Unofficial Portkey Archive

(A/N: Once again I thank and praise Mary Caroline, who beta-read this chapter for me, and without whom this story would be greatly diminished.

For those of you who've reviewed the story so far, my boundless gratitude! Your comments keep me on my toes, which is the way I like it.)

(Disclaimer: I'm not making a cent off this story… in fact, Jo, if you're reading this, feel free to adopt these ideas for your last book, with my compliments. Heh.)

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

"Restoring Hope"

by Paracelsus

*

1 March 2008 - Year 9 P.V.

*

Ron held the bit of pasteboard as though it were made out of precious crystal… as though it might break if not handled just so. "Agrippa," he said in soft wonder. "It's Agrippa." He fell silent, sitting in the living room at the Burrow, just staring at the card.

Hope watched him carefully. Only a slight flutter of her eyelids betrayed the nervousness she felt. "Do you like it, Dad?" she asked eventually.

"Like it?" With a wild whoop, Ron leapt from his chair and grabbed his daughter. He hugged her tightly as he swung her around him, pivoting on his good leg. "This is the Agrippa card! It's about the rarest Chocolate Frog Card there is! Do you know how long I've been looking for this card? I could never find it, never - how did you…?"

"You do like it, then." Her face relaxed - for a moment, she actually broke into a relieved grin. "Happy Birthday, Dad. You can set me down now."

"Nah, I'll just keep you here. I know how much you love flying." He swung her around again for good measure. His balance was perfect, thanks to ten years of practicing this particular maneuver.

"Ronald Weasley, if you make that girl sick, I'll make you clean it up. Without magic." Molly Weasley's scolding was at odds with the amused smile of an indulgent mother-cum-grandmother. None of those assembled for Ron's birthday party took her at all seriously.

"Yes, Mum. Right, Mum. Whatever you say, Mum." Ron gave Hope a final buss on the cheek and set her on her feet. "Thank you, princess." She made her escape with as much dignity as she could muster, while surreptitiously wiping her cheek. She quickly ended up by Granddad's wheelchair.

"He started collecting those when he was younger than you," Arthur Weasley confided to her in a low voice. They watched as Ron approached his gift from Fred and George with justifiable caution. "He was so determined he'd have the complete set someday… typical Weasley stubbornness."

"Tell me about it." Hope paused and furrowed her brow curiously. "What else was he like… when he was my age?"

Granddad Weasley smiled slightly as he considered her question. "Oh, probably a little self-conscious… we had less money in those days, and so much of what he owned were hand-me-downs. And too, he felt completely overshadowed by his older brothers. Then he met Harry… hmm. Accio picture." A framed photograph flew into his hands. "By the end of that year he'd stopped You-Know… I mean, V-Voldemort," (Granddad gave an involuntary shiver) "and made the two best friends he'd ever have." He offered the photo to Hope.

It showed three kids, a year or two older than her, standing in a row with arms draped over one another's shoulders. A very young Dad was on one end, waving madly at the camera, and Hermione Granger was on the other end. Between them was a scrawny kid with messy black hair, wearing glasses. He grinned hesitantly, as though not sure whether it was permitted.

"Your father, and your birth mother," clarified Granddad. "At the end of their first year at Hogwarts."

Hope touched the center figure with her fingertip. "And Harry Potter, the Boy With A Lot Of Names. Funny, there aren't a lot of pictures of him around. In the history books. Anywhere." She traced the shape of his jaw, noted his bright green eyes… her fingertip finally stopping at the scar on his forehead. "Marked by Voldemort, my teacher says."

"A mark of bravery, you might call it."

She nodded and moved her hand to her mother's face. "My mother. Hmm… I seem to've got her hair, but not her teeth."

"That picture was taken before she had her teeth altered… Ron says it was done magically during their fourth year at Hogwarts. They looked much better when she got older… But you're right, you seem to have got your father's mouth." Granddad beckoned her closer. Hope leaned over his chair as he whispered, "You know, I collect Chocolate Frog Cards, too. Where did you find that Agrippa?"

"Pure luck," Hope replied. "Sorry, Granddad. I knew Dad didn't have Agrippa, but no one told me how rare it was." Her face, as usual, gave nothing away. And besides, she was telling the strict - if incomplete - truth.

*

"So, did he enjoy it?"

"Ohh, yeah. Just like you knew he would."

In the dark hours of the night, Hope lay in her bed, the cabinet portrait of Hermione in her hand, whispering a description of the day's events. It had taken a fortnight for Hermione's image to come fully "awake"… in the first few days after she'd been unwrapped, she'd been slow to speak and seemed very confused about her surroundings. Hope had talked with her every night, answering the same questions over and over: What year was it now? Her parents were Ron and Luna? They lived in Hogsmeade? Lord Voldemort was dead? Ron Weasley was her father? He taught Quidditch at Hogwarts? And on and on.

The talking had brought her more fully to life, and now she could converse as easily as any of Hope's friends… only a lot more intelligently.

"It was a little awkward, when everyone kept asking where I got the card," Hope continued. "Where'd you get it, anyway?"

"Well, they've a club at Hogwarts where they do nothing but trade Chocolate Frog Cards. I'd started some inquiries through them, to national collectors. This was, mm, near the end of our sixth year… I'd just started dating Ron. I'd hoped to have the card for him by the next Christmas, but it didn't arrive."

"It did arrive, though. It was in the box of school supplies you left me. I showed it to you."

Hermione's image shrugged. "Then it arrived after I was painted. I'm afraid I don't know about anything that happened after this picture was done."

Hope thought about that. "When was that?"

"Christmas break, in what would have been our seventh year. Hogwarts remained open that year, you know… there'd been talk it would close after Professor Dumbledore's death, but it was still one of the safest places in the wizarding world." She smiled thinly. "Especially once Harry was no longer in attendance. So the school stayed open despite everything."

"But Harry Potter didn't attend, you said. And neither did you, or Dad…"

"We had things to do that were more important than school," Hermione said sternly. She looked surprised, then flashed a sudden grin. "Oh my, if Ron ever heard me say that, he'd never let me live it down."

"So what was more important than school?" Hope asked as casually as she could. The mystery of Ron's Terrible Year had puzzled everyone for a decade: no one knew anything, except that The Chosen One and his friends spent the year fighting the Dark Lord, in total secrecy. The only ones who knew what the threesome had done that year were dead - except Ron, who refused to speak of it.

Maybe, thought Hope to herself, maybe someone will finally tell me something.

She was, however, doomed to disappointment once again. Hermione's image narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Hope," she said after a moment, "have you told Ron and Luna about me yet?"

Hope didn't reply. "As I told you to?" Hermione pressed.

"But… but they'll take you away from me," Hope protested. "And you were left to me. I think I should have a chance to talk to you a little while before I tell them."

"Hiding things from your parents is never a good idea," Hermione admonished her. She grimaced. "Though I say that as shouldn't, I suppose. In my case, however," she went on hurriedly, "it was a matter of life and death. That's not the case with Ron and Luna."

Hermione waited a beat. "Similarly, although I may have given birth to you, Ron and Luna are the ones responsible for raising you. It's up to them whether you're told about… certain topics."

"No one ever tells me anything." Hope indulged in a theatric sigh. "I'm not a baby any more, you know. And I'm not stupid. I'm top of my class at Potter, and…" The declaration would have been more effective if it hadn't been interrupted by an enormous yawn.

"Potter Primary School." Hermione shook her head in amazement. "Poor Harry would have had a stroke. He was almost militant in his modesty. It was just one of his many wond… admirable qualities."

"'Sanother thing," Hope said sleepily. "I wanna hear 'bout Harry Potter. Real stuff. All we get in school's the same ol' porridge. You'll tell me 'bout him, won't you?"

"Someday. I promise," smiled Hermione. Hope smiled back as she tucked the portrait under her pillow. "Good night, daughter."

"G'night… mother," whispered Hope, and in seconds was fast asleep.

*

16 April 2008 - Year 9 P.V.

*

"Mum? Why don't they teach magic at school?"

Luna paused to look at her daughter. Hope was busy setting the table for supper, a task that was both suitable for her age and better done by hand than by magic. She was methodically arranging the plates, aligning the silverware perfectly parallel - and, though not looking at Luna, quite obviously waiting for a reply.

"They do teach magic at school, elephant's child. That's what Hogwarts is, isn't it?"

"I mean at Potter. We learn grammar and maths and All Things Muggle, but no magic." Hope looked up. "And it can't have anything to do with the Blah Blah Blah of Underage Blah Blah, either. Hogwarts students are just as underage."

"'Blah blah'? Lance and Tristam are definitely a pernicious influence." Luna gave the sauce another stir with her wand. "As I understand it, most magical children show only a few bursts of accidental magic as they're growing up. I remember my first magic, when I was five… my Brussels sprouts kept turning into chocolate truffles. I'm not sure why," she added musingly. "I like Brussels sprouts."

"Maybe you didn't then," Hope suggested. I sure don't, she added silently.

"Mmmm, that may be it. Anyway, by the time you start at Hogwarts, your accidental magic has mostly faded… but you're ready to begin learning magic in a systematic way. That way, you can use the magic reliably as a grown-up." As if to demonstrate, with a flick of her wand Luna transferred the sauce into a gravy boat.

"Even if they tried to teach magic at Potter," she concluded, "you wouldn't be ready to focus it. That's why they concentrate on things you need to know that you can learn. You'll be writing a lot of essays at Hogwarts, you'll need that grammar…"

"If I had my own wand to focus…" began Hope eagerly.

"No," Luna declared with a finality unusual to her. "We've discussed this already, young lady. You'll have a wand when you're ready to start at Hogwarts. It's dangerous for you to have one until then."

Hope's expression came as close to a sulk as it ever did. She finished placing the goblets on the table, then glanced at the kitchen clock. It had been a gift from Gran and Granddad Weasley: it contained a hand from their clock, the hand with Dad's name on it. Now it had three hands… hers and Mum's were pointing to Home, while Dad's hand was pointing to Still at school.

The fact that Dad wasn't yet on his way home renewed her determination. This conversation would be ten times more difficult if he were part of it. "I promised you I wouldn't experiment with Mother's old potion supplies," she said quietly. "And I've kept my promise."

Luna froze in place. She said nothing, but waited for Hope to continue… waited almost warily for what she knew was coming…

"I know about Gran Lovegood," Hope continued in a rush. "I would never do that, Mum. I promised, didn't I? You can trust me." She fell silent, fearing she'd said too much. She knew she'd said it badly.

Luna still said nothing. She was blinking rapidly, her eyes fixed on something far away, but otherwise not a single facial muscle moved. Hope waited as her mother brought out a pitcher of pumpkin juice from the icebox.

"Somehow," said Luna at last, and fell silent again. After a moment, she resumed dreamily, "Somehow, the memory of finding my mother, after her Potions accident… doesn't disturb me nearly as much… as the fear of finding you after your Potions accident." She smiled brightly at Hope. "I wonder why that is?"

Hope shook her head to show she didn't have an answer.

"Potions books, cauldron, ingredients… all there in your room. It must have been quite the temptation," Luna continued, growing more thoughtful. Abruptly, her gaze was intent, and fixed on Hope's face. "No wand magic," she said warningly.

Hope held her breath.

"I have to approve in advance of any Potions to be made," Luna decreed. "And you don't do anything unless I'm with you."

Hope nodded mutely.

"Well then," Luna finished, and she smiled again, "in that case, tomorrow after school we can try a simple Potion for boils. It would be one of the first Potions you'd learn at Hogwarts." Her attention was drawn to the kitchen clock, as Ron's hand clicked noisily from Still at school to On his way. "And it might be a good idea if you let me broach this subject with your father. He was always a bit leery of Potions lessons, as I recall."

*

"She said yes," Hope reported that night. "With conditions."

"I thought she might," nodded Hermione. "Luna's quite intelligent, deep down."

"Sometimes she looks like she's half in the Other World," confided Hope, "but I can't hardly ever get anything past her. It's frustrating, sometimes."

"Perhaps you shouldn't try to get so much past her," Hermione countered dryly.

Absently, Hope twisted a strand of hair between her fingers. "Who painted you?" she asked, changing the subject.

"A wizard named Dean Thomas," said Hermione. "He was in our year… he dated your Aunt Ginny for a while… and he was quite the artist when he had the opportunity. He was one of the few of our year who actually returned for seventh year. I wonder if he got any NEWTs…"

"So he was there at Christmas break?" Hope prompted.

"Sketching everyone, yes. Ginny, of course - Ginny was his favorite model, even after they broke up. The professors. Me. Ron. Even Harry, though Harry tried to avoid it. Well, when I saw the sketch he made of me, I asked if he could paint my portrait. A magical portrait, with the potions in the paint to capture the essence of the subject. He'd never tried that before, but I made the potions for him and he agreed. We only had time for three sittings, but I think he did a brilliant job."

"I think so, too," Hope said, pleased at the amount of information she was receiving. She wondered if she dared try for more…

In for a Gobstone, in for a Galleon, she decided impulsively. "So why were you at Hogwarts for Christmas?" she asked. "Taking a break from your Horcrux hunt?"

The image of Hermione went so still that, for an instant, Hope was afraid the magic of the painting had suddenly worn off. "Who told you about the Horcruxes?" she finally demanded in a low, very menacing tone.

"Dad," Hope said as though it were obvious. She saw no need to add that Ron had only mentioned them in passing, during a panicked flashback. She didn't even know what a Horcrux was… but she had hopes of learning.

Hermione swore under her breath… Hope could only make out the words Ronald and something that sounded like zithering boron. "Horcruxes are extremely Dark magic," Hermione told her severely. "A witch your age shouldn't even know about such things…"

Hope waited a moment, then began again. "You were hunting Horcruxes," she led off, as though she already knew the story.

Hermione sighed heavily. "Yes, we were hunting Horcruxes," she conceded. "Voldemort had stored his soul in six of them, and two had already been destroyed when we started. We found the third quickly enough - it had actually been hidden at… at the place we were staying. It was Slytherin's locket… we'd nearly thrown it in the waste bin, thinking it was trash, but Kreacher kept it back and hid it. I wouldn't let Harry hurt Kreacher, but Harry managed to get the information out of him anyway."

"So… that left three…" Hope encouraged.

"Yes, and it's just as well I was there," said Hermione, warming to her topic, "because Harry was on the wrong track. To be fair, that's because Dumbledore was on the wrong track. He thought Voldemort's snake was one of the Horcruxes. And at one point, Harry got the idea that he might be a Horcrux, too. But a little common sense would've shown them how wrong they were." She stopped and looked at Hope expectantly.

Hope's face was calm, but her mind was racing. If she admitted she wasn't familiar with Hermione's story - at least a little bit - then Hermione would stop talking, she was sure of it. But Hope wasn't familiar with the story - that's why she was asking questions!

Horcruxes, she reasoned feverishly. Voldemort stored his soul in Horcruxes, she said. Why?

If his soul wasn't in his body… could he be killed? I bet not. Okay, that's why.

So… why would using a snake as a Horcrux, or Harry Potter, be 'on the wrong track'?

"Voldemort wouldn't've put his soul into anything that can die," said Hope. She tried to make it sound not like guesswork.

"Exactly," said Hermione triumphantly. "Even if nothing else went wrong, Nagini was mortal. She was going to die sooner or later, and when she did, Voldemort would become that much more vulnerable. Silly notion, really."

"But then… why did Harry Potter…"

"You don't have to use his full name every time you say it," corrected Hermione.

"Why did Harry think he might be a Horcrux at all?" Hope asked, refusing to be sidetracked.

Hermione bit her lip as she considered. "Well, actually, it wasn't that farfetched a notion - if you assume that Harry was made a Horcrux accidentally. Harry and Dumbledore believed that Voldemort came to Godric's Hollow that night to create a Horcrux by killing Harry and his parents. And Harry was convinced he must have succeeded, even though the Killing Curse rebounded. And given the connections between Harry and Voldemort - the curse scar, the Parseltongue, the ease with which Voldemort could project his mind into Harry - it did sound reasonable that part of Voldemort's soul was inside Harry. But that idea was disproven when Voldemort himself kept trying to kill Harry, which he certainly wouldn't have done if Harry were a Horcrux."

Hope nodded, just as though she understood everything Hermione was saying. She wished she could take notes, but that was impossible. She'd just have to be careful to remember everything, and think on it later when she had a chance…

"As for Nagini… Dumbledore was sure that Voldemort failed at Godric's Hollow, that he needed the sixth Horcrux immediately upon his return… and that when he murdered an old Muggle, he made the Horcrux out of the only thing available to him. Nagini, his snake." Hermione gave a derisive snort. "This, from the same Dark wizard who was willing to delay his resurrection nine months, because only Harry's blood would do. Voldemort would never have settled for an imperfect Horcrux, one that had to die eventually."

"But… but Dumbledore was, like, the smartest wizard alive! Dad's always saying how he seemed to know everything…"

"Ah," said Hermione smugly. "But I had something Dumbledore didn't have: Harry's memories."

*

"You're not concentrating, Harry," Hermione said with what she considered to be remarkable patience. "Now try it again."

Harry's rolled eyes and martyred sigh suggested what he thought of Hermione's patience. He touched his wand to his temple and closed his eyes. After a moment, he slowly drew his wand away from his temple.

Nothing happened.

"One memory, Harry! You have to concentrate on a single memory! Watch!" Hermione put her wand to her own temple and, after a moment, easily drew forth a long silvery strand of memory. She let it hang in midair for a few seconds before placing it back into her head.

Ron was eating a sandwich as he watched from a safe distance. "Can't you just do that to Harry? Draw out the memory yourself?"

"Dumbledore might've been able to," admitted Hermione, "but I daren't. I might take too much and cause serious damage." She turned coaxing. "Harry, it's no different than producing a Patronus. Try that. Try concentrating on whatever happy memory you use for your Patronus."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "That might work." Wand at his temple, he concentrated again - and this time was rewarded with a shining gossamer strand, flowing and floating.

"Well done!" Hermione gestured invitingly towards the Pensieve.

"Oh no," objected Harry. "Nobody gets to see this." He copied Hermione's movement and replaced the memory in his head. "Nice try."

"Oho," Ron crowed with a grin. "Now you've got me wondering what your happy memory is. Could it be Umbridge's sacking? Winning the Cup last year? Or…" In a flash he was scowling. "Tell me you aren't thinking of Ginny when you…!"

"No," said Harry curtly. He closed his eyes, putting an end to the discussion, and raised his wand to his temple again. He waited… he waited… and slowly drew forth another silvery memory. He opened his eyes and hastily deposited the thread into the Pensieve. "Got it. I warn you, though, it's not pretty."

"I didn't expect it would be," Hermione sympathized, waving for Ron to join her and Harry. Together they poised their hands over the Pensieve's gently roiling contents. "All right, on the count of three… one, two…"

And they found themselves inside Harry's vision of the murder of Frank Bryce. The old Muggle was talking to the back of a chair, while Wormtail looked on fearfully. Ron walked around the chair and stopped. "Oh, gross!" He stared in sickened fascination at the tiny abomination that was Lord Voldemort before his return.

"Don't pay any attention to what's happening here," Hermione ordered them. "It has to play itself out… we can't affect it. Remember, we're here for a reason."

Harry, after a disgusted glance at Wormtail, started searching the room. "It would have to be close to hand, wouldn't it? If Voldemort were going to make a Horcrux, shouldn't it be right here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Harry," said Hermione. She waited while Wormtail turned the chair around so that Voldemort could face Bryce, then quickly searched the chair cushions. Meanwhile, Ron looked Wormtail over carefully; he couldn't put his hand in Wormtail's pocket (or rather, the Pensieve image of it), but he could check to see if there was a suspicious bulge there.

"Half a mo," called Harry. He was standing in front of the fireplace, intent on the area above the mantelpiece - which, since the fireplace provided the room's only light, was shrouded in shadow. Hermione and Ron joined him as he pointed to what was resting there. It was a long knife, with a black handle worn smooth with age, and a polished silver blade. The handle's pommel ended in an eagle's head. "I didn't see that, the first time I had this vision…"

"The whole point of Pensieves, isn't it?" asked Ron rhetorically. "So… the knife?"

"That's the knife Wormtail used to cut off his hand, the night Voldemort got his body back. 'Flesh of the servant, willingly given'… he cut off his own hand, and dropped it in the cauldron. And he used that knife."

"A ceremonial knife, used in a magical ritual," said Hermione slowly. "An athame." She peered more intently at it, and raised her hand to almost touch the carved pommel. "Eagle? And it's so old… I think we can assume this was…"

"Rowena Ravenclaw's athame," Harry finished along with her. "Okay, that makes a lot more sense than a snake." He gave her a grateful smile. "Right again, Hermione."

She tried to respond with a 'told-you-so' smirk, but ended up not able to meet his gaze. Instead, she felt her face grow warm as he continued to smile… she turned away and motioned upward with her wand. Within seconds, the three were out of the Pensieve and back at Grimmauld Place. They looked at one another solemnly, and a silent consensus was quickly reached: it was time for lunch.

*

"The athame was last seen in Wormtail's hand, at the end of our fourth year," concluded Hermione. "Harry reasoned that, if Wormtail didn't still have it, he'd certainly know where it was. He and Ron went hunting for Wormtail, off and on, over the next few weeks… they were still looking when I was painted. It took up a lot of their time, but evidently it was worth it."

"Wowwww," breathed Hope. As bedtime stories went, this was absolutely brilliant. And nobody knew any of this except Dad… and now her.

"And that, I think, is all for tonight," Hermione said briskly. "Time for sleep."

"No, please, one more question. Once you found all the Horcruxes, how did you destroy them?"

Hermione gave her a penetrating look. "Ron didn't tell you?" No reply. "Hope, how much did Ron tell you?"

Busted! Hope tried to put a good face on it. "Not as much as I can actually handle."

"Uh huh. I think we'll postpone any more discussion of Horcruxes. You shouldn't even know about them, young lady. Now good night."

With a resigned nod, Hope snuggled under the bedcovers. She started to slip the portrait under her pillow… then stopped, struck by one last thought. "Did Harry ever tell you what his happy memory was?"

The corner of Hermione's mouth quirked upwards. "I figured it out eventually."

*

31 July 2008 - Year 10 P.V.

*

"You shouldn't move so much, love," Luna told Ron as she fastened his collar. "You'll strangle yourself, and then how will you be able to give your speech?"

"Sounds perfect," growled Ron. "Let's try it."

"Professor Weasley," came the tart voice of the Headmistress of Hogwarts, "if I must put up with this exercise in commemoration, I assure you that you must as well." That voice had never failed to wring obedience out of Ron - or any other Hogwarts student, past or present - and it didn't fail now.

"Right, Professor McGonagall," he replied. As a member of the Hogwarts staff, Ron could have addressed her as "Minerva" if he chose - but it didn't even occur to him to try. A Gryffindor, yes, but not a bloody idiot.

Luna finished adjusting Ron's robes, then patted his cheek fondly. "Hope and I'll be in the audience, My King. And afterwards we can all go to Diagon Alley and celebrate Hope's birthday."

"I'd rather be doing that than this," Ron groused after his wife had left. "Tenth Anniversary of Lord Voldemort's defeat. Lots of bigwigs, lots of boring speeches, sno-o-ore. How much d'you want to bet that at least one person says 'You-Know-Who' in their speech?"

"I've never accepted a sucker bet in my life, Professor," replied McGonagall dryly, "and I'm not about to start today." She lowered her voice as the rest of the Hogwarts staff began to join them in the entrance hall. "If it serves to remind everyone that we're still fighting a war, then I for one will sit through this whole ceremony without batting an eye."

Chastened, Ron followed the Headmistress out the doors and down the school's front steps. Professors Grubbly-Plank and Sprout, the only other teachers in residence during the summer, walked behind them as they made their way to the Quidditch pitch. A long dais, with a podium, had been erected at one end of the pitch, facing rows of seats set on the grass. Canopies strung overhead protected them from the summer sun.

Already, Ron could see carriages pulling through the gates and converging on the pitch. They carried an array of dignitaries and well-wishers from Hogsmeade. A pair of Aurors stood on either side of the gates to the grounds, casting quick security scans on each carriage as it passed through.

That's why we're doing this at Hogwarts, thought Ron as he took his seat on the dais, instead of the Ministry or someplace. No Apparating into or out of Hogwarts. Security is easier to maintain here. Let's just hope it's enough.

The Hogwarts staff stood at their chair on the dais, as the Headmistress welcomed the dignitaries as they arrived. There were representatives from the Ministries of Britain and Ireland, from the Dark Forces Defense League, and from other high-level institutions. One by one, they took their places on the dais as the seats filled with spectators. Ron spotted a flash of red hair - the Weasley clan was always easy to locate - and gave a discreet wave to Luna and Hope.

Minister Scrimgeour, predictably enough, was the first speaker. He waited for the audience to be seated before stepping to the podium and opening his mouth. Scrimgeour was scheduled only to welcome the crowd, to "introduce" the other speakers… but as his remarks lengthened, Ron began to glower where he sat. He's making it sound almost like he took out Voldemort personally! That Harry worked under his leadership! That glory-hogging…

Ron didn't have a chance to finish the thought. With a reverberating crack, over a dozen figures materialized around the assembled populace. Masked figures wearing dark robes… who seemed misshapen, somehow, almost hunchbacked. They pointed their wands into the crowd and in unison cried, "Crucio!"

He reacted from pure reflex. He dove flat onto the dais, letting the spell hiss over him, and threw himself into a roll. He tumbled over the side of the dais and landed on his good foot and his cane, wand out and aimed at the closest of the attackers… who promptly Disapparated.

But… that's not possible! Ron shook his head to clear it and ducked randomly to his left. Another Death Eater re-Apparated near where he'd been - she fired a curse at him and quickly Disapparated. He blocked the curse with his cane's built-in Shield Charm and continued to dodge, all the time making his way towards Luna and Hope.

Several innocents in the crowd were down now, unconscious or worse, and the rest of the crowd was quickly turning into a panicky mob. The Death Eaters were picking them off with ridiculous ease: they'd Apparate, fire a curse, and immediately Disapparate. They weren't using the Killing Curse for some reason, but that didn't make their attacks any less deadly.

Luna was trying to keep Hope by her side as the crowd surged this way and that in its panic. In her peripheral vision she saw a robed figure raise a wand. She swung her own wand in response. "Protego!" The hex ricocheted away as the figure Disapparated.

"Stay low, cygnet, and stay close," she said rapidly, crouching down. Her eyes flicked back and forth, bulging almost as much as they did in her school days. Hope nodded nervously and likewise crouched down.

The ground next to them suddenly exploded. Hope was showered with dirt and grass; it got in her eyes, she couldn't see, she had to brush it off… When she looked up, Luna was nowhere to be seen. "Mum?" she called, her voice rising. "Mum?!"

Another explosion. Across the pitch Hope saw Granddad Weasley fall over, trapped in his wheelchair. Where was Gran? Where were her uncles? Someone had to help him! She began to make her way towards her grandfather, trying not to get trampled by adult feet.

Her ears were suddenly assaulted by a loud, high-pitched shriek, like a banshee's wail. The sound made her whole skull vibrate… it staggered her for a second, until she clapped her hands over her ears. When she looked up again, several more people had collapsed around her. Hope had a clear path to Granddad - if she could get there without attracting a Death Eater's notice.

She took a deep breath, lowered her head, and sprinted as fast as she could towards her grandfather. Evidently she wasn't as tempting a target as the grown-ups: she made it to Granddad's side without being hit by curses.

Granddad didn't appear to recognize her at first… he was in shock, or something. "Percy," he moaned softly.

"No, Granddad, it's Hope. Uh, can we get you out of your wheelchair? You, you weigh too much, I can't set it up while you're in it…" She tugged vainly at his hand.

With a nod, he seemed to collect his wits. He planted both hands on the ground, put his weight on them, and began to drag himself out of the chair. Within seconds, Hope's other grandfather joined them. "Arthur? You hurt?" asked Granddad Lovegood anxiously.

"A little dizzy, Leo…" he replied, his voice a thin thread.

"Right. Hold on to the arms of your chair." Granddad Lovegood took a step back. "Mobilisella." The chair picked itself up from the ground, with Granddad Weasley gripping tightly to the arms, and gently set itself upright. "Now we need to get you out of here, Arthur," Granddad Lovegood continued grimly, "you're too easy to hit…"

He pushed the wheelchair in the direction of a cluster of Weasleys: Uncle Fred and Aunt Gelina, with Uncle George and his date herding Lance and Tristam. Uncle Fred was holding their new baby, Ygraine, while swinging his wand back and forth; Aunt Gelina was digging frantically in her purse. Hope followed closely behind her grandfathers as they made their way through the mob…

…and a robed figure suddenly materialized not six feet away from them. He pointed his wand at them and said coldly, "Reducto." Granddad Lovegood was thrown backwards, away from the wheelchair, to lie motionless on the sward. The Death Eater swung his wand to point at Granddad Weasley.

In desperation Hope did the only thing she could think of: she closed her eyes, jumped in front of her grandfather, and waved her arms wildly as though swatting away flies - while she screamed the spell her Mum had used. "Protegoprotegoprotegoprotegoprotego!!" It was not, she decided on later reflection, the mature action appropriate to a young woman who'd that day turned ten, but it seemed to confuse the Death Eater. He Disapparated away, leaving them both unharmed.

On the other side of the pitch, Ron had nearly joined up with Luna when a Death Eater appeared right between them. He started to curse Ron, only to be stopped by Luna's cry of "Stupefy!" The Death Eater sagged a moment, but didn't fall unconscious… but in that moment of distraction, Ron let loose with his own "Stupefy!" The second spell had its affect, and the robed figure collapsed to the ground.

"Luna! Are you all right?!" gasped Ron, as he quickly knelt to tear off the Death Eater's mask. No one I recognize…

"Of course," she replied, her voice perfectly tranquil… though her eyes still looked wildly about.

Ron opened the Death Eater's robe and cried out in surprise. The "hunchback" was actually a normally built wizard - with a house elf strapped into a harness on his back. Luna's Stunner had knocked the elf out, while his own had knocked out the wizard himself. Ron peered more closely…

Even though unconscious, the house elf's features bore the glazed look of a being under the control of the Imperius Curse.

All the details clicked into place in Ron's mind. That's how they Apparated into Hogwarts! The wards don't affect house elf magic! And when Luna stunned this one's elf, he couldn't escape...

And as he realized this, he also became aware of new arrivals on the Quidditch pitch: Aurors. They took only a moment to orient themselves, pocketing small office supplies, pens and erasers and such… then they whipped out their wands and launched themselves into the fray. Portkeys, Ron thought dizzily, they've all got Portkeys… In the distance Angelina smiled in satisfaction as she put away a cosmetic mirror.

Ron stood up and tried to shout his discovery to the arriving Aurors. "Everyone…!" He coughed once, hoarsely, then pointed his wand at his own throat. "Sonorus! Everyone listen!" his voice boomed over the tumult. "Shoot at their backs! They've got house elves on their backs! Shoot at their backs!" He immediately took his own advice and fired at one of the Death Eaters who'd Apparated atop the dais. Behind him he felt Luna's presence as she took her station, her back to his.

Whether it was the arrival of the Aurors, Ron's pointing out the best targets, or something else altogether, the tide of battle began to shift within moments. The crowd were still unruly, but no longer a mob - several of them, including the Minister, had recovered their wits and were fighting back. Five more Death Eaters were struck down, their house elves disabled, before the remaining assailants Disapparated away permanently.

But the ruin they'd left behind was devastating.

Ron and Luna turned to look at one another for a second. Ron looked disheveled, Luna looked serene. The one look was enough to reassure them both. With a flick of her wand, Luna cancelled the Sonorus spell… then as one they turned and went in search of Hope.

They found Leo Lovegood first. He lay dead on the grass, his chest horribly damaged by the Reductor Curse. Ron stared, aghast, at his father-in-law's bloodied body, and could feel his own gore rise. "Oh Merlin, Luna," he choked, "I'm so sorry…"

"Why?" she replied, puzzled. She knelt beside Lovegood's body and wiped a trickle of blood from his face, ignoring the pools around his chest. "He's been wanting to get together with Mum for years," Luna continued in a dreamy tone. "I would've liked him to stay with us a little longer, but I think that may just be selfishness on my part." Her voice began to break, but she continued with determined cheer, "I am going to m-miss h-him, th-though…"

Luna's voice broke completely at this point and she began to sob. Somewhere in the distance, the Minister was talking, Aurors were shouting, the Headmistress was giving orders… and Ron wanted none of it intruding on them. Instead, he lifted Luna and held her tightly as she cried into his shoulder. Awkwardly, he kept one arm around her as he used his other hand to unfasten his cloak… it came free at last, and he draped it over Lovegood's form. Then both arms went around his wife and they stood in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, saying nothing, letting her tears subside on their own.

Ron had no idea how long they stood there. He only knew when their bubble of solitude was broken, by the arrival of the Weasley clan - but they brought the person he most wanted to see. "Hope?" he called shakily, and held out one arm as she came running to him. Her face was spattered in mud; she was shivering as though it were January instead of July. He held her tightly as he said, "Hope? Thank God you're all right…"

"I'm sorry, Mum," she chattered to Luna, "I'm really sorry, but the man attacked so fast, and he was pushing Granddad Weasley's chair, and…"

"Shhhh, little lioness, shhhhhhh," Luna murmured as Ron stroked her hair. "You were very brave, just like him…"

"Yes," said Arthur Weasley in an odd voice. "Yes, she was."

Luna's eyes went up to Arthur, flicked over to Molly and the others. "None of you were hurt?"

"No, thank Merlin," said Fred. "Once reinforcements arrived, the Death Eaters ran like rabbits. That, and your announcement about them using house elves… once we knew what to aim for, it was obvious we could take them out."

"They just… attacked for the sake of attacking," George went on. "Did they want to just slaughter everyone here? I couldn't tell if they were aiming for someone in particular…"

Ron shrugged. "Take your pick. The Minister. McGonagall. Me." He gave a violent shudder and went on quickly, trying to act normally, trying to pretend he wasn't going to be sick. "Actually, it might've been me… Bellatrix hates me now. I killed her husband. Mind you, he was trying to stab me with a poisoned knife at the time…"

Abruptly, impatiently, Luna shook her head. "You're all wrong. They were trying to kill Harry."

Her family stared at her as though she'd gone off her onion… again. "My Good Love," Ron told her gently, "Harry's been dead for ten years. That's why we were trying to have this memorial today…"

"Harry's alive, as far as they're concerned," Luna declared. "They're scared of Harry, love. Bellatrix is scared of the very thought of Harry Potter. That's why they want to kill him… by killing his memory, killing what he stood for. And they never will." She gave them a wide, wicked smile very unlike her. "Harry Potter defeated the most feared, most powerful, most unkillable Dark wizard ever. They're so scared of him now. You know how some of us still can't say 'Lord Voldemort'? They can't say 'Harry Potter'."

It seemed no one could find a response to this pronouncement. Ron didn't doubt Luna was right, but there didn't seem to be a lot to say after that…

"'kay. Then we have to make them more afraid," said Hope, as though it were obvious. She'd taken her cue from Ron and got her shivering under control… and she seemed determined not to let her calm mask slip again. "If they're so scared of Harry Potter…"

Stooping down, Hope rubbed her finger across the ground, wetting it in the blood that still pooled there. Then she stretched up and with her fingertip drew a lightning bolt on Ron's forehead.

Before he could react, she drew another lightning bolt on her own forehead.

"A mark of bravery, you said, Granddad," she murmured. She raised her chin and looked around defiantly. "I'm Harry Potter," she announced for everyone to hear. "I fight the Death Eaters."

Ron stared at her in shock. Luna, however, nodded her head in approval. She raised her own finger, still marked with Leo Lovegood's blood, and drew a lightning bolt on her forehead as well. "I'm Harry Potter," she said matter-of-factly. "Death Eaters should be afraid of me."

Fred and George shared a widening grin. "We're Harry Potter," they cried gleefully. "We eat Death Eaters for breakfast!" A knot of wizards standing nearby burst out laughing when they heard that… then grew solemn as they recalled the attack of moments before. They nodded to one another slowly.

"Mum," Lance said to Angelina in a stage whisper, "can I be Harry Potter too?"

"Only if you're brave enough," said Angelina, in wonder at the scene unfolding before her.

For here and there around the Quidditch pitch, the cry was being taken up. Scattered individuals, saying it in their own way, but always the same credo: "I am Harry Potter, and I fight for the Light." Scrimgeour had stopped in amazement at the surge of confidence, rapidly spreading through what minutes before had been a panicked mob. Two reporters began scribbling furiously on their notepads, trading knowing looks.

And Ron Weasley could only stand frozen, staring at Hope, and trying desperately to put down the feeling of horror that was rising in his gullet.