Harry Potter: Year Seven

kyc639

Rating: PG13
Genres: Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 29/07/2005
Last Updated: 06/09/2005
Status: in_progress

Following on the heels of HBP, Harry Potter attempts to fulfill the prophecy.

Chapters

1. 1

2. 2

3. 3

4. 4

1. 1

7/29/05

Author’s Note: None of the characters belong to me, but that hasn’t stopped me before.

Would you believe that my very first fanfic story was over 70k words? This is taking me back to my roots then, a novel-length of Harry’s seventh year. Don’t expect quick updates here, and I will work on other stories (like Happy Endings) while this is in progress.

This will be H/Hr, but as it will follow from book 6, don’t expect anything anytime soon, and romance won’t be a critical factor in the story (this’ll mainly be a friendship fic), but it will be there.

Chapter 1

As I sat watching Dumbledore being put to rest, I knew what I had to do. Hogwarts was behind me now, and a new quest lay ahead: find the remaining four horcruxes, destroy them, and then kill Voldemort. After the funeral, I had stood resolutely by the lake with my two best friends, determined to finish the journey that Dumbledore had began with a clear focus on what must be done.

And now, a month later, I ask myself: what was I thinking? Seriously, find the four horcruxes? And exactly how was I going to go about doing that?

Oh, that’s right, I had those ever useful clues to follow: Hufflepuff’s cup, Slytherin’s locket, Voldemort’s pet snake, and something of Ravenclaw’s or Gryffindor’s. For all I knew, Hufflepuff’s cup could be sitting on Voldemort’s mantle right now, next to his framed pictures of Muggles being tortured. But it was that last clue that I liked the best…could we be a bit more specific than ‘something’ of Ravenclaw’s or Gryffindors? For all I knew, it could be a set of Ravenclaw’s bloomers or Gryffindor’s shaving kit.

And even if I somehow managed to find these horcruxes, I still had to get them, and if the protections around the fake locket were any indication, getting the horcruxes might be more difficult than finding them. And then, once I had them, how was I supposed to destroy them? Dumbledore apparently roasted his hand destroying one, and I don’t fancy having to wear a glove on one hand for the rest of my life – which might be awfully short seeing as how I still have yet figure out how I was supposed to complete the prophecy and kill Voldemort.

Just thinking about it all was almost enough to reduce a man to tears. I found myself remembering with nostalgia the days when I only had to kill a basilisk to survive.

Fortunately I had plenty of time to plan my next move. After assuring Ron and Hermione that I wouldn’t do anything rash – and being somewhat amazed to see that they believed me - I returned to the Dursleys alone. Ron was off to the Burrow to help prepare for the wedding, which had been delayed in order to give Bill time to recover, while Hermione went home to her parents. And since the Dursleys left me alone immediately, I had plenty of time to think about horcruxes. Unfortunately, though, my feeble brain was unable to come up with a thing. What I needed was more information about the horcruxes, more information about Voldemort.

What I needed was Dumbledore. But that wasn’t going to happen.

So, instead of making myself useful and somehow discovering the location of the four horcruxes using only the Daily Prophet as a guide, I’ve spent the past three weeks wallowing in memories of Dumbledore’s last days: the cave where I forced Dumbledore to drink; the sight of the Dark Mark over Hogwarts; Malfoy holding Dumbledore at wand point; Snape killing Dumbledore; and my pathetic attempts to curse Snape. Suffice to say, these were not the kind of thoughts that would keep a Dementor happy and well fed.

Or at least, I wallowed until the morning that an official-looking owl swooped in through the kitchen window and left a letter bearing the Hogwarts crest in the middle of the kitchen table. The Dursleys studiously ignored the fact that a bird just flew in and out of their home while I reached over to pick up the letter. It was with no small amount of surprise that I saw that the letter was not addressed to me.

“Um, it’s for you, Uncle Vernon.” No response. “Uncle Vernon?” I sighed and went ahead and opened the envelope myself.

Dear Mr. Dursley,

As you know, the wizarding world, and Hogwarts in particular, suffered a devastating loss with the death of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. While we mourn his loss greatly, we know that Headmaster Dumbledore would not want his death to interfere with his life’s work – the education of young witches and wizards.

After exhaustive meetings between the staff and the Board of Directors, it has been decided that Hogwarts will be open as long as there is one student who wishes to attend.

We realize that you may have concerns regarding the welfare of your children while at Hogwarts. Let me assure you that every step has been taken to guarantee the safety of the students. Additional protective charms and wards have been cast, and Ministry Aurors will be stationed within and around Hogwarts. The method by which Death Eaters were able to infiltrate the castle has been identified, and every step has been taken to ensure that such an event will not happen again.

With these new measures in place, I believe that Hogwarts is as safe – if not safer – than your own homes. We hope to see you and yours on Platform 9¾.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

After the funeral, I had told Ron and Hermione that I would not go back to Hogwarts, even if the school reopened. But now, having time to think about what I had to do, I felt a sense of relief that the school would be opening, for I really had no place else to go.

True, I could go to Godric’s Hollow and find some clue about the horcruxes (preferably a big map with the word ‘Horcrux Locations’ emblazoned on it), but I somehow doubted it. Perhaps there was something of Dumbledore’s that could help, or something in the library. Hogwarts was really the only place I could think of where I could continue this quest, but I was a little leery of telling Ron and Hermione that I had changed my mind. After all, it was such a grand, dramatic moment, staring out over the lake and talking about quests and such with a sense of determination. What was I going to say now?

“Oh, Ron and Hermione? Actually I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going, so ignore what I said and let’s go to Hogwarts.”

It’s a bit embarrassing, is what it is.

A day after the letter arrived, there was a demanding, imperious knock on the front door. Being closest, I opened the door.

“Professor McGonagall?” I asked in disbelief.

“Hello, Mr. Potter. I hope you don’t mind that I dropped in unexpected, but I was hoping to have a word with you.”

I shook my head mutely, still unable to come to terms with Professor McGonagall showing up on my front steps, wearing jeans and a sweater, no less.

Professor McGonagall must’ve interpreted the look on my face, for she gestured to her clothing. “I decided that blending in might be more appropriate, given the circumstances.” She paused while we stared at each other. “Mr. Potter?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

I caught myself, blushing slightly as I belatedly remembered my manners. “Please, come in,” I said.

“Who’s at the door?” Uncle Vernon bellowed from in front of the television.

Before I could open my mouth, Professor McGonagall strode into the sitting room, following the sound of Uncle Vernon’s voice. I hurried to catch up.

“Mr. Dursley, I presume?”

Uncle Vernon stood up and politely introduced himself. I was at a loss as to why his facial complexion wasn’t approaching the color of an eggplant by now, until I realized that he didn’t know that Professor McGonagall was a witch. That is, until Professor McGonagall mentioned where she worked.

“You’re headmaster at that…that…school of freaks?!”

Professor McGonagall gave him a cold look. “I suggest you sit down and do not speak again until I leave,” she said sternly, as if lecturing a particularly bothersome student. To my surprise, Uncle Vernon sat down and clamped his mouth shut; I guess she’s as effective with adults as she is with her students. “Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, Professor?” I asked, still recovering from my surprise.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

I nodded, and led her towards the kitchen. Aunt Petunia and Dudley quickly scampered for the exit, not making a single noise of protest.

“Would you like some tea?” I asked.

“No thank you,” she said as she sat down at the table. I took the seat across from her as she began to talk. “As you must have suspected, Professor Dumbledore has a very detailed will; he has – had - an extensive collection of rare and valuable objects, not to mention items of significant emotional value.”

I nodded mutely.

Professor McGonagall paused a second, waiting to see if I would speak. Then she continued. “In his will, Professor Dumbledore left you a variety of objects, ranging from his pensieve and flasks of memories to a collection of hand-written notebooks, all of which seemed to have been charmed to prevent anyone other than yourself from accessing them.” Again she paused, as if expecting me to jump in and explain why Dumbledore would leave me these things.

After it became clear that I wasn’t about to provide any explanation, Professor McGonagall sighed heavily. “Harry,” she began, “your loyalty to Professor Dumbledore is commendable; it’s a characteristic that we’ve always found admirable. However-”

“-However things are different now, Dumbledore’s dead, and it’s best if I tell you what we were doing before he died?” I shook my head. “I’m sorry Professor, but like I said before-”

“Dumbledore made you promise. I remember.” She paused, and for a second there, she actually looked distressed. “I understand Harry. I know I’m not as…approachable as Albus was, but I do hope that one day, you will place the same amount of trust and faith in me as you did in him.”

It was a side of Professor McGonagall that I’ve never seen before. The majority of the time she portrays a strict, matronly image, and I’ve seen glimpses of her angry, outraged, worried, and sad. But I’ve never seen her look as if she felt inadequate before; I suppose that with Dumbledore’s death, she feels that it’s her duty to finish his work, namely whatever it was that he was doing with me. “I…I don’t know, Professor. I’ll…uh…need to think about it, whether or not Dumbledore would approve.”

Professor McGonagall smiled wryly, exposing a side of her that I’ve rarely seen. “Well, once you’ve consulted with Hermione Granger, please let me know.”

I chuckled. “Yes, Professor.”

“As for the items that Professor Dumbledore left you,” she said, all business once again, “I felt that they are too valuable and delicate to be traveled en masse. You could pick them up yourself from Hogwarts, or I could bring them piecemeal.”

My eyes lit up – a perfect and highly reasonable excuse to return to Hogwarts. “I think I’ll pick them up from Hogwarts.”

She nodded and stood. I stood as well, understanding that our business was complete. As I walked her back to the door, I couldn’t help but feel that we had somehow bonded. It felt kinda nice, reassuring even. “Thank you for coming,” I said politely.

She gave me her usual tight smile. “I look forward to seeing you soon, Mr. Potter.” She stepped outside, but paused and turned back. “I understand this is difficult time for you, Harry. Please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything I can do.”

The feelings of warmth towards my new Headmistress blossomed. I smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Professor.”

Professor McGonagall smiled back. “It’ll be okay, Harry. I daresay a bit of Quidditch will make you feel better.”

The smile dropped from my face, and the previously warm feelings wilted quickly and were replaced by feelings of bitterness. I knew it was an attempt at friendliness on her part, but being reminded of Quidditch…

“I’m sorry, Professor,” I said icily, “but I don’t believe I’ll be playing Quidditch next year. I think I’ll have enough to worry about as it is.”

Professor McGonagall looked surprised. “But-”

“Besides, if I did play, I’m sure something would come up that would prevent me from playing” - I paused, and then added nastily - “like last year, when I was given detention by Dumbledore’s murderer after I cursed the man who allowed Death Eaters into the school. It’s a shame no one believed me about them.”

“Harr-”

“I would appreciate it, though, if Ron were to be named Quidditch captain. After all, he’s the only seventh year still on the team, and he is an excellent keeper.” And with that said, I shut the door in her face. Some part of me felt bad for how I acted, but it felt so good to be able to release some of the anger I had. If only they had believed me about Malfoy and Snape from the very beginning…

I shook my head of these unproductive thoughts, even if they did provide some odd form of solace. In fact, I was glad that I had time away from Ron and Hermione, because, if not for this time to recover, I was sure I’d be screaming at them for not believing me about Malfoy and Snape.

And as for Quidditch, well, perhaps I had been a bit rash there, letting my emotions run my mouth like that. But at the same time, if I did have to find the four horcruxes, I would be too busy for Quidditch…it’s something I would have to think about.

About a week later, I was in my room, staring out my window onto the street below. My mind was currently blank, though I knew there was a part of me that was looking for Dumbledore to come waltzing down the street, his eyes twinkling as he explained how he somehow cheated death, and oh by the way, he brought Sirius and Cedric back with him too.

Since my thoughts were on people coming back from the great beyond to drop in for a spot of tea, it was somewhat startling when the knock sounded at the door. “Erm, Harry?” I heard my cousin say, “there’s someone here to see you.”

I mentally berated myself for giving in to such wild thoughts of reincarnation. “Who is it?” I asked, a hint of suspicion in my voice. I rarely get visitors, so either it’s one of my friends, an Order member, a Death Eater in disguise, or someone lost.

“It’s…” – I could practically hear him rethinking his choice of words – “those red-headed friends of yours.”

I felt a surge of excitement, but I made sure to take my wand with me anyway. I opened the door.

“They’re – hey, watch where you put that thing!” said Dudley, backing away when he spotted my wand. I ignored him and peered down the stairs, where I spotted Ron and Mr. Weasley entertaining my aunt and uncle. Though, to be fair, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked rather peaked at the moment, and really only Ron seemed to be entertained. I started down the stairs slowly, my wand in my hand but pointed down.

“Ah, Harry! We’ve come to pick you up for the wedding,” Mr. Weasley said happily as he spotted me.

“Oh, are you going now? That’ll be a shame,” said Uncle Vernon, his voice dripping with insincerity as he fearfully watched his prized china set zip around the room. I ignored him.

“Hey Harry,” Ron said in greeting, engrossed with making teacups float and watching the horrified expressions of the Dursleys. “Dudley, would you like a piece of candy?”

I raised my wand a hair as Mr. Weasley approached me, stopping him in his tracks. “How do I know it’s really you? Or that you’re not under Imperious” I asked suspiciously.

“Of course it’s me, Harry!” Mr. Weasley protested, looking to his son for support. Ron started to say something, but I shook my head slightly, and he kept his mouth shut, shrugging helplessly at his dad.

When Mr. Weasley turned his attention back to me, I said, “Tell me something that only the real Mr. Weasley would know.” I let Mr. Weasley think for a second, and then I snapped my fingers as if I suddenly had a brilliant idea. “I know,” I said, “what is your nickname for Mrs. Weasley when you’re alone together?”

Mr. Weasley turned a bright shade of pink while Ron whipped his head around, completely oblivious to the shrieks of the Dursleys as the china fell to the floor. “How do you know…?”

“I overheard.”

Mr. Weasley fidgeted. “Isn’t there something else you can ask me?” I raised my wand threateningly. “All right, all right,” he said quickly and then took a deep breath. “Mlywbls.”

I craned my head. “What was that?”

“Mollywbs”

“I’m sorry, I do believe that I’ll have to hex you,” I said, raising my wand.

“Honestly Harry! Is this really necessary?”

I shrugged. “Your rules, not mine.”

Mr. Weasley sighed. “Mollywobbles,” he said clearly. Ron snorted in laughter while I withheld mine.

“How are you doing, Mr. Weasley?” I asked innocently as I put my wand away and walked down the stairs.

“Aren’t you going to question Ron as well?”

I shook my head. “Dumbledore’s protective charms ensure that no one with ill will towards me could enter without using a lot of magic in the process. I knew it was you the whole time.”

Mr. Weasley goggled. “But…but…”

“Oh,” I said, “I should go pack. Be right back.”

I heard Mr. Weasley say, “not a word of this to anyone!” before Ron came bounding up the stairs.

“Y’know, Harry, I’m not sure whether I should find that funny or disturbing.”

“I’m leaning towards ‘funny,’ but then again they’re not my parents.”

Packing was an easy affair, as I hadn’t really planned on staying here for any length of time. It only took a few minutes to pack up my books and clothes, and then we were ready. I saw that Hedwig was still out hunting, so I grabbed her cage and set it on top of my trunk. Ron took hold of one end while I grabbed the other, and together we carried the trunk out of my room. However, before I walked out of the bedroom, I paused.

“What’s up, mate?” Ron asked.

I looked around the little room. “It just that…well, this will probably be the last time I’ll see this room again.”

Ron gently lowered his end of the trunk to the ground and walked over to me. He stood next to me in silence, giving me my quiet moment of reflection. Then he smiled. “Great, isn’t it?”

I looked back at him, grinning madly. “Yeah, it is,” I said, clapping him on the back. “Let’s get out of here.”

Together we carried my trunk and Hedwig’s cage downstairs; I wasn’t worried that Hedwig wouldn’t be able to find me, as she’s always done so in the past. Setting my trunk down, I looked at Mr. Weasley curiously. “How are we getting to the Burrow? Floo? Portkey?”

“Portkey. Now then, make your goodbye’s and then we’ll be off.”

I turned to the Dursleys. “Bye.” There really wasn’t anything more to say. I suppose I could have said thanks, but after the years of abuse, I wouldn’t have meant it. Ignoring their non-response, Ron and I touched one finger to the quill that Mr. Weasley held out. Soon enough, I felt the tug at my navel that would take me away from the Dursleys, hopefully never to return.

2. 2

8/04/05

Author’s Note: I apologize in advance for my attempts at writing a French accent.

Chapter 2

After having experienced travel by portkey a few times before, I was able to land on my feet when we arrived at the Burrow, or outside the Burrow, to be exact. The sprawling little house always invoked warm feelings within me, for the Burrow seemed to say ‘home’ and ‘family’ (whereas the Dursleys’ house seemed to scream ‘misery’ and ‘loneliness’). Even the weather seemed to agree, for it looked to my eyes that a beam of sunlight was shining directly upon the Burrow. Thus, it was with a smile on my face that I approached the Weasley house. I knew that, despite everything else that was going on in my life at the moment, for the next week or so, I could put that all aside. I was also excited to see what a wizarding wedding would look like.

I walked into Burrow and immediately noticed the buzz of activity in the sitting room. Although activity was not a stranger to the Weasley household – having seven children no doubt called for busy and cramped quarters – this particular commotion was notable because there were four or five women bustling around, and none of them had red hair. For a moment I wondered if we had portkey’ed to the wrong house.

I looked at Ron curiously.

“It’s Fleur’s bridal party,” he said by way of explanation.

“Ah, I’m guessing that explains the French, then?”

“Oh, you are a brilliant one, aren’t you. A regular Hermione, you are.”

Before I could come up with a clever retort, Mrs. Weasley came over from the kitchen and gave me a hug. “Oh Harry, it’s so wonderful to see you! You must be famished!”

I nodded, and was about to respond when I noticed that room had suddenly gone quiet. I looked over and saw that all the French girls were quietly whispering among themselves (although I failed to understand why they were whispering when we couldn’t understand French when it was spoken loudly) and looking unabashedly at me.

Finally, Fleur stood (my breath hitching in my chest as she did) and said loudly, “Ladies, ladies, please! Eet ees not polite to stare.” Then she gave me heart-stopping smile, walked over and kissed me in that marvelous way that the French do.

“Hello Fleur,” I managed, feeling my cheeks warm up.

“’Ello ‘Arry. It ees good to see you again. Let me intrahduce my bridesmaids.” Fleur made the introductions, a couple of them giggled and batted their eyelashes, and I smiled and waved politely before leading a slightly dazed Ron into the kitchen.

“Good to see you’re over that whole Veela thing,” I remarked.

“Shut it!”

“Ron! Language!” Mrs. Weasley scolded.

“Sorry Mum,” said Ron as I mouthed ‘ha ha’ at him from behind Mrs. Weasley. Though as soon as she turned her back, he made a rude gesture.

“What’s so funny, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked me as she set a plate of food down in front of me.

“Oh, nothing. This smells delicious, Mrs. Weasley,” I said as I picked up my fork.

She smiled. “Good. Eat up, then. I cooked plenty for you, knowing how those awful Muggles don’t feed you enough.”

Ron grabbed a plate and sat down next to me. We began talking about how life has been for Ron at Wedding Mission Control. A few minutes later, I heard someone coming down the stairs.

“Oh Harry! You’re here!” Hermione said happily. I grinned as she gave me her customary hug.

“Have you eaten?” I asked as I retook my seat.

She nodded. “But I wouldn’t mind another taste of the treacle tart,” she said. As if on cue, Mrs. Weasley laid a plate of treacle tart in front of Hermione and gave her a warm smile. “Thank you Mrs. Weasley.”

“My pleasure, dear.”

“When did you arrive?” I asked Hermione.

“Just this morning.”

We ate and talked about how the past month had gone for each of us, and just as we were finishing up, I heard someone coming down the stairs again. I looked up.

“Mum! Do I really have to wear this – Oh! Um, Hi Harry.” Ginny Weasley appeared at the bottom of the steps, carrying a pale yellow robe adorned with ruffles. We stared at each other for a second.

“Hi Ginny,” I finally said.

We stared at each other for another second. “So, um, I’ve got to see how the girls are doing,” Ginny said, before making a beeline for the bridesmaids. I watched her leave, and then turned back to find Ron and Hermione watching me.

“Well,” I said, with forced cheer, “that went well. I was afraid things might be a little awkward.”

Ron snorted while Hermione gave me her ‘sympathy eyes’ – which, now that I think about it, is pretty much the reaction I get from them no matter what I say. The tense silence was starting to get to me, so I suggested that we go out back where it would be quieter and more private. Ron and Hermione followed me to the porch, and we took our customary seats around the small table.

I could tell that Ron had something on his mind. And after a minute of watching his interesting and amusing facial expressions, I found out what it was.

“Um Harry,” he began, “about you and Ginny…” I looked at him, and though he faltered slightly, he bravely continued. “It’s just that, well, I am her brother, after all. And you two seem okay, no fighting or tears or anything…but I was wondering…it’s not that I’m prying, okay? It’s just that I…well, it’s your business, yours and Ginny’s, I mean, but as her brother – and your best friend – I…what I’m trying to say is that…”

I traded a look with Hermione, and I could tell she also felt that at the rate this was going, it would be nightfall before Ron asked his question. Fortunately for all concerned, Hermione came to the rescue. “What I think Ron is trying to say,” she said, “is that you and Ginny seemed so happy together. We were wondering what happened between the two of you.” Ron gave her a grateful smile and then turned his attention to me.

“We were happy. And it wasn’t anyone fault, Ron. We didn’t fight or see other people. It’s just…” I paused, trying to find the words. Introspection wasn’t my thing, so this was proving to be difficult, though I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. I could’ve just made an excuse that would satisfy their curiosity, but there was some part of me that wanted to talk about it…I would definitely have to speak to that part later on, and most likely beat the snot out of it.

“When I was with Ginny, everything was great,” I said. “But it wasn’t really me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it was almost like it was someone else who was with Ginny, or that I was pretending to be someone else when I was with her. It’s like I would wake up in the morning and put on a mask, a disguise, that made me look as though I were a normal wizard, and I would wear it whenever I was with Ginny. But whenever I had my sessions with Dumbledore or thought about Voldemort or the Horcruxes, I would take off that mask to be the real me. But for some reason, I couldn’t not wear that mask when I was with Ginny; I couldn’t be me around her.” I was starting to get frustrated with my inability to voice my feelings, because I wasn’t even making sense to myself.

Unsurprisingly, Ron was still confused. And getting angry. “You mean you were just pretending to have feelings for my sister?” he said aggressively, leaning forward. Hermione put a hand on his arm, and he calmed down somewhat.

“No, not at all,” I said quickly. “I really care for Ginny, I do, but…there was always a part of me that I couldn’t share with her.” Seeing the expression on Ron’s face, I added, “the part of me that knows I have to face Voldemort in the end.”

“I think I understand,” Hermione said slowly, ignoring Ron’s shudder. “You just wanted to feel normal for once, so you kept that part of your life from her?”

I shook my head. “Sort of, but it’s not that I simply chose to keep things from Ginny, like the prophecy, the Horcruxes, even my suspicions about Malfoy. We were together for a month, and I never felt like I could share those things with her.”

“Why not?” Ron asked unpleasantly. “She fought against the Death Eaters at the end of last year, and she went to the Department of Mysteries with us the year before.”

“I don’t know why, Ron,” I said truthfully. “But it’s the same with Neville and Luna; they fought with us, but I just don’t feel comfortable sharing that part of my life with them.”

I did have some ideas why, though. Maybe I was afraid how they might react, knowing that ‘the Chosen One’ wasn’t just something made up by the Daily Prophet. Maybe I wasn’t entirely convinced that they saw me as plain old Harry Potter – even when I was with Ginny, I sometimes got the feeling that she still put me on a pedestal. Or maybe it was because I only felt comfortable sharing these things with Ron and Hermione because of everything we’ve been through together, because they truly understand the stakes involved.

“But I do know one thing,” I continued. “It’s unfair to her to keep such an important part of my life separate. If we were to continue dating, there’d always be things I’d keep from her, and I’m sure that would hurt her.”

Ron sat quietly for a moment, mulling it over. “All right, Harry,” Ron said resignedly. “I suppose it’s for the best.”

Hermione nodded encouragingly. “You did the right thing. It would have hurt her if you kept such important things from her. And, you never know, maybe after everything’s over…?”

I shrugged, privately doubting my chances of making it that far. “Besides,” I said, my mood darkening. “Look what happens when I let my guard down. I can’t let that happen again.”

“What do you mean?”

“The whole time I was with Ginny, laughing, having fun…what I should have been doing was figuring out what Malfoy was planning!” I said angrily. “If I hadn’t been distracted, if I hadn’t given in to some childish fantasy, then I could have prevented all of this!”

I looked at Ron and Hermione, and I could see the guilt in their eyes. Except for the one glance in their direction when I told everyone about the Room of Requirements after Dumbledore’s death, I hadn’t referred, however obliquely, to the fact that I was right about Malfoy, and that if they had only believed me or helped me…

And frankly, I wasn’t about to start now. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to their apologies or to help them relieve some of their guilt. Before either of them could speak, I stood up. “I need to go unpack,” I said quickly, and walked back into the Burrow to fetch my trunk.

******

The next afternoon, I found myself with a bit of time on my hands. Ron was helping Bill and the other groomsmen put the finishing touches on the wedding preparations, while Hermione was helping Ginny and the rest of the bridesmaids. Not knowing much about anything when it comes to weddings, much less magical weddings, I wasn’t much help. So instead, I spent the time wandering the Burrow and the grounds outside.

Hermione had explained that while wedding ceremonies usually take place in special halls or places – Stonehenge was apparently a popular, if not clichéd, location – it was decided that the Burrow would be the safest place considering all the Death Eater activity. It was more easily protected, what with all the ancient protective charms placed on the home by generations past, and there would be Aurors stationed discretely around the place. Although Mr. Weasley said the added security was for Percy, special assistant to the Minister, I knew it was for my sake; no doubt Scrimgeour would see it as a public relations disaster if Harry Potter were to be killed at a wedding.

It wasn’t so bad, being alone at times. I kind of enjoyed the solitude. I’d felt like this before, most notably after I’d first heard of the prophecy. While I didn’t want to be completely alone, I also didn’t want to be around people, either. This was a nice compromise though, surrounded by people who cared about me, and yet by myself at the same time. It was how I felt most of last year, as if there was something separating me from everyone else, separating me from Ginny.

I walked around the backyard, which had been dramatically expanded somehow; I still wasn’t clear on how you could just push back a forest or shove two houses out of the way, but I suppose that’s why they call it magic. I was initially worried that, since the Weasleys weren’t that well off, the Burrow wouldn’t be able to match up to Fleur’s expectations. But I had underestimated the power of magic, which did not depend on a family’s wealth. Why buy flowers when they could be conjured up? I passed by a number of twinkling fairies and other magical beings, which, according to Charlie, were provided by Hagrid. I soon found myself in a small structure which, from the outside, resembled a gazebo, though larger and far more ornate. It was one room with an attached bathroom, and very comfortable-looking couches against the wall. I circled the place twice, trying to figure out what it was meant for, since the main reception/ceremony area was on the other side of the property.

“Eet ees used by ze bride and ‘er bridesmaids,” came a voice from the doorway, startling me. I looked over to the entrance, and somehow almost managed to trip over my feet when all I was doing was turning my head.

“Fleur,” I said in a breathy voice.

She walked into the room, her long blond hair flowing behind her. “’Ello, ‘Arry. My last night as a single witch shall be spent in zis room. It’s tradition.”

I nodded, finally recovering from her unexpected appearance. Ron was right – it’s harder when she jumps out at you like that, when you’re not prepared. “It’s a beautiful place,” I said.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed. Then her face seemed to glow. “O’ ‘Arry, I’m so ‘appy you’re ‘ere!”

“You are?” I said, surprised at her sudden excitement.

“Oui! I cannot wait for you to see Gabrielle again. Unfortunately she isn’t arriveeng until tomorrow when ze rest of ze family arrives. She ‘as grown into a beautiful young woman!”

I inwardly groaned, now that I could see where this was leading. “I’m sure she has,” I said honestly, as being half-Veela, I had no doubt Gabrielle would be as pretty as her sister. But a young woman? She was, what, eight when I last saw her? I’m not sure what the laws are in the wizarding world, but that’s wrong on so many levels.

“I can’t wait to see her as well,” I said, lying through my teeth. “How old is she now? Eleven?” Perhaps if Fleur was reminded how young her sister was, she wouldn’t go further in trying to fix us up. But then again, she was French...

“O’ no,” Fleur said laughing, a delightful melody that filled the air as a mesmerizing smile appeared on her beautiful face, her -

“She ees almost fourteen! Ze same age, I believe, as your friend ‘Ermione when she dated Veector Khrum.”

“Fourteen! But she looked so young before!”

Fleur nodded. “Zat ees ze Veela blood; it makes us look younger, especially before we reach maturity.”

“Oh,” I said. So much for hopes of derailing her matchmaking efforts.

“Yes, eet will be wonderful,” she said happily. “She ees very intellijant, tops at her class. She-”

“Oh, there you are Fleur! Madam Malkin has just arrived and – oh, Harry!”

For a split second I was grateful that someone had come to the rescue, until I saw that it was Ginny. I fidgeted slightly as Ginny came into the room, and managed to say, “Hi Ginny,” which pretty much describes the depth of every conversation we’ve had since I arrived at the Burrow.

Fleur didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss. “Zahnk you Jinny,” she said, and I had the feeling that had Fleur been standing next to Ginny, she would’ve patted her on the head. “’Arry, I must go. We shall continue zis later?”

“I can’t wait,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere. Fleur flashed one of her heart-stopping smiles and floated out of the room.

Which, of course, left me alone with Ginny.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” I said finally, after which I felt like kicking myself for saying something so inane.

“Yes, it is.”

“Yeah…” I searched for something to say to this girl, who only a two month ago I was laughing with and kissing by the lake. Then I remembered the sight of the Burrow when I first portkey’ed in. “The sun’s really shining brightly on the house.”

Ginny nodded. “I’d hope so; that charm was expensive.”

I cast my eyes about, looking for a topic of conversation when Ginny spoke. “Listen, Harry. Hermione and I talked about what you told her the other day.”

“Oh?” I said, mentally picking out which of her books I would burn for breaking my confidences.

“Yes. And while I wasn’t pleased, we talked about it. I can understand how you feel, Harry.”

“Oh,” I said, mentally picking out all the books that I would buy Hermione for her birthday. “Ginny…”

“She’s right, you know. It would be too hard being with you, when there’s such a big part of your life that you won’t share with me. I wish you felt comfortable enough with me to include me in that part of your life.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” I said. “It’s just that…I…”

“It doesn’t really matter,” she said sadly, and then she walked up to me and looked determinedly in my eyes. “But I want you to know, regardless of what happened between us, I trust you, Harry. I believe that you’re our best chance to defeat You-Know-Who, and I’ll follow you wherever you lead, no matter what.”

“I, uh…thanks, Ginny. I really appreciate it,” I said sincerely, touched by her words. “And I want you to know, that the time we had together…it really meant a lot to me. It was the first time I can ever remember when I felt normal, when I could leave all the pressures behind. I’ll never forget it.”

She smiled wistfully as she adjusted my collar, and then gave me a hug. I held her closely as I remembered all the moments we shared in the past. But then she pulled away and then left without another word. For a second, I thought about running after her, telling her I was wrong, and begging her to give it another go. But that would be lying, to her and to myself. As I watched her walk out of the room, it was as if I’d finally let go of that last part of me that clung to the idea that I could somehow avoid my fate.

******

I sat in the middle row of seats next to Hermione and Angelina Johnson as the wedding began. It was great to see Angelina again, and we caught up on safe topics – Quidditch, school, life after Hogwarts, etc. – while we waited for the wedding to begin. Bill and the rest of his brothers stood up front in matching dress robes as they waited for Fleur to enter. Bill looked much better than the last time I’d seen him in the Hogwarts infirmary; part of that was due to Madam Pomfrey’s skill, but another part was due to the glamour that had been cast in order to not frighten the wedding guests who hadn’t known of his tussle with Greyback.

When the music started, we all stood and turned to watch as the bridesmaids walked down the aisle, one-by-one. Ginny looked radiant, and we shared a poignant smile as she passed. And of course, one couldn’t miss Gabrielle, who looked as stunning as I’d feared. I had hoped she would at least look all of ten years old, but alas, she looked as old as any fourth year. She smiled at me as we passed, despite my best efforts to avert my eyes and avoid any contact. Finally, Fleur appeared, accompanied by a collective gasp from the guests. She was absolutely beautiful in her wedding robes, and even Hermione was momentarily speechless.

The first part of the ceremony went by in a blur, mainly because I was too busy looking from Gabrielle to Fleur and back again. Finally, when I was yet again a second behind during one of those times when you’re supposed to stand up (but to be fair, at least half of the guests were just as slow to stand as I was), Hermione elbowed me in the stomach and hissed, “Pay attention!” I gave Hermione a sheepish look.

But after that, I seemed to shake off the effects of the combined power of two half-Veelas (is that the same as one full Veela?) and was able to pay attention. The rest of the wedding was actually very entertaining now that was able to look at things other than Fleur and her sister. While I had been able to overcome their effects, not many of the other men were: the groomsmen were particularly bad, especially when you consider that the each had a role to play during the wedding. It was amusing, and after pointing out this or that to Hermione, I finally got her to crack a smile about it.

The reception was more relaxed, now that Fleur and Gabrielle weren’t the focus of attention. I was able to enjoy my meal, sitting again with Hermione, Angelina, and Katie Bell, while Ron had to sit with his brothers at the head table. Once dinner was over, the room was magically cleared for dancing. Angelina and Katie went to find the twins, and Hermione was about to leave as well when I spotted Fleur and Gabrielle heading straight for me.

I grabbed Hermione’s hand before she could more than two steps. She looked at me curiously, and nodded my heads towards Fleur. “Don’t leave me!” I whispered desperately. She stayed, though whether it was because of my plea for help, or because her hand was staying regardless of whether or not the rest of her did, I wasn’t sure.

“’Ello ‘Arry!” Fleur greeting, kissing me on each cheek. Her face clouded slightly when she saw that I was holding Hermione’s hand, but she recovered nicely and kissed Hermione on each cheek as well. “You must be properly introduced to my sister!” With that, she pushed Gabrielle towards me, and to my surprise she didn’t have the look that I’d come to associate with girls who are impressed by my fame. Instead, she looked slightly embarrassed and irritated.

“’Ello,” she said as we exchanged kisses. “Eet ees nice to meet you.”

“Oh? Yes? I’ll be right zere,” Fleur said suddenly, to no one in particular. “I’m sorry, but I must be off. Still so much to take care of. Harry, you take good care of my sister, d’accord?” She winked and started off, but Gabrielle grabbed her arm. They traded some fierce whispers in French before Fleur untangled herself and escaped.

I nervously cleared my throat, though I was pleased that I wasn’t overcome by her Veela-ishness. “So, how do you like Britain so far?” I asked politely.

“Mon Dieu!” she said bitterly. “Zis ees so stupeed.”

I was a little taken aback. “Well,” I said, trading looks with Hermione, “maybe you haven’t seen the best parts of England yet.”

“I’m sure England ees lovely,” Gabrielle said, waving her hands. “It ees my sister oo is stupeed. She zinks that we should run off togezere, have ze grand love affair!”

“Oh. Well.” Not what I was expecting at all.

“Oh, do not misunderstand!” she said. “You are wonderful, ‘Arry. But I would prefer not to settle down at fourteen; I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” I said, happy that I wouldn’t have to disappoint another girl this week.

“Bien. Well, I shall be off. It was nice to meet you again, ‘Arry Potter,” she said, smiling as she walked off, having ignored Hermione the whole time.

After she was gone, I smiled at Hermione. “Well, that went much better than I thought.”

Hermione laughed, and was about to say something when Ron appeared. “Hermione? I was wondering if you wanted to – hey, what’s going on?” I was momentarily confused by his abrupt change from nervousness to anger, but then I saw that he was staring at our hands, still intertwined. I let go immediately.

“Nothing’s going on,” I said. “Hermione was just doing me a favor.”

“What kind of favor,” he asked suspiciously, and a little nastily.

I felt my irritation grow. “How about next time I’ll ask your permission before I touch Hermione, okay? Would that make you happy?”

Ron suddenly looked embarrassed and tried to act nonchalant. “Hey, do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

Hermione, who I could tell was getting annoyed by Ron’s behavior as well, suddenly turned on me. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

I threw up my hands. “Gah! Forget it!” I said and stalked away towards the refreshment table, leaving them bickering behind me. I picked up a small plate of wedding cake and returned to my table, where I could see Ron and Hermione still arguing. I sighed heavily.

I had hoped that I had seen the end of the arguing last year, after the horrific ‘Won-Won’ incident. But, it seems as if nothing had changed. I was still concerned for my best friends – what if they never spoke to each other again? – but at the same time I just wish they’d get it over with, whatever it might be. Date, don’t date – just put me out of my misery!

A few minutes later my two best friends appeared, looking forlorn as they took seats on either side of me. “We’re sorry, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, I was stupid. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Over both of us,” Hermione clarified.

I snorted. “Yeah, fine,” I said, not wishing to talk about this at a wedding, or ever in fact. This was highly uncomfortable for me, and my dream would be that two of them resolve whatever needs resolving without my involvement. Fortunately, at that moment I spotted Lupin walking across the grounds.

I stood abruptly. “I need to go talk to Lupin.”

“What about?” Hermione asked.

I looked at her. “About visiting Godric’s Hollow. I figure he’d want to know, or come even.” There was more to it than that, though. I had a lot of questions and concerns about my last humiliating encounter with Snape, and I hoped Lupin could help me. This was a subject that I hadn’t discussed with anyone yet, and I didn’t particularly feel like talking about it with either Ron or Hermione at the moment.

Hermione, it seemed, suspected that I was being only half-truthful. “Is that all?” she asked quietly.

I looked directly into her eyes. “That’s all,” I said, my voice firm and unwavering.

It was sort of an odd moment, small yet significant. Ron accepted what I’d said, as usual, but I could tell that Hermione didn’t believe me. That in itself isn’t new, as I’d kept things from her or told half-truths before, whether it was about homework assignments or my dreams. But in the past, I’d always had trouble lying to Hermione, looking anywhere but in her face. This time, though, I was able to look at her without flinching.

She looked a little sad as I turned away, and I knew that she recognized the shift in our relationship. It’s one thing for me to lie to her, but to continue to lie even though I knew that she knows I’m lying…well, it marked a definite change in our friendship.

Perhaps it was because I had spent practically all of sixth year without her – or Ron’s – help, and become accustomed to it. Or maybe I was still resentful that neither one of them believed or trusted me about Malfoy. It was probably both, but either way, I somehow felt as if I didn’t need or want their help as much as before, that our friendship, while still strong, had been diminished somehow. And this was sad, because it meant that I felt separate from even them, and that, in so many ways, I was truly alone now.

3. 3

8/10/05

Author’s Note: I’m pretty jazzed right now - sometime late last week, I finally figured out the final scene between Harry and Voldemort. I’m pretty excited about it. But, of course, that’s a long ways away from where we are now.

And yes, I’ve finally accepting that I do need a beta – these chapters are just too long for me to proof by myself. I’ll get around to it eventually…

Chapter 3

I weaved my way through the crowd of wedding guests until I was able to catch up with Lupin. “Remus?”

He turned around, a grin immediately on his face once he saw me. “Harry! It’s great to see you.”

I gave him a quick once-over as we shook hands. He was looking much better than he had in the past - younger, in fact. His dress robes were much improved compared to the normal, shabby old ones that he usually wore, and he looked as if he’d put on a little weight, but in a good way. And he was actually smiling, really smiling. For the first time since I’d met him, Lupin didn’t look as if carried a giant weight on his shoulders.

We traded some small talk, mostly about the wedding and how the two witches we had sat next to – Tonks and Hermione – were so indignant about the effects that Fleur and Gabrielle had on everyone. Finally, I brought up what I wanted to talk about. “Remus, I was wondering if you had some time to talk privately.”

Lupin immediately sensed that the topic of conversation had changed from polite chit-chat to that of a serious nature. “Of course, Harry.”

Although Lupin was, by default, really the only father-figure type that I had left, I had no reservations about talking to him. Ever since the first time we met, when he was my professor in third year, I’ve always felt comfortable around him. I felt like he was a trusted mentor. Even more than Sirius, who acted much more like a friend than a godfather, or Mr. Weasley, who would always be my best friend’s dad, Lupin really was the closest thing I had to a father.

“It’s about,” – I started in a low voice, then suddenly brought it back to normal tones – “Godric’s Hollow. I was thinking of visiting, and I was hoping you could come. Oh, and you too, Tonk.”

I had fortunately spotted Nymphadora Tonks, her hair color matching Lupin’s robes, approaching before I could bring up Snape. Lupin initially looked confused at my sudden change in tone, but when he felt Tonks wrap her arms around his, he gave me a small nod of understanding. “Of course Harry. I’d be honored.”

“Wotcher, Harry,” Tonks said happily. “What’s all this then?” she asked.

Lupin turned to look at Tonks, his face gentle and smiling. “Harry was thinking of visiting the village where his parents had hidden from You-Know-Who. Do you want to come?”

Tonks looked at me. “Would that be alright?”

“Of course,” I said honestly.

She smiled. “Then I’d love to go. When?”

“I was hoping soon…the sooner the better.”

Lupin thought for a minute. “How about the day after tomorrow?”

Tonks frowned. “I may be on duty…”

“Then we’ll wait,” I said quickly. “I want you to be there too, Tonks.”

She smiled gratefully. “I’ll find out as soon as I can.”

“Thanks,” I said. I then excused myself, feigning thirst. I was halfway to the refreshment tables when Lupin caught up with me.

“Hey Harry? What did you really want to talk about?”

I was about to answer when it occurred to me how inappropriate it would be to discuss my failures with Snape at a wedding; the only reason I wanted to talk about it right then in the first place was because I was annoyed by the antics of my two best friends. “Later. After we get back from Godric’s Hollow.”

“Are you sure?” Lupin asked, concerned.

I nodded. “It’ll keep.”

*******

The next morning was a very late morning for the everyone: Bill and Fleur’s wedding reception went on through the night and continued on after the two newlyweds left for their honeymoon in some warm and tropical environment. Everyone had been caught up in the celebratory atmosphere, including the normally reserved Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione even got a little tipsy. I think it was a reaction to all the heartache and stress we’ve all been under, that after two years of worrying about Voldemort, and then Dumbledore’s death still so recent, people just needed to release some stress by having some fun. Plus, I’m pretty sure Fred and George put something in the punch.

Though I was probably the most reserved of the bunch, being habitually unable to completely relax my guard in case Voldemort decides to drop in for a piece of cake, I actually had a very nice time. I was even able to have a non-awkward dance with Ginny; I’m not saying it was entirely comfortable, but at least the earlier awkwardness that had been between us was now gone.

The only downside of the whole evening for me was that, no matter how many times I tried, I just couldn’t let go and loosen up fully. I knew we had the ancient Weasley charms in place, as well as several teams of Aurors milling about, but I just couldn’t relax. More often than not, I’d be sitting at one of the tables and watching everyone else have fun, some part of me waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Death Eaters to start popping in and zapping people. The only time I left the table, besides my dance with Ginny, was whenever Hermione dragged me onto the dance floor. Hermione was a good dancer, if a little stiff - she had researched wizarding customs at weddings and had practiced the dance steps ahead of time. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised.

So, being the person who was, in Muggle terms, the ‘designated driver,’ I was also the most lucid in the morning, and the first one down for breakfast. I started rummaging through the cabinets, thinking that I could start breakfast – make that brunch - for everyone else.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing, young man?”

I turned and grinned at Mrs. Weasley, who was coming down the stairs. “Just helping,” I said.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said in mock sternness. “You’re a guest, and guests do not cook breakfast in this house.”

“But perhaps guests may be permitted to assist?”

Mrs. Weasley smiled. “Perhaps.”

Together, we finished up the cooking, and Hermione appeared in time to help set the table (which clearly offended Mrs. Weasley’s sense of propriety). Eventually, the rest of the Weasleys made their way downstairs, with Ron and Charlie bringing up the rear.

Predictably, conversation revolved around the wedding and was overall a pleasant affair. I didn’t participant much, though I was teased for Fleur’s matchmaking attempts. Ron and Hermione only bickered once about a comment he made about Gabrielle, but I believe Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s presence prevented a full-scale argument.

After brunch, Charlie and his parents went off somewhere, ostensibly to discuss Charlie’s plans while in England, but more likely something Order-related. I was surprised that I was only mildly annoyed to be left out – maybe it was because I had plans of my own that didn’t involve the Order. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I sat comfortably around the table, satisfied and full.

“Look,” said Ginny, pointing out the window. We all turned and saw a heavily laden owl swooping down onto the Burrow. As it got closer, I recognized it as a Hogwarts owl. It flew through the open window and dropped the mail unto the table. While the others sorted through the mail, I fed the owl a piece of leftover bacon and carried it towards the window (to prevent it from making a mess) where it flew away. I was watching as Hedwig intercepted the owl and the two owls started to fly in a circle, when a gasp caught my attention. I turned to see Hermione staring wide-eyed at something in her hand. I looked closer, and grinned when I recognized what she was holding.

“Head Girl!” I said happily. “Congratulations!”

Ginny squealed and ran over to hug Hermione from behind, who was still in a state of shock. It took another gasp of surprise to tear her attention away from the badge.

“Oh Merlin,” Ron whispered, holding up a badge of his own. “Quidditch captain.”

Ginny straightened, looking confused. “Quidditch captain? But Harry’s Quidditch captain,” she said, looking at me.

“I’ve resigned,” I explained. “With everything else going on, I won’t have any time to be captain.”

I got three very different reactions from the statement: Ginny nodded in sympathy, Hermione looked distressed, and Ron looked really happy, as if it were Christmas morning. “Are you sure, Harry?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, matching his grin with one of my own. If anyone deservers to be captain, it’s Ron; not only won’t he have to worry about making the team, the boost of confidence that comes with the badge should help his skills.

“Well, that’s all and good,” Hermione said briskly, “but of course we’ll too busy for that.”

“What? We will?” Ron asked, confused.

“Yes. In fact, Ron, we should write back as soon as possible and let them know so McGonagall can choose another Head Girl and Quidditch captain.”

I was confused, but Ginny asked the question before I could. “What are you talking about?”

“We obviously can’t accept these when we’re not even going to be at Hogwarts next year,” said Hermione.

“Oh…right,” Ron said, his face falling.

It was then that I realized what was going on. Oops. Did I forget to mention that whole ‘changing my mind’ thing?

But before I could say anything, Hermione noticed that Ginny still looked confused. She turned to Ron, “You did tell your family, didn’t you?”

Ron looked guilty. “Well…”

“You didn’t change your mind, did you?” Hermione practically shrieked.

I tried to interrupt. “Hey guys-”

“No, of course not,” Ron said hastily. “I was just waiting to see if Hogwarts would close, that’s all!”

“About that-” I started.

“We’ve known that Hogwarts would be open for weeks now! Why haven’t you said anything yet?” Hermione demanded.

I waved my hands in the air, trying to attract their attention. “Yoo hoo! Guys-”

“I hadn’t found the time; I forget with all the wedding preparations!” Ron said.

I grumbled, and then tried again. “You know, It’s not a big deal, because-”

“Are you saying that Bill’s wedding is more important then what we’re doing with Harry?!”

“Don’t put words in my mouth; I’m just saying-”

I set off a shower of sparks with my wand, which interrupted Ron. They both looked at me. “If you’ll just let me speak for a second,” I said irritably, “than I could tell you that I’ve decided to return to Hogwarts next year!”

Ron and Hermione’s angry faces were replaced with confused ones. “Huh?”

“Yeah. Dumbledore left me a few things in his will; I’m hoping that whatever he left me will provide a clue, so I’m going back – we’re all going back.”

“Oh.”

Before things could get awkward – Ron and Hermione trading self-conscious glances, mumbled apologies, etc. – I added, “which means that you can still be Head Girl, and you can still be Quidditch captain.”

That seemed to do the trick, as they both sported wide smiles. They hugged, then broke apart almost immediately, muttered something to each other without making eye contact, and then ran off in separate directions: Ron to tell his parents, Hermione to owl hers.

I buried my head in my arms, somewhat annoyed by the latest occurrence in the soap opera that has become Ron and Hermione. When I raised my head again, I saw that Ginny was looking at me oddly.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I…I didn’t know that you weren’t planning on going back to Hogwarts,” she said quietly.

I felt a stab of guilt. “Oh…I didn’t decide that until after the funeral, after we…um, talked last.”

We were both quiet for a minute, and I could tell that I had hurt her by not telling her about my plans. “Listen, Ginny-”

“No,” Ginny said quickly, composing herself. “You don’t need to explain. I mean, this is why we broke up, right? Because you can tell them but you can’t tell me.”

I held out my hands helplessly. “Ginny-”

Ginny stood. “You were right; it was for the best, Harry,” she said curtly “I…I have to go.”

She left quickly, leaving me at the table alone.

********

That night, there was a celebratory dinner at the Burrow to honor the new Head Girl and the new Quidditch captain. And in a rather transparent effort to make sure I didn’t feel left out, Mrs. Weasley decided that we could throw in my birthday celebration as well, even if my birthday wasn’t for weeks. I didn’t mind though, and I always appreciate impromptu presents.

The next day, Lupin and Tonks, wearing Muggle clothes, came by for our visit to Godric’s Hollow. We were going by side-along apparition, as they didn’t want to apply to the Ministry for portkeys that would probably have been rejected anyway. I followed Tonks and Lupin out towards the apparition point while Ron and Hermione walked behind me. Once we were outside the anti-apparition wards, Lupin apparated to Godric’s Hollow with Ron, while Tonks did likewise with Hermione. Seconds later, Lupin reappeared to take me to Godric’s Hollow. As I took hold of his arm, I looked back at the Burrow, where I saw Ginny watching us from a window upstairs. I knew that I could’ve invited her to come with us to Godric’s Hollow, and that it would have made up a little for not letting her know that I hadn’t planned to return to Hogwarts, but I just couldn’t do it. It was a private moment for me. I was comfortable with Lupin being there, as he was among my dad’s best friends. Tonks was there for Lupin, and Ron and Hermione were my best friends. Despite the relationship I had with Ginny, I just couldn’t bring myself to invite her along. And then I felt that squeezing sensation as Lupin apparated us away.

We arrived in a clearing surrounded by trees, sheltered from curious Muggle eyes. Ron, Hermione and I looked at Lupin expectantly. He gestured around us.

“We’re in a park located in the center of Godric’s Hollow. It’s a small, little Muggle village, and I do believe that we’ll be the only witches and wizards around. There haven’t been many visitors lately.”

“Lately?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

Lupin looked embarrassed. “Well, Harry, you have to understand that the first defeat of You-Know-Who was a very significant event for the wizarding world. The site of his defeat has become…well…a kind of tourist attraction.”

“Oh,” I said numbly.

Then he turned to me. “Harry,” he said kindly, “there’s really nothing exceptional about Godric’s Hollow. It’s just where your parents chose to hide from Voldemort.”

I nodded; I wasn’t even sure why I felt the need to come here. “I understand.”

Lupin placed a hand on my shoulder, and then turned to the others. “Okay, lets’ go. Follow me, and please try and blend in,” he said, looking pointedly at Ron. Hermione chuckled.

We passed a few people in the park out for a late lunch, but otherwise there weren’t many people out and about, as it was mid-afternoon and most people were at work. We walked swiftly though the town, and we only had to save Ron’s life once as he tried to cross traffic against the light – leave it to Ron to almost get killed by the only car driving around Godric’s Hollow.

After about five minutes of walking, Lupin led us to a grassy, empty lot, surrounded on either side by small but well-kept cottages. The empty lot had a pristine lawn, unmarked except for a small obelisk in the center which was slightly taller than myself. I gazed upon the tranquil scene and said the first thing that popped in my head.

“That’s it?!” I said, my voice filled with both surprise and disgust.

“Excuse me?” Lupin asked, startled.

“That’s it?!” I repeated, motioning towards the lot as I rounded on him. “That’s all there is? Grass and a stone?”

“The cottage was destroyed that night. The obelisk commemorates your parents’ sacrifice, and Muggle-repelling charms were cast to make sure they didn’t rebuild over the place. I’m sorry Harry, but what did you expect?”

I turned angrily back towards the lot, my emotions wild. “I…I mean…there should be…I don’t know! I don’t know what I expected, but there should be more! Not just an empty piece of land and a big rock!” I nearly shouted, pointing at the obelisk. I wasn’t even sure why I was so angry, but I just was. I was about to go on another tirade, when I felt a hand on my forearm.

It was Hermione, looking at me with eyes full of worry and concern. I felt much of the anger drain away, leaving me tired and weary. Once I felt I had my emotions back under control, I turned to Lupin. “I’m sorry-”

“No apologies necessary,” he said hastily.

“No,” I corrected, “I owe you an apology. I don’t know what came over me, but it’s not your fault. I’m sorry for yelling. Can…can I have a moment alone?”

Lupin nodded. “Tonks and I should check the perimeter, anyway. We’ll be back.”

As Lupin and Tonks left, Hermione asked, “Would you like us to go as well?”

I looked at her and then at Ron. “No,” I said, “stay. Please.”

Hermione nodded and released my arm. She took a step back to stand next to Ron, giving me my privacy but letting me know that they were right there in case I needed them. I smiled gratefully, and then turned back towards the obelisk. With an unsteady gait, I walked across the lawn until I stood before the monument. I began to read the plaque:

This monument commemorates the defeat of He-Who-Must-Be-Named by Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. On October 31, 1981, James and Lily Potter, parents of the Boy-Who-Lived, were in hiding when…

And then something strange happened. For the past six years, I’ve always known the story about how my parents died, but it always seemed like something out of a history book. Sure, they were my parents, but since I was only one when it happened, I don’t remember them or the night they died. It was always something that was distant, impersonal. I was less saddened by their deaths then angered about it: angry that I had to live with the Dursleys and angry at Voldemort for murdering them. The only time it had become something personal, when it had really touched me, was when I saw their ‘echos’ appear out of my wand when I dueled Voldemort in the graveyard.

But as I read the plaque…I don’t know, but I felt as if I could actually feel them watching over me. I knew that they were gone, that they weren’t ghosts or spirits, but as I stood on the spot where it all happened, it somehow became real. And so I broke down.

My knees buckled underneath me, and I cried – cried not only for their deaths, but for life that we should have had together. The life where I lived happily with James and Lily Potter, where I had a little brother or a sister. A life of Sunday dinners, of telling mum and dad what I did in school that day, teasing my younger brother or sister, watching out for them when they got into Hogwarts. I cried because my father would never see me play Quidditch, my mother would never scold me for failing Divination or advise me on how to talk to girls. No waking up mum and dad on Christmas morning, or helping dad cook a horrible breakfast-in-bed for mum on her birthday.

Eventually, as my sobs subsided somewhat, I became aware of my two best friends: on my right, Hermione sat on the grass, hugging me fiercly around the middle as she cried silently, while on my left, Ron has his arm around my shoulder, preventing me from collapsing to the ground. I knew that three of us had been through a lot last year, things that probably changed our relationship forever, but for that moment, it was as if nothing had changed.

I don’t know how long the three of us sat together in silence, but that’s how Lupin and Tonks found us when they returned. I wiped at my eyes as Hermione performed some nifty little clean-up charm, removing all traces of tears and snot. “Where’s their grave?” I asked Lupin.

Lupin looked uncomfortable – pretty much how he’s looked ever since we got to Godric’s Hollow. “Harry, you have to understand-”

“What? You mean there’s no grave?” I asked, my voice rising.

It was Hermione, not Lupin, who spoke next as she held my hand. “Harry,” she said in a soothing voice, “things work differently in the wizarding world. You remember the Inferi?”

I nodded, as the memory of hundreds of zombies grabbing at me wasn’t something I was likely to forget anytime soon.

“There are a lot of Dark Magic spells that involve the use of the dead or parts of dead bodies. When a witch or wizard dies, especially powerful ones like your parents, their bodies are cremated.” I looked at her curiously. “I read it in a book,” she said in answer to my unspoken question.

“But what about Dumbledore?” I asked. “He wasn’t cremated.”

“In fact, he was,” said Lupin. “He body was cremated, and in it’s place the tomb was erected.”

I sighed, accepting it all. And, though I was terribly disappointed, I could see the logic in the situation – after all, I wouldn’t want the reanimated corpse of my dad coming after me. “And the ashes?” I asked.

“Per their wishes, they were spread on Hogwarts ground, near the lake where they spent so much of their time together. I’ll show you next fall.”

I didn’t answer, and instead looked back upon the obelisk and the grassy lot. “There’s nothing else for me here then,” I said, turning back to them. “Let’s go.”

********

The rest of the time at Godric’s Hollow went by in a blur. After such an emotional outburst, I was in a daze somewhat, and I allowed myself to be led around by Hermione. Lupin didn’t see much point in sticking around, so as soon as we could find a place away from prying eyes, we apparated back to the Burrow, with Hermione apparating by herself while Lupin and Tonks took care of Ron and me.

The three of us – Ron, Hermione and I - didn’t talk about what happened at Godric’s Hollow, and I’m thankful for that. Even though the tears were somewhat cleansing, I was also embarrassed by how I broke down so completely. Having been raised by the Dursley’s, it was ingrained early on that crying equated to weakness. It was really the only way I could stand up to the Dursleys, by not crying and showing them that I was tougher, stronger than they were; the tears I would save for when I was alone. Fortunately, my two best friends seemed to understand, and the fact that they were there for me meant all the world.

I spent the rest of the day in a funk, but by the next morning I was feeling better. Lupin would be back in a day or so to have our private discussion, so I had at least one more day where I could push away my thoughts of Voldemort and Horcruxes. Or at least, that’s what I thought.

That morning, as we were eating breakfast, an owl flew in bringing the Daily Prophet. I had no interest in reading the Prophet, since it either consisted of the half-truths of the Ministry, or news of more deaths. Hermione, of course, immediately grabbed the paper and unfolded it to the front page. Upon scanning the front, she gasped.

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t think I want to know,” said Ron.

Hermione looked ashen. “They…they found Draco Malfoy.”

“Oh?” I asked, my interest piqued. “Maybe he can tell us where Voldemort is hiding.”

Hermione lowered the paper to look at us. “I don’t think he can.”

“Why not?” asked Ron. “Just give me five minutes with the little ferret; I’ll have him talking in no time at all.”

But Hermione shook his head. “Malfoy won’t be talking to anyone ever again - he’s dead.”

A/N: Yes, yes, I killed Draco. Sorry about that. One more chapter, and then it’s on to Hogwarts and the Horcruxes.

By the way, does anyone know what Harry and Co. call Lupin to his face? I’m assuming it’s ‘Remus,’ since he called Sirius by his first name, but then again he always refers to him as ‘Lupin’ when describing situations. I couldn’t seem to find any direct references in HBP.

Oh, remember the scene where Ron finds he’s Quidditch captain? I don’t want anyone to think that Ron wasn’t immediately willing to refuse the badge and go off with Harry. He’s just as loyal as Hermione, it just took him a little longer to be snapped out of his dream. Speaking as a guy, we have a thing about sports.

4. 4

9/6/05

Author’s Note: Sorry this update took so long; it’s harder to get motivated to write these background/setup/transition chapters than it is to write the action/angst/fluff chapters.

I did finally figured out the final scene between Harry and Voldemort; before, I wasn’t sure how this would end, but I’m pretty excited about what’s coming.

But, of course, that’s a long ways away from where we are now. I also use a quote from HBP, but it’s a small one.

Chapter 4

“What?!”

“They found his body outside Malfoy Manner,” Hermione said, her voice devoid of emotion. “At least, the remains of his body.”

Ron and I practically leapt out of our chairs to stand behind Hermione and read the paper. She huffed a little as we crowded her, but her discomfort was duly ignored.

MALFOY HEIR FOUND MURDERED

The body of Draco Malfoy, only child of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and heir to the Malfoy fortune, was discovered early this morning outside the Malfoy home in London.

Shortly after midnight, Aurors were dispatched to Malfoy Manner when the Dark Mark was sighted above the home. Upon reaching the gates of the mansion, Aurors discovered the remains of Draco Malfoy, who was wanted for questioning on his role in the recent invasion of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which resulted in the death of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

“At first, we weren’t sure what it was. Maybe a pile of rags, or even a dead animal as we got closer,” said Auror John Clifford, among the first to arrive on the scene. However, closer examination revealed the deceased.

Authorities indicated that the cause of death was by spellwork, most likely the Severing Charm. Sources within St. Mungo’s reported that signs of the Cruciatus Curse were visible within the nervous system.

Upon hearing the news of her son’s death, Narcissa Malfoy reportedly suffered a nervous breakdown. She has since been committed to St. Mungo’s for observation and treatment.

Lucius Malfoy, father of the deceased and husband to Narcissa Malfoy, is currently serving life imprisonment in Azkaban prison for his role in the break-in of the Department of Mysteries two years ago. It was in this incident that the existence of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was confirmed.

Aurors are investigating the murder and are asking that anyone with information please call the Ministry of Magic.

It was very hard to know how to react to news like this. I mean react properly. It’s not like I wanted Malfoy dead – just life imprisonment or an eternity of suffering would do just fine. What was the name of that guy who was tied to a rock, and each day a big bird came by and ate his liver, only to have it grow back again? Something like that, but not as cushy.

And there was a tiny part of me that felt sorry for the guy, especially considering that he wept like a little baby to Moaning Myrtle – which still gives me a chuckle – plus the fact that he probably wasn’t going to kill Dumbledore up on the tower because he was a such a little wuss. Did I mention that he cried in the bathroom to Moaning Myrtle? Practically sobbing, he was. Heh.

But anyway…I know what it feels like to live with overbearing guardians, so I could imagine the pressures that Lucius must’ve put on him. But none of this changed the fact that I hated him, that he was a right bastard, and that he probably got what he deserved. I wasn’t exactly happy to hear that he’s dead, but I wasn’t about to stand in line to give his eulogy, either. Still, he was dead, and I doubted that Hermione would approve if I celebrated his demise with a little jig. So, I knew that the one thing I shouldn’t do right now is smile, exchange high-fives with Ron, or otherwise show that I take any pleasure in his death.

Unfortunately, I seemed to be the only one who knew that. “Well, that’s one less thing we have to worry about,” said Ron simply, his hand raised to give me a high-five.

Somehow I resisted the urge to give his forehead a high-five; obviously Ron’s still not clear on when you keep your thoughts to yourself and when you express them out loud. Unfortunately for Ron, Hermione did not share my sense of self-restraint.

“Ow!” cried Ron, as Hermione slapped him across the head. “What was that for?” he asked, rubbing his head.

“Show some respect!” Hermione hissed.

“Respect?! For that little ferret?”

“Just because he’s-”

“Enough already!” I said loudly, before they could build up a head of steam.

They both turned to me, and I could tell I was about to be drawn into their little soap opera when, fortunately, Lupin chose that exact moment to walk into the room.

“What’s all the commotion?” he asked. Tonks, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Charlie followed him into the kitchen.

The three of us were silent for a moment, still fuming from the argument that was interrupted before it could begin. Finally, Hermione spoke up. “Malfoy’s dead – Draco Malfoy, I mean. It’s in today’s paper,” she said, pushing forward the Daily Prophet.

I had expected them to react somehow to this news, perhaps a little shock or regret or something. Instead, they looked irritated. “So,” Mr. Weasley said, picking up the paper, “it finally got out, did it?”

Tonks sighed. “I knew they couldn’t keep this under wraps for much longer.”

“Well, what do you expect?” asked Charlie. “It’s big news, and-”

“You guys knew about this already?” I asked, but it was more of an accusation.

Lupin looked at me. “Well…yes. They found Draco’s body a couple days ago, but we’ve been trying to keep it quiet.”

Tonks nodded. “The Order wanted some time to investigate a little before-”

“Why weren’t we told about this?” I demanded angrily.

They traded anxious looks; no doubt the feeling was that I was to be treated with care. “Now Harry,” Mrs. Weasley began in a placating voice. “This is…the reason is…” she broke off, looking to her husband for support.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, “but this is Order business, and you’re still underage, even if for only a few more weeks.”

I pointed at Hermione. “She’s not underage, and you didn’t tell her!”

But before Mr. Weasley could respond, Ron said, “Hold on a sec!” Then he turned to Hermione. “You didn’t know anything about this, did you?”

I’ve rarely seen Hermione look so insulted. “How dare you! Do you actually think that I’d keep something like this from you?!”

The smart move would’ve been to simply apologize and move on, but I think Ron’s so used to arguing with Hermione that backing down without a few parting words wasn’t an option. “Well, it’s not like you haven’t kept things from us in the past,” he said defensively.

“Yeah? Name one time that-”

“Bloody hell!” I said, slamming my fist on the table. “What the hell is wrong with the two of you? Can’t you stop arguing for one damn minute?!” I was incredibly irritated with them at the moment – there were more important matters then their petty bickering.

Without bothering to see their reaction, I turned to Mr. Weasley. “So? If being underage is the reason, why didn’t you tell Hermione, then?”

Mr. Weasley cast his eyes around the room for support. Apparently, it was Charlie’s turn. “Harry, you’re not in the Order. None of you are.”

“Not in the Order? Not in the Order?! Are you kidding me?!”

“Harry,” Lupin said calmly, “We’re just looking out for your best interests.”

“Oh, so it’s back to that, is it?” I asked, incensed. “Protecting me, watching out for me, keeping things from me for my own good?”

“Harry…”

“No, no, I think that’s a great idea!” I said as I started to pace the kitchen. I knew I probably sounded a bit maniacal, but I didn’t care at the moment. “Let’s just ignore the fact that if you had told me that Voldemort wanted to get into the Department of Mysteries, Sirius would probably be alive. And let’s forget that had you only believed me about Snape and Malfoy, Dumbledore would still be alive. Oh, and while we’re at it, let’s pretend that I haven’t already face Voldemort three goddamn times, a basilisk, and about a hundred Dementors.”

I paused and looked at their stricken faces. “Come to think of it,” I continued, “ever since people started looking out for my ‘best interests,’ I’ve pretty much faced death and dismemberment on an annual basis. Great job, there. Fantastic effort! You know, if the past is any measure of your success, I might as well just go knock on Voldemort’s door and have him end it once for all! It’ll save you all the trouble of getting me killed, and the suspense is beginning to drive me crazy!”

I waited, arms crossed, for any response, but none came in the shocked silence. “Forget it,” I said. “I know what needs to be done – Dumbledore was kind to share it with me. I thought I would be able to count on you for help, but it seems I’m better off on my own.” And with that, I turned and walked up the stairs towards the room I was sharing with Ron. Taking out my wand, I began packing up my things, not really caring whether or not I received another letter from the Ministry for underage magic (and privately, I doubted such a letter would come; I may not be high on Scrimgeour’s list of friends and supporters, but I don’t think he’d risk the public relations nightmare that might happen if people learned that I had my wand snapped in half).

As I packed, I was dimly aware of someone speaking loudly and angrily downstairs. A second later, there was a soft knock at the door. “Harry?”

“What?” I asked unpleasantly, not bothering to face the door.

“Don’t take your anger out on me,” Hermione said quietly, but firmly. “I’m on your side, remember?”

For a split second, I could empathize completely with Ron – the urge to argue was strong. But I bit my tongue, because I knew she was right. I turned around and looked at her. “Sorry.”

She nodded, and then sat down on my bed and watched as I continued packing. I half-expected her to say something about my using magic, but evidently there were more important things on her mind.

“What was all the yelling a second ago?” I asked as I watched a pair of socks fold themselves into a ball.

She smiled humorlessly. “That was Ron; he was reading the riot act to everyone downstairs. I think he enjoyed it a little too much, yelling at his parents for once.” I snorted.

“In some ways he’s really matured, but in others…” Hermione said, mostly to herself.

I knew that I should keep my mouth shut and my thoughts to myself, but I couldn’t help it. “Well, that’s just Ron, you know?” I said, watching her out of the corner of my eye.

Hermione cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

I paused in my packing and turned to face her. “Listen, Ron is who Ron is: he’s loyal, he’s brave, he’s funny, and I love him like a brother. But he’s also going to say things without thinking, and he’s never going to be the most sensitive or sophisticated or polished of fellows. He loves Quidditch, and he hates studying. Just…just don’t expect him to change too much, okay?” I held eye contact for a second before I turned back to packing, feeling that I’ve probably said more than I should have.

Hermione was quiet for a while as I began levitating my books into my trunk. Finally, she said, “I think you should go back downstairs.”

“Downstairs? Why? So they can tell me again how everything they’ve done has been for my own good?” I asked bitterly.

“No, Harry…you have to understand, they’re under a lot of pressure-”

“What? And I’m not?!” I asked in disbelief. “Try having the fate of the world on your shoulders, and then we’ll talk about pressure! Because, let me tell you, the world is bloody heavy.”

“No, no, I don’t mean it like that,” Hermione said quickly. “I mean, they’re feeling a lot of pressure to make you happy.”

“What are you talking about?”

Hermione sighed. “With everything you went through growing up, they feel that it’s their responsibility to make sure you’re happy. Lupin feels that he owes your parents and Sirius, and the Weasleys want to make up for what you went through with the Dursleys. They want you to protect you and let you live a normal life.”

“A normal life? I think it’s about 16 years too late for that.”

“I know Harry,” Hermione said sadly. “And I think they know it too, but they’ve been in denial. Until now. Look, they’re really sorry, I could tell, and if you come down, I’m sure they’ll apologize and tell you whatever you want to know.”

I paused in my packing as I considered her words.

“Please Harry,” she said. When I remained silent, she added, “You owe me.”

I turned in surprise. “I owe you? For what?”

But once I saw that she was about to respond, I quickly added, “Forget I asked.” Knowing Hermione and her blasted memory, I could easily spend the better part of the day listening to her recount all the ways I owe her. I think it’s about time I saved her life again, just to make us all square.

I walked up to her as she stood. “Fine,” I said grumpily, “but you can’t use that ‘I owe you’ thing again for the rest of the year, okay?” Hermione nodded happily, grinning broadly with just a hint of a smirk. She took my hand and led/dragged me back down to the kitchen.

Lupin stood up when he saw me. “Harry,” he said, “We’re all very, very-”

“Fine,” I said as I took a chair, not wanting be part of some uncomfortable, emotional scene. “What’s going on with Voldemort? What’s the Order been up to?”

Hermione sat beside me as Lupin traded a look with Mrs. Weasley, correctly deciding that I’ve accepted their apology and wanted to move on. “All right, Harry,” Lupin said as he took a seat. “To be honest, we don’t know what Voldemort’s planning.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“Ever since You-Know-Who returned, we’ve been trying to figure out what his ultimate goal is, so that we’d better be able to stop him,” Mr. Weasley said. “But we just can’t figure it out.”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Ron asked. “He wants power, and he hates Muggles and Muggleborns.”

“True,” Charlie acknowledged, “But what does that mean? Does that mean he wants to be Minister of Magic or some type of dictator? Does he want to kill all Muggles and Muggleborns? Right now, You-Know-Who is doing a splendid job of terrorizing and killing people, but his only purpose seems to be causing havoc and fear. We don’t know what his ultimate goal is.”

“What about that dictator-thing? That sounds likely,” I said.

Lupin shook his head. “Being a dictator means more than just having absolute power. It also means ruling people, worrying about the economy, laws, relations with other countries – it’s a lot of administrative work, and I don’t think Voldemort wants that. He wants power, yes, but he also wants the freedom to do whatever he wants.”

“Plus, he hasn’t made any demands either,” said Tonks.

“Demands?”

Lupin nodded. “Things like a change in laws about Muggles and Muggleborns, or threatening more deaths if he doesn’t get his way. It’s almost like he’s killing and terrorizing because he enjoys it, rather than any other reason.”

I nodded slowly, starting to understand the problem. If Voldemort wanted to be Minister/Dictator or had some other goal, the Order could focus their attention on stopping him and take action. But if all he’s doing is murdering people because he can, then the Order is forced to react to him, always one step behind.

“There have been other developments as well, which makes trying to figure out his motives even more confusing,” said Mr. Weasley.

“Such as?” Hermione asked.

Mr. Weasley sighed. “You-Know-Who’s started attacking outside Britain, both in Europe and in America.”

I looked to Hermione, who nodded in understanding, and I followed suite even though I had no idea what that meant – I just didn’t want to appear slow. So, I was thankful when Ron asked, “How does that make things more confusing?”

“Voldemort could have used the threat of attacking other countries to his advantage. How do you think France or Germany would react if Voldemort promised to leave them alone if he could have his way in England? Plus, he’s got to know that attacking other wizarding communities will likely unite us against him. Voldemort’s not stupid; he must have a reason for doing what he’s doing.”

“How effective has he been in his attacks?”

“Unfortunately, he’s done very well so far,” Charlie said. “As in Britain, he’s mainly been concentrating his attacks on Muggles and Muggleborns. The latest theory is that You-Know-Who thinks that by attacking only Muggles and Muggleborns, the rest of the wizarding world will isolate them to save themselves. And it just might work.”

“But…but…what about America?” Hermione asked. “Aren’t they more open and accepting of Muggles?”

Lupin shook his head. “You’re thinking too much of Muggle history, Hermione. America is just as bad as England when it comes to Muggle-Wizard relations, in some ways worse.”

Hermione looked shocked. “But I thought…religious freedom, tolerance…”

“Yes, but only within the Muggle communities.” Lupin saw that Hermione needed a more detailed explanation, so he fell into ‘professor mode.’

“When the first Europeans settled in America,” Lupin said, “they were entirely Muggle. Very few, if any, wizards initially went, mainly because the idea of a boat ride that took months when wizards were used to instantaneous travel wasn’t very appealing. But there were wizards indigenous to America.”

“Really?” Ron asked, fascinated.

Lupin nodded. “Of course. The Native Americans had their version of wizards. They called them by a number of different names, but today we call them Shamans. Though their magic was as developed as our own, their downfall was caused by the fact that they didn’t have an effective system for identifying magic in children and cultivating it.”

“I’m sorry, but why does that matter?” asked Ron.

Lupin turned to Hermione. “You know what happened to the Native Americans once the Europeans became settled?”

Hermione nodded grimly. “They began exterminating them.”

Ron was shocked. “What?! Why?”

“Because,” Hermione said bitterly, “they viewed the Native Americans as lesser beings, as uncivilized and savages. And they wanted land, so they ‘bought’ the land from the Native Americans for almost nothing using a language they didn’t understand, and then would send in soldiers when the Native Americans refused to leave their homes.”

Ron was outraged. “But…but…you can’t treat people like that just because you think you’re better than them!”

Hermione snorted. “Ha! This from a guy who supports House Elf slavery!”

Ron’s face turned red. “That’s different! House Elves want-”

“The rationale’s the same!” Hermione argued. “Just because-”

“Will you guys give it a rest?! Can’t you stop fighting for one damn minutes?!” I asked harshly. Then I turned to Lupin. “What happened next?”

Lupin looked uncertainly between the three of us before continuing. “Because the Native Americans hadn’t fully developed their Shaman population, they couldn’t provide the necessary help to defeat the European settlers. The best they could do was to go into hiding. Today, there is a very large population of Shamans that go unnoticed by the Muggles. You can understand if they have a significant anti-Muggle viewpoint, and would have no problem in sacrificing the Muggles if it meant protecting themselves from Voldemort.”

I took a moment to let everything sink in. “So, what do we do?” I asked.

“I just don’t know,” Mr. Weasley said, looking defeated. “We try and keep up, but it seems to get harder and harder each day.”

“But what about the Order?” Ron asked.

“It’s been…difficult for the Order,” Lupin said. “Dumbledore’s always been the driving force behind the Order, it’s leader. With him gone…”

“And our reputation’s questionable now, too,” Tonks said, speaking for the first time in a long while. “I’m not sure how it got out, but somehow people found out that Snape was a high-ranking member of the Order. So you can see how we’re looking less than stellar in the eyes of the Ministry and the public right now.”

“And what about the Ministry?” I asked. “They know what’s going on, what are they doing about it?”

“I’m not saying that the Ministry’s given up, but there is a small, and growing, segment within the Ministry that thinks we should just let You-Know-Who have at the Muggles and Muggleborns,” Mr. Weasley said apologetically, looking at Hermione.

I remained silent for the rest of the conversation as they updated us on the rest of Voldemort’s known activities. As I sat there, I realized that our chances for victory diminished the longer the war went on, which meant I had to end this soon.

********

A few days later, I finally had my chance to speak with Lupin privately. Ron and Hermione were – well, to be honest, I didn’t know what they were doing. I had been in a rather foul mood the past couple of days after learning the latest about Voldemort’s plans and the Order’s lack of accomplishments, and I had little patience for their constant fighting.

Which, of course, didn’t put me in the best of moods to talk to Lupin. Fortunately, that gazebo that Fleur used in her wedding was still up, so we met in there. Once inside, Lupin was somewhat obvious about casting a few privacy charms about, including an imperturbable charm on the doors and windows; I was pretty sure he could have done so much more unobtrusively, but no doubt he wanted me to know that this would be a private conversation.

We settled ourselves among the plush couches and made small talk for a few minutes. Once we finished discussing Tonks’ latest hair color, we got down to business.

“Remus, I wanted to talk to you about…about the night Dumbledore died,” I said hesitantly.

Lupin nodded, giving me his full attention.

I took a deep breath. “You know how after Dumbledore…well, I went chasing after Malfoy and Snape.”

“Yes, I remember,” he said gently.

“Well, right before they reached the gates, I managed to catch up with Snape. Malfoy had already escaped by this time.” Lupin leaned forward, greatly interested; I hadn’t told anyone about what happened when I chased after Snape, and Hagrid only had the partial story that occurred afterwards.

My face flushed in embarrassment, I proceeded to tell Lupin all about the duel I had with Snape, if you could call it a duel. But I wasn’t only just embarrassed - I was confused and angry as well. Up to that point, I had considered myself to be rather adept at dueling. I had, after all, led the D.A., and when I dueled Malfoy in Myrtle’s bathroom, I pretty much kicked his albino behind (which I felt bad about at the time, but which now gives me great satisfaction). I knew, or thought I knew, that I was probably one of the best duelers in the school, but to be so ineffective - helpless - against Snape…

After I finished by story, Lupin did one of those professorial things and rubbed his chin in a very wise and thoughtful manner. “I can see why you’d find this troubling, Harry,” he said, stating the obvious, “but I wouldn’t be too worried about it.”

I practically jumped up. “What?! How can I not be worried about it?”

Lupin smiled. “Because we can easily remedy the situation.”

I looked at him suspiciously. “How?”

Lupin spoke again, in full professor mode now. “Why was Snape so easily able to block your spells?”

I quickly flashed him a look that expressed my annoyance at having a question answered with a question. I thought back to that night, and I suddenly remembered the words he had yelled at me at the end. Blocked again and again and again until you learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed, Potter!

“Because I couldn’t use nonverbal casting,” I said.

“That’s right,” said Lupin. “Now, normally I wouldn’t be too concerned; after all, if you remember back the fight at the Department of Mysteries, we were all using verbal casting. But Snape is an accomplished duelist, and letting him know in advance of what you’re about to cast, if only for a split second, is all the advantage he needs.”

My shoulders slumped in despair. If Snape was that good, no doubt Voldemort would be even better. “So what do I do?” I asked miserably.

“Think back, Harry. Have you ever been able to use nonverbal casting before?”

I nodded, remembering when I hoisted Ron onto his head after he took the love potion and the duel with Malfoy before I resorted to verbally using Sectumsempra. “Sure,” I said, describing the two instances. “But I tried noverbal casting against Snape, and he was still able to block me.”

“And why was that?”

I sighed irritably. I knew it was how professors worked – guiding the students until they came to their own answers - but I was getting sick of questions. “Because…because he used Legilimency?”

“That’s right.”

My spirits sank. “But…I suck at Occulmency.”

Lupin laughed. “Yes, you do Harry,” he said good-naturedly, “and fortunately we won’t have to rely on Occulmency to overcome this problem.”

“So what do we do?”

“Was there anything different about how you used nonverbal casting before, and when you used it against Snape?”

I resisted the urge to ask him to just tell me – it would certainly save a lot of time – and instead I thought back and tried to compare the different situations. I couldn’t think of what was different, so I shrugged.

Lupin must’ve decided that I couldn’t get to the answer myself – or he took pity on me – because he finally let me in on the secret. “The difference, Harry, is that when you fought Snape, you told me that you focused all your concentration on casting the spell nonverbally. But when Ron struck you, you didn’t have time to think, you simply reacted. Same against Draco.”

I nodded. “Okay…”

“And therein lies the answer!” Lupin said excitedly. I looked at him blankly. “Successful dueling is all about reacting instinctively. Harry, you’re sufficiently powerful enough to nonverbally cast your spells successfully without wasting time on focusing your concentration.”

I was doubtful. “React instinctively? But…well, I’ve been accused of acting without thinking in the past. Aren’t I supposed to use my brain when I duel?”

Lupin nodded and was quiet for minute. “Let’s talk about Quidditch for a second.”

“Huh?” I was a little surprised by the sudden change in topic.

“What happens during a game when you’re Seeker? What are you thinking about when you’re not chasing the Snitch?”

“Well…obviously I’m looking for the Snitch…”

“What else?” Lupin prodded. “What about the rest of the game? Are you watching the game as well, or just for the Snitch?”

“Well, of course I’m looking out for Bludgers too. And I watch the Chasers too, to see if there are any plays we can run that involve me.”

Lupin nodded. “And the other team?”

“I’m watching the other Seeker to see if he spots the Snitch before me…and their Chasers too, in case there’s an opportunity to steal the Quaffle.”

“All right. What about once the Snitch is spotted? What do you think about then?”

“I think about catching the Snitch.”

“Just catching the Snitch?” he asked. I nodded, so he asked, “what about the other Seeker?”

“Well…yeah. I have one eye on him to see where he is, how close to the Snitch he is.”

“What about Bludgers?” Lupin asked.

“Yeah, okay, Bludgers too. I watch for Bludgers out of the corner of my eye.”

“And while all of this is happened, before and after you spot the snitch, how much thinking are you doing?”

I tilted my head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you think about how to ride your broom? Are you thinking about all the different plays you might run? Are you thinking about the Bludgers and trying to predict where they might go? And once you’re after the Snitch, are you thinking, or simply acting? Do you concentrate on all the different maneuvers you can fly, or how to outthink the other Seeker, or do you simply fly?”

I finally saw where he was heading. “I see your point, but there’s a big difference between Quidditch and dueling.”

“Yes, there is,” Lupin allowed, “but the principle’s the same. In Quidditch, you practice and train long and hard until your actions during a game are almost instinctive. What we want to do is take that same idea and apply it to dueling.”

“You mean by training?”

“Exactly,” Lupin said, smiling. “We’re going to train you in dueling situations so that you won’t have to over-think the situation. Instead, you’ll be able to rely on your training and act accordingly. That way, even the best Legilimens won’t have the time to read your thoughts, and nonverbal casting will become second nature to you.”

We spent a few more minutes talking about training – as it turned out, Lupin was already planning on talking to me about additional training, so it worked out well for the both of us. I asked him who would be conducting the training, but he only mentioned Tonks by name, assuring me that they’ll be plenty of volunteers once we get to Hogwarts.

Though I was still a little skeptical upon leaving the gazebo, I felt much better than I had in ages.

A/N: Next chapter is the old Express, and then on to school.

I will say that this story is definitely moving slowly…we’re some 16k words in, and no plot in sight yet. Some part of me wants to apologize for it, but then again, I am trying to follow the structure that JKR has religiously followed for six books (Dursleys – leaving Dursleys – meeting up with the buddies – Express), even though she may completely disregard it in her seventh.

To those that expected more from Godric’s Hollow: since GH wasn’t an integral part to my story, and since JKR pretty much forced me to send Harry there, that’s the best I could do. I can’t imagine there’s much at Godric’s Hollow unless JKR is waiting to spring a secret on us; after all, it’s just a small town where James and Lily hid out, and their cottage was blown up. What’s there to find?

See you hopefully sooner next time.