A Simple Matter of Timing

A/N: This is a two-part story, Prologue and Chapter 1 here, with Chapter 2 and Epilogue to follow. Rated R for a brief and not too smutty sex scene, a few naughty words, and some gory violence. Be warned that this does NOT have much of my usual very tasteless humor and sexual innuendo, but there will be a small dash of it. But, I believe that it will be an interesting and worthwhile tale. Please enjoy, and thanks for the reviews.

A Simple Matter of Timing

Prologue: Beginning of the End

I, Harry Potter, have decided to tell the real story of my defeat of Voldemort, aka The Dark Lord, aka Tom Riddle, aka the piece of inhuman excrement who was responsible for making most of my early life so miserable.

It must be told now, since I am the only living person who knows all of it. One other did know most of the story, but she’s gone, and very soon I’ll be joining her.

The tale is not long, but it is somewhat complicated, as you will see.

* * * * *

I lived at Hogwarts during what would have been my seventh and final year of school, and I was joined by most of the student members of Dumbledore’s Army, including some who had graduated already, as well as some of the school faculty. Additionally, some members of the Order of the Phoenix moved in. Officially, the school was closed, but it was a perfect headquarters for our part of the "good side" in the war against Voldemort.

Following the end of my sixth year, much of the summer holiday months and a good deal of September were spent in recasting old protections and forming new ones in and around the school castle and grounds. Nominally, Minerva McGonagall was the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, but she really presided over what had become an informal military camp.

To the surprise of almost everyone in the magical world, the war ended much more quickly than any thought possible. In the end, Voldemort lost for many reasons, but several of them, both of strategic and tactical natures, were of great importance.

First, he failed to follow up with attacks in the immediate aftermath of Dumbledore’s murder, when the morale of his opponents was at its lowest. In particular, his failure to remove from the war what would become "Fortress Hogwarts" proved to be a very large factor in his downfall.

He had one additional chance at eliminating Hogwarts when the Minister of Magic attempted to take it over, which came to within a hair’s breadth of provoking a civil war within our side. No one ever knew exactly what he intended to do with the school, but after a standoff of several days between us, the students, and two dozen Ministry Aurors, a truce was arranged, and the Minister and a few personal assistants entered into a private meeting with Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Flitwick. The Minister and his people emerged from the meeting looking as shaken as if they had been pimp-slapped by the Devil himself. McGonagall refused to discuss anything about the meeting, and all that a cheerful and smiling Professor Flitwick would say is that he had "reasoned with" and "explained things to" them.

Later, the small professor had a private conversation with Hermione, Ron, and me. He told us that he was aware both of the prophecy and of much else discussed by Dumbledore with me, and that our hunt for and destruction of the horcruxes was of the greatest importance, and that no one, including puffed up politicians, would be permitted to interfere.

Next, Voldemort failed to appreciate the importance of the change in leadership at the Ministry of Magic. While Rufus Scrimgeour was every bit the equal of Cornelius Fudge, in terms of being a slimy political git, he did grasp the nature of the situation. He was immeasurably more ruthless than was his predecessor in prosecuting the war in general, and in carrying it directly and preemptively to Voldemort’s manpower base, pure-blood families, in particular. In fact, it is possible that he acted as viciously as he did, at least in part, to salve the bruising that his ego had suffered at the hands of Professor Flitwick.

Also, Voldemort underestimated the value of allies, and he seemed interested only in recruiting specific types of dark creatures, with undeniably terrible characteristics and powers, but which were relatively few in absolute numbers. Further, he antagonized groups that might have remained neutral in the war, such as the House-elves and Goblins.

The Elves held in bondage conveniently became free agents whenever some of the more notorious Auror killer squads dispensed summary judgment to all members of pure-blood families on the dark side. Those particular Elves became invaluable as spies against Voldemort, because of their ability to move inconspicuously among the households of remaining active Death Eaters.

A couple of drunk Death Eaters - possibly, they were just plain stupid - in broad daylight attempted to rob Gringotts Bank Headquarters in Diagon Alley. A vault guardian dragon roasted one of them beyond recognition, but the other only was chewed up and partially dismembered by a group of young junior teller Goblins. The Dark Mark on his arm, if not much else, remained clearly visible.

Upon realizing that the war could cost them gold, a patriotic fervor swept the Goblin community, and a large contingent of young fighters, raised on stories of the glorious - from the Goblin point of view - rebellions of centuries past, joined with us.

Also, our side was able to keep control of the dragon reservations in Eastern Europe, thus depriving Voldemort of additional very deadly allies, and a slow but steady trickle of freedom-loving wizards and witches from around the world began to join our side.

Finally, and fatally, Voldemort failed to learn in time that his enemies had discovered the secret of his horcruxes. Before he comprehended what had happened, thanks mostly to Hermione Granger and a few other Hogwarts students including yours truly, all of his soul parts were found and destroyed, leaving Voldemort with no means of future reincarnation, should he lose the war.

Ultimately, Voldemort found himself facing a situation analogous to that of Germany on its eastern front in the Second World War. This was summarized neatly by a Muggle historian thusly. The Soviet Union was too big, too cold, and had too many people. While in our war, weather didn’t matter, geography was of some significance, and Voldemort was out-manned, in terms of the sheer numbers of people who could wield wands and fight. In trying to maintain a presence throughout the British Isles, his forces were stretched too thinly. Historically and theoretically, the numerically smaller side always loses, if and when a conflict can be converted into a war of attrition.

By the middle of March of the New Year, Voldemort had to accept that he was losing the war. His losses, including almost irreplaceable dark creatures such as vampires and werewolves, who required long periods of time from their creations to attain full control of their powers, were mounting. Slowly, but surely, our side was grinding down the size and effectiveness of his forces. Increasing numbers of new allies on our side were replacing our losses, but his sources of new fighters had dried up.

He made the only rational decision remaining. He proposed a cease-fire, wherein all hostilities immediately would stop, and talks would begin concerning a possible final end to the war. He suggested a simple method for determining the victor, and he promised that if he should be the winner, complete amnesty would be given to all participants in the conflict. He insisted that as the victor, his only conditions for peace were to be his assumptions of the positions of Minister of Magic and Head Warlock of the Wizengamot. Also, he insisted that members of the magical world should give careful consideration to "reasonable" future proposals concerning the status of pure-blood, mixed-blood, and Muggleborn witches and wizards.

On the other hand, if he should be the loser, then all Death Eaters and other dark allies would surrender and submit themselves to justice. He urged but did not demand that such justice should be magnanimous.

Of course, everyone at Hogwarts dismissed this idiocy out of hand, but unfortunately, far too few of the others supposedly on our side did so. In due course, Rufus Scrimgeour and fellow Ministry slimeballs agreed in principle to Voldemort’s proposal, though their own jobs and power would hang in the balance. The clamor from the magical press demanded that the proposition must be agreed to, since ANY end to the war would be preferable to its continuing.

The only catch was that Voldemort’s "simple method" for ending the war was that of a single combat duel between him and me.

Part 1: Under Sentence of Death

In spite of the intense pressure from outside, as I noted, everyone at Hogwarts was opposed. They knew that neither Voldemort nor his followers could be trusted to keep any agreement, regardless of the outcome of any "honorable" duel.

Professors Flitwick and McGonagall informed me privately that arrangements could be made for me to leave not just Hogwarts but the entire country, and to hide away long enough to train myself for a more even chance in a duel. Others, including Hermione and Ron tried to convince me to leave, as well.

Of course, I accepted the challenge.

What else could I do? I mean, it was my destiny to do battle sooner or later with Voldemort, according to the famous prophecy. Ironically, whether or not it actually was true was irrelevant. Voldemort believed it to be true, at least the part of which he was aware, and he intended to act upon that belief, so it mattered not what I thought.

My life up to that time, such as it was, had NOT been very pleasant. I had become fed up with the entire situation, and I wanted either a change in it for the better, preferably, or, lacking such, an end to it. Notwithstanding the wailing, gnashing of teeth, and breast-beating by almost everyone in Hogwarts, I was determined to go through with my decision.

I reasoned that I had some chance, however small, of winning. While Voldemort certainly had the advantages of magical knowledge, experience, ruthlessness, and willingness to do anything to win, I had some of my own. My youth would give me both greater quickness and more stamina, and there was the still as yet unknown mysterious "power" that the prophecy alleged that I possessed, of which Voldemort was unaware.

I almost changed my mind, when the politics of arranging an allegedly simple duel intruded. Negotiations - petty haggling might be a more accurate term - over the precise conditions dragged on for three days!

First, agreement was made for each participant to appoint a "Second" to handle the negotiations. Professor McGonagall recommended Professor Flitwick to me, and I agreed readily, remembering that he did have a background that involved dueling, and that very recently, he had been quite successful in ridding Hogwarts of the Minister of Magic and his company through mere talk.

Two days were spent in meetings at the neutral site of The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, which location was necessary because of Voldemort’s choice as his "Second," Severus Snape. Truce or not, had the treacherous, greasy bastard set foot inside the castle, personally I would throttled him until his eyes popped out. Dobby, the House-elf, and a dozen of his fellows had been VERY fond of our late Headmaster, and they had been "tutored" for several months by Hermione as to the necessity for them to become more assertive of their rights. One shudders to contemplate what they would have done to Snape, if they were given the chance.

Anyway, Professor Flitwick presented to me a twenty-seven-page document, delineating - I am NOT making this up - the "preliminary basic agreement!" Upon perusing the stack of parchment, twenty-six-and-one-half pages were nothing but a massive list of "weapons" and "aids" NOT to be permitted in the duel! While it was gratifying to see at the beginning of the section that the ancient Greek aspis, the Macedonian sarissa, and the Roman pilum and gladius were banned, it did strike me as more than trifle odd that an entire catalog of banned military weaponry really was deemed to be necessary.

My eyes began to glaze over when I read terms such circumvallation and contravallation, onager, ballista, catapult - aha, there’s one I understood! - and siege towers. ‘SIEGE TOWERS!’ I thought, ‘what the bloody hell was going on?’ I looked at the professor, confusion evident on my face. "I don’t see spit balls proscribed, and there seem to be the grave omissions of flyswatters and cast iron frying pans," I said.

"Not to worry, Harry" he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Obviously, our adversary is confused and stalling for time! I suspect that he was taken aback by the swiftness of your reply to his challenge, and he’s attempting to discover the nature of the secret weapon that you may have in store for him."

After one more day of talks, the conditions for the duel were agreed to by the negotiators and then approved by the principals, Voldemort and me. The date and time would be in three days, on April 1, at 12:00 Noon, which time was chosen to avoid either participant from jockeying for and getting an unfair position of having the sun in opponent’s eyes. ‘How appropriate,’ I thought, ‘April Fools Day!’ The venue would be the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch. The only persons permitted to observe, but ONLY to observe, would be each principal’s "Second" and two witnesses from each side. The weapons were to be wands, one per participant, and any and all magical charms, spells, curses, including those of a wandless nature. Banned were any and all magical partners, whether human or creature, and inanimate objects, devices, etc., whether magical or Muggle in nature. Literal hand to hand combat, without any weapons, was permitted, in the unlikely event that we should find ourselves physically close enough for it. Finally, the duel was to end only in death.

The worst part of the waiting was . . . the waiting itself. I had a brief meeting to review basic dueling tactics with Professor Flitwick, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks. With the latter two, over the past few months whenever time permitted, I had learned quite a lot of practical value, and I had improved both my reaction time and overall accuracy. However, both of them betrayed their fears of the outcome by their expressions. Tonks looked like she had been crying, as well.

Over howls of protest from Hermione and Ron, I had chosen Remus and Tonks as my witnesses. I did not trust Voldemort or Snape any further than I could throw them, and when informed of the identities of his witnesses, Belletrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy, my resolve stiffened to prevent any harm from coming to my two oldest and best friends.

Before I knew it, it was the day before the duel. Nothing much happened in the morning, save for a rather spectacular and heated argument between Ron and Hermione at breakfast. I spent the day walking around the castle, as if I were in some sort of trance. At supper, I noticed a peculiar seating arrangement. All of the witches, regardless of age or house affiliation, were sitting together, apart from the wizards, who were scattered about the Great Hall in pairs and small groups.

After finishing my meal, I made a slow and possibly last tour of the hallways of Hogwarts. I visited briefly with Moaning Myrtle, and after some aimless additional walking, I found myself in a certain corridor, just outside the Room of Requirement. ‘I wonder,’ I thought, and being unable to resist, I performed the necessary steps and entered the room. It was utterly bare, save for a single sheet of parchment on the floor.

I picked it up and read:

Harry,

Don’t worry. All will turn out very well.

Mr. X, "The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not"

P. S. Have fun tonight! I KNOW you won’t do anything that I wouldn’t!

I began to shake so much that I almost dropped the parchment. I did so NOT because of either the message or the cryptic postscript. It was because the sheet was in MY handwriting!

* * * * *

I made my way back to Gryffindor Tower, and without a word to anyone sitting in the common room, I decided to turn in early. I figured that if this might be my last night on earth, then at the very least, I was entitled to a decent sleep. I retired to the dorm room that I shared with Ron, but he wasn’t there. However, someone else was, and she was sitting on my bed, holding my pajama top to her chest and softly stroking it, and crying. It was Hermione.

I backed away from the open door. I didn’t think that she had seen me, so I deliberately scuffed my feet loudly on the stairs, and then I walked to the open doorway. Hermione had quickly dropped my pajama shirt, and she was sitting stiffly on my bed. She arose as I entered the room.

"Hermione," I said, feigning surprise, and I hesitated before continuing, "are . . . are you okay?"

"Harry," she said, "we need to talk."

"ARE you okay?" I replied, looking at her face and trying to make contact with her eyes, which she refused. "I didn’t hear much, but I did see part of your argument with Ron this morning . . . are you and him - "

"We’re NOT okay . . . we’re not anything right now. We’ve agreed to disagree and to try to remain as friends . . . and ONLY as friends," Hermione said.

"Oh, I’m sorry . . . but, about you, is everything okay?" I asked.

"Harry . . . uh, yes, I’m fine," she said, her head lowered, "but, we really do have to talk. The, uh . . . all of the witches here had a meeting . . . you probably saw us together at dinner, and . . . and we all agreed on two things."

"Oh?" I said.

"We . . . we don’t think that you should be alone tonight, and we . . . uh, that is, all of us have agreed also that each of us is willing to . . . to be with you," Hermione managed to stammer, keeping her head lowered that entire time.

"Uh . . . er, WHAT?" I managed to say, for lack of any better rejoinder.

"Since I’ve known you the longest, I’ve . . . I’ve been delegated to find out which one you’d like to . . . to have with you tonight," Hermione said. Finally, she looked up, and I was both gratified and slightly amused to see that I wasn’t the only person in the room with a very red face.

"Er, do you mean by ‘to be with you’ and ‘to have with you’ what they sound like they mean?" I asked.

"Uh . . . yes, Harry," she said, looking down again.

"And . . . and EVERY witch in the school said that she, er, WANTS to do this?" I said.

"Yes, Harry," she said, starting to shuffle her feet, "so, if you’ll tell me whom you . . . want, whether it’s Ginny or Cho or Lavender or . . . whomever, then I’ll go and tell her . . . and . . . and . . . "

I couldn’t reply for a while, as I was recalling the "Have fun tonight!" part of the message that I had read only minutes earlier. Of course, this had compounded the shock I felt at learning that every witch in the school wanted to be with me tonight. Finally, I recovered enough to find my voice.

"Ah, Hermione," I said, "why don’t you go downstairs and thank everyone, and tell them that I appreciate their kind offers, but - "

"Harry!" Hermione interrupted, "you really should - "

"Quiet!" I said, as I cut her off by putting my forefinger on her lips. "You didn’t allow me to finish! I was about to add that I’ve made my choice, and that after you thank them, then . . . then I want YOU to come back up here."

"ME!" Hermione exclaimed. "How could you want me, Harry? I . . . I . . . there are so many others who are so much - "

"GO!" I said, but only after I shut her up by giving her a quick but forceful kiss right on her lips!

Her eyes widened, and she backed away. Then, just as she turned to run out of my room, I thought I saw the tiniest bit of a smile begin at the corners of her mouth.

I undressed and got into bed.

When Hermione returned, she was wearing a very plain, very opaque, and very long, white nightgown. I wasn’t sure whether I should be disappointed or not. I mean, I didn’t really expect her to walk through the common room adorned as a Victoria’s Secret model exactly.

She smiled at me and uncapped and drank the contents of a vial that I hadn’t noticed. Then, she touched her lower abdomen with her wand, that also I hadn’t noticed, and mumbled a charm.

"Er, those . . . the potion and charm are for contraception and disease prevention, I guess," I managed to stammer, my face burning.

"Now, Harry," she said, ignoring my question and reaching out and stroking the side of my face, "don’t you worry about anything. I know exactly what I . . . what you and I are about to be doing."

She unbuttoned and removed the shapeless gown, and revealed that nothing was underneath it save for a not so shapeless and very nude Hermione!

For several seconds, I was speechless.

"I . . . I . . . I know I’m not built as impressively as - " Hermione began, with a very pretty blush appearing, but I cut in.

"Her . . . Hermione, you’re BEAUTIFUL!" I said.

"Harry, I - " she began again.

"I MEAN it!" I said, "you . . . you look fantastic!"

"I guess you do mean it!" she said, blushing more deeply and giving me a meaningful look, after glancing down at the bedcovers near the middle of my body.

My face must have reddened even more, as I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a certain part of my lower anatomy was expressing its approval of Hermione’s beauty in a most spectacular manner.

"My goodness," said Hermione, with a very wide smile, "besides the words from your mouth, it sure looks as if another part of you REALLY means it too! I’ve heard of men ‘rising’ to the occasion, and THAT looks really beautiful, also!"

Without another word, she climbed into the bed, and for the next couple of hours, I had about as spectacular a time as is possible. I came to appreciate the old comical description of sex as being "the most fun one can have without laughing."

After the first two all-too-brief episodes of the evening’s physical aspect, Hermione was able to have as much "fun" as was I. She really did seem to know what she was doing, in both a practical and a theoretical sense, but I never considered asking her how or with whom she had learned it. The reason I did not do so is quite simple.

I loved her, in every meaning of the word. Put another way, I loved her at that precise moment, in the present tense, and truly I did not care about anything in her past.

We said a lot of things to each other, as well. We came to realize and appreciate that our love was mutual, and that it had been so, if foolishly unspoken and unacknowledged, for as long as we had known each other.

Eventually, we fell asleep in one another’s arms, utterly exhausted.

* * * * *

The next morning, Hermione woke me in a most unusual manner. She had awakened earlier and had discovered that although I remained fast asleep, a certain part of me was not. I refer to the early morning syndrome that afflicts many males in their teen and early adult years, which involves the pressure of a full bladder causing said body part to retain a rather extraordinary quantity of blood.

When I opened my eyes, reached for and put on my glasses, I saw that Hermione was observing the aforementioned part of me quite carefully. I felt her hands apparently assessing the level of, er, firmness of it, as if she were contemplating a purchase of a piece of fruit.

In other words, she was observing the situation less with a lustful expression and more with her sometimes infuriating purely academic curiosity!

"Uh, hi!" I said, and I let out a moan upon feeling a particularly vigorous squeeze from her.

"Good morning, Harry," Hermione answered, and she hesitated briefly before continuing, "er, Harry, does . . . does THIS happen very often?"

"Well, no, if you mean to ask if I wake up with a beautiful young woman holding onto ‘Little Harry’ like that," I managed to blurt out, and I gave her a wide grin. "If you mean the, er, present condition of it, uh, yes, it happens on quite a lot of mornings."

"You may call it ‘Little Harry’ if you wish, but I sure won’t!" Hermione said and giggled. "No, what I meant was . . . oh, hell, what I’ve got to know is . . . is how DO you manage to use the toilet when it’s . . . it’s so strongly pointing in the wrong direction?"

I grinned more broadly at her blushing smile, and I reflected that there was very little in this world that could compare with its heart-aching beauty. Well, there was what I saw last night when she took off her gown, AND there was that magical look on her face, when we finally got things exactly right . . . but I digress.

"Well, I just hold it in until . . . until it becomes possible to urinate in the usual way. In an emergency, when I REALLY have to go . . . it’s not easy, but usually, I have to do a handstand in front of the toilet bowl, and then just let things go," I said, trying mightily to keep a straight face.

"HARRY!" she replied. "You’re not telling the truth!"

"Different guys have different ways of coping," I said, "for instance, your recent very good friend Ron Weasley generally, er, used to - pardon the expression - take the matter firmly in hand, and, er, manually resolve the ‘hard’ situation."

"What!" Hermione said.

"ALWAYS, he forgot to use a silencing charm, and he used to find some assistance in yelling the name ‘Hermione’ a lot," I said, grinning.

"WHAT! Oh, my God! I REALLY did NOT need to hear that, Harry!" she replied.

"Now, Dean Thomas was in strong agreement with Ron in principle, but being a more creative sort, he had an exotic but precise mathematical system," I continued, undeterred by Hermione’s outburst. "He received imaginary assistance on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays from Parvati Patil, Ginny Weasley, and Padma Patil, respectively."

Hermione looked shocked, but then she began to laugh. I continued.

"Then, things became more interesting. On Thursdays, it would be Parvati AND Ginny, on Fridays, Ginny and Padma, and on Saturdays, Padma and Parvati. While the Creator may have rested on the seventh day, Dean ‘enjoyed’ ALL THREE of the ladies on Sunday mornings," I finished.

Hermione was laughing harder now, so I went on.

"Now, Neville Longbottom, being a gentle and somewhat shyer soul, simply made for the privacy of a shower stall, and he did whatever he did there," I said. "Seamus Finnigan, on the other hand, was practical in his own unique way."

"Oh? I’m not sure I want to know - " Hermione said.

"Ah, but I AM sure that you don’t, but that’s tough!" I said, interrupting. "Let me put it this way; you’ve never seen any of Seamus’s dorm mates EVER sit outside on the grass at the base of Gryffindor Tower, most particularly directly under certain high windows, have you?"

"What!" Hermione exclaimed, "you mean that he urinated - "

"Yes," I said. "But, it took us a while to break him of the habit of singing off-color Irish pub songs as he did his business. We still refer to a particular dorm window as ‘Finnigan’s Loo,’ if you must know."

Hermione was laughing harder and harder. Finally, she was able to speak, "so, Harry, that’s leaves one person, namely, YOU. What do you REALLY do on such mornings?"

"I cannot tell a lie," I said, "usually, I run down to the Hogsmeade train station, walk out back to the tracks, and use ‘Little Harry’ to pound in any loose rail spikes!"

"Is . . . isn’t that a bit painful?" Hermione asked, through very loud giggling.

"Well, some of heads of the spikes do get bashed and a bit bent up, but they never complain!" I said.

"HARRY POTTER, you are so full of it!" Hermione said, continuing to laugh. "Since you refuse to tell the truth, I’ll just have to use my imagination. Speaking of which, I think that maybe I can find a new way to take care of the immediate situation at hand!"

She did - take care of it, that is - in the most wonderful manner imaginable!

Finally, Hermione left to return to her room and to take care of her own various sorts of morning business. After I did likewise, including shaving and taking a brief shower, I returned to my room and got dressed.

Just as I arose and headed for the door to leave, there was a knock on it.

I opened it and looked at . . . MYSELF!

To be continued

A/N: Second and final chapter (plus epilogue) will be posted very soon.

A/N: Sorry for misleading everyone, but this is the second of what have become three chapters. What was to have been the second and final part grew too large. A VERY SERIOUS WARNING is given for a small amount of really nasty gore, as in R-rated splatter films, in this chapter. Skip over if such is objectionable. Otherwise, I hope that the story is enjoyable, and thanks for the reviews.

A Simple Matter of Timing

Chapter 2: Temporary Stay of Execution

Just as I arose and headed for the door to leave, there was a knock on it.

I opened it and looked at . . . MYSELF!

* * * * *

The first thought that crossed my mind was that some Death Eater had taken a polyjuice potion, and that he was here to do me harm.

I whipped out my wand, and as I was about to cast anything in his direction that would do serious damage, I saw that he had raised his arms with his fingers outstretched to show that he was unarmed.

"Hello, Harry," he said, and he added a broad smile.

"Who . . . what’s going on?" I demanded, keeping my wand pointed at his chest.

"I’m just who I appear to be, namely YOU. I’m here to help prepare you for what’s going to happen at noon today," he said.

Apparently, my look indicated serious disbelief and confusion, so he continued.

"I’ll prove that I’m on your side and telling the truth. I’m the person who left the note in the Room of Requirement last night, AND I know that you followed the advice in the postscript!" he said. He hesitated, and added, "I know that before last night you had no idea of how Hermione felt about you, OR how truly beautiful she was until she took off her nightgown, OR just how wonderful it would be to have her as your first time shag!"

"Why . . . why do you look like me?" I stammered.

"Because I AM you! Why don’t you answer that question yourself," he said. "Get the Marauders’ Map from the bottom of your trunk, where it’s hidden inside an old notebook, if I recall, and verify my identity."

I did so, and after retrieving the Map, promising it of my unsavory intent, and observing it carefully, I discovered that contrary to common sense, not to mention any notion of sanity, indeed there were TWO separate persons in this room who were labeled "Harry Potter."

"How . . . what . . . why?" was all I think to say.

"Why don’t you take a look at what’s hanging around my neck. Does it bring back memories of your adventure in your third year with Hermione, when the two of you rescued Buckbeak and Sirius?" he asked. "After all, it’s not as if you haven’t seen yourself before. You do remember all that happened then, including the Dementors and your ‘Dad’ and ‘his’ patronus, don’t you?"

"So . . . so that’s a . . . a Time Turner," I said.

"Of course, it is," he said. "So, now that you know that I am you, the next obvious question should be ‘WHEN are you?’ or maybe ‘WHEN will you be?’ or ‘WHEN were you?’ or . . . damned if I know! English grammar doesn’t lend itself well to situations involving time travel, does it? I’ve never heard of a ‘schizophrenic’ present tense or a ‘paranoid’ past perfect one!"

I laughed, but my mind was going a mile a minute, in trying to process what clearly was a very strange situation. I looked at him more carefully, and I saw that he was NOT an identical twin of me. His hair was slightly shorter, though just as unruly as mine was, and clearly visible through it was a . . . MY scar! Also, his face seemed to be a touch thinner. I thought of a question.

"Uh . . . WHEN are you from?"

"I’ve come from precisely one year in the future, hence I’m just a bit different looking, as you’ve noticed," he said. Then, he laughed, and said, "I could add ‘as I noticed a year ago,’ to be truthful. Of course, a year ago MY present consciousness, NOW inside THIS head," he said, pointing to the side of his head, "WAS in YOUR head!"

I shook my head, still attempting to digest in full what was happening.

"AND," he added, "it was in your head a year ago last night AND this morning, when I experienced exactly what you did. Is there anything lovelier than the way Hermione looks and sounds and feels when she has an orgasm?"

He and I both blushed at the recollection, and he continued.

"Why am I asking you such a question when both us know the answer? No, both of us don’t . . . yet," he said, "which us brings to the business at hand. We don’t have much time for what we must do before the duel. You will pay a visit to the Room of Requirement, where you’ll stay until fifteen minutes before noon. I must see McGonagall, Flitwick, Remus, Tonks, Ron, Ginny, Dobby, and a few of his House-Elf associates."

"What?" I said.

"You’ll be visiting with Hermione and discussing your future life together. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but since I did, I must . . . if you get my meaning," he said. "Last night, Hermione did something that today she both regrets and considers to have been dishonest - "

"WHAT?" I yelled, interrupting.

"Shut up, and listen, my ignorant former self!" he said, "it has nothing to do either with shagging you or proclaiming her long-felt love. Before the bedroom gymnastics meet, she . . . she didn’t drink a contraceptive potion or use a charm of the same purpose. In fact, they were quite opposite in their intended effects!"

"You . . . you mean . . .oh, no!" was all I could stammer.

"Oh, YES! Given today’s level of magical diagnostic charms, she won’t be able to confirm for three more days that she is, as they used to say in olden times, ‘with child,’ but I assure you that her fertility potion and spell DID work," he said. "You will go to her very shortly, and you will say just the right things to comfort her. Not to be repetitive, but I know that you will do so, because I did!"

He hesitated, and then he continued, "by the way, in nine months, on New Years Day to be precise, you’ll welcome your son into the world. I’d give anything to be able to be there with you to experience it again, but it won’t be possible. Also, for what it’s worth, it won’t do you any good to argue with Hermione about his name. She’ll win, and he will be ‘Harry James Potter, Jr.’ like it or not!"

"But . . . but . . . what about the duel!" I exclaimed, desperate to change the subject, until I could adjust to this latest revelation, "I’ve got to win first, don’t I? How the devil am I to defeat Vol - "

"Don’t worry about a thing. You . . . I . . . WE will defeat him, and we’ll do so very easily and quickly. What else can I say but to note that from MY previous point of view, we already DID win!" he said. "Now, let’s leave and take care of matters."

We left together, and we caused quite a stir among those in the common room, as two Harry Potters calmly walked past them and out the portrait hole. Shortly, we split up, and I headed up to the seventh floor.

* * * * *

I entered the Room of Requirement and noticed that it resembled nothing so much as a very large sitting room, complete with a large window facing what appeared to be a seashore landscape. Hermione was sitting on a large couch, clutching a large picture frame to her chest, and crying.

Without saying a word, I sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her. She buried her face in my chest, and she sobbed even more loudly. Finally, she spoke.

"Harry, last night I . . . I did something so terrible that . . . that you’re going to hate me," she blubbered.

"NO, Hermione! Last night was the most wonderful of my life," I said, hugging her.

"NO, HARRY! I’m . . . I’m not talking about what WE did, but about . . . about - " she said, but I cut her off.

"About the ‘contraception’ potion and spell . . . that actually were quite different . . . is that what you were going to say?" I asked, and I gave her a big grin.

"But . . . but . . . how?" she stammered.

"Brace yourself, Hermione, but they worked very well indeed! Exactly nine months from today, on New Years Day in fact, we’re going to receive Harry, Jr. into our family!" I said, still smiling. "I’m going to be . . . hell, I already AM the happiest man alive!" I added, and I kissed her.

"Harry, you can’t possibly know - " she said, staring at me.

"Ah, but I can and I do know it as an absolute certainty! What’s more, I know that I will be there with you, therefore, I WILL win the duel today. It’s the only logical conclusion," I said. "By the way, let’s get married later today."

Hermione was speechless for several very long seconds, but she recovered, and just as she looked as if she was about to pepper me with questions, I interrupted her. Speaking rapidly, I gave her a synopsis of my discovery of the parchment last night and of this morning’s visit with ‘myself.’ I pulled the parchment from my pocket and handed it to her. Her eyes widened when she read it, and they enlarged even more as she recognized my handwriting.

I picked up the large frame that she had been holding, and it was my turn to be surprised. In it was a magical moving photograph of three people. Two of them, Hermione and I, were smiling and waving toward the viewer. The third one was a sleeping infant being held in her arms. I looked at Hermione, who was blushing deeply.

"I . . . I guess that the Room thought that I . . . that WE needed to see this," she said softly.

"We’re going to do more than just see it - we’re going to live it!" I said, "aren’t we . . . my soon-to-be Mrs. Potter . . . or would you prefer that I should become Mr. Granger?"

Hermione giggled. "Definitely the first option is preferable. ‘Hermione Potter’ does sound so nice."

"As always, you’re correct. Besides, ‘Harry Granger’ almost sounds like some creature that Luna Lovegood should be writing about in The Quibbler or be hunting for in the North Woods, or wherever," I said.

We talked for a while, and having finally gotten a chance to fire away at me with questions, and having received answers, however bizarre and unsatisfying that some of them may have been, Hermione decided to stop talking. We held each other for a long time, until we heard a knock on the door.

* * * * *

"Older Harry," as I had decided to call him, was outside, accompanied by Flitwick, Remus, and Tonks. When we walked into the corridor, we saw another group, which included McGonagall, Ron, and Ginny.

Everyone started to speak at once, but quickly, Older Harry took charge.

"QUIET!" he yelled. "We haven’t much time. The first order of business is this. Headmistress McGonagall has my Time Turner and my . . . OUR invisibility cloak and Marauders’ Map, AND she has hidden them away, pending . . . ‘Young Harry’s’ return from the duel. Therefore," he said, staring at Hermione, Ron, and Ginny in turn, "there will be NO ‘hidden’ observers at the Quidditch Pitch."

All three spoke at once, obviously trying to object.

"Please!" he continued, "we haven’t much time. You three WILL stay with the Headmistress INSIDE the castle. There will be no sneaking up to certain high towers, in order to try to see what’s happening. And, don’t try to use brooms to escape, because you’ll discover that every single one in the castle has been charmed to be inactive until quarter after the hour."

He paused, and then he smiled. "Trust me. The duel will be over before you know it, and your Harry will return quickly. Voldemort and the members of his ‘official’ party will try to play a few dirty tricks, but we’re well prepared for them. There will be plenty of time before dinner for the wedding ceremony." He gave me a wink, and I felt my face burning.

Hermione blushed, as well, and both Ginny and Tonks looked dumbfounded, but only for a few seconds, and then they began to squeal and they rushed to embrace Hermione.

"Okay, folks, let’s go and end a war!" he said.

* * * * *

As our "official" party left the front doors of the castle, Older Harry turned to me and said, "I’ll be disappearing from view, but only for a few minutes."

He snapped his fingers once and seemed to melt away, just as Dobby the House-Elf had done in the past. I was surprised to hear his voice, as if he still was walking by my side.

"Don’t worry, Harry. Rest assured that I will be here with you. Insofar as what you should say once we’re inside the arena, just wing it and be yourself."

Our group approached the main entrance of the Quidditch Pitch, to find Voldemort and Company already there. The Dark Lord stared directly at me and then slightly to my side. He shook his head and tried again, but he couldn’t seem to get his eyes to focus properly.

A very uneasy looking Rufus Scrimgeour was standing at the gate. He cleared his throat, and spoke.

"Pursuant to the ancient laws of honorable individual combat, a challenge has been issued and accepted. Seconds and Witnesses will accompany the duelists into the chosen arena, but all save the principals shall refrain from any participation. The winner shall be the participant who satisfies two conditions. He must return to this place, outside the main gate, and he must not leave a living opponent within the arena. Do all agree to what has been stated and to all other previously negotiated conditions of the duel?"

"Yes!" came a chorus of voices, including one from my hidden older self. I gave what I felt to be a suitable stare, of equal parts contempt, confidence, and inscrutability, and then I smiled.

Voldemort obviously felt that something was amiss, but he could not quite grasp its true nature. His agitated state of mind was affecting Belletrix, Malfoy, and Snape, who seemed to be somewhat confused.

However, our groups walked through the gate. Voldemort and I made for areas under and slightly in front of a set of goal hoop poles, and each of our parties walked to what would have been opposite sidelines, had this been a soccer field. Then, the two of us began to walk toward each other. We stopped in the center of the field, separated by about twenty feet.

"Have you anything to say, Potter, before I dispose of you once and for all," Voldemort hissed.

"I’ll have plenty to say later, though you won’t be around to hear it," I answered. "But, before YOU become the actual ‘dispose-ee,’ you deserve to hear ALL of the famous prophecy about us . . . and so do those three sacks of shit of yours, who obviously crawled out from under some compost heap!" To a stunned silence from all in the arena, I recited it.

Voldemort said nothing in reply, but he made his first move, and he attempted to conjure the Dark Mark in the sky above the pitch.

No sooner had it appeared than a bolt of golden lightning shot up from beside me. Just before it struck the Dark Mark, it transformed itself into a brilliant golden phoenix head, which consumed the Mark, took its place, and it began to sing a haunting "song," purely of musical notes.

Voldemort was NOT happy with this. He waved his wand, inaugurating a first violation of the rules. Hundreds of Dementors, bunched together so closely that their ragged and flapping cloaks were brushing each other, appeared over the top of the high stands behind him. They began to make a beeline straight for me!

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" I yelled, thinking about Hermione last night and the picture this morning.

My patronus stag exploded from my wand, larger and faster than it ever had been before. Its brightness almost overwhelmed the noon sun overhead, and when it collided with the vanguard of the Dementors, they were blown off in all directions. Slowly, however, they began to regroup, though at a longer distance away.

"That was very impressive, Potter," said Voldemort, as he waved his wand and the Dementors began a new charge, "but, alas, not impressive enough!"

I heard a soft but distinct popping sound, and Older Harry appeared beside me.

"Maybe it wasn’t, but this one WILL be!" he said, extending his right hand.

From his fingertips, a near twin of my patronus burst out, and it rocketed straight to the Dementors. Its only difference was its color, which constantly changed, cycling from red through orange, yellow, green, blue, and indigo, to violet - the colors of the rainbow and the visible light spectrum - and then reversing itself. Each time it paused at the end of a cycle, it seemed to disappear from view, but a group of Dementors would shriek and burst into flames. All that remained of each one of them was a fine mist of black powder, which fell downward like snowflakes and melted away while still well off the ground.

My own "ordinary" patronus had begun to cooperate with its new "partner," and it started herding Dementors attempting to flee back toward their fate. It suddenly struck me that it was the invisible infrared and ultraviolet "colors" - or frequencies, to be more accurate, just beyond red and violet - that were destroying the vile creatures. It was over in less than a minute, and the patroni returned to us, mine flowing into my wand, while that of Older Harry simply merged into his body.

"What underhanded . . . CHEATING trickery is this," Voldemort bellowed, recovering his senses. Even he had watched the brief spectacle, completely transfixed by it. "Who are you?" he demanded of Older Harry.

"I’m Harry Potter . . . though not the same version of him that you’ve tried to kill repeatedly," said Older Harry.

Voldemort looked from him to me. He hesitated, seemingly puzzled, but then quickly he pointed his wand at me. I braced my self for a spell that never came. Older Harry had made a quick motion with a hand, and Voldemort was frozen in place. He screamed something unintelligible, indicating that his mouth was working, but the rest of his body remained as unmoving as a statue.

"I REALLY wouldn’t do that, if I were you," said Older Harry. "The indisputable facts that I stand here AND that I have come from the future prove that you cannot possibly kill my younger self."

Voldemort tried to struggle, but all that he could move was his head.

"IF you managed to kill him, then logically I couldn’t be here. If I couldn’t be here, then the mass that makes up the 160 pounds of bone, muscle, blood, brains, and, er, other parts of me would have to obey the universe’s law of conservation of mass and energy. Instantly, ALL of me would be transformed perfectly into pure energy, and such a quantity confined in such a small space would result in . . . an event that would dwarf a Muggle nuclear explosion. No one within miles would survive, and this includes what little remains of your putrid and worthless soul. Wait a minute. Why am I telling you this?""

He hesitated, and just as I was about to say something, he turned to me, "I know, I know! I just told him because . . . I told him . . . before. Right, Junior?" Without waiting for a reply, he turned back to Voldemort.

"So, Tom Riddle, this is the end. Since you seem to have been fascinated with Dementors, which unfortunately no longer exist, how would you like a very personal look at a reasonable facsimile of their famous ‘Kiss?’ No? Well, that’s too bad!"

He approached Voldemort so closely that their noses were but a few inches apart. He opened his mouth, and Voldemort opened his, emitting a sigh that seemed to be one almost of resignation. Then, the features of Voldemort’s face seemed to shift around and blur, and very quickly a small ball of weakly pulsing light, barely visible in the sunshine, leapt from his mouth to Older Harry’s. Finally, Voldemort’s empty and dead body fell to the ground.

Older Harry winked at me, and he made several complex motions with his hands. Four tall stakes materialized near the main gate, arranged roughly in a square, and then one of them lengthened, so that its upper point was a few feet higher than the others. With another hand motion, Voldemort’s head separated itself from his corpse, flew through the air, and landed atop the tallest stake, its lifeless eyes staring away from us and toward the gate. Yet another wave of Older Harry’s hand caused the mounted head to become transformed into one of black marble.

"Well, truly this is the end, in more than one way," said Older Harry, "I’m sorry, but as you discovered with some of the horcruxes, the only certain method of destroying soul fractions is through intense heat. So . . . since the last existing part of Tom Riddle happens to be inside me, then . . . it’s goodbye, Young Harry . . . I know that you’ll have a great life."

He hesitated again, shook his head and chuckled, "why DO I continue to say such things, especially since I KNOW that they’ll happen, because they’ve happened already . . . at least to me?"

"Don’t!" I yelled, finding my voice, "PLEASE don’t!"

"I’m sorry, but I must . . . because I DID!" he answered. "To mangle the metaphor, I’m killing two wizards with one spell. Take care, Harry, and don’t mourn for me. LIVE for me instead! You can’t accept or believe it now, but one day you will understand. It is too bad that we can’t reincarnate ourselves, in the manner of the phoenix. Goodbye."

***** BEGIN POSSIBLY EXCESSIVE GORE WARNING ****

With that, a perfect clear sphere appeared, enclosing Older Harry and Voldemort’s bodily remains. Within it, an intense fireball blossomed, obscuring all inside the sphere for several seconds. Then, it changed into a boiling, roiling mass of smoke and flames. Finally, it dissipated, leaving what appeared to be blackened skeletons, one standing briefly before it and the other disintegrated into finely powdered ash. Then, both the ash and the sphere disappeared, leaving nothing except for a scorched patch of grass.

I sobbed, and I laughed. ‘I may be going crazy,’ I thought, ‘but I swear that just before it disintegrated, the upright skeleton nodded its skull and waved a hand at me!’

My thoughts were yanked away by the sound of a snarl. I looked up and saw Severus Snape extending his wand and pointing at me. Before he could utter another sound, Professor Flitwick did, and a bolt of purple light struck Snape in the center of his chest.

He screamed, and his body began to jerk spasmodically, before it collapsed and flowed down to the ground. His head was cocked to one side and was resting on what appeared to be a pile of black robes. Snape’s mouth was working overtime in an attempt to express hopefully very intense pain, but no sound emerged from it.

I heard a high-pitched, feminine shriek that was cut off abruptly. I looked up to see the obvious explanation. Belletrix Lestrange’s head was lying ten feet away from the multiple pieces of her still slightly twitching body parts. She had made the mistake of attempting to join Snape’s attack on me, but both Remus and Tonks had nailed her with multiple severing spells.

‘Where was Malfoy?’ I thought, and then I was answered by the most bloodcurdling screams yet heard that day.

I looked in the direction of the racket, and I came close to losing the breakfast that I hadn’t even eaten. Lucius Malfoy had been set upon by a half dozen House-Elves, including Dobby. Four were holding him spread-eagled on the ground, and the other two were meting out a very grisly sort of justice to his body.

Dobby was removing the skin from his face and head, taking great care to do so only a little at a time. The last Elf was between Malfoy’s legs, and I thought, ‘oh, my God! Is he doing what I think he’s doing?’

An earsplitting, indescribable noise from Malfoy verified that the Elf had performed on him the same sort of operation done by ranchers and horsemen to create steers and geldings.

Tonks fainted dead away, when the bloody mass formerly attached to Lucius landed at her feet, having been tossed unceremoniously over his shoulder by the Elf.

"Dobby," I yelled, "stop it, stop it, now!"

"Does Mister Harry Potter refer to the noise? Dobby can make it stop immediately!" Dobby said.

Sure enough, Malfoy’s screams ended right away, but it was not due to Dobby’s ceasing his torture, but rather because he removed the offending tongue.

***** END POSSIBLY EXCESSIVE GORE WARNING *****

Remus and Flitwick looked at each other and nodded in agreement. Each of them approached one of the still-barely-alive Death Eaters and performed a quick Avada Kedavra, ending their misery.

Dobby looked up, and he seemed quite surprised. "Dobby is very sorry if he gave offense, but Dobby saw that his former master was about to attack Harry Potter! So, Dobby and his friends hit Mr. Malfoy back first!"

I was speechless, but both Remus and Flitwick chuckled, and Tonks spoke, "who possibly could argue with logic so impeccable as that?"

"We must move to our side of the field for a moment," Professor Flitwick said. We walked away from the carnage, and immediately, a delayed spell occurred. Three beams of light came from the marble Voldemort head, and in quick succession, the heads from three bodies popped into the air and flew to the three open stakes near the gate. Each head impaled itself, and each was transformed into black marble.

Remus was the first to speak. "I believe that we just witnessed the final acts of magic of Harry Potter." He looked at me, and his face reddened slightly. Tonks gave a loud sob, and she embraced Remus.

Our group headed for the gate.

"I saw what happened to . . . to the other two, but what did you do to Snape, Professor?" I asked of Flitwick.

"I did something new, an invention of mine that was inspired by you, Harry, or rather, it was inspired by something that happened to you," said Flitwick, smiling "Obviously, it should be banned as a fourth ‘Unforgivable.’ I call it the ‘Boneless Curse,’ for the self-evident reason that every bone in Severus Snape’s body, save only his skull and jaw . . . and possibly the tiny inner ear ones, ceased to exist."

I shuddered as I remembered the attempt in my second year by legendary buffoon and Defense teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart, to repair a broken forearm that I had suffered during a Quidditch match.

"But, there’s no virtue in regretting or trying to avoid what must be done. He had to be stopped quickly, Harry," said the professor.

"I know," I said. "Thanks for helping. Thanks to everyone," I added, looking at Remus and Tonks and at Dobby and his pals.

As I expected, Dobby began to blubber, so hastily I suggested to his friends that perhaps they should take him to the kitchen and help him to recover with a few butterbeers. We reached the gate, and my fellows stopped.

"You must exit first, Harry," said Remus.

I did so, and I was shocked to see an enormous crowd filling the grounds in front of me.

A few moans were heard from far to my right, and some diehard had the nerve to send a spell in my direction. It fell well short of me, and the Death Eater was subdued quickly. A couple of small melees ensued, but they ended as quickly as they began, due to the sheer numbers of people from our side.

Finally, an immense volume of cheers began. I glared at the large crowd, turned, and looked at the castle. I had seen very little to cheer about, nor did I care about anything else except to go somewhere private and to cry.

I saw Minister Scrimgeour and his usual retinue of toadies approaching. Just as he opened his mouth, I shouted, "bugger off, arsehole!" I gestured to the set of stakes inside the gate of the Quidditch Pitch, and I added, "we won and he . . . they lost - end of story. Now, leave me the fuck alone!"

I turned my back to him, and I started to walk away. Remus and Tonks fell into stride next to me, and each wrapped an arm around me.

"Harry . . .they don’t k know . . . they can’t know how you’re feeling . . . what you’ve been through," said Remus.

"Yes," added Tonks, beginning to cry again, "but we’ll always remember. We’ll . . . oh, shit!"

"Harry," came Flitwick’s voice. "You must remember what he said, and you must get on with your life. You have Hermione to care for and . . . and other considerations, as well."

We walked through the doors of the castle, and stopped in the large entrance hall. Assembled in front of us were the students and faculty, all of whom were standing still and wearing looks of apprehension of their faces.

I took a deep breath. I looked back at the doorway, and I saw that a mob was heading toward it. The Ministry pukes and some other characters, probably members of the press, were in the lead.

Professor Flitwick and Headmistress McGonagall, noting the look on my face, acted quickly with their wands, closing and locking the doors. Tonks added a finishing touch by casting a silencing spell, which eliminated the noise of the shouts and pounding from the outside.

"Why don’t we go into the Great Hall, and I try to describe what happened," I said, and then very suddenly I had an armful of Hermione, who was doing her best to force her tongue down my throat. This was accompanied by admiring sounds from all present, save Ron, who seemed to be unsure of how to react.

After extracting myself partially from Hermione, all of us did manage to enter the Great Hall. The tables had been rearranged into a "U" shape, with one additional table at the open end. Somehow, everyone found an appropriate seat, and I began to tall the story of the duel.

A brief aside from the narrative was necessary to explain about Older Harry to those still unaware of him. A few additional breaks occurred, when Flitwick, Remus, or Tonks added something.

Of course, I omitted the goriest of the details concerning the deaths of Snape, Malfoy, and Belletrix, and when I reached the point when we returned to the castle, there was stunned silence on the part of some, and loud unashamed weeping by others, including Hermione.

Ron and a couple of the less emotional wizards began to clap, but when they noticed that most of their fellows both were both refusing to join in and were glaring at them, they stopped.

"What . . . what’s the matter? We . . . we won, didn’t we?" asked Ron.

I expected Hermione to explode, but instead, she spoke in a soft voice, "Ron, didn’t you hear what he said? Older Harry sacrificed himself to guarantee V-Voldemort’s death."

"So?" said Ron, "that was THAT Harry. Our Harry’s sitting right there next to you, and he . . . he looks okay."

‘Uh, oh,’ I thought, ‘now, he’s going to get it!’

Unfortunately, I was correct. This time, Ginny beat Hermione to the punch.

"You . . . you . . . what’s WRONG with you, you moron!" she yelled. "Don’t you get it? ‘THAT Harry’ is . . . or will be ‘OUR Harry’ in ONE YEAR!"

Ron still had a puzzled expression, but then comprehension dawned.

"Yes, Ron," said Hermione, "exactly one year from today, our . . . MY Harry, is going to put a Time Turner around his neck, activate it, and return to the past . . . to sometime last night, to be precise."

"But . . . but why?" said Ron, with an expression that combined horror and disbelief.

"Mr. Weasley," said the Headmistress, teary eyed, "I’m afraid that your sister and Hermione are correct. The Laws of Time are quite rigid, and the effects of paradoxes induced in the past, though not totally understood, nevertheless are inexorable." She continued, addressing Flitwick, "Filius, can you think of any way . . . "

"No, Minerva," he replied, "all of you have stated it quite well. In the future, apparently in exactly one year, Harry must return for the simplest of reasons . . . because he already did. I’m afraid that there’s no way out. I wish there was . . . I wish . . . truly, I am sorry."

"So, Ron," said Hermione, "now do you understand that Harry has a year to live, and then . . . then he will die?"

To be continued

A/N: Believe it or not, the story will be resolved in a happy ending (of sorts) in the final chapter and epilogue, coming very soon.

A/N: Here’s the concluding chapter and epilogue. Enjoy and thanks for the reviews.

A Simple Matter of Timing

Chapter 3: Reprieved Again?

"No, Minerva," he replied, "all of you have stated it quite well. In the future, apparently in exactly one year, Harry must return for the simplest of reasons . . . because he already did. I’m afraid that there’s no way out. I wish there was . . . I wish . . . truly, I am sorry."

"So, Ron," said Hermione, "now do you understand that Harry has a year to live, and then . . . then he will die?"

* * * * *

I couldn’t take the pitying looks that almost every person was directing toward me, so I arose and walked out of the Great Hall. Hermione caught up with me just outside it, grabbing my upper arm. I shrugged it off and tried to walk away, but she was having none of it. She grabbed me more forcefully, and I turned to look at her.

"Hermione, maybe . . . maybe you should find some other bloke to - " I said, unable to complete my thought, because she slapped the side of my face about as hard as was possible.

"Don’t you DARE to finish that sentence, Harry Potter!" she exclaimed, her eyes blazing through some puffiness and tears.

"I . . . I . . . I’m sorry, Hermione, but what good would it do for us to . . . to . . . to suffer together for a year, knowing I’ll have to leave you and . . . and him?" I asked, glancing down at her abdomen.

"Well, just WHAT were you planning to do about it?" she asked.

"I’m not sure. I had contemplated going up to the Astronomy Tower . . . and . . . " I choked out, unable to say more.

"And WHAT?" Hermione prodded.

"I thought it might be a good idea to, er, take a broom ride . . . without the broom," I answered. It was not what she wanted to hear, and she planted another open-palmed roundhouse on the side of my face.

"Ouch!" I said. "That hurt!"

"Harry, listen to me. You must come back a year from now, because you already DID, at least from our present viewpoints," she said. "If . . . if you don’t, what do you suppose will happen?"

"How should I know?" I answered, a little peeved.

"You should know, if you’ve been paying attention to all that’s happened. The first and most likely possibility is that due to the certain time paradox that would result, our entire world could cease to exist," she said.

"But," I said, but she cut in.

"Second, if our world didn’t disappear immediately, then we’d be faced with the strong alternative possibility that it would have been changed drastically," she said.

"So?" I said.

"SO! So, what if part of that change was that Voldemort had won? What . . . what do you think he would do to . . . to your friends, to me, to . . . to our son?" she said.

I simply stared at her.

"There is another possibility that the world might continue, but that many of us . . . those who knew you best . . . who did things with you . . . that we might vanish," said Hermione.

"I . . . I . . . you’re right, of course, I . . . I . . . I don’t know what I was thinking. I just thought that once HE was gone, and the prophecy was fulfilled, then finally, I’d be free just to be a . . . a normal person," I said, trying very hard to prevent the tears that were beginning in the corners of my eyes.

Without thinking, we embraced and hugged each other as if our lives depended on nothing else, crying together for several minutes.

When we separated, Hermione said, "Harry Potter, regardless of what will or will not happen, I promise that you . . . that WE are going to have the very best year of our lives. Only an hour or so ago, you asked me to marry you. Let’s go get married right now, and let’s start that best year!"

She gave me a smile and then a look that embodied in it intelligence, beauty, determination, and love, in short, everything that had meant "Hermione Granger" to me for so long. She deserved an eloquent reply, so as we returned to the Great Hall to talk with Headmistress McGonagall, I said, "okay!"

* * * * *

Two hours later we reentered the Great Hall, and to our surprise, it remained crowded, but only with its recent residents. No outsiders were present, save two, Hermione’s parents, which caused us even greater surprise. The ceremony, performed by the Headmistress, was simple and brief, just as Hermione insisted.

Our honeymoon was in the cottage where we had chosen to spend the last year of my life. It was on Inishfree, a tiny magically hidden island in the Aran group, off the western coast of Ireland. We could walk out our front door and look south at the rugged beauty of Inishmore, the largest island in the group. Out back, across the North Sound, was Gorumna Island, with Kilkieran Bay beyond. Galway Bay and the Irish mainland were to the east, and, of course, the North Atlantic lay to the west.

The cottage, actually the entire island, had been the property of the Potter Family for many generations, and it seemed to be an ideal place to get away from it all. Also, conveniently for Hermione and our necessary research into some of the spells used by Older Harry - me, in a year - there was a huge magical library on Inishmore, hidden under the ancient mysterious fortress of Dun Aengus, but quickly and easily accessible to us.

We spent our first six months together doing just that - being together. Rarely were we out of each other’s sight for more than minutes. Surprisingly, or maybe not, familiarity did not breed contempt. Rather, it caused us to grow ever closer and deeper in love.

On occasion, we ranged far away from our home, sometimes to other obscure magical libraries, and sometimes to visit with friends. We arranged uses of the facilities of many of the world’s greatest magical universities, most of them all too happy to accommodate the needs of "The Boy Who Killed You-Know-Who." There was a large array of magical sites in western Ireland, quite close to us. The National University in Galway had a ‘Hidden College of Magick’ attached to it, complete with a library and laboratories.

Try as we might to ignore the truth, both of us realized that something was amiss. The spells that Older Harry had performed simply were unknown either to the ancients or to the foremost modern experts in the theory and practice of state of the art magic.

When Hermione entered the eighth month of her pregnancy, I rebelled from the routine we had set for ourselves, and I insisted that for the benefit of our child, we would take things easier.

In spite of her protests, I took care of her in every sense of the term, including remaining with her at the cottage on a twenty-four hour per day and seven days per week basis. It may have been irrational, but I had a feeling of dread that something bad was about to happen. As each week passed without any incident, my apprehension grew.

Ten days before her due date, Hermione and I took ordinary Muggle transportation to London, where we visited for a week with Remus and Tonks, who resided together at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and with Hermione’s parents, who had been invited there for the Christmas Holidays.

At Hermione’s insistence, we spent half a day in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic, but even its select scholars were unable to shed any light on most of Older Harry’s magic.

Harry James Potter, Jr. was born on New Years Day, and he was received personally into his new life by his proud father, and shortly after, he was greeted personally by his living grandparents and a handful of selected friends. He hadn’t the faintest appreciation of the fact that his birth was followed vicariously by the entire magical world.

We stayed in London for a month, and then we returned to our private island retreat. By unspoken agreement, Hermione and I dropped all efforts at further research into exotic and seemingly impossible magic. We devoted ourselves to living each day of the two months remaining in my life to enjoying the wonderful experience of being new parents.

The time flew by, and one week before my departure date, Harry, Jr. started to laugh. For two weeks, he had making the usual assorted nonsense sounds, and he had discovered how to cry differently, depending upon his need. Two adults in that household did a lot of crying themselves that night.

Two days before my leaving, I took a very brief solo trip to London by apparation. The leading expert in the Ministry checked out the accuracy and calibration of my Time Turner, the very one that Older Harry had given to me by way of Headmistress McGonagall, A delayed charm was done that preset it for traveling backward 366 days exactly. I would have to leave no later than the early evening of April 1.

I returned home, and Hermione and I spent the rest of the day in tedious paperwork matters. I had tried to avoid such crap, but as I had inherited and now owned more gold and property than did most nations, there had been a lot of legal niceties to which attendance was needed. The first magical version of the Muggle "living will" had been devised, written, and signed by me, insuring that Hermione and Harry would inherit everything if I "disappeared" and failed to "reappear" within a certain amount of time.

The last day arrived, and we spent the morning in bed, playing with Harry, lying between us. Somehow, he sensed that something was very wrong, and he invented a brand new type of crying to express his feelings. Of course, this set off both Hermione and me. Eventually, he fell asleep, so we placed him in his crib, and left him to his rest.

We sat for a while in the sitting room, and I broke down into huge, wracking sobs. Hermione hugged me, and we cried together.

Finally, I was able to pull myself together.

"I can’t help but to notice the irony," I said. "My parents sacrificed themselves to protect me from Voldemort. I lived, never knowing them at all, only to find myself exactly in their shoes now. Though he’s been gone for a year, still I have to sacrifice myself - which I’d do willingly a thousand times - to protect my wife and my child. I regret one thing the most."

"What, Harry?" said Hermione.

"He . . . he’ll never know me," I said.

"Yes, he will," said Hermione. "Did you ever doubt for a second that James and Lily loved you? Didn’t you get to know them from others? Harry won’t even have to wait eleven years to learn about his father, the greatest man who I’ve ever known."

We hugged again, and I arose from the sofa. I walked to the fireplace mantle, and I removed the Time Turner from a small jewelry box. I hung it around my neck, and I headed to the door. A nasty Spring rain was soaking everything outside.

"It’s time, Hermione," I said, opening the door, "I . . . I have to go now."

"Actually, you don’t," said a soft but strangely familiar voice from the walk just outside.

I spun around, wand in hand, and I saw a very strange sight. The oldest person I’ve ever seen was standing halfway up the walk, holding his opened hands out to his sides.

"HERMIONE! Protect Harry!" I screamed, never taking my eyes from the stranger. All I could think of was what had happened to my parents some years ago. "Was this some new Dark Lord intent on killing my family,’ I thought. To him, I said, "who are you, and what do you want?"

"In particular, I’d like to get out of this chilly drizzle," he said, and he smiled and added, "generally, I’d like to have a talk with Hermione and you. As to my identity, that’s part of some very important things that we need to discuss."

I was debating whether or not to blast him, when he spoke again.

"Harry Potter, I swear by every magically binding oath known that neither do I intend harm to, nor will I commit harm on you, your wife, and your child."

I hesitated, torn between trusting any wizard unknown to me, and the necessity that I leave soon to meet my destiny with Voldemort in the past. Then, the stranger’s first words, ‘actually, you don’t,’ registered.

"What did you mean when you first spoke?" I asked.

"I meant precisely what I said," he replied, "you do NOT have to use that Time Turner hanging around your neck. You do not have to leave your loving wife and your three-month-old infant. You should allow me to enter your home and to explain these assertions to you . . . and to your wife, Hermione."

He gave me such a warm, unaffected and genuinely kind smile that I decided to see what the hell he was up to.

"Okay," I said, backing up and through the door, "please come in . . . but don’t try any funny stuff!"

He smiled and followed me inside. He looked at the hallway leading to the bedroom, presently blocked by a very determined looking Hermione, who was training her wand on his chest.

"Would one of you," he said, looking at Hermione and then back to me, "be so kind as to charm me dry?" Hermione did so, and he smiled more widely, "it’s a shame that a place such as this, usually in its own way one of the more beautiful ones on earth, should have such barbaric weather even for a single day."

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Hermione demanded.

"Your husband just asked the exact same questions," he said, "so I’ll answer the first with a riddle. Who asked and who answered a similar question of a stranger a year ago?"

"Huh?" I said. I looked at Hermione, and I saw that she was as puzzled as was I.

"No takers?" he said. "Okay, how about an easier one. What do you seeing around MY neck?"

I looked more carefully at him, and not only at the Time Turner hanging there. He had very pale greenish eyes, a full head of snow white hair, AND he had a . . . ‘what the hell?’ I thought.

I looked at Hermione, whose face momentarily had gone almost as white as the stranger’s hair. She smiled and spoke.

"Harry," she said, "did you notice his . . . forehead?"

"Ah, yes," he replied to her, before I could speak, "they say ‘time heals all wounds.’ Obviously, it doesn’t in the case of one very special magical scar. Besides, I’ve always preferred ‘time wounds all heels,’ the twisted variant of that proverb!" He looked at Hermione again, and then to me, "there’re still very few sights as beautiful as her smile, are there?"

"But how . . . how is it possible that you . . . I . . . we . . . oh, hell!" I tried to say.

"Regrettably, even in my time - pardon the wordplay - there is no adequate method for using the King’s English in certain matters concerning . . . time," he said, his eyes twinkling. He turned to Hermione. "Care to tackle the apparent paradox of your husband having come here from the very far future, when minutes ago, both of you were certain that very shortly he’d be heading from here to the past and to his death . . . in less than a day, in his subjective time?"

"I . . . I . . . something’s not right," said Hermione, struggling with grasping the very existence of a very much older version of her husband, ME, when such should be impossible. Suddenly, her face brightened, and she exclaimed, "we were wrong! But, how could we have been so mistaken in our reasoning?"

I almost dropped my wand, which would have matched the action of my jaw. I looked at Hermione and then at . . . "Oldest Harry" - what else could I call him? - and from him I received first a smile and then a booming laugh.

"Harry, my younger self," he said between laughs, "embrace it! Savor it! Remember it always! Hermione Granger Potter, the most brilliant witch of her age, admits BOTH that she was wrong and that she made a mistake! Truly, this is a once-in-a-century phenomenon!"

I joined in his laughter, only to earn a glare from Hermione. Suddenly, Hermione’s face lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree.

"He lied to us . . . to you, Harry," she said. Turning from me, she continued, "YOU! You lied!" she said to Oldest Harry.

"Neither he nor I did anything of the sort . . . at least I didn’t YET," he answered, "but very shortly, I will do so . . . sort of . . . from my perspective."

"But HOW can you - " Hermione began.

"How else but by means of a certain potion, with which the two of you are familiar," he said, snapping his fingers and suddenly he was holding a small glass vial of a rather foul-looking substance. "This is a very advanced version of the Polyjuice Potion, and it leads us neatly to the second question asked of me by both of you. What I want is . . . a single hair from your head, Harry."

Both Hermione and I were taken aback. She recovered first.

"You . . . YOU’RE ‘Older Harry!’ YOU’RE the one who’s going to go back in time one year," she said.

"Of course, I am," he said, smiling.

Suddenly, everything crystallized for both Hermione and me. The enormity of what had seemed to be impossible just minutes ago, that I would live, see my son grow up, have more children and even grandchildren, landed on both of us. Hermione walked over and joined me, took my hand, and both of us sat down on the large sofa. I motioned to Oldest Harry to have a seat.

"Thanks," he said, taking the large recliner chair. "Ah, this always was one of my favorites."

After a short interval, Hermione spoke.

"I . . . I still don’t quite understand as to why you . . . I mean, when you become . . . that doesn’t sound right, either," she huffed. "Why did Older Harry lie to us a year ago?"

"He did and he didn’t, just as I will and I won’t," he said. "He said that he had come from one year in the future, and indisputably, he had done just that. He failed to note the ADDITIONAL fact that BEFORE he had traveled from ‘today’ to ‘then’ - which you’ll agree WAS one year - he had crossed . . . a very much longer period of time to get to ‘today.’ In short, he ‘lied’ ONLY by omission, and he allowed you to draw the wrong conclusion from lacking all of the facts."

"But, why?" asked Hermione, getting a bit exasperated.

"In retrospect, it must be truly galling to realize that poor Ron Weasley was more correct than were so many more intelligent people, including two brilliant young witches, his sister and you, and one of the greatest magical educators and experts in transfiguration, Minerva McGonagall," he said. I omit Professor Flitwick, because he did use the word ‘apparently’ as a qualifier, when he affirmed your opinions. I’m not sure whether he had actual doubts about the ‘Our Harry is Doomed in One Year’ diagnosis, or if he was being overly precise in his language."

"What? But, Ron said . . . " Hermione began, but then she realized that Oldest Harry was correct. Without understanding fully what he had said, Ron had been closer to the truth, and "Harry-in-one-year" was NOT necessarily doomed to die immediately.

"I still don’t understand WHY he . . . allowed us to form the impression that I would die in a year," I said, still puzzled.

"That’s a little complicated. On his behalf, which will be mine shortly . . . and YOURS too, Harry, a long time in the future, I’ll say this. Following the duel, you - and I still remember it from when I was you - wanted nothing more than to die, did you not? It was due only to the implications flowing from the belief that you had but a year to live that you found the strength to go on. When Hermione explained to you the details of time paradoxes, AND, most important of all, what could happen to your entire world, including to her and to your unborn son, then you realized that for them, if for no one else, you had to see your destiny through to the end."

"But . . . but why couldn’t he have told us the truth?" Hermione asked.

"He did and I will do what occurred because we . . . I did so!" he said. Before either of us could speak, he continued. "I know that sounds like a cop-out answer, but it is the truth. You must remember that I, as the oldest of the ‘Harrys,’ ALREADY KNOW what actually happened! If a paradox is to be avoided, then the past cannot be changed in any way, shape, or form! Given a year’s perspective of and reflection on events, don’t you believe that things have worked out reasonably well?"

"WHY, you . . . you," Hermione exploded, "if you had ANY idea of the torture we went through during the last year - "

She stopped abruptly, her face reddening, as she realized what she had said. "I . . .I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I mean, of course you know . . . "

Oldest Harry gave her a fatherly smile, and he said, "I did live through it, Hermione, though from my present perspective, it was very long ago. No, besides the glib and tautological answer of saying that something happened because it happened, it is worth pondering the nature of that ‘something,’ is it not? The ‘torture’ both of you endured cemented your love and your marriage more strongly than anything else could have. Does either of you remember being away from the other for more than a few hours? Even during your hospital stay, when you had Harry, Jr., Harry managed to make excellent use of his invisibility cloak to circumvent the rules at St. Mungo’s."

Both of us blushed at the recollection, but he continued.

"Even during labor, when you were calling Harry names not generally found in most dictionaries, or heard even on uncensored Muggle cable television, he never left your side, did he? There is a profound philosophical question to ponder concerning cause and effect in any time loop. But, such questions are unanswerable. A great writer once noted that the ‘game’ contested between believers in free will versus advocates of pre-determinism always remains tied, until a player ‘withdraws’ from the game. Before much longer, I’ll become one of those ‘quitters,’ and I’ll learn the answer . . . or maybe I won’t," Oldest Harry finished, with a wink.

We looked at him, speechless. What could anyone say?

"Well, before I leave you to enjoy the very long remainder of your lives together, I will give you some limited hints of your future. First, you will stay together, without separation or divorce. Not only will you stay in love, your love will continue to strengthen. There will be a few bumps along the way, and the origin of one of them will occur tomorrow night," he said.

"Uh . . . Huh?" I said.

"Yes, indeed! Tonight, you will be more than a little overwhelmed at what has happened. However, tomorrow both of you will accept matters, and you will celebrate them in the best way possible. The result of that celebration will be made tangible in about nine months, and she will be your first daughter, whom you will name ‘Hermione Jane Potter!’ Hermione, I’m sorry, but Harry gets even for your naming of Harry, Jr. I won’t say anything about additional future children, other than to note that there will be some more. Big Hermione - and by the way, Harry, do NOT make a habit of calling her that very often - will become extremely angry with you on Junior Harry’s sixth birthday. You will give Little Hermione her first broom ride, and when you almost crash, you will find yourself spending the next week sleeping on a sofa. But, you will make up, and get on with your lives. Both of you will have rewarding and distinguished careers . . . and that’s all that I’m going to say. Now, Harry, if I could get a hair from you, I’ll be on my way."

Both of us had tears in our eyes, but Hermione was able to blurt out, "why can’t you stay for a bit longer?"

I sighed, and I handed him one of my hairs. He put it into the potion vial, and very quickly, he tossed it down. He shuddered, and his body seemed to jerk slightly. Slowly, the years melted away from his face, and then we were looking at my identical twin.

"This is a twenty-four hour potion, which unfortunately tastes as bad as the original. I used it intentionally, so that I wouldn’t be tempted to stay here too long. If you don’t mind, I’ll use the Time Turner to arrive here in the early evening of March 31. Then, I’ll apparate to a spot in the Forbidden Forest, make my way into Hogwarts, go to the Room of Requirement, and the rest, as they say, is history!" he said. He hesitated and continued.

"I . . . I would like to see my . . . our son before I go," he said, tears beginning to flow from his eyes.

Both of us arose from the sofa, and I accompanied Hermione back to the bedroom, She picked up Harry from his crib. Naturally, he awoke, but rather than crying he smiled at Hermione. I poked my face in his direction, and he gave me both a smile and a laugh."

We returned to the sitting room to discover that Oldest Harry had arisen from the chair, and he was standing near the door. We started to walk over to him, but he held his hand up, motioning for us to stop. Harry promptly went back to sleep.

"Please, just stand there together for a few seconds, so I can remember this exactly," said.

"Would . . . would you like to hold him," asked Hermione.

"I’d love nothing more, but . . . I didn’t, so I can’t!" he said, tears clear on his face now.

"Harry, do you remember the remark Older Harry made to you about the most beautiful sight ever?" he asked. "Hermione, you didn’t really believe that the large photograph you found was invented by the Room of Requirement, did you?"

With a pop, he was gone.

* * * * *

Everything Oldest Harry had told or hinted about came to pass. In nine months, Harry’s first sister, Little Hermione, came into our world. Over the next twelve years, we had four more children, two each of boys and girls.

We had moved back to England, to an old Potter Family estate near Oxford, with a substantially larger home, with plenty of room for our growing family. But, we always had time to take vacations and revisit the wonderful little cottage on our very own hidden island. We spent almost twenty-five years, in retrospect the most rewarding and happiest of our lives, doing nothing but making and raising children, and being a family.

Inevitably, we had reentered the life of the greater magical world, and when the tearful day arrived that we went to Kings Cross Station to see our youngest, Lily Minerva, depart for her first year at Hogwarts, we made a fateful decision.

The Potter Family wealth, brains, and determination were put to use for political purposes! It took almost five decades, but eventually, the magical world was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of its cultural dead end.

Both Hermione and I served multiple terms each as Ministers of Magic, and every period of time when both of us were out of official office, we worked tirelessly behind the scenes to fight any and every attempt by the current political slimeballs to tamper with our long term goals. All we wanted and demanded was freedom and respect for every magical person and creature, with absolutely minimal interference in such by the Ministry government.

The state of magical art advanced, as well. Shortly after my seventieth birthday, the "color-changing" Patronus spell was invented. It was forgotten immediately, except by me, because its only possible use was to destroy a creature that had been extinct for over fifty years. Over the years, all of Older Harry’s magic was invented or discovered, as well. Invisibility without a special cloak, permanent transfiguration and conjuring of new objects, and wandless and wordless magic at ever increasing distances all became known. Only a single person learned, practiced, and remembered all of them.

It took a bit longer, but the Muggles sorted out their longstanding problems as well. The twenty-first century had not been good to them, with incessant wars, plagues, and many other problems.

Eventually, enough of them tired of the situation, and freedom won out. While it may or may not have been inevitable, a critical mass of the world’s populace came to realize that a strong respect for and protection of individual freedom of all types - personal, political, and economic - was a minimal requirement for a social order that actually worked.

By the time that I experienced my one hundredth birthday, which the magical world embraced as an excuse to conduct a year-long Mardi Gras sort of celebration, so much had changed.

Much of the solar system was colonized by Muggle pioneers, and some magical folks had gone with them to the planets, the asteroid belt, and the larger moons of Jupiter and Saturn.

Less than two decades later, by the one hundredth wedding anniversary of Hermione and me, the first starships had departed. Needless to say, some magical folks were on them, but those who remained on earth had an excuse for another year-long celebration.

For the next couple of decades, Hermione and I retired from public life, and we served as teachers at Hogwarts. Paradoxically, it was both a relaxing and stimulating time for us.

Muggle science had advanced so much that the time for a major decision arrived. Famous science fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke once wrote that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Of course, he intended this to be a commentary both on how a primitive human viewed people and things from an advanced civilization, and how "advanced" humans might view visitors from alien worlds. Wizards and witches had debated for decades as to just how and when the magical world should reveal itself.

Over my very strong protests, my one hundred and fiftieth birthday was chosen to be the date. I don’t have to tell you that yet another crazy celebration occurred. This was the wildest one of all, because now vast numbers of Muggles knew all about the life and legend of ‘the boy who lived."

Hermione and I took the opportunity to disappear from public life. We lived for almost fifty years in our simple little cottage, occasionally receiving visitors, and more rarely, leaving to visit others.

She had prided herself on attending the birth and being the second person, after the mother, to hold each new grandchild, great grandchild, etc. Also, every one of them received a personally signed birthday card, accompanied by a gift. This had become impossible by the time of our retirement, as there were far too many "great-great-great-etceteras" now living in and coming into the world. For ten years, Hermione employed a staff to perform what she had regarded as her obligation, but it wasn’t the same.

So, we lived out our days in peaceful contentment. Then, as her two-hundredth birthday approached, Hermione started to become forgetful.

In spite of the immense advances in medicine, both magical and Muggle, eventually people did still die. Magical potions, charms, and spells, coupled with Muggle drugs, genetic manipulation, cloning, and advanced surgical aids provided genuine cures for most afflictions. All infectious agents, bacterial, viral, and even weird protein-based prions and their relatives could be stopped cold. Body organs, glands, and blood could be replaced.

The one condition that remained a death sentence was a strange condition in the brain. Formerly, it had been very rare, but it was becoming increasingly common. Reduced to basics, cells in certain parts of the brain began to die.

While the very smallest molecular-level "nanobot" machines could gain access to the locations, their tiny size prevented them from being capable enough to be able to do anything that helped either to regenerate the dead cells quickly enough, or to protect others from dying.

Once the diagnosis was confirmed and reconfirmed, Hermione made a decision. She refused to allow herself either to waste away or to become a burden. While I was outside the cottage, speaking with one of our great grandchildren, who had paid us a visit and was about to leave, she arose from her bed, wrote a brief note to me, and drank a potion that she had made earlier and concealed.

I returned to the bedroom, and I found her lifeless body still holding a piece of old fashioned parchment. She was smiling.

I read the note.

Dearest Harry,

This is a goodbye, but hopefully we will see each other again in "the next great adventure," if there is one. Somehow, I am sure that we’ll be together again and forever.

I’ve been the luckiest woman ever to live, and I’ve loved and been loved by the greatest man I’ve ever known.

I know you’ll ignore this, but try not to grieve too much for me.

Eternal Love,

Hermione

P. S. I’d like to be buried here on the island.

P. P. S. You do know what you have to do now, don’t you? Hint: The Time Turner is in the box at the back of your top dresser drawer.

* * * * *

I carried her outside to the eastern side of the cottage grounds, overlooking the expanse of Galway Bay. I excavated a grave, and I placed her body in it, without any coffin, so that she could become part of the land she so loved more quickly. A few hand motions later, and her grave was filled, a bed of blooming rose bushes was atop it, and a white marble headstone, suitably engraved, stood at one end.

I thought for a moment, and I added a matching marker, on which was chiseled my name. I’d let anyone seeing it in the future puzzle over its two different dates of death.

Another series of hand motions elicited the presence of a snowy owl that resembled the original Hedwig to a remarkable degree. I wrote a note, briefly detailing Hermione’s passing and my imminent and permanent departure. I attached it to the owl’s leg, and I dispatched her to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hermione and I first met on the way to Hogwarts, and it was there where we fell in love, conceived our first child, and married. The folks there deserved to hear the news first. One of our grandchildren - or was she a great grandchild? - was the current Headmistress, and she could be trusted with making it public..

I retrieved the long stored and nearly forgotten, at least by me, Time Turner, and placed it around my neck. I walked out the front door, stood in the middle of the walk, and activated it.

Of course, I arrived in the midst of a chilly rain, just as my much younger self was opening the door.

"I . . . I have to go now," he said.

"Actually, you don’t," I said.

* * * * *

Well, you know almost all of the rest of the story, so there’s no need for me to repeat myself. But, a few brief notes are in order.

When I left my family by activating the Time Turner for the second time, I arrived in a deserted cottage. Immediately, I apparated to the Forbidden Forest, made my way into Hogwarts and up to the Room of Requirement. I conjured into existence the photograph that Hermione would find later, and I placed on it a time-delayed charm, which would keep it invisible until it was "required." I wrote the parchment note to Harry, and I left in the middle of the room.

As I said earlier, the rest you already know, so I’ll fast-forward to the duel.

When I started to cast the fireball spell on myself, the remaining part of Voldemort trapped inside me shrieked insanely. I felt the most intense pain over my entire body, and then both of us died.

Epilogue: End of the Beginning

Then, I awoke. I was standing. ‘Hmm,’ I thought, ‘something weird DEFINITELY is going on.’ I opened my eyes, and the first things I saw were the smiling faces of my Mum and Dad.

"Welcome, son," said James Potter, "we . . . everyone here is so proud of you!"

"Yes, we truly are," said Lily Potter, "but what’s most important of all is that finally I have my . . . my baby Harry back."

She embraced me in a tight hug. She gave me a hug? How can ghosts or souls or whatever we were HUG?

"Don’t smother him, Lily," said Dad, "he’s just awakened, and he needs to adjust to the situation."

My Mum released me, and I was able to look around. We were in what seemed to a grassy meadow.

"Er," I said, "where . . . what exactly is this place?"

"You’re in ‘the next great adventure,’ of course," said Mum. "Some call it ‘eternity’ or ‘heaven’ or ‘the afterlife’ . . . there are as many names for it as you wish there to be."

"Yes," I said, "I know that I died, but . . . are we souls or . . . do we have actual bodies, or . . . it’s frustrating not knowing what to ask."

"Everyone goes through a period of disorientation," said Dad, "in your case, it’ll be much shorter than is usual, because of your magical heritage and your experiences."

"Yes," said Mum, "why don’t you have a talk with a couple of experts. Oh, here they come."

I turned and saw two elderly looking gentlemen approaching. I was shocked when I recognized one as being Albus Dumbledore. The other looked a bit older.

"Hello, Harry," said Dumbledore, "it’s good to see you again, and I’m pleased that you justified my faith in you so masterfully. Allow me to introduce Merlin, who is sort of a leader around here."

* * * * *

I "adjusted" quickly to the situation. Basically, I was in a magical afterlife, wherein the souls of most witches and wizards, with their living memories intact, spend eternity. We can observe but not interfere with anything that goes on in the world of the living.

There are special places in this new existence, equivalents of Azkaban, wherein certain souls are segregated. So, at least I didn’t have to worry about running into Voldemort, Snape, and the like.

I discovered that I was as big a celebrity here as I had been when I was alive. Everybody wanted to see me and speak with me. Nevertheless, I was able to reacquaint myself with many friends of my previous life, including all of the Weasleys, my schoolmates, and Hogwarts teachers who had predeceased me.

We are able to look as we wish, so many choose their younger selves to present to others. I decided to become seventeen again, and I looked just as I had on the evening after the duel, when I had married Hermione.

Speaking of Hermione, the lowlife characters up here failed to inform me that time has no restrictions for us. We can flit around pretty much as we wish. Most people like to watch things occurring on the living earth, and there are special areas for that purpose, which function sort of like Muggle theaters.

The point is that Hermione wasn’t here YET, speaking of the earth "time" well in the past when I died. No one told me for a while that I could fast-forward my present self to any "time" that I wished, whenever I wished to do so.

Instantly, without even thanking the person who finally revealed this information, I moved forward to the saddest day of my life. When Hermione "awoke" from her death and opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was my face.

Being Hermione, she grasped the nature of her new situation immediately. Before my eyes, her projected self-image was transformed into how she looked on our wedding day. Her first words were, "Harry, I told you that we’d be together forever!"

Also, being Hermione, when Merlin and Dumbledore appeared, before either could say a single word, she started in on them.

"So, this is ‘the next great adventure’ or ‘the afterlife’ or whatever, is it? I’ve got questions. Are werewolves treated fairly here? If they’re not, why aren’t they?"

"Miss Granger - " Merlin attempted to speak, but Hermione was on a roll.

"Oh, and what about House-Elves? There had better NOT be any slavery or mistreatment or any other discrimination being practiced against them!"

"Hermione - " Dumbledore tried, without success.

"IF there is any such nonsense, then let me tell you in no uncertain terms that there WILL be some changes made! And, furthermore - "

Her monologue was cut off when I grabbed her and covered her mouth with mine. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Merlin and Dumbledore were quickly making their escape. I kissed her long and hard, and when I broke it off she looked at me, her eyes wide in amazement.

"You . . . you KISSED me!" she said, blushing. "You HUGGED me!"

"I sure did!" I said, with a wide grin.

"Does this mean that in this place we can touch each other . . . and . . . and . . . "

"It sure does!" I answered. "Why do you think that from now on, I’ll call it heaven?"

The End

A/N: Anyone interested in time travel stories generally should read, if he hasn’t yet, the three that inspired parts of this story; Robert Heinlein’s very short story "All You Zombies - - - " his short novel, "By His Bootstraps" and David Gerrold’s novel, The Man Who Folded Himself. "Inishfree" does not exist, but the name was borrowed from the wonderful film, The Quiet Man, directed by John Ford, and starring John Wayne, in one his very best roles and performances, and Maureen O’Hara.