or not, but he had felt no deaths during the fight.

Cleaning off the blade on one of the robes of one of the stunned Death Eaters nearby, he slid it back into the sleeve of his robe, fastening it in there with the same spell he had used before. Then he looked around, unable to see Hermione, and having not felt any death, Eater, or otherwise, he knew she was at least not dead. He could see no white in the between the rubble that littered the ground that had been the floor of the castle, and reasoned that she must have made it outside the castle. Which meant she was safe. He headed towards, then out of the broken pieces of wood that had once been the great entrance to Durmstrang.

Only to drop into a forward roll as a spell flashed by, glancing off the iron that held the pieces of wood together with a crash. His wand was back in his right hand as he came to his feet, and he began to smile as Hermione unleashed another spell in his direction, an arcing blue bolt of fire. This one came closer to its target than the last, upon which, Harry discovered with dismay, he was not actually.

It was Dolohov. Again. The Death Eater appeared to be tired, perhaps injured, as he barely erected a shield in time to deflect the blast, stumbling from the impact. That prompted a grin from Harry as Hermione moved forward, a slight breeze accompanying the dawn which burst into glorious ascension, finally overpowering his phoenix signature high overhead, the breeze ruffling the minimalist clothing Hermione wore, and tossing her hair about her face.

Another spell lanced out from the young witch as Harry watched, as always, impressed with her wand work, and he slid his wand back into his belt as Dolohov failed to block that one, barely dodging aside, still getting grazed and thrown by it, though. Hermione dodged the return spell, Dolohov’s signature streak of purple flame, with effortless grace, and hit Dolohov square in the chest before he could get up with her next spell. The red blast of the stunner dropped him like a sack of potatoes, but something looked decidedly odd about the way it splashed against the Death Eater.

A high, cackling laugh drew Harry’s attention, and Hermione’s, to the woman fleeing across the castle grounds, as she sent a burning green bolt at the young witch, who dived aside, sending a stunner back at her. Bellatrix whirled about, fully focusing on Hermione, and Harry stepped forward, but neither of the women had seen him yet.

He knew Bellatrix was far more dangerous than Dolohov on his worst day, and he was not about to lose Hermione again. And Bellatrix was playing for keeps, he realized, as yet another Killing Curse broke through the rosy fingers of Dawn. Hermione had apparently figured this out too, and shot off three stunning spells in quick succession, obviously hoping Bellatrix’s shield charm would fail to stop all three. Harry watched with interest, but his young love seemed to be holding her own, and he just kept himself loose and ready, able to step in at any moment and save her.

“How did you get out of there?” Hermione shouted across at Bellatrix. “I saw Harry stun you.”

This only prompted another round of laughter from the mad dark witch. “That only matters when you have not been stunned as much as I have. You begin to build up an immunity to it, it wears off faster, you little Mudblood. And now, since your lil’ Potty boyfriend is inside, and left you all alone, I’m going to make sure he has heartbreak to come out to.” Yet a third green blast screamed across the grounds towards Hermione, who easily ducked under it.

“You’re too slow, Bellatrix, and you talk too much.” As she spoke, Hermione shot out her blue flames again, followed by a copy of Dolohov’s purple ones, and the red glare of a stunner. Bellatrix turned them aside with a snarl, and the battle joined up once more. Harry stood there, admiring Hermione, his gaze focusing on her so he could feel the threats, opening himself up to the magic, the love, the power, which he could claim as his own. She was safe, nothing really threatening her, though one powerful blast did stagger her, she was easily holding off the female Death Eater, and pounding back at the raven haired woman as the opportunity presented itself.

It was then that movement caught Harry’s eye, just as a stunner splashed off a shielded Hermione and he realized what had been wrong with the blast that had downed Dolohov. The man was up and moving, not actually stunned, but faking it, moving much better than he had been when fighting Hermione before, smoother, more fluid… lethal.

Harry flicked his fingers at the man, and tore the wand from his grasp, then next rotation, grabbing him in an invisible grip and sending him flying towards the young wizard through the air, slammed onto his knees as he landed. Harry’s sword was pressed into Dolohov’s throat. “Don’t you know, Antonin, that it’s hardly considered appropriate to use the Killing Curse to someone’s back?” The man tried to rear back and snarl at Harry, but a slight increase in the pressure of the blade cut him off mid-sound. “That’s what I thought. Time to sleep, Antonin.” Like the Malfoys, Dolohov dropped bonelessly to the ground at these words.

Harry went back to watching Hermione’s duel with Bellatrix, admiring the curve of her calf as she bounced sideways on her toes, the muscles straining beneath the skin as she fought to stay upright for just the required length of time to fire off the spell before hitting and rolling along the ground.

Realistically, Harry knew, he should not really be admiring the view as his shirt Hermione was wearing shifted higher on her thigh, baring pale skin in the midst of her roll, but as long as he was monitoring her, he was confident she was in no danger. Instead, despite the huge number of curses Bellatrix was letting fly, it was pretty clear Hermione had gained the upper hand while he had dealt with Dolohov. The white fabric Hermione wore was stained with grass, but Bella’s robes were slick with blood, and her aim was slightly off, as if she had hit her head. And given the blood matting her black hair, it was possible that she had.

Another spell slammed into grass, throwing up a spray of dirt, but it was two yards from Hermione, and the younger witch began to pour it on. Harry knew she could win at this point, and watched for the inevitable conclusion. Before his change, even he was usually defeated in the mock duels at school by Hermione using this tactic, if he let her get the chance. Pure white light streamed from Hermione’s wand, continuous, with slight colored pulses to it, nearly impossible to see, a continuous stream of spells packed so tightly the colors mixed. Bellatrix tried to hold, tried to stand, but it only took a moment for her to miss the first block. The next miss happened even faster, and finally the female Lestrange dropped onto the ground. A series of two stunners made sure she would not get up any time soon.

Hermione turned around, and surprise rushed across her face as she saw Harry standing there in the early morning sun, sword still in his hand, wand in the other. He grinned at her as she walked gingerly towards him, sweat matting the t-shirt to her body, walking on her toes like a dancer, graceful movements only betraying the merest hint of the exhaustion Harry knew she had to be feeling after that display. “How long have you been standing there?” she demanded as she got within a few feet of him, placing her hands on her hips.

Harry reflected that Hermione looked extremely beautiful wearing his shirt and nothing else, but thought that would be not the appropriate thing to say at the moment. “Well, I came out of the castle a moment before you thought you got Dolohov.”

“And you didn’t help me? And what do you mean, thought I got him?” Her gaze drifted down and saw Dolohov crumpled at Harry’s feet, shifting instantly to the sword, which was unadorned with blood. Her eyes visibly softened at that.

“Well, he fooled you into thinking you had taken him down, and tried to hit you from behind while you were fighting Bellatrix. I knocked him out like I did to the Malfoys. And I didn’t help you because you looked like you had everything under control.” He smiled at her. “Very nicely done,” he added.

Hermione blushed at that. “Thank you, Harry. You didn’t do too badly yourself.”

Another voice interrupted their moment. “Understatement of the year, that.” It was Kingsley, accompanied by Hestia Jones. “It would appear I have apology to make, Mister Potter. You were right, and I was wrong. I’m sorry for that.”

Harry shook his head. “I understand why you acted as you did, Auror Kingsley. Perhaps I would have acted the same way in your place.” He reached out and gently grasped Hermione’s hand. “But I had my reasons for doing what I did.” He pulled her closer to him, and felt no resistance, then felt Hermione’s head drop onto his shoulder. He blinked in surprise, then smiled at the two older people. “Hadn’t you better tell everyone you found us?”

Hestia blinked, and stood up suddenly. “Oh, right, of course.” She twirled her wand, and sent a silvery Patronus shooting back towards the castle. There was a bit of silence, and Harry took the opportunity to wrap his arm around Hermione’s waist, and felt her shift closer, leaning more of her weight onto him. Obviously quite tired.

Finally, Kingsley could take it no longer, and asked the question. “That was an Aetherium Bombarda, wasn’t it, Potter?”

Harry looked at him in surprise. “You know it?”

Kingsley nodded vigorously. “Auror Teams use them to break into heavily defended places. It was one of the tactics I had suggested to Dumbledore to getting into Durmstrang originally. Did you… how did you get the Death Eaters to do that to themselves?”

Harry had the grace to look embarrassed. “I didn’t. I did that.”

Kingsley gaped. “On your own?” Hestia merely looked confused.

Harry nodded.

Kingsley’s mouth moved for a moment, then he blew out a heavy breath. “And then you took on fifty Death Eaters on your own? We saw Miss Granger rush out the doors before we Apparated in.” Harry nodded again, and Kingsley merely stared at him, taking a moment to find his voice once more. “Well, I think you might be able to skip Auror training, Potter, if that’s still what you want to do.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know right now. I’ve got plenty of time to make that decision, though, don’t I?”

Kinsley nodded as finally Dumbledore, Tonks, Lupin, and McGonagall strolled up to the small group. Dumbledore smiled. “You had no trouble then, Harry?” he asked in his soft, confident voice.

Harry shook his head. “None at all, though I think I could sleep for a few days.” He realized Hermione had been growing steadily heavier on his arm, and he was leaning in her direction now to support her. She was already asleep, apparently. “How long was I inside?” he asked as he lowered Hermione onto the ground, sitting with her head in his lap.

“Depending on how quickly they put you out after you arrived, roughly nine hours.”

“So another couple of hours…”

“And we would have left, as per your instructions.” Dumbledore laughed at the distraught expression which crossed Harry’s tired face. “Not really. We would have come in after you. You had to have your chance, but there was no way we could allow Voldemort to return again.” The twinkle vanished from his eye, then returned. “Neither of you are injured?” At Harry’s nod, he continued. “Then I suggest you take Miss Granger home, Harry. We will finish up here. Get some sleep. I will stop in later and check on you both.” A slight wave of his wand pulled a blue glowing branch to them. “I suggest you tightly hold Miss Granger’s hand.”

Harry did so, and then grabbed the branch Portkey firmly, and with a swirl of darkness, the early morning of Eastern Europe vanished to become a moment later the darkness of the wee hours in Britain.

It only took a moment to levitate Hermione onto the bed and to strip off his dirty, blood splattered robes, before he collapsed with exhaustion, his arm dropping across the soft warmth of the witch he loved.

Author’s Note:

Chapter Title:

Causa finite est : The cause is finished.

Spells:

Aetherium Bombarda : Derived from ‘Aether’ (space) and bombardment

In hoc signo vinces: Transit umbra, lux permanent : In this sign, you will be victorious: Shadow passes, light remains.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Everything’s going to change now, isn’t it?

It was the chill that woke him, which was when other things began to filter through to him. Sound of rain striking glass, and the roof, and the trees outside.

He realized, slowly, that the bed was emptier than it had been the night before, but for some reason the thought did not worry him. Hermione was safe now.

Hermione. He smiled, and then eased open his eyes. Only to discover the room was out of focus. His glasses had been removed during the night. The thought merely had to pass through his mind and he could see again, though the ceiling was rather uninteresting, when you got right down to it.

Harry Potter sat up, and his eyes immediately found Hermione standing by the open window. The rain was falling outside, generating a cool breeze that was tugging at Hermione’s hair and his shirt that she was still wearing. The same cool breeze that had awoken him.

He decided right then that his shirt was far too thin considering the amount of light that was coming from the open window. Silently, he watched as Hermione lifted up her hand and ran it through her hair, then leaned forward against the window frame. Each movement was so precise and graceful, made even more alluring by the way the fabric clung to her, and rode up on her thighs with the movements…

Finally, he broke the silence. “Hermione.” That was all, just her name, simple and sweet.

She did not react with surprise, as if she had known he was awake. Perhaps she had. There had always been a special connection between them. “Yes, Harry?” Her voice was soft, projected out of the window, before she turned around to face him.

Harry smiled at her tentatively, and she smiled back. It was the warm, friendly smile, the one that told him everything was going to be okay, before it faded, and became a little more forced, no longer effortless on her part. He sighed, knowing and preparing for what was to come.

“You are Harry, aren’t you? You just aren’t my Harry, are you? You’re not the same Harry that there was before the battle in the Ministry. I’ve been thinking about everything that happened in the Death Exchange, replaying all those memories of yours in my head, and I’ve come to only one conclusion.”

She fell silent, and Harry chose not to rush her, for once. It took a long moment, and she continued. “They were all real. They are who you are, not the boy, the young man who I’ve attended school with for the last seven years.” Harry could see tears forming in her eyes, and was afraid to move, to scare her, to do anything that would stop this, and at the same time, desperate to stop where he thought this was going, an ending of their friendship, another loss of her. “You’re not the Harry Potter I fell in love with,” Hermione continued as the first tear trickled along her cheek.

Harry’s mind reeled like he had been slapped. She… loved him. So stunned was he that he almost missed her next words. “But I don’t know who you are any more, Harry.” She turned away, fully crying now. “Or what is worse, maybe I do know who you are. I’ve seen what you did, who you became. You fought evil with a greater evil; you became the very thing you despised.”

Harry shifted off the covers, and moved to stand up, but Hermione had turned around now, and trapped him in place with her gaze. “Yet you came back to now. I don’t know how you did it, and for once in my life, there is something I don’t want to know. Dumbledore was right when he stopped me last year from trying to figure it out; I’ve long since come to terms with that. But what made you come back? That is what I don’t understand. Who you were, there was no reason for you to return.”

Harry’s response was simple, short, and very much to the point. “You.” Hermione’s eyes begged him to elucidate further, and so he did. “I returned because of you, Hermione. Everything I was, everything I did, it was all because of you. I became that person in the future because I…” He grew choked up, his voice catching in his throat. “Because of what I did when they had me under the Imperious Curse.”

Hermione broke in with a whisper. “You killed me.”

“Yes,” Harry breathed out softly. “I became who I was because I could not live with what I had done. You saw how… how I destroyed Voldemort that time. How I stopped caring…” He could barely force the words out.

“You stopped caring about anything else,” she finished for him. “You let hate for him consume you. You became what he was…”

Harry shook his head miserably. “No, never quite that.” He sighed, and hung his head. “You see, I learned so many thing in the future, that future, how love and hate are two sides of the same coin, how there are many types of love, and many types of hate. My hate was the hatred of loss, and a self-hatred because I lived. Tom Riddle had the hatred of never being loved, so he never learned to love himself.” He looked up at the movement of the mattress as Hermione sat down on the other end, facing him.

“Harry, I…” her voice caught, “I saw things… in your memories, things I would have never thought you capable of. And yet, here, this time, you’ve lost Ron and all our friends again, you’ve refrained, you haven’t killed at all.”

Harry met her eyes squarely, green boring into brown. “I didn’t kill for them, Hermione. I killed for you. Weren’t you paying attention in those memories? I killed them all because they took you away from me, because they…” He tore his gaze away, looking at anything but her.

He felt her slide up the bed towards him. “Because they what, Harry?”

He forced it out behind a sob. “Because they took the one person I loved more than any other away. I loved you, I still love you, Hermione. I came back because even twenty-seven years after I lost you, I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t be without you.” He managed to restore some semblance of order to his face. “You heard my conversation with Snape in that future. You know what I became, and you know that I knew what you thought of what I had become.” A dark shadow of smile ghosted across his lips. “The same thing you think of me now, learning what happened to me.”

“No, Harry. I don’t think badly of you.” He lifted his head in surprise, meeting her eyes once more. “You’ve spent more than one lifetime to correct your mistakes. You turned aside from your path, and chose not to let the darkness win.” She smiled at him and moved closer, straddling his legs on the bed. “You, in the end, chose the light, chose love, despite all the pain and suffering.” She leaned in closer. “In the end, you chose me, and I love you for that, Harry. You loved me so much that you literally undid the wrong you did, knowing how much I would not have been able to understand. You dedicated your entire life to earning my forgiveness, to proving yourself worthy.” Hermione’s hands rested on Harry’s shoulders now, and he could not move, staring into her eyes. “You did not need to do that, Harry. I may hate what you became, but I never will stop loving you.”

It was not like in Durmstrang when he kissed her. That had been an explosion of passion, an urgent, needy, hungry kiss, borne of desperation and necessity. There was absolutely none of his roughness when Hermione tentatively pressed her lips to his.

Their lips barely seemed to be in contact, just brushing up against each other as time slowed down. Every element of reality seemed to vanish away, further and further, pulling apart from them as their kiss slowly deepened. His arms went around her back, tightening, crushing her against him, and Hermione gasped against Harry’s mouth, her lips parting.

His tongue snaked forward, sliding into her mouth, meeting her own, the kiss deepening hungrily as shocks of power rushed between them. His hand slid up her back, onto her neck, as he felt her fingers twining in his hair…

The sound of Remus Lupin clearing his throat broke them apart with a start, Hermione emitting a squeal and turning bright pink with embarrassment as she dove behind Harry at the sight of Remus, Tonks, and Headmaster Dumbledore standing in the doorway to Harry’s bedroom.

Tonks’ “Hot Damn, it’s about time, you two,” nearly drowned out Professor Dumbledore’s “Oh dear, I hope we’re not interrupting.” But both were overpowered by Harry’s “HOW ABOUT YOU ALL KNOCK NEXT TIME?”

Which merely prompted laughter from the three adults. Harry glared, and Hermione was hiding herself under the covers, attempting to cover up the fact that the only thing she still had on was Harry’s shirt.

Finally, Remus calmed down enough to explain. “We did knock, Harry. Four separate times, in fact, three times with the door closed and once after we opened it. All of which failed to get your attention.”

That caused Harry to blush. After a moment of silence, Dumbledore took pity on the teens, and smiled kindly with a twinkle in his eye. “Remus, Nymphadora, I wish to speak with Harry and Miss Granger alone.”

“Sure,” Tonks responded. “We were just about to go rest.” She grinned. “Unlike these two, we know what a bed is for.”

The number of utterly shameless double meanings in that statement turned everyone else but Dumbledore bright red, as Remus dragged a giggling Tonks away. Dumbledore shut the door behind him as he entered the room without invitation. A wave of his wand conjured three plush armchairs in the midst of the floor. “Please, come sit here.”

Harry waved his hand over Hermione’s legs under the covers and nodded minutely at her, before standing himself and shrugging into his robe which he summoned from a nearby hook. As they sat in the funny purple armchairs, Harry took in his handiwork, noting that even for him, the Gryffindor sleep pants Hermione was now wearing were pretty good conjuring.

A moment of silence ensued after Dumbledore sat as well, which Harry eventually broke. “What did you wish to talk about, Professor?”

“Well, firstly, I gather from what I walked in on that neither you nor Miss Granger are worse for wear as a result of your adventures?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Harry replied, and glanced at Hermione. “And Hermione is too, as far as I know.” She nodded, confirming Harry’s words, still obviously embarrassed by what had happened earlier.

Dumbledore nodded. “I am glad of that. You two have been through so much over the last few years, that should now be over. The Death Eaters’ power has been broken, and the specter of Voldemort is finally gone from our lives. We accounted for one hundred and forty-four of the remaining Death Eaters at Durmstrang. Do either of you know what happened to Wormtail?”

Hermione shivered slightly in her chair, and spoke at last. “Bellatrix… slaughtered him… like an animal, to provide the blood needed… for the runes.” At that, she blinked, and looked down, pulling Harry’s shirt away from her body to look at her chest, and sighing with relief as she noticed the bloody lightning bolt was missing. A quick glance at Harry confirmed that he had removed it.

“Then there are indeed no more of them left. For that, I shall be eternally grateful to you, Harry.” Dumbledore sighed, and for a moment looked nearly his full age. “This Second War has cost us all very dearly, and I am very much afraid that time is running out for the wizarding community, and I am not going to be able to provide guidance for much longer.”

Harry looked up sharply, concern in his eyes, a matching concern in Hermione’s. “Sir, what?”

Dumbledore smiled calmly. “I am merely old, Harry. That is all. It is nothing preventable, and it will not be long, depending on how one measures things, before I move on to that next great adventure.” At the obvious distress on the two young people’s faces, he added. “Do not worry, it will not be in the immediate future. I am merely preparing for it.” He looked back and forth between them. “Hogwarts will be opening late this year, due to the damage from Lord Voldemort’s attack on it, and I have a proposition for you, Harry. There are a number of openings on the staff, and I would like you to have one.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide, but not nearly so much as Harry’s, which neatly accompanied his strangled “Me, sir?”

Amusement was evident on the Headmaster’s face. “Yes, Harry, you. Given your unique, ah, background, I believe you would be suited to break the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, but you may also have the position of flying instructor if you would rather.”

Hermione was gaping now. “He knew?” Her voice was accusing, her question directed at Harry.

“Ah…” was all Harry got out before the headmaster rescued him.

“Yes, Miss Granger, I did, though through no fault of Harry’s. He did not reveal the information by choice.”

That prompted Harry into speaking again. “How exactly did you know, Professor? You never said.”

“Well, I suppose it will not hurt to tell you, now that you are no longer students. When you are as immersed in magic as I, you no longer see people all the time, if you choose not to. Instead you can see their life force, their soul. Yours was far older when I looked at you in the Ministry, Harry.” The headmaster smiled. “That is also how I could see you through your invisibility cloak while at school.”

Harry smiled sheepishly. “Thank you for the offer, sir. I don’t truly know what to say. I’ve never really thought about what to do from here. I’ve fought enough evil for two lifetimes, and I know it will always be there. May I have a while to think about it?”

“Of course. Let me know by the first of September. School will not be opening until October.” Dumbledore turned his attention to Hermione. “Now, it has come to my attention that due to certain events beyond our control, Professor Binns has finished his transition out of this plane, leaving me also short a History of Magic professor.”

Hermione broke in, cutting the Headmaster off, something she would have never done in a million years just a month prior. “May I also, like Harry, have some time to think about it?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Of course. Now, I have been informed that the Ministry is planning to hold a celebration on the thirty-first of July to celebrate Lord Voldemort’s defeat and to commemorate those we lost. You will both be expected to attend, I’m sure, to receive awards.”

Harry glowered at Dumbledore. “Couldn’t they find someone else to shill their crappy medals out on? I don’t want anything to do with the Ministry, especially on my birthday. If they had done their job right in the first place, I would never had had to do what I did, we would never have lost all those people.”

“You are correct, Harry. But the past is in the past,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he connected up who he was speaking to. “Do not snub the Ministry, and perhaps you will be able to exert influence over it, as I have not been able to.” The old man smiled kindly. “That is all I have to say, for now.” He stood gracefully, for being well over a century and a half old, and smiled wider as his chair vanished. “Your chairs will vanish as soon as you rise from them. I expect to see you on the first of August, if not before. I shall be going, as I believe you two were busy when I arrived.” And with that, he swept silently from the room.

It was a long moment of simply looking at each other before either of them moved, then they moved as one, standing and embracing deeply, without kissing, just staring into each other, breaking apart suddenly, and rather sheepishly, as thunder crashed outside, lightning illuminating a room which had grown darker with the sky.

Hermione moved to close the window, and Harry whispered, “Wait.” She turned and looked at him quizzically over her shoulder as he moved up behind her, wrapping his arms around her thin waist. “I’ve had a lifetime of storms to remind me of the night you died, ‘Mione. This time, I want storms to remind me of the night I told you I loved you.”

She settled back against his chest, looking out the window as rain pelted the ground, another peal of thunder crashing a moment later. Harry sat his chin lightly atop her head, nestled in her bushy brown locks, and he smiled happily, feeling her hands resting on his own.

“I love you, Hermione Granger,” he whispered softly.

“I love you too, Harry Potter.”

Author’s Note: The chapter title was lifted from the end of the US Goblet of Fire Trailer, where Hermione speaks the question. I cannot give a page reference, as I cannot locate it in the book, despite a fair bit of searching.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Respice post te, mortalem te esse memento

The next few weeks passed in a daze for Hermione. It was the first time in forever that she could not remember having something to do for an extended period of time, and she had to admit that it felt rather wonderful.

Well, having to stay cooped up in Number Twelve was not particularly fascinating, especially as she and Harry had slowly realized that despite being uninjured, they were not precisely fine. To put it mildly, Harry, even more than she, was exhausted.

That first night, they had stood by the window for twenty or thirty minutes when she had realized that he was leaning more and more heavily on her, and she had finally pushed him back into the bed with instructions to go to sleep. He had complied, but not before a soft smile of his had compelled her to join him.

She knew, every night, that her being there kept away his nightmares, but it did nothing for her own, that replayed over and over, torturing her as she knew Harry’s did, or, at least, had. The wanton, passionate moaning, the sweaty bodies and faces of the woman she had seen Harry sleep with. The images she had been forced to endure by that horrible voice.

Oh, she understood, intellectually, what had happened. She had even felt Harry’s thoughts and feelings, the way each of those women had reminded him of her. Hermione knew he loved her, and that she loved him, despite what had happened. After all, that future would never happen now. That Harry had fought his entire life to undo what had happened, because of his love for her, and because of her love for him, it made it easy for her to forgive him.

Easier, any way.

Certainly far easier than understanding why Harry did not seem to want that same relationship with her. He had said himself that he had loved her for years, and he knew that she loved him. And since they had first woken up after the battle, there had not been a single incident of snogging in the bed.

There had been elsewhere… on the couch, the table, the kitchen counters, the stairs, up against the walls. Hell, even in the library while knocking books around. Hermione grinned at the idea of her, the bookworm, sending books flying while she and Harry had gotten hot and heavy on one of the tables.

Glancing over at Harry, sleeping soundly in the still small hours of the day, her smile faded to a frown. Despite all their snogging, on basically every surface in the house, the decided lack of the bed still bothered her.

With what she had seen, she knew the physical intimacy of the situation itself did not bother him, but every night, he merely gave her a soft kiss, cuddled her against him, and went to sleep.

What a jerk, she thought, glaring at Harry now. Those other women, he felt nothing for, he gave them everything, but he won’t hardly touch me in the bedroom. And now that she was thinking about it, every time they had gotten really into it on the couch or some table or chair or wherever, it had always been Harry who pulled back.

Of course, for the last two weeks, she had been considering this, every night, every morning, when Harry was asleep and she was alone with her mind, as she had been for so long. It had taken her two days of serious consideration, but finally she had arrived at the inescapably conclusion that Harry thought she would be ugly naked, or unable to compare to those other women.

They had, after all, been, for the most part, extraordinarily beautiful. And she was not anything approaching that, she had known it for years. Maybe Harry had realized it too, and now did not want to go that final place with her.

She hated it. But Hermione, brightest witch of her age, was willing to consider alternatives. For example, maybe Harry thought she was not ready. That they had been through too much recently.

Which was silly. When she had been young, and even almost all the way through school, she would have said no the very idea of it. But the last six months of the war had convinced her otherwise. That life was too precious to wait for the good things. That life was too fragile to deny the good things. She, Hermione Jane Granger, knew that she wanted nothing more out of her life than to be with Harry Potter for the rest of his.

And damn it, sex was going to be a part of that relationship.

Which was why she had awoken particularly early that morning, Harry’s birthday, to make sure he never forgot it. Hermione knew as long as she did not leave the bed for long, Harry’s nightmares would not return, especially as she thought they were beginning to get better as time faded the pain.

So she slipped silently out of the bed and moved to the wardrobe Winky had moved her clothing into, next to Harry’s, since they shared the same room now. Pulling out a box she had gotten the other day while shopping with Tonks, she reached inside and caressed the silky green material, which matched Harry’s eyes exactly.

Holding her breath to be as quiet as possible, Hermione slipped her nightgown over her head, and then, after a moment of hesitation, shed her knickers as well, folding both items carefully and setting them on the back of a chair.

A shiver ran over her body, one that bespoke of nervous excitement as she realized she was completely naked for the first time in Harry’s presence. They had somehow, despite sharing a room that they both changed in for over two weeks, managed to avoid being naked in each other’s presence.

One thing Harry had done with her in the last few weeks, though, was teach her a few wandless, nonverbal spells, particularly, how to summon her wand to her, which she did now. A soft tap of the wand to the lower part of her abdomen and a quietly murmured phrase performed the spell she had taken five days to work up the courage to ask Tonks for, being unable to find it quickly enough to satisfy her in the enormous library of the House of Black.

She slid on the green babydoll, and shivered as the lightweight material touched her bare skin, letting out a soft, murmuring sigh as the exquisite touch of coolness caused a predictable reaction from her body. As she did so, a creak from the mattress caused her to whirl about, turning to look at Harry, who was still fast asleep, though he had rolled over now. The sheet had also slid down, between his movement now and her own, and the young witch felt a rush of heat pooling and counteracting the chill of the fabric at the sight of Harry’s lean, toned chest, bare as the only thing he wore to bed were a pair of pajama bottoms now during the warmer summer days.

Quietly, using all the stealth she had learned during the war and at school, she moved back to the bed and carefully slid in next to Harry. She swallowed.

Hard. Then again.

Blowing out her breath slowly, she summoned up her courage and whispered to herself, “Come on now, Hermione Jane Granger. You made your plan, now stick to it. You have to know.”

She slipped her hands onto Harry’s chest and gently traced her fingers over the planes of his body, the muscles sculpted by long hours of Quidditch and training to fight. Lithe and toned, his body was that of a natural athlete, though not one for extremely physical sports. She pushed the bedcovers off of him.

Her breathing was speeding up, becoming heavier, she realized, which meant louder. Which could wake up Harry before it was time for him to wake, so she forced herself to slow her breathing, to calm herself.

This did nothing for the pounding of her heart, though. She pulled her wand to hand once more, and with another nonverbal spell, she removed Harry’s sleeppants. She had been worried about the spell waking him, but trying to tug them down without waking him seemed more likely to fail.

Rolling the sleeping wizard onto his back, Hermione took a moment to admire her handiwork. And admire she did. The toning on his chest continued onto his legs, but that was a minor consideration beside her ultimate goal, which she now reached out and caressed with the tip of one finger.

To be rewarded with a very positive reaction. Again with her fingernail she did it, and then the third time with more than one along the steadily growing length, and even further down, to the softness below.

Her mouth felt so very dry at the moment, which was in such contrast to the way the rest of her felt like melted butter as she softly stroked Harry’s length into rampant arousal. Hermione could not quite wrap her fingers around it, and she realized, as she moved her hand up and down on the length, that it would take her both hands to wrap around its length.

It was time to wake Harry.

Hermione carefully moved into a kneeling position, realizing as she did so that the babydoll, down to just barely her hips, was even shorter than she thought. Then she balanced with her hand and moved her left leg over Harry’s body, straddling his hips, and lowered herself against him. She gasped as she felt the presence of his throbbing arousal against her most sensitive flesh, but the sound failed to wake Harry.

Which was good, for she wanted to wake him with a kiss. She wriggled her hips for a moment, feeling the iron hardness between her thighs and she grinned recklessly as she rubbed herself against him. Leaning forward, making sure to keep in contact at all times, Hermione pressed her breasts into Harry’s chest, feeling her nipples dig into his skin, and then she kissed him.

Mouth to mouth, she managed to cut off Harry’s air for a second by pressing her nose just right against his, and her tongue took advantage of his parting lips. The young witch felt his hands going around her body instinctively as he woke, skimming down her back and onto the bare flesh of her bottom that her position and short clothing left exposed.

At which point, Hermione found herself abruptly moving through the air and onto the other side of the bed. She had expected Harry’s survival instincts to do that when she cut off his air, but happening this late in the action, they could only, ever, mean one thing.

Hermione began to cry.

It might be argued that bawl was a more appropriate word, or perhaps weep. Whichever it was, it came as Hermione Jane Granger felt Harry James Potter shatter her heart. If it had not hurt quite so much, she might have run, might have Disapparated, might have gotten away from him, but the pain overwhelmed her.

Harry, of course, didn’t get it at all.

Admittedly, his brain was yet to enter fully awake mode, and though this Harry was not nearly as clueless about girls as the one Hermione had educated after his failed date with Cho, he might as well have fired in the opposite direction and come closer to the mark, did the first words out of his mouth miss so bad.

“Hermione, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you so hard, are you alright?” It came out kind of tangled up and fast as Harry simultaneously flicked his fingers and was reclothed. Harry reached for her tentatively, Hermione saw through her tears, but he pulled back when she slapped him.

Hard.

* * * * * *

Tonks and Lupin were lightly resting in their bedroom, with Tonks’ head on Lupin’s chest in the early morning twilight coming in through the window. His fingers were running through her hair as she breathed out softly. “Brilliant as always, Professor.”

Lupin grinned and pulled her into a kiss and as they separated, the trained Auror and the werewolf both cocked their heads at an echoing sound that sounded suspiciously like a slap. This was confirmed a moment later by Hermione’s voice echoing all through the house…

“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH ME, YOU HEARTLESS BASTARD! DON’T YOU DARE!”

Lupin started to slide out of the bed but Tonks grabbed his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To help Harry. Sounds like Hermione’s going to kill him.”

Tonks frowned. “You saw Harry at Durmstrang. Hermione, as good as she is, isn’t going to touch him.”

Lupin sat back on the bed with a slight frown. “You’re right, lover. He can take care of himself. He’s got to learn sometime.” He grinned. “Now, where were we?”

* * * * * *

Harry recoiled from the pure fury in Hermione’s voice, in fact managing to tumble off the bed onto the floor as his hand scrambled for his glasses as the witch he had been sharing a bed with continued to mumble “Don’t you dare,” under her breath between sobs of grief and fury.

Harry, intelligently, managed to say nothing, because he somehow knew that whatever he said at this point was going to be wrong. So he thought, hard, about what had just occurred. Being nominally intelligent, it was not at all difficult to figure out that she was upset over his rejection of her advances, the problem was he had not the slightest clue what to do about it.

Especially how to explain why.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out his hand, but found himself staring down the length of Hermione’s wand, and swallowed audibly. “I told you not to touch me, Harry James Potter, so if your hand gets any closer, most powerful wizard ever or not, I will be forced to blow you across the room.”

He was reasonably confident she could not do that, but he sensed that if it came to that, he would never get through to her. Harry pulled his hand away and watched her in silence for another moment. “Hermione,” he said softly.

“What?” came the snarled response.

“Hermione, please understand how much I love you…”

She violently interrupted him. “You love me so much, huh, Potter.” She raised tear streaked eyes to meet his own. “So much that you’ll sleep with all those other women because they remind you of me.” Rage burned as ice in the brown eyes that met Harry’s green ones. “But you won’t even touch me in bed.” The tears returned unbidden. “Am I so repulsive, so hideous that you can’t bare the thought? Or maybe you don’t really love me at all, you were just using me for some sick, twisted game.”

“Hermione no, never that,” he tried to say, but she cut him off again.

“Never that? I saw what you did to Ginny and Draco. I saw how you tortured the Death Eaters. I know what you became, who you are, Harry Potter. You are that sick, that vile, that twisted creature who defeated Voldemort by becoming worse than he was.”

Harry was crushed. Devastated. And he just looked at Hermione in sorrow, unable to say anything, unable to think of anything to say. That was how she really felt about him. She had never understood, had never forgiven him. The mattress shifted as Hermione stood up, moving away from the bed and over to her wardrobe.

She was leaving. Leaving him. He was losing her…

Not. Again. Never again.

He would not lose Hermione again, not after he had given everything.

Harry stood as Hermione pulled on a robe and stamped towards the door, struggling with the belt in her fury, and he stepped between her and the door just as she reached out for it. “Get out of my way, Harry,” she said warningly, raising up her wand again.

“Hermione, no, listen to me.”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Way,” Hermione growled through clenched teeth, the tip of her wand shaking slightly.

Harry raised his hands slowly, showing her that he had nothing in them, though both of them knew that was not exactly the most important thing in his case. “Please, Hermione, let me explain. You’re right, it is about those women. And, it’s not that I think you’re ugly or hideous or repulsive or anything like that, because I don’t.” He sighed. “You’ve been in my head, you know I think you’re beautiful.”

Hermione cocked her head to one side as if contemplating the spell most likely to blast Harry out of her way, the anger still blazing in her eyes. “And you shouldn’t think that I don’t want you, ‘cause I do. I want you very much. You have no idea how hard it is to curl up with you each night and not do anything before we go sleep. I didn’t think you were ready, that it was too soon, after all that had happened…”

A slight growl from Hermione caused him to break off and he met her eyes squarely. “Honestly, Harry, do you think really think I would have stripped you naked and nearly mounted you if I wasn’t ready? What kind of lame excuse is that?” The fury in her eyes grew hotter. “If you’re going to give me excuses, at least use ones that make sense!”

Harry swallowed heavily and blew out his breath. “Alright, fine.” He looked down slightly. “The truth is… I’m not ready.” He met her eyes again. “All those other women, they were mistakes. I knew it at the time, I knew it afterwards, I knew it before hand. But I didn’t stop myself.” A single tear ran down his cheek. “I was weak and gave in. It was a mistake just as big as the ones I made with the Death Eaters, the person I didn’t want to be, the person who lost you, but I couldn’t help it. I missed you and they were there and they cared and…” He could feel his own anger building. “I just did it. I made a mistake I didn’t want to repeat.”

The fire in Hermione’s eyes suddenly went as cold as ice, fury masked behind contempt, fury no longer a strong enough word to explain just the level of anger she was feeling. “A mistake,” she echoed back flatly.

Harry realized his new mistake just as the words left his mouth, and he snarled, more at himself than at her. “Damn it, why can’t I just tell you? Why do the words not work for me?” He met Hermione’s eyes and refused to let go. “No, you wouldn’t be a mistake. But those times, those times it wasn’t special, that I didn’t wait for just the right time, that I didn’t wait for forever, that was the mistake.”

Hermione’s eyes softened slightly, and Harry began to pick his words with care again. “I love you, Hermione. I want to be with you, I want to show you how much I love you, but I can’t.” He closed his eyes briefly, showing an inordinate amount of trust, considering her wand was still leveled at him. He opened them again and met hers, watching the slow dying of the angry fire. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you know. I knew I was going to come back and save everyone, that I would be able to stop this before…” He broke off. “The pain, the loss… I’ve been back in this time almost two months now, Hermione, and I still cannot get used to the fact that you’re alive.” Tears slowly ran down his cheeks. “I still can’t believe that you love me back, either.” The grin which accompanied the tears was soft and rather sad. “I wanted to wait, Hermione. I wanted reality to set in, for the memories to go away.” He sighed softly. “They’re not going to, of course, now. Every memory I’ve relived, I’ll continue to remember. For you and I, a future that will never happen is the past. Our past.” Hermione’s wand slowly lowered away from his face as he continued to speak. “The other women, they weren’t right, they weren’t perfect. You are right, you are perfect, and I wanted to wait until I was sure you were at least as real as them. You were dead for me for longer than you’ve been alive right now. I wanted life, to know it and feel it, to experience just being with you again before… I wanted the perfect moment, for both of us, when we could finally and completely move on to our life. Together.”

There. He had said it. The whole truth, the out pouring of his heart. If that was not good enough for her, she was not the Hermione he thought she was. Or she really did think those things she had said. He waited.

Which was when he realized she was crying silently. “Hermione?” he questioned softly.

He did not have much more than a moment’s warning as her wand clattered to the floor and she threw herself at him, her arms wrapping around him fiercely as she wept onto his shoulder. His tears joined hers as they held each other, keeping each other safe, and trusting one another completely.

Her lips were suddenly on his, and he responded instantly, tightening his arms around her, crushing his lips to hers, hungrily, needily kissing her. Desperate passion flared between them, her hands rubbing his bare chest, his slipping inside the front of her robe, caressing her…

Which was when he discovered just how well he had trained her as the door behind them creaked and they sprang apart, both of them dropping into a combat stance, Hermione’s wand popping into her hand as the knock came. “Are you two almost ready? We’ve got to leave for the ceremony soon.”

Tonks. “Lupin’s having Dobby and Winky make breakfast for twenty minutes from now.”

Hermione looked at Harry, who’s sheepish expression matched hers as they both relaxed from their positions. “Alright, Tonks, we’ll be ready,” Harry called back after about twenty seconds of silence. He turned his gaze on Hermione as they heard Tonks walking away. “Go get your shower. I’ll set out your robes.”

Hermione nodded and took a step up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck again. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I was jealous of… of those women who might not even exist now. I was so busy thinking about me…”

Harry smiled and gently cut her off with a kiss. “I’m sorry as well, Hermione, I should have realized you would feel… put off by my distance. I should have told you sooner.” He then grinned cheekily. “I really do like that nightie, though.”

Hermione blushed and kissed him again. “Be a good boy and set out the grey robes for me, will you. We’ll talk more about this after the ceremony.” She sighed. “We have so many issues, they make take a lifetime to sort out.”

Harry smiled again. “It took three lifetimes to create them. But we will sort out everything after the ceremony.” He thought of the speech he was supposed to give, that Hermione had helped him with so much in the last few weeks. He forced a grin down at the part he had added after Hermione pronounced it perfect. “Go, shower. You take longer with your hair.”

Nodding, she reluctantly disentangled herself from him and his embrace, and vanished into the shared bathroom, while Harry moved to the wardrobe and began pulling out clothes, blinking in surprise at the large selection of very feminine clothes Hermione had that she never, ever wore.

That was going to change for sure. He grinned again. Everything was going to be okay.

* * * * * *

As Harry stood on the stage before the assembled crowd, he swallowed slowly, moving to the podium. He was the last one to receive an award today. All the other Order members had already, including Hermione, but Harry definitely had the most metal hanging around his neck, including the British Order of Merlin, First Class, along with a slew of other awards from around the world. It hurt his neck and made a chinking noise when he moved.

He saw Hermione smile at him from the first row of seats, along with Dumbledore and Lupin and all his friends. Nearly three rows of seats sat empty behind them, each with a name carved in them. Those who fell in the final battle at the Ministry, the Aurors, the DA, the members of the Order of the Pheonix. All those who could not be present to see the awards lauded on them for their heroism.

He knew how this was supposed to go. He would give a speech, then field a few questions, then start the commemoration of the monument behind him, shrouded in a giant piece of fabric.

He stopped at the podium and looked over the assembled crowd of witches and wizards from around the world. “I stand before you, here, Harry Potter. You call me the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Man-Who-Triumphed. You call me a hero.”

“I am none of these things. I am merely a person. A person who stood up for what he believed to be right. Evil triumphs because good people do nothing. You call me a hero because I did what had to be done. Voldemort… yes, I say his name. I am not afraid of him. And you should not be either. He is gone. Vanquished. Everyone here can see the empty seats in front of me. Seats that should be filled with people. People who died because the wizarding world cannot move on. It does not change.”

“These people died because someone here believed that some people are born better than others. These people died because they stood up for the belief that people are who they become, the choices they make, not who they are born. Pure-bloods are no different from anyone else, except, in my experience, they are more prone to killing people for being different from them. Unthinking, unreasoning hatred.” Harry reached his arms out and set them on the podium.

“Well, I have something to tell you. Voldemort, Tom Riddle, was a half blood. I am a half blood. The ancient lines… Black, Malfoy, Lestrange, Longbottom, Potter, Dolohov… this war destroyed them. The Weasleys were almost wiped out. The Pure-bloods are dying or marrying outside their lines. Soon they will be completely gone.” He smiled. “This war was won by a Half-blood, a Muggle-born, and a Blood-traitor. This war was won because those three people trusted each other, loved each other, more than anything else in the world, and would do anything for each other.”

“That’s what love is. That’s what beat hatred. Love. That and the courage to face the unbeatable. To refuse to give up, to go two extra miles when you only needed one to survive.” A tear dripped down Harry’s cheek. “This war was won because a group of people, ridiculed and nearly driven out, refused to let their world become one of hatred and evil. They did not give in without a fight. They went on and on and on and gave and gave and gave until it was over or they died in the process.” Harry swallowed. “My best friend, Ron, did die. He died to give me the one shot, the single moment I needed to face Voldemort. He died so that each and everyone of us, Muggle-born, half-blood, and pure-blood, could live in a World Without Fear.”

He had discussed the next part with Dumbledore and with Hermione, and no one else, and he broke the program the Ministry had so carefully arranged. He raised his hand, and a massive wind arose, whipping at the giant sheet covering the statue. After a moment, it tore free, revealing an artists rendering of Harry standing with his wand pointed at a cowering Voldemort. “This monument is a lie. Harry Potter did not defeat Voldemort.” He waved his hand again and the statue crumbled into dust, only to reform as a giant obelisk, a spire of black stone rising above their heads. “Ronald Weasley defeated Voldemort. Arthur Weasley defeated Voldemort. Charlie Weasley defeated Voldemort. Alastor Moody defeated Voldemort. Severus Snape defeated Voldemort.” As he listed off each name, fire burned on the surface of the pillar, engraving each name in a series of sparks. He continued reading the list until he reached the end, the names carved around all four sides of the stone. “Lily Evans Potter defeated Voldemort.”

Harry smiled darkly. “You’ve given me almost enough awards for each of them to have one, as they should. It took faith and love and courage to defeat Voldemort, not a boy with a prophecy. I am no hero.” He lifted his hand and pointed to the Cenotaph. “Those people are heroes. Honor them by remembering and living the world they fought and died for. Fight for that world with your last breath. Make that world for them. I know I will. And that is when Voldemort shall truly be defeated, gone.”

Harry reached into his pocket and extracted a small velvet box and smiled at the crowd. “To begin that, I have a question to ask, in front of all of you.” The world suddenly narrowed down to Hermione’s slightly confused face. The speech was supposed to have ended on the line about Voldemort. “Hermione Jane Granger,” he lifted up the box, flipping it open with a wandless, wordless command, “will you do me the honor of helping me every day remind this world what we fought for, what our friends died for, a world of love and peace, by consenting to be my wife?”

There was stunned silence, and Hermione looked like she might faint on the spot. Harry felt his smile start to slip as she rose to her feet in the front row, but it burst into a grin as she shouted up to him, “Yes, Harry James Potter, I will,” and then she ran towards him up the stairs and wrapped him in that patented Hermione’s Bone Crushing Hug. Except this one included a giant, deep, passionate kiss in front of everyone. Loud applause echoed everywhere.

As he slipped the ring on her finger, she whispered to him. “Don’t you dare ever ambush me like that again, Harry.” The attempt at anger was killed by the huge smile from ear to ear on her face, though, before she leaned into him and Harry looked back out at the crowd.

“Now, I have a party to get to,” laughter at that, “but I’m willing to answer a few questions.”

Hands shot up everywhere. Harry had no idea which ones were real reporters and which ones were people that just had questions, though he supposed it did not really matter. He pointed at one hand.

“Harry, what can you tell us about the rumors you are going to run for Minister of Magic?”

Harry chuckled. “Utter and complete hogwash. First, I’m too young, and second, I’ve already had the weight of the world on my shoulders once. It’s heavy, and I’m tired.” He nudged Hermione, who was still gazing at the gleaming multigemmed ring on her finger, and she looked up and pointed at another hand.

“Harry, if you’re not going to run for Minister, what are you going to do?”

“Well,” Harry began, “it would appear I’m going to get married.” He grinned. “Other than that, I have been offered the position of Flight Instructor at Hogwarts by Headmaster Dumbledore and I’m going to take him up on that offer.”

Silence fell across the crowd until he picked another hand.

“Can you tell us how you beat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

Harry bit his lip, and felt Hermione grab his arm to restrain him. “Firstly, the next person I hear call Tom Riddle that I will hex into next week. His name is Tom Riddle. He was just as human as you or me. Secondly, I’ve already answered your question in more than sufficient detail. I’m sure your Quick Quotes Quill wrote down every word I said in my speech. Next.” He jabbed his hand out angrily to get the next question.

“It is being said that you’re the most powerful wizard ever to be born, that you put even Merlin to shame. Care to comment on that?”

Harry felt Hermione stiffen in shock in the crook of his arm and felt matching shock roll through him. More powerful than Merlin? Damn. “Well, as I didn’t have the honor of knowing the Wizard, and anyone who saw my mark on the History of Magic O.W.L. knows I didn’t learn much there,” more laughter, especially from the Hogwarts professors he could see, “so I can’t say as I’m qualified to judge that. That’s all.”

Gripping Hermione’s hand, he walked slowly down the stairs and sat next to her and Dumbledore, while the current Minister stood to close the ceremony, his face looking very confused, though not very angry, at how Harry had redone the poor man’s carefully arranged occasion.

Hermione leaned across him to Dumbledore and whispered as the Minister spoke, “Headmaster, I’ll accept your job offer as well.”

Dumbledore nodded, turning his twinkling blue eyes to gaze on her. “I thought you might. The information you will both need will arrive by owl tomorrow in the post. Thank you both, for everything you have done.” He smiled, and then turned back and began to clap as the Minister concluded his speech.

Harry and Hermione joined in.

* * * * * *

The very nearly naked Hermione lay on top of the very nearly naked Harry in the bed they shared that night, their lips slightly puffy from the kisses they had been exchanging, their breathing rather heavy from being put on hold during vigorous activity.

As Hermione’s tongue worked on the sensitive spot below his jaw and his fingers idled on the bare skin of her hip under her nightgown, Harry heard her whisper softly to him, “Does tonight count as our perfect moment now, Harry?”

Harry grinned slightly and turned to her. “If you really want it to be, it can.” He kissed her softly. “But I was thinking we would wait until we got married.”

Hermione sniffled slightly at that. “Really, Harry? I…”

“Hermione, I’m not reject…” Her finger on his lips silenced him.

“Shhh, Harry. I understand.” She smiled. “You really do know me well. I always thought, as I was growing up, that would be when, my wedding night.”

Harry smiled. “Your childhood dream come true.”

Hermione smiled back. “You are that dream, Harry.” She kissed him softly. “I hope you weren’t planning on waiting for long until the wedding or tonight’s gonna be our perfect moment.” She grinned.

“October 31^st,” he whispered softly.

“The night your parents… oh,” Hermione responded softly, a tear forming in her eyes. “That really will be perfect, Harry.” She kissed him again, a little harder and more passionately. “We really ought to go to sleep, or tonight’s gonna be the perfect night. I love you so much, Harry James Potter.”

“I love you too, Hermione Jane… Potter.” The tear fell as she smiled and she nestled atop him, closing her eyes. Harry waved his hand and the lights died.

Silence reigned for a moment, longer and longer, their breathing growing steadier and steadier, until Harry was nearly asleep…

“Harry?”

“Yes, love?”

“These memories, of the future that won’t happen. We have to live with them forever. That’s the price the voice said you had to pay, isn’t it?”

They had not discussed that before now, and Harry’s hesitation, trained by years of prevaricating and lying in that same future in question, was unnoticeable, even to someone who knew him so well. “Yes, Hermione, that is the price the voice demanded.”

“Oh. That’s not so bad,” she whispered.

“No, it isn’t,” Harry replied. “I can never forget what you mean to me that way, ‘Mione, ‘cause I’ll know what it is like to be without you.”

He felt her smile in the darkness, and returned her brief kiss when it came.

Author’s Notes:

Respice post te, mortalem te esse momento. Look around you, remember that you are mortal.

Sorry about the long wait, all my readers. I hope this chapter made up for it. Only one more chapter to go before the Epilogue. It’s looking like that may be my Christmas present to all you dear people.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Pace Tua

Clear and cool, the day of All Hallow’s Eve broke early and the sunlight streamed in through the window into Harry Potter’s face. Slowly, his emerald gaze pierced the room and he shivered in the emptiness. It was the first day in months he woke up without with the reassuring weight of Hermione leaning against him.

Which, of course, reminded him exactly what today was. The day he was getting married to the woman of his dreams. As he rolled out of bed, he sighed, dressing himself with a wave. No point in showering before he went about his daily rounds.

Not that the students were going to see him, since Dumbledore had declared a holiday, and none of the students would be awake at dawn on a day they did not have classes. He pondered, sleepily, just breaking through the wards to apparate down to the dungeons, but Dumbledore had not been particularly amused the last time that had occurred. Draping a deep blue cloak over his shoulders, he headed out of his oversized staff apartment, which he normally shared with his fiancée, though the strictures of High Wizarding Tradition meant he could not see her for twenty four hours before the ceremony.

Since they had agreed to wait on becoming fully intimate, Dumbledore, when he had discovered this fact by whatever route it was he gained such information, had suggested that they perform the most binding of marriage rites, which Harry and Hermione, unsurprisingly, had no problem with. On the other hand, the enormous amount of magic that would be flowing during the ceremony would prevent anyone younger than the sixth and seventh year students from attending the wedding.

But that was for later today, he knew, as with a sigh, he pushed open the heavy door with lazy flick of his wrist, and prepared to do his duty. This self imposed duty was the main reason Harry had confined himself to the Flying Instructor role, rather than the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, because this was far more important in the short run, at least until an effective prison without the presence of the Dementors could be developed.

Cloak fluttering around him, Harry stalked down the first row of cells, glancing in each one to check on the Death Eaters contained within. As he glanced in at Bellatrix and then Dolohov, he had to physically shove his hand into his pocket to keep from fingering his wand.

Hermione would be upset if you were to hex them for no real reason, he reminded himself, and managed to calm down, pushing the anger and hatred down. A tingling feeling of loathing remained, urging him to kill them to make sure they could not escape, could not ever harm anyone again.

It was, in fact, rather pitiful, he realized, looking at Bella’s broken form hunched in the corner of her darkened cell. She was afraid now, and heartbroken, as much as one such as she could be. Voldemort was gone, permanently, and she had failed him. That knowledge formed an overwhelming burden in her black heart, and she no longer resisted.

As always, his checks went swiftly, the interrogations he supervised and the depressing, crushing weight of defeat keeping the Death Eaters from trying anything drastic. Not that they even knew for sure where the doors to the cells were, as they had been placed in the otherwise featureless rooms while unconscious.

It took nearly an hour to check in on each Death Eater personally, but Harry trusted no one else to do it. It was his responsibility now that he had brought them back by his actions, though the self imposed light punishment was nothing compared to his joy in the return of the woman the loved.

Speaking of which, there was still a lot to do before the wedding.

* * * * * *

Harry looked up briefly from his work at the sound of Dumbledore’s voice, though he had missed the question, and Harry’s own question must have been apparent as gleaming emerald met twinkling sapphires. The Headmaster smiled. “I trust all of our guests are doing well?”

Harry chuckled with little mirth. “Indeed, they are all still safely ensconced in their own private worlds.” He hurriedly reviewed his memory, though, and continued. “But that’s not what you asked me originally, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Please, call me Albus, at least when we are alone. And I was inquiring as to why you are inscribing a double pentagram into the floor of my Great Hall.”

Harry’s smile faltered. “For some people who should be here, but aren’t.”

A bushy white eyebrow rose over half-moon spectacles. “You and Professor Granger have discussed this?”

Harry nodded. “I recall a lot more than I thought I would from that future. Reliving the memories during the Death Exchange has caused me to have an absurd wealth of knowledge no one should have at eighteen.”

“And yet you still only took the job of flying instructor,” Dumbledore stated softly, in a tone that made it a question.

Without looking up from his work, Harry chuckled. “While for Hermione, since she helped teach everyone in Gryffindor while we were in school, teaching people just shy of her own age is not difficult, I would rather wait until most of the students who knew me finished up their schooling before I gave an actual classroom course. The first years won’t know me except as The-Boy-Who-Lived and all that, so I’ll have an easier time of it with them, I think.”

Harry caught the movement of Dumbledore’s nodding head out of the corner of his eye. “Is that your only reason, Harry?”

The young man shook his head. “No.” He paused working for a moment and pointed down at the floor. Or perhaps, through it. “There’s also them. If I was teaching four or five classes a day, my ability to monitor them would be lowered.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed it would.” The old wizard changed the subject at this point. “I assume you have not seen Miss Granger for the last eighteen hours?”

“No, I haven’t,” Harry said through clenched teeth, prompting a chuckle from Dumbledore.

“Do not worry, Harry. The next six hours will pass quickly, and then you will be married.”

Harry nodded as he set to work once more, hearing Dumbledore’s near silent footsteps fading as he walked off.

* * * * * *

There were, unsurprisingly, a lot of people present in the Great Hall, with the chairs arranged in a somewhat circular pattern about the scribed pentagrams, Harry realized, and it appeared that every single one of them was rather full. Well, except for the ones that Harry and Hermione had required to be empty in the first few rows – seats for those lost who could not be present.

Their memorial to a war fought to preserve life.

Harry glanced down the aisle and took a deep breath as his eyes met Dumbledore’s, which were twinkling maddeningly, and he caught the slight nod. He stepped forward, through the staff entrance to the Hogwarts Great Hall at the exact same time Hermione stepped through the main entrance, walking towards him.

His heart was pounding in his chest. It was the first time in twenty fours and seven minutes Harry had seen Hermione, and he had to admit she had never been more beautiful to him than in that moment. Their carefully measured steps let them cross into the inscribed images on the floor at exactly the same time, settling onto the points of the inner pentagram at Dumbledore’s right and left hands.

Grinning, Harry took a moment to examine his only love, and marveled at the pale dress setting off her creamy skin, her hair tamed under the hood and veil, her lips curved into a slight, shy smile from everyone watching her, and her eyes gleaming with hidden promise. At eighteen, Harry learned what countless generations of men before him had learned…

That there is no woman more beautiful than his bride.

He glimpsed behind her in the front row, the gleaming red hair of the Weasleys, all four remaining members, with four empty chairs beside them. Two chairs sat on either side of the aisle for Hermione’s parents, empty, along with a number of the teachers who only Hermione had had in her years at Hogwarts. Behind him, Harry knew, sat more teachers, and other surviving members of the Order of the Pheonix. And two chairs that would remain empty for James and Lily Potter.

Beyond them sat an empty row for those who had died in the war, parents of classmates, people whose deaths had affected Harry and Hermione’s lives. Beyond that were the dignitaries that Harry and Hermione had wanted to but had been unable to exclude from the ceremony. Behind them were the students of Hogwarts, the sixth and seventh years, at least.

Harry realized that in one of those seats was Colin Creevey with his camera. Or maybe not in a seat, perhaps wandering around to get better and different angles of the ceremony, which was more likely, since Harry was actually paying him to take pictures.

All these thoughts rushed through Harry’s head in the moment it took for Hermione to smile at him from behind the shimmering gauze of her veil. Then Dumbledore spoke.

“Omne initium est difficile.” He drew out from his robes the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, and held it with the blade pointed in the exact center of the inner pentagram. Calmly, Harry reached out his left hand, the one closer to his heart, and swept it along the edge of the blade closest to him, slicing into it.

“Sanguis vitam est,” he said clearly as the drops hit the floor, and all along the lines of the dual pentagrams, power flared, raising them in glowing lines of emerald fire from the floor. His gaze went to Hermione, and he watched the veil she wore flutter as she drew in a deep breath.

She swept her left hand in an echo of Harry’s movement along the other side of the blade. “Sanguis est vim,” she said, with far better pronunciation than Harry could ever hope to have, as her blood ran down the length of the blade to the floor in a stream of crimson. The runes Hermione had inscribed into the pentagrams flared now, lighting with an oddly brownish red flame.

They clasped their bleeding hands together and squeezed them tightly. “Vitae animum nobis est,” they concluded together, and with a bright flash, the doorway between the spirit world and the living one was torn open, letting the dead walk the Earth once more. On the points of the inner star, Ron Weasley and Sirius Black appeared, their forms grinning and ghostly, but with joy shining in their eyes. The outer pentagram found itself full of Dean, Seamus, Neville, Lavender, and Pavarti, the entirety of the recently graduated Gryffindor class.

Beyond them, in the chairs, came perhaps the most surprising of all. Each member of Dumbledore’s Army, each member of the Order, and Cedric Diggory, appeared as gleaming spectral forms. The Weasley clan was represented minus only its youngest member, the chair allotted for her by Harry and Hermione suspiciously empty.

Even Severus Snape found himself, much to his apparent disgust, if the look on his face was any indication, seated with the other teachers lost in the Death Eater assault on Hogwarts. The only other seats that should have been filled by Harry’s parents remained empty, for their deaths were too long before to recall them.

But all that Harry and Hermione felt, as they only had eyes for each other. “Hermione Jane Granger,” he said clearly, “seventeen years ago, my family was taken from me, and it defined who I am to this point in my life. Today, I restore my family, to let it define the rest of my life.” He knelt, placing his undamaged hand on the hilt of the sword.

“Harry James Potter,” Hermione said softly, though audible to the entire hall, “seven years ago, I met a scared boy on a train, and I knew then that he would define the rest of my life. Today, I join with him to set that definition unbreakable before the universe.” She knelt and wrapped her fingers around his hand on the sword, as Dumbledore withdrew his wand with his free hand, placing it against their hands.

They spoke together, just the two of them, before hundreds of souls, living and dead.

“Ad vitam paramus, non mihi, non tibi, sed nobis.” A thin streamer of flame shot out of Dumbledore’s wand and wrapped around their wrists. “Amor est vitae essentia.” A second stream of fire emerged, once more binding them together. They raised their still clasped hands to the sword and placed them alongside those already bound. “Amor animi arbitrio sumitur, non ponitur.” Yet another streamer, this one about all four wrists. “Amor caecus est.” A fourth. “Amor ordinem nescit.” A fifth. “Amor vincit omnia.” A sixth. “Semper in te glorior.” A seventh bond of flame bound them together.

Dumbledore smiled and twisted his wand slight away from their hands, the flame shimmering there for a moment. “Esto perpetua.” The fires burned and wrapped around the two young people, hiding them from sight for a long moment before they reappeared, standing once more, their hands still clasped as they faced each other across the pentagram, gold gleaming on their fingers as wedding bands.

They stood perfectly still for a moment, as if waiting for something else to happen, and finally Dumbledore let a small chuckle before whispering, “Normally you kiss at this point.”

Had there been a hundred kisses between them at this point, or a thousand, or ten thousand, they were all swept away in that moment as Harry lifted up the veil from Hermione’s face and they moved into each other’s arms and time stopped…

Their lips met, fused, joined together, love deepening their kiss as they pressed together, the world falling away from them as they were merely themselves, finally free of the terrible burden that had been placed upon them. Finally free to love and be loved, to live as they wanted to…

The shock of the cold shattered the long moment, and caused Harry to jerk back away from Hermione, as she did the same thing. Turning their heads to look up the ghostly arms that now lay between them, they discovered a grinning Ron and Sirius connected to them. “Save it for later, you two,” Sirius mouthed, and Hermione blushed slightly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, and all our fair magical visitors,” Dumbledore intoned, “it is my great honor to present to you, Mister and Misses Harry Potter.”

The applause was like thunder, and somehow, despite all that they could do with searching people on their way in, Fred and George managed to set off enormous fireworks high overhead in the Great Hall.

Colin did not need a flash for his camera.

* * * * * *

It took hours before Harry and Hermione managed to sneak away to their shared room, finally escaping from the party, which was still ongoing, a celebration of the life that could continue thanks to the victory over the darkness.

Both of them, were, in fact, still laughing from the confusion that had descended over the party, when it was noticed that the wedding party was gone. Well, not gone, as Dumbledore had quickly realized, but hidden under Harry’s often used cloak, and working its way slowly out of the area turned over to the party, which was, as a matter of fact, the entirety of the castle, minus certain dangerous areas.

Smiling, Dumbledore directed a wink over Professor McGonagall’s shoulder to them, the twinkle seeming to increase with his merriment, and they took that as a hint, using the slight confusion to escape the Great Hall.

Harry flattened Hermione to the wall though in the entryway, and kissed her passionately for a long moment, before Hermione started to moan. “Can’t you at least wait until we get to the room, Harry?” she whispered throatily.

Skimming his hands down her sides, Harry chuckled softly. “Yes, but they won’t,” he replied as a veritable herd of small wizarding children stormed by them, the lower years having been allowed free run of the castle now that the ceremony was over to participate in the party.

Hermione sighed and buried her head in Harry’s broad chest. “You are just too smart.” She looked up into his eyes and Harry met her gaze, feeling a little thrill go through him at the heat reflected in the darkening brown that bored into his emerald pools. “Can’t you just apparate us to the room?” she murmured softly.

Harry trembled slightly at what he heard in her voice. In the few months since he had asked her to marry him, their explorations of each other had become increasingly intimate, but they had always managed to stop at the agreed upon limit. He sighed regretfully, “As much as I want to, ‘Mione, Dumbledore would be most upset with me if I blew the wards out again.”

A smirk stole across his wife’s face. “Do it anyway.”

Harry sighed again, and shook his head, grinning. “Me and Ron really did have a bad influence on you in school, Misses Potter.”

Hermione grinned at that, then leaned forward and ran her tongue over his ear. “If you do it, Dumbledore will be upset with you. If you don’t, I will be upset with you, Mister Potter.” He looked into her eyes for a moment, then nodded once, amusement flickering deep behind the shining green curtain of his soul.

Time stretched… and the familiar squeezing sensation of Apparition took them, combined with a bitterly cold fog clouding their minds… and they popped back, right outside their doorway. Hermione glanced up at him, and saw him with an even bigger grin on his face, when she realized that she could still feel the slight tingle of the wards.

“How?” she whispered, extremely impressed.

Harry ran his finger along her spine and she shivered, drawing into him. “Mind over matter, the same way the house elves do it.”

Hermione leaned up and kissed him again, feeling very excited by the display of power he was putting on. “Do it again,” she murmured with childlike glee in her voice.

Harry inclined his head towards the doorway, the painting covering it reveling softly with the other paintings nearby, none of them noticing the two standing under the invisibility cloak, of course, and Hermione nodded.

The chill pull of the wards tugged at them once more, stretched around them as they slid through them to the other side of the wall, popping back into existence with a mere whisper of sound. Now that they were back in their staff quarters, Hermione tore the invisibility cloak from their bodies as she eagerly pressed up against Harry, her hands finding their way into his black locks, her lips finding themselves tightly clamped on his.

Their dress robes tangles about their feet as they tried to move, and spilt them onto the couch, but they were far beyond caring about where they were at this point as Harry’s hands skimmed over Hermione’s body, eagerly hunting out the fasteners to the thin white gown, the hooded overcloak long abandoned.

His hips ground against hers and she moaned softly as he finally found the fastenings to the dress, his fingers trailing against her bare back as he undid each one with his magic touch. Skimming his hands lower, he swept them over the folded fabric from the dress shifting up at her hips and onto her bare thighs as he kissed her again. Hermione broke the kiss with effort, as Harry did not want to stop. “The bed, Harry,” she whispered, gasping for air.

Eyes blazing with green flame, he took a moment to study her as her words percolated through his head, and then he nodded. The world spun and Hermione could feel the softness of their mattress come up underneath her, Harry’s heavier form warm and secure atop her as he renewed the kiss.

Time slowed immeasurably as their kiss deepened, lengthened, their hands roaming freely until when they finally came up for air, they were both naked, though neither was quite sure how they managed that. The only explanation was magic…

Hermione arched up under Harry as his naked flesh rubbed against hers, eliciting a moan of pleasure as she could feel the steel of his desire brushing against her needy flesh. A grin lit up the emeralds meeting her eyes, a grin she had learned to fear in the last seven years, for it could only mean one things… Harry Potter was up to no good.

She whimpered once more as the feeling touched her again and was then withdrawn, a whimper that changed nearly to a frown as Harry started to pull back, a frown that became a gasp as his lips, then teeth, then tongue found the peaks of her breasts to lay positive attentions upon them.

When his fingers began to explore lower, she felt pressure beginning to build inside her and she arched again, offering herself up more fully to her love, her husband, her Harry.

A coolness washed across her breasts, damp from Harry’s attentions, and she realized with a start that he was taking his kisses lower and lower, around her navel, and yet, still lower, all the way…

No, he could not be going to…

Flame shot through her, lightning setting her aglow as it radiated out from the touch of his lips to her. It was too much, as his tongue began to dance against her, and she finally cried out loudly, her breath becoming a pant…

The tightening, the pressure… Hermione sighed as she finally felt his fingers slip to where they belonged at that moment. It was then, in that very moment, as she felt herself climbing higher and higher, her vision beginning to cloud, that she finally believed him…

She was beautiful, the most beautiful, perfect to him, and Harry was hers, and only hers, forever, and nothing would come between them they could not solve together…

Lightning flared, blinding her as the shock tore through her body, and she screamed, a pure scream of joy and happiness and pleasure and love.

It took a long time for reality to return, while Harry slithered up her body.

Harry held himself motionless until Hermione’s brown eyes once more met his, and he smiled at her cloudy, fuzzy gaze which slowly focused on his face. Silently, he asked a question, his body poised, on edge, against hers. She nodded ever so slightly.

The change in pressure was noticeable, and they both gasped as the first layer of tension gave way. It was slow, drawn out, pulling them both towards the ragged edge as more tension gave way between them, pressure growing greater as the friction increased, the heat boiling between them.

Then his mouth was on hers, hungrily, and a sudden movement as one sealed the bond. Harry held her tightly, breaking off the kiss as he looked into her eyes, hooded with emotion and pain. Long moments passed just like that, poised on the readiness, until Harry began the timeless dance of life anew.

Hermione’s eyes slowly cleared of the pain, fading into pleasure as she joined Harry in the dance, rising and falling to the rhythm he set for them both, a ritual older than time and far more powerful than their one mere hours before.

There was nothing but the two of them, the world meaningless, time forgotten, as they moved together. Love echoed in flesh, sheathed in the warmth of their need for each other, spirit reaching for each other, joining in body and soul. The heat built between them, higher and higher, spiraling them with it, out of control, the dance between them taking its natural course – more frenzied, more primal, but with far deeper meaning, trust increasing with every step taken together.

And then they fell, together, in a burst of light so overpowering they lost sight, lost breath, forced from them, senses gone, everything forgotten as the pleasure coursed through them in explosive release.

In the suddenly silent room, brown eyes met green once more, and Harry saw nothing but pleasure and joy and love in the eyes of the woman who trusted him completely with everything she was, and knowing that those feelings were echoed in his own eyes, Harry James Potter knew that there was something far more beautiful than a bride…

A wife.

A family.

Author’s Notes:

Chapter Title: Pace tua. With your consent.

Wedding Ceremony:

Dumbledore:

Every beginning is difficult.

Harry:

The blood is the life.

Hermione:

The blood is the power.

Harry and Hermione:

The blood is your soul.

Vows:

We are preparing for life, not for you, not for me, but for us. Love is the essence of life. We choose to love, we do not choose to cease loving. Love is blind. Love does not know order. Love conquers all. I will always glory in you.

Dumbledore:

Let it be forever.

The Epilogue is with my beta reader now, so it should be ready to post on Christmas (or Christmas Eve), as promised. Also, be sure to check out Pensive’s Pieces of Pumpkin Pie, which is where I’ll be posting all my one and two part stories from now on.

Epilogue: Nemo nini Mors

The blood did not coat every surface in the room, just more the ones in front of the chair which held the shattered corpse, folded over on itself, the skin paper white from the blood being anywhere but contained within. The man that lay there, his broken body surrendered to the end, wore a wizard’s robe over thinly striped pajamas, and a dark wooden wand lay beside him on the floor.

The scattered remains of what had been a hot cup of tea earlier in the night lay spilled out carelessly on the patterned wooden floor, as if dropped in the middle of a sip. Behind slightly bent glasses, green eyes, unfocused by pain, gazed unseeingly at a picture of a young woman with bushy brown hair in a white dress dancing with a younger version of the man, though little had changed about him from that day, not his hair, still raven black, nor his built, still lithe and strong, nor his eyes, still bright emeralds. But now they were without their fire.

No, not much had changed since that day, more than twenty years prior, except that Harry Potter lay dead.

A tiny knock sounded at the closed door, and it began to swing open. A young girl, with bushy, raven colored hair, no more than eleven, edged her way through with a question in her eyes and on her tongue. “Daddy? Are you in here?”

And then she screamed.

* * * * * *

When Hermione Jane Potter, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor of Transfiguration and Head of Ravenclaw House, age forty-four, shot awake, unsure what summoned her from a land of peaceful dreams, her mind immediately began cataloguing everything she was feeling. The chill on her back, despite the touch of the blankets, told her that Harry was not cradling her to his chest as he normally did, and her seeking hand found the explanation immediately – his lack of presence in their bed. The dull throb between her legs reminded her of the night before, when Harry had tempted her into bed far earlier than normal, and had been even more passionate than he normally was – for hours. She smiled at the memory.

And while the sunlight was indeed beginning to shine through the window, it was not on her yet, to warm her into wakefulness.

When her daughter’s second, horrified scream tore through the rebuilt Potter residence in Godric’s Hollow, everything connected, and she was opening the door before the sound faded and she realized she was completely naked.

A lazy wave of her hand summoned her robe and wand to her as she ran down the stairs two at a time, magically fastening her robe with a flick of the wand. “Jane?” she shouted and was nearly knocked over by a screaming ball of eleven year old girl.

“Mummy! It’s… it’s…” But Hermione would get nothing from her youngest child, who was sobbing too hard to get the words out.

Tentatively, she pushed open the door to the study, where she and Harry had graded so many papers over the years, and she stopped dead at the sight before her. Tears sprang into her eyes, knowing it was too late, but her heart would not listen to her head… the head that just wanted to collapse to her knees and weep.

Swift strides brought her across the room before she finally did collapse, her hands desperately stroking her husband’s face, before a single thought came back to her. “Redivivus,” she cried softly, pointing her wand at her husband. “Redivivus! Redivivus! Redivivus! REDIVIVUS!” Each cry was progressively louder than before, but it was to no avail. Too much blood, too much time, and despite the English meaning of the word, it was only a relatively advanced healing spell, equivalent to Muggle CPR.

Her head knew it would do no good in this situation, but her heart cried out futilely against the night, the blackness, refusing to except her loss, until finally she lay her head against her husband’s shoulder and wept, her hand clenched tightly to his, her fingers feeling the scar put there so many years before by an evil woman with a quill.

Time had no meaning as she wept, but finally, she felt strong hands on her shoulder, pulling her away. She tried to cling to him more, but the hands were insistent, and in that moment, she hated them, hands that looked and felt so much like Harry’s, her love’s. “Mum, please, you have to let him go. The MLE is here, they can take care of this.”

“No!” she screamed, turning around and slamming her fists against her tallest son’s chest. Hermione, who had always prided herself on being intellectual, with her ability to detach her emotions, finally found out the cold, hard truth about them at last.

No matter how much you tried to deny them, they would find a way.

Ron wrapped her in his arms, and she burrowed against him, taking comfort in her eldest child’s strength. He led her out of the room, to a couch in the family room, and as a family, they mourned together.

It was some time later when the next words were spoken. “Ma’am? Misses Potter?”

Hermione looked up and saw the young man who had been in charge of the MLE detachment standing before her. His eyes flicked significantly towards the two youngest children, and Hermione shook her head. “He was their father,” she whispered. “They should know too.”

The young wizard nodded, and began, consolingly, “It was not murder, nor, as we expected on finding this note,” he offered it to her, and she took it numbly, “suicide. The damage was consistent with use of the Severing spell on the chest cavity, above the heart, but none of the last ten spells performed by his wand were of that type.”

“He could do wandless magic,” she murmured tonelessly, interrupting.

The man nodded. “We checked for residual signatures of that as well, and found nothing. Other than the consistent damage pattern, there is no evidence of any magic being performed successfully in that room for over twenty-four hours. Perhaps the note will tell us more, but none of my people could open it.” He looked at her hopefully, some confusion evident in his gaze.

Hermione shook her head, glancing down at the envelope. “I’ll read it and send word if there is anything you should know. I… I can’t do this now.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course.” He glanced over his shoulder as two of his men made noise, having bumped the floating pallet against the wall. Harry’s arm slipped out from under the sheet at the impact, and as it dangled, gold detached from it, ringing softly in the sudden silence as it hit the floor, and Hermione began to cry again.

The men left the ring where it fell when they departed.

* * * * * *

It was that evening, gathered together, that Hermione felt that she could open the letter Harry had left her. Cracking the seal, she suddenly felt a warmth against her chest, and pulled out Harry’s wedding band, which she kept on a short chain, to see it glowing around the inside. Strange runes she had not seen on it before gleamed to her, and she translated them. Nemo nisi Mors. Nobody except Death. How very accurate, and very true. Tears began to slip down her cheeks once more as she opened the letter.

It was a long scroll of parchment, she realized, unfolding it over again, smiling slightly at the sight of Harry’s familiar scrawl.

To my family,

I am sorry to leave you like this, but I did not have a choice, unfortunately. It is a terrible thing to know when you are slated to die, and I have known since before I told your mother that I loved her the first time when that day and even hour was. To each of you, I have written a note, that you will be able to see when you hold this parchment. If she chooses, once your mother reads hers, she will be able to explain more fully.

~Harry, Husband and Father

Hermione trembled as the words began to blur, and then slowly formed anew in her hands, not wanting and yet desperately wanting to read her husband’s last words to her. She read them aloud for her children, so she would not have to explain, her heart unable to set itself to that task.

My dearest ‘Mione,

No doubt you are very angry with me at the moment, and I truly deserve it. I am sorry for causing the pain through which you are going at the moment, but I truly had no choice. I must confess to you one thing, the one lie I have told you since the end of the War, and it was on the night you agreed to marry me. You asked me about the price I had to pay, and I told you it was the memories we carry from that experience, or more, I agreed with your guess.

I lied to you. I knew the price, I had known it since the end of the Death Exchange, in the moment I heard myself repeat the words “Terminus a quo, tempus firma, terminus ad quem, tempus incognitum, tempus sculpsit” that the price was far steeper than you would ever imagine. I had set the date of my own death through that action, for the day that I drank the potion. That future was not completely in the past. I knew that I had exactly 9452 days left to live, and my only hope is that I made you as happy in all of them as you made me.

The day you agreed to marry me. The day we got married. The night we got married. Hermione turned very red at that as her older children chuckled, before she continued reading. Our first Christmas, when you gave me the best present of all, telling me our family was going to grow by one. My birthday the next year, when Ronald Sirius was born. The unending weeks of Death Eater executions, when you helped me to understand that it was okay to feel how I did at their deaths. The joy when we added those two dastardly redheads, James and Lily, to our family. The twins chuckled at that. The arguments over when I got to teach them to play Quidditch, and the making up that followed. Hermione blushed again, and wondered if maybe reading aloud had been such a good idea. I believe it was one of those arguments than led to Brian. That caused the youngest son to turn scarlet. How we celebrated at Dumbledore’s retirement, and when McGonagall asked you to become Deputy Headmistress. How we comforted each other the day Dumbledore finally left us for his next great adventure, an adventure I’ve joined him on now. The day Jane was born, and our family was completed. And all the days and all the memories in between, everyone one of them, has made me perfectly content with my life.

‘Mione, I don’t want you to remember me as you found me this morning. Instead, remember me as I was last night when we made love. Hermione’s face turned even redder than before at that, but none of the children laughed this time. I have never been happier than when I was in your arms.

Tell Minerva that all the tests and lesson plans for the rest of the year are in the bottom right hand drawer of my desk at the school. She knows the password, as do you. Also, inside will be a list of people I think could take over the DADA position and take over as head of Gryffindor House.

Be strong for me now, Hermione, and be strong for our children, as they will need you more than ever. Be strong as you always have been, and you will be fine, our children will be fine. One day, the pain will fade, I promise you, though it will never go away. Such is love as we had.

I will see you again.

Love forever,

~Harry

It took a long time for the crying to stop after that, but eventually, Ron took the parchment to read, and taking a cue from his mother, he read aloud.

Ronald –

What can I say to you but to keep flying? You’re the man of the family now.

Take care of your mother, and your brothers and sisters. And look towards settling down soon, and starting your own family, so you can teach your sons about Quidditch. You have to keep that alive to the next generation, as James and Lily seem to have inherited your mother’s talent with a broom – enchanting it to sweep up messes – though there’s hope for Jane yet. (Brian doesn’t count, being a Ravenclaw.) Brian shouted, offended, at this and Hermione managed to bring about some of her old fierceness to her glare, though they all knew it was faked. It’s unseemly to let the Gryffindor team go on so long without a Potter on it.

And don’t you think I’ll be missing it in three years when you lead England to the World Cup again. This time, son, catch the Snitch before Bulgaria gets more than 150 ahead, even if you did snatch it right out of Victor’s hand, nearly. I swear he’s getting old.

Keep it up.

Love,

~Your Father

And so it continued around the circle.

James – Tell your twin to put her hand on this too.

James and Lily –

I have never seen anyone so proud of their grades before you too, not even your mother, and I’m fairly certain you broke a number of her records while you were in school. I’ve never been prouder of anyone’s grades before you two either. And then, you chose to continue your schooling, hungrier for knowledge than anyone I’ve ever met. When the two of you graduated from Cambridge with Muggle degrees, in addition to your magical education, I knew you were bound for great things.

So get your heads out of your books and go do them, even if it is just to help Fred and George expand into a global commercial empire, as you two seem just as intent on causing as much mischief as they.

Get out there and do it.

Love,

~Your Father

Brian –

I couldn’t believe it when the Sorting Hat called out Ravenclaw four and a half years ago. Except I could, because I knew just how smart you were. Now, I know your O.W.L.s are coming up very soon, and I don’t want you to worry. They’re not as bad as anyone says, even if I did pass out during one of mine.

But if you don’t do well on them, you might want to consider alternate living arrangements, or you and I will be having a talk after your mother kills you.

Keep up the good work, kid, and break James and Lily’s records. Highest grade records ought to belong to Ravenclaw.

Love,

~Your Father

Jane –

I’m sorry to leave you like this, my baby girl. Maybe that’s why I cried so much the day you were born, because I knew I would not see you get to board the Hogwarts Express the first time, or excitedly bring home your first exams to display in the kitchen. I won’t get to hug you after you lead Gryffindor to victory over Ravenclaw in two years. Again, a shout from Brian and an amused glare from Hermione.

I’m sorry I can’t be there for you, but I want you to know, I’m always watching over you, wherever you go, whatever happens, you’ll still be my baby girl.

Love,

~Your Father

* * * * * *

The rain swept across the fields of Godric’s Hollow, as Harry James Potter was laid to rest next to his parents. It was the second time in twenty-six years that Harry Potter had caused a holiday to be declared at Hogwarts, but this occasion was not nearly so happy.

All the students were there, brought by a series of portkeys, to the grassy plain, as they watched the end of the story of the Hero of Their Age.

The End

Author’s Notes:

Chapter Title:

Nemo nisi Mors - Nobody except Death.

Spells:

Redivivus - Come back to life

Alright, yeah, I know, I know. I promised this ten days ago. So sue me (no, not really). But as the hit count was low (it just broke a thousand today), I concluded to let it sit for a while to make sure everyone had read the last chapter, as most of the other chapters break or almost meet 2000 hits.

In truth, I also wanted more reviews, but hey, I can’t have everything. But review this one gosh darn it, it’s the last one.

Thanks for sticking with it, and by me, through my first multichapter fanfiction ever, in any universe. Thanks for all the reviews as well.

Now, I know some of you are curious as to where I’m going next, and I’ve got a few ideas. First thing is to get some short stories that have been building up cleared out. I’ll post those to Pensive’s Pieces of Pumpkin Pie as I finish them, hopefully about 1 a week or so. You should all read them.

Then I’ll be writing a five part James/Lily story called Better and Worse Angels. All it’s got is some rough ideas, but as it’s relatively short, it’s got to be cleared out first. Hopefully, this will be cleared out by the end of March.

Then comes the big stuff, and something a couple of you have asked specifically about – Post-Half Blood Prince work. This is planned as two lengthy stories, entitled Rising Star and Unspeakable. Assuming I can write as fast as I want, these will take the rest of 2006. On the other hand, I rarely get to write as fast as I want.

Furthermore, I will undoubtedly continue to come up with short story ideas and such that will interrupt my other stories. I’ll try to avoid letting it delay updates, but those of you who are authors know how that goes…